Welcome to the next edition of Jimbo’s Mailbag! At Salt City Hoops, we know that covering a team without any humor can be dreary. As such, we decided to add a little bit more levity to our site via Jimbo’s unique outlook on the world of Jazz basketball. Jimbo, by virtue of being recently featured in the Deseret News, is now the world’s most famous Utah-based basketball mailbag artist. Interested in submitting a question to Jimbo’s mailbag? Email it to Jimbo at email@example.com or tweet @JimboRudding to appear.
Q: Which Jazz players am I most likely to run into at the Tesla concert in Wendover this summer?
Honestly, the only Jazz-related person you’re most likely to run into at a Tesla concert is Gordon Hayward’s dad. Everyone else would leave as soon as they announced that Poison was the opening band.
Isn’t it strange how music popularity evolves? When I was in junior high, I thought music had peaked when Firehouse came out with “Love of a Lifetime.” “That’s it,” I told my friends, “That’s the best song ever written. They may as well burn all musical instruments now.” My friends impolitely disagreed, someone yelled something horrible about Cyndi Lauper and a giant brawl started right there in the lunchroom. I, along with several of my so-called “friends,” was suspended for a week. To make matters worse, when my parents found out they grounded me from my clarinet for a month!
Even after my suspension from school, I still wouldn’t admit that Firehouse could be topped… that is, until I heard R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion.” That song was the soundtrack to my eighth grade year. I saved my lawn-mowing money to buy a mandolin because of that song. The crowning demonstration of my love for R.E.M. was when I sneaked a copy of Automatic for the People into our school’s time capsule. That in and of itself is a whole other story, but let’s just say at the time-capsule ceremony I had a friend create a diversion by attaching 300 firecrackers to his backpack and running around yelling “MEDIC!” and then while everyone’s back was turned I shoved it in the capsule underneath that day’s newspaper.
Now, most NBA players (I imagine) are into either rap or hip hop and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I like Baja Men just as much as the next guy, but it’s like, be original, you know? It’d be cool to see an NBA player back a new age band from Norway or just publicly admit that they personally don’t appreciate music at all. Take Chris Kaman, for instance. He strikes me as a guy who would rather listen to a podcast about polar bears on his way to the arena than listen to music at all.
Also, when they show the players arriving for a game with their giant headphones in I like to imagine them blasting some James Taylor or Extreme’s “III Sides to Every Story” album (it’s the one after the album with “More Than Words” on it). I always thought it would be funny to see player’s reactions if someone in the locker room turned off the rap and turned on REO Speedwagon’s “Take It on the Run.” Call me quirky, but I appreciate that kind of stuff.
Q: What’s more likely, eating Taco Bell’s breakfast and having no need to sprint to the bathroom or Chris Johnson hitting a corner 3?
Right!? I’ve been burned too many times by Taco Bell food, so I’d have to go with Taco Bell. But man, CJ had a brutal year from that corner three spot. If I had to guess, I’d say he was somewhere around 23% on corner threes this year, which isn’t good. However, you have to take into account that I didn’t look up that number and it could very well be wrong. I’m an extremely busy man and my time is so precious that I can’t be bothered with looking up stats and numbers and whatnot.
The tough part is, that corner three spot is exactly where Chris is supposed to be and that’s the exact shot he’s supposed to take in the Jazz’eses’s offense. So, I guess you can’t fault him for being in the right place at the right time. However, you CAN fault him for not making many shots from that right place at the right time. He’s a hustler and scrappy defender I WILL give him that.
Back to Taco Bell—you are a brave man for trying their breakfast menu. There was a time in my life where if I even heard the gong of a bell at all I would just start heading for the bathroom. The Taco Bell “rumbly-guts,” as my circle of friends call it, are the worst! Just like CJ though, you can’t fault Taco Bell for being in the right place at the right time. Like, at one in the morning after you break up with your girlfriend. You can only fault them for giving you the rumbly-guts at the wrong place at the wrong time later. Like, at a funeral… or at a family barbecue right before you show a bunch of your extended family members how many cartwheels you can do in a row.
Q: If Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for Mahana, how many cows would you pay for Kevin Durant?
I’m actually kind of surprised that it only took a year and a half of doing this mailbag before someone submitted a Johnny Lingo question. Congrats for being the first, K-Robbs!
For those who don’t know, Johnny Lingo is a short movie that tells the story of a Polynesian trader (Lingo) who came to a village to bargain cows for a wife. The woman he falls in love with is Mahana who, according to the extremely rude villagers and even her own father, is the ugliest woman in the village. The villagers say that Mahana’s father will be lucky to get even one cow for her. Her father decides to ask Lingo for three cows in the hopes to get at least one cow. Johnny Lingo says that that is not enough for Mahana and instead offers him eight cows. Lingo marries Mahana and after a short trip away from the village, Lingo and Mahana return. To the villagers’ astonishment, Mahana is a beautiful, happy woman. Johnny had proved to Mahana and to the villagers that true beauty and worth have nothing to do with what other people see on the outside.
It’s a pretty popular analogy that almost makes sense. I hope that synopsis helped. I summarized from Wikipedia and it was exhausting.
The thing we need to understand about Mahana is that she was a babe from the beginning. Through the miracle of make-up and early 1980’s special effects, she was made up to look like one of those mutants you would see wandering around Wal-Mart at two in the morning. (Don’t worry, I get it because I’m one of the mutants). So, the analogy doesn’t really hold up in real life.
Kevin Durant is a modern day Mahana. He wears some ugly shoes that turn into socks, but he ain’t foolin’ no one. He’s a babe; well, a babe in the sense that he is awesome at basketball and I would love it if he were on the Jazz. I could eventually get over the ugly sock-shoes.
Lucky for us, we’re from Utah and that means we all know at least one farmer who owns at least one cow. So, all we have to do is a get a butt-load of cows together and make Durant an offer he can’t refuse. Sadly, that’s probably what it would take for KD to even think about coming here. And if he doesn’t sign here, well then, he could one day wake up with a bunch of cows in his bedroom. (Some of the farmers that I know are pretty big into pranks.)
Q: If you could share a Café Rio burrito with any member of the Jazz organization, past or present, who would it be and why?
This is a great question, but a hard question to answer because there are so many people I would LOVE to share a burrito with. In fact, I’ve shared many burritos with people without them even knowing. Of course, that was after they had already left the restaurant and I was at a time in my life where money wasn’t easy to come by, but I’d rather not get into that right now.
My first instinct is to choose Gail Miller. However, I could see myself getting WAY too nervous to eat in front of her. Then I’m sure that would make her feel self-conscious about finishing the rest of my burrito and things would just be awkward between us after that. And I can’t let that happen. I have too many ideas and suggestions I need to somehow relay to her.
My next thought was maybe John Stockton, but he’s not exactly a “talker” and he may not have a lot to say and I’d probably get so excited that I’d tell him about the time I went miniature golfing and accidentally swallowed one of those pencils they give you to keep score with.
Next, I guess I’d choose Jim Les… and ditch him cause he’s the WORST! Ha ha, J/K I’d NEVER choose him.
My next real choice would probably be Mark Jackson, but I have a feeling he wouldn’t be satisfied with the quality of his burrito and would probably try to get everyone in the kitchen fired.
So, I guess I’d choose Brian Zettler, the Jazz’es trainer. He seems like a nice guy. Plus he’s from Texas so I have a feeling he likes burritos.
Q: Still salty about no playoffs. Who’s better—the Jazz or the Sixers?
I understand the saltiness, but there’s no need to lose hope! Like I’ve said before, the injury bug left a burning brown bag of dog turds on the Jazz’eses’ porch this year. If that hadn’t happened, there’s a good chance we could be in the second round playing the Warriors right now.
The injury bug always comes around at the wrong time. Like during one of the last games of the season when you desperately need a win. Then it just sits there with absolutely no regard for decency, like an elderly couple at a movie theater who refuses to move their legs so you can squeeze by them to get to your seat. Or like the lady who works at The Gap who refuses to let you exchange some pants simply because there’s a tiny bit of blood on the leg (even though you have the receipt).
The injury bug is like the hottest girl in school who gives you a note that says she had a crush on you and then later you find out that it was all a joke she and her friends came up with to mess with you, but then her dad finds out she was mean to you and makes her take you to Homecoming. No note from that girl and the Jazz could be competing against a very talented Spurs team right now.
Sometimes the injury bug is like that cheap belt you buy that looked OK in the store but breaks in the middle of a golf swing and your shorts fall down in front of your buddies and the drink cart lady. No faulty belt and the Jazz could be takin it to the Clippers right now.
If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about being better than the Sixers. The Jazz just need to worry about the Jazz. Unless they face off against the Sixers in the Finals next year in which case they DEFINITELY should worry about the Sixers.
Q: How many times cooler is Rudy than little Whiteside? Deux or trois?
The only reason I know what you just asked is because I’ve seen the movie “Hot Shots! Part Deux” like 13 times and that’s how I learned that “deux” in French means “dos,” which is Spanish for “next.” I’ve been trois-lingual for a few years now and it’s pretty awesome, but the best part about it is that I can use the bathrooms at Target.
To be honest, I don’t like Whiteside’s game. I mean, props for getting back into the league and making tons of money and whatnot, but I’ll take Rudy on my team everyday and twice on Saturday and three times on Sunday. Why, you ask? Well, I’m very glad you asked. The reason is, Rudy plays the game angry. Sure he’s friendly with people off the court, but if you’re playing against him you are the enemy. He’s tall, he’s French, and he wants to win. It’s the trois threat.
I love Rudy Gobert so much that I would not hesitate to invite him over to sleep in a pile of blankets and sleeping bags outside on my trampoline. We could stay up till 11 p.m. listening to Wilson Phillips on my Walkman and giggling about how old and ugly all the refs are. We could eat Pop Tarts while staring up into space and pondering how little and insignificant life sometime seems. Then I’d eventually tell him my most embarrassing moment, which happened after I tried to beat my family’s record of eating 11 corn dogs in one sitting and then immediately afterwards went on a first date.
Seriously though, if he wanted to, I’d even consider wearing one half of those heart lockets that best friends get. Only if he brought it up, though. I mean, I wouldn’t be weird about it. It’s not like I’d suggest he wear it during games or anything. At least not road games.
For the Jazz to be successful, we need guys like Rudy to be loyal and stay in Salt Lake City. Especially if I’m going to tell him all my secrets. Could you imagine if people in Miami or Los Angeles found out about my secrets???
Thanks for the questions, you guys. Remember to tell your mothers about the mailbag for Mother’s Day. Do it while softly caressing her scalp with some salad tongs. Make it weird.