Booze...in 50 Words or Less: Tsingtao

Tsingtao
I used to drink this and think that it was tasty. Of course, at that time, I was in the throes of a sizable Yao Ming man crush. Tsingtao isn't good. But drinking it in a Chinese restaurant in the middle of New York City's Chinatown gives you street cred!

--

The Pizza Project
Just a nibble: http://twitter.com/ThePizzaProject
Single slice: http://www.facebook.com/ThePizzaProject
The full pie: http://thepizzaproject.blogspot.com/

A Slightly Aimless Rant about...the Chinese Government

Thank you, Chinese government, for ruining the sh*t out of Yao Ming's career!

The guy was my favorite player in the NBA. He was a giant who moved fluidly on the court, with a variety of hook shots, turnaround jumpers, and spin moves. He was a deft passer, getting his teammates involved, almost to the detriment of his team at times. He was a marvel at the free throw line, shooting 90 percent in a league where big men regularly shoot in the 50s and blame it on having big hands or some other such nonsense. He was a hard-working defender, constantly looking to develop his lateral movement so that teams could not victimize him with easy pick-and-rolls. He was the best center in the league, someone who rose to every challenge, facing down a prime Shaquille O'Neal with dignity and courage, and outshining the Man Who Would Be King, Dwight Howard, every time they played each other (if you follow basketball, I'm sure you think Dwight Howard has been the best center in basketball for quite some time; if so, check out the numbers - Dwight Howard simply could not get it done against Yao Ming). He routinely did things you would not expect from a 7'6" man, whether it be throwing a no-look pass behind his head, dazzling multiple defenders with spin-move up-and-unders, or going behind his back to finish a length-of-the-court rumble to the basket.

Dear...You: My Fantasy Basketball Team

Every once in a while, The Pizza Project gets angry or happy or sad or excited. When this occurs, they need to write a letter to nobody in particular. Why? Becaue it feels good, that's why!

Dear My Fantasy Basketball Team,

Alright, no more games, motherf*ckers! This year, my first (and quite likely my last) season of fantasy basketball, started off so well. I received the second pick in the draft. I won my first four games, defeating people and mocking them horribly simply because it seemed fun. I ran up a record total of points one week, a stretch of seven days where it seemed that if I could have placed Drazen Petrovic's rotting corpse on my roster and he would have found a way to put up 25, 5, and 5, with a three-pointer of two.

Now look at me: 9-8, trying to scratch my way into the playoffs. It all started when I cut the captain and veritable namesake of my team, Yao Ming. I had promised to keep him on my roster all year, even if he was injured for the entire season. With Yao at the helm, I saw nothing but perfect health. Joakim Noah was rebounding and blocking shots. Jrue Holiday was coming into his own as a young playmaker. Andrea Bargnani was making chicken cacciatore for the team on off days. In short, it was bliss.