Recently, my good friend Josh suggested that Delonte West of the Seattle SuperSonics and Roy Williams of the Detroit Lions should double-date: all evidence suggests that they'd be drawn to the same kind of woman, namely a down-to-earth gal with a love of fried foods. First, Delonte (from an ESPN story titled, appropriately enough, "Flowers, Popeye's and romance"):
So, I pick her up in my white convertible. From there, I'd have the music pumping on the radio. The Jim Jones pumping, you know, 'Summer in Miami' song pumping. Got to keep a little gangsta, you can't be too soft. You can't be in there playing some guy that's crying, talking about don't leave me and love me baby, wah wah and all that. So Jim Jones pumping and then from there, wind blowing through the hair, boom, we get straight to the point -- we eat afterwards because I don't want to kiss no onions. I don't want to kiss you tasting like onions and steak and mushrooms and everything. ...
As much as I enjoy reading the Atlantic Voices blogs, I fear that (a) these blogs aren't doing enough to "keep a little gangsta," with the possible exception of Marc Ambinder, who may well be keeping it a little too gangsta.
Incidentally, when West talks about "keeping a little gangsta," I can't help but imagine someone carrying a garden gnome, wearing a bandana and wielding a tiny pistol, in his lap. This reflects poorly on the state of my mental health, I realize.
So, we are done eating, man, we've got to have someone singing while we're eating. OK, so from there, we're doing a midnight skinny-dipping jump. Alright? From there, hopefully she's got money because I hope Jaws gets her, boom, make sure she got me in the will, bank, I'm good. Oh well, shark got her! Jaws got her. Nah, we ain't going there.
This is the point at which some of the women who've been charmed by Delonte's ramblings thus far take a step back and consider whether or not he really is the man for them.
One more thing: When we're on the yacht eating, we're going to have some Popeyes chicken. That's for dinner. It's to let her know, put a mental image on her mind, first and foremost, if you ain't from the hood, you don't like Popeyes chicken. Everyone there loves Popeyes chicken and the biscuits -- phew. But that's just getting it on her mind, saying, you know, 'Yeah, I can wine and dine you, but I'm a little rough around the edges and I'm keeping it real with you. I can be romantic, but this is real, we're going to eat some chicken tonight. Chicken and biscuits.
This is a sentiment I heartily endorse: having consumed more than my fair share of chicken and biscuits, I think this is a better litmus test than most, though I will say that some of the most charming women I know are vegetarians.
It seems very clear to me that Delonte West, with his vivid imagination, is in the wrong line of work. Basketball prowess aside, I suspect that West's real aptitude lies in making avant-garde cinema, or perhaps he can become some kind of emergency romance specialist.
Roy Williams emphasizes what one might call his fiscal sobriety, but, disappointingly, with a lot less lunacy.
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