This is getting bad

- Shoddy defense. A 2-guard blowing them up. Settling for a lot of jump shots. The theme continues.

Nuggets add to Dallas Mavericks' misery

01:20 AM CST on Friday, December 7, 2007
By EDDIE SEFKO / The Dallas Morning News
esefko@dallasnews.com

The Mavericks' season has been herky-jerky, full of stops and starts.

On Thursday night, it was all that, but without the stops.

The defense couldn't keep Denver's whirling, Allen Iverson-led offense from piling up points and, in the end, a victory as the Nuggets peppered the Mavericks, 122-109, in a game that was a direct descendant of the shootout days of the 1980s.

By the time the crowd at American Airlines Center dwindled in the final minutes, it was clear these Mavericks are flat-out bad right now. They have lost six out of nine, including three of the last four. Too many players are playing below expectations.

"They're not very pretty right now," president Donnie Nelson said. "But they're ours, and we love them."

That was Nelson's way of saying there will be no overreaction to the Mavericks' disjointed play through the first quarter of the season. So drop those ideas of Kobe Bryant, Jason Kidd or Shaquille O'Neal.

Instead, the Mavericks will concentrate on what it's going to take to pull out of this dreadful tailspin. They surrendered a season-high in points, forced only eight Denver turnovers, suffered 19 giveaways of their own and shot only 33.3 percent in the fourth quarter, when the game was still undecided.

Dirk Nowitzki (32 points, 12 rebounds) and Jerry Stackhouse (23 points, seven rebounds, five assists) had strong games, but anything the Mavericks did on the offensive end was wiped out with their lack of defense.

"It was a layup drill out there," Nowitzki said. "They got whatever they wanted. At no point in the game I thought we could really stop them."

Least of all when they were still in the game. A Jason Terry 3-pointer cut Denver's lead to 90-89 with 1:44 to go in the third quarter. Yes, the third quarter – a testament to the sloppy defense on both sides.

The difference was Denver's defense actually got serious the rest of the way.

Denver scored on its last four possessions of the third quarter and four of its first five in the fourth quarter to go up, 107-94. The Mavericks got no closer than nine points the rest of the way. Iverson finished with 35 points, 12 assists and six steals. Carmelo Anthony had a poor shooting night, but ended with 23 points. Linas Kleiza had 23 points off the bench for the Nuggets.

"Just got to fight through it," coach Avery Johnson said of what the Mavericks have to do. "We got to take a little time and refocus and reenergize and get back after it. The men are up for the challenge. They're disappointed. We're all disappointed. They don't want to play this way, but they'll keep fighting."

Not all of the problems were on defense. With five minutes left in the first half, Nowitzki was 7-for-9 from the field and everybody else was 7-for-24. Josh Howard fought foul problems, and Devin Harris and Terry were a combined 7-for-21 from the floor.

But nothing could overshadow the soft defense.

"Another hot player kind of burned us off the dribble, and we just got to take a little more pride in getting that guy stopped," Johnson said. "We just don't have that consistent attitude on defense. That's something we've always taken pride in. Right now, we're just trying to get one thing we can hang our hat on."

The Mavericks are 12-8. At one point last season, they were 35-8, although that wasn't such a great omen of things to come, either.

"Obviously, this is not the way we wanted to start the season," Nowitzki said. "But we're looking forward to the rest of the season. It can only get better."





- The Rangers sit in corner and pleasure themselves while other teams gang-bang free agents on the bed.



Texas Rangers shop but avoid spending spree

01:26 AM CST on Friday, December 7, 2007
By EVAN GRANT / The Dallas Morning News
egrant@dallasnews.com

NASHVILLE, Tenn. – The Rangers came to the Winter Meetings with one philosophical rule: They would not allow themselves to be price-gouged.

And, if had not been for those room service quesadillas, they might have been able to pronounce themselves completely virtuous for the week. While the club came away with role-player Chris Shelton and five minor leaguers (thanks to the minor league phase of Thursday's Rule 5 draft), they did hold to their philosophy.

General manager Jon Daniels did pony up for the quesadillas, but he wouldn't go to three or four years for center fielder Andruw Jones. He hasn't given up the guarantee of a second year to any of the free agent relievers or corner outfielders to whom he's talked with. He wouldn't give up a package of his top, most-advanced prospects to make trade talks for a young center fielder more likely. And he wasn't about to empty the farm system to get into the Johan Santana bidding.

Daniels checked on every young high-ceiling outfielder who might be available on the market, from Adam Jones to Josh Hamilton, without getting very far. Daniels said upgrading the outfield remains "on the front-burner." That said, if the Rangers make a move this week, it's more likely to be a one-year deal for a reliever.

The Rangers have handed out one-year offers to both La Troy Hawkins and Eric Gagne, but neither has bitten. Daniels' comments Thursday suggested he has placed a deadline on accepting current offers.

"We're hoping to get some closure on some of these things in the next couple of days," he said. "Some things have started to pick up with some trades being made and signings being made."

Asked if "closure" meant that deadlines had been placed on offers, Daniels repeated the Rangers were hoping to get "closure" on those situations.

Besides, the Rangers have already offered Gagne a two-year deal and were turned down. They extended that offer shortly before trading Gagne to Boston in July. The offer included two guaranteed years and two option years.

"We're only planning on guaranteeing one year in this market," Daniels said of the free agent market in general.

The Rangers were more willing to do a two-year deal for Jones. But agent Scott Boras told Daniels the price for switching leagues from the NL to the AL had to include a longer commitment. The Rangers made it clear that Torii Hunter was the only center fielder on the free agent market in whom they were interested in on a long-term deal.

"On a short-term deal, he wasn't willing to go the American League," Daniels said. "He didn't want to change leagues and have that adjustment period."

The other outfield target in whom the Rangers might be willing to go beyond two years: Japanese right fielder Kosuke Fukudome. But he still hasn't officially announced he will play in the U.S. Fukudome is believed to already have an offer of at least three years for $10 million per season from San Diego. The Chicago Cubs and Chicago White Sox have also expressed interest.

Next week, the free agent market could also expand. The Rangers have put off really pushing hard for a first baseman while they wait to see what happens with Seattle's Ben Broussard. Broussard could become a non-tendered free agent on Wednesday if Seattle fails to offer him arbitration. If the Mariners don't offer arbitration, Broussard would likely go to the top of the Rangers' list. If Seattle does tender him a contract, the Rangers will probably choose between Mike Lamb and Sean Casey.

Whoever ends up there will likely share time with Shelton, who was acquired late Wednesday. Shelton, 27, gives the Rangers a right-handed hitting option at first base.



- http://wheresgreggo.com/



Hammering Out a Deal
Thu Dec 06, 2007 at 02:20:11 PM

Lawyers. That’s the latest update on the continuing saga of host Greg Williams and KTCK-AM (1310, The Ticket). The wind has drastically changed directions since I wrote in my November 22 column that “The Hammer” would be back on the air at The Ticket.

At the time, Williams was determined to exorcise his drug demons and re-claim his spot on the afternoon show "The Hardline." And, at the time, station management was receptive -- or, at least, legally obligated to accept his return. Now? Don’t count on it.

After Thanksgiving, there was a volatile face-to-face meeting between Williams and co-workers. And, recently, Williams and station management have down-shifted from not being able to say too much to not being able to say anything at all. Which means only one thing: lawyers.

My theory is that the involved parties are negotiating a departure rather than a return -- and that this could drag out for weeks, likely into the new year. Co-host Mike Rhyner most recently addressed the situation on-air on November 26 when he hinted at the show’s future being dramatically altered from its past. “Now that it's out there,” Mike said, “we can talk about it. But we have to wait until we have a definitive resolution on this thing. When we do address it, we'll focus more on what's in front of us rather than what's gone on with this show in the past.”

This morning we received another subtle, yet seemingly definitive clue about Hammer’s life-support status when he wasn’t included in The Ticket’s annual “White Elephant” cross-dressing of hosts and shifts, set for next Wednesday. Afterward, morning hosts George Dunham and Craig Miller teased us with the promise of a phone call from a long-time Ticket voice upset at his exclusion. Hammer? Fake Greggo? Nope, just this guy. --Richie Whitt




- Sad tale in Omaha, and just another instance of how f'ed up people are these days. A first hand account from an officer.



Published Friday | December 7, 2007
Personal account: Officers came face to face with horror


Note: Omaha Police Sgt. Jeff Baker was in the first group of officers at Westroads Mall. The World-Herald asked for his perspective from the inside. Although he can't describe certain details because of the police investigation, he offered this account:

In excess of 100 mph on the Interstate en route to Westroads, time still seemed to crawl.

A feeling of dread crept over me with every update given on the radio.

Shots being fired in the mall???

Upon arrival and armed with a shotgun, I entered Von Maur not knowing what I'd encounter.

Twenty years in policing, 10 as a supervisor, didn't adequately prepare me for what I was about to see.

It was surreal.

The smell of gunfire in the air, like the aroma of firecrackers you shot off as a kid.

Shell casings on the marble floor.

Mortally wounded gunshot victims.

People running past, crying, sheer terror on their faces. Others frozen and cowering under displays and in fitting rooms.

Abandoned baby strollers, ladies' handbags, dropped cups of coffee and Christmas shopping bags littering the floor throughout the mall.

An alarm shrieking from overhead speakers, only partially drowning out Christmas music being played.

And all the while, you're searching, guns at the ready, certain the bad guy is going to pop up from a clothing rack and kill one of you before your buddies can react and fight back.

It was surreal, like living out a horror movie.

The mall swarmed with incoming officers from Omaha Police Department and other agencies.

I used the radio to warn responders that we might have a suspect on the loose with a high-powered rifle and that we had to lock down the mall.

There's no time to sit and ponder options.

You have to rely on your training and the officer next to you, so we broke into search elements to track down the suspect.

All the officers involved yesterday (Wednesday) knew he had to be stopped, and we were aware it was entirely possible that any one of us could be among those who would not go home to their families that night.

I experienced a wide array of emotions. Anxiety. Frustration. Sadness. Anger.

As the hours wore on and various personnel finished the task of clearing the mall and evacuating shoppers and employees, I felt exhaustion.

Being at such a high state of alert for so long is taxing, and I could see the emotional and physical drain on the faces of a number of police officers, federal agents and firefighters on the scene.

I got home about 9 p.m., roughly 13 hours after starting my shift.

The first thing I did was hug my wife and tell her I loved her. Then I prayed before managing about three hours of broken sleep.

Omaha shed its innocence yesterday, our own 9/11, and while this tragedy won't beat us as a city, I think Omahans will be forever changed by what happened.

It goes down as a dark day in our history, an abomination, the most senseless act of brutality I have ever seen.


- An employee account.

Mall employee describes deadly shooting

By SOPHIA TAREEN
Associated Press Writer

OMAHA, Neb. (AP) -- For almost 30 harrowing minutes, Jodi Longmeyer recounted to a 911 dispatcher what she could see and hear of a teenage gunman's deadly rage in a mall department store - and then broke down, she said Friday.

As she told the dispatcher she could see Robert A. Hawkins' body lying next to a gun, her voice cracked, and she began to cry - a mixture of sadness and relief that the crisis was over. Nine people, including the gunman, were dead.

"I had seen more than I wanted to see," Longmeyer told NBC's "Today" show Friday, describing the call.

Longmeyer, who is a human resources manager at Von Maur, agonized with the operator while barricaded in an employee locker room at the store. Tapes of her 911 call were released Thursday, a day after the tragedy unfolded.

She saw the gunman step off the mall elevator on the third floor. He was dressed in dark clothes. She saw his gun, watched him open fire.

Then she hit the floor.

"I just saw someone up here in the locker room and she's got a lot of blood on the floor," Longmeyer told the dispatcher.

Minutes later, shaking and scared, Longmeyer was able to get into a security room, where she described what she could see on live surveillance of the department store.

She gasped.

"Oh my gosh," she told the dispatcher. "It looks like the gun is lying over by customer service. It looks like he might have killed himself," Longmeyer said, her voice rising as she started to sob.

Longmeyer's account, one of more than a dozen 911 calls placed during Wednesday's shooting, offered new details about what happened inside the shopping mall on Omaha's west side.

New details also surfaced about the gunman.

State officials said Hawkins spent four years in a series of treatment centers, group homes and foster care after threatening to kill his stepmother in 2002.

Finally, in August 2006, social workers, the courts and his father all agreed: It was time for Hawkins to be released - nine months before he turned 19 and would have been required to leave anyway.

The group homes and treatment centers were for youths with substance abuse, mental or behavioral problems. Altogether, the state spent about $265,000 on Hawkins, officials said.

The aftermath of Wednesday's killings left some who knew Hawkins questioning if more should have been done.

"He should have gotten help, but I think he needed someone to help him and needed someone to be there when in the past he's said he wanted to kill himself," said Karissa Fox, who said she knew Hawkins through a friend. "Someone should have listened to him."

Todd Landry, state director of children and family services, said court records do not show precisely why Hawkins was released. But he said if Hawkins should not have been set free, an official would have raised a red flag.

"It was not a failure of the system to provide appropriate services," Landry said. "If that was an issue, any of the participants in the case would have brought that forward."

After reviewing surveillance tape, a suicide note and Hawkins' last conversations with those close to him, police said they don't know - and may never know - exactly why Hawkins went to the Von Maur store at Westroads Mall and opened fire.

But he clearly planned ahead, walking through the store, exiting, then returning a few minutes later with a gun concealed in a balled-up sweat shirt he was carrying, authorities said.

Police said they have found no connections between the 19-year-old and the six employees and two shoppers he killed. "The shooting victims were randomly selected," as was the location of the shooting, Omaha Police Chief Thomas Warren said.

Acquaintances said that Hawkins was a drug user and that he had a history of depression. In 2005 and 2006, according to court records, he underwent psychiatric evaluations, the reasons for which Landry would not disclose, citing privacy rules.

In May 2002, he was sent to a treatment center in Waynesville, Mo., after threatening his stepmother. Four months later, a Nebraska court decided Hawkins' problems were serious enough that he should be under state supervision and made him a ward of the state.

He went through a series of institutions in Nebraska as he progressed through the system: months at a treatment center and group home in Omaha in 2003; time in a foster care program and treatment center in 2004 and 2005; then a felony drug-possession charge later in 2005. Landry said the court records do not identify the drug.

The drug charge was eventually dropped, but he was jailed in 2006 for not performing community service as required.

On Aug. 21, 2006, he was released from state custody.

Under state law, Landry said, wards are released when all sides - parents, courts, social workers - agree it is time for them to go. Once Hawkins was set free, he was entirely on his own. He was no longer under state supervision, and was not released into anyone's custody.

"When our role is ended, we try to step out," said Chris Peterson, director of the state Department of Health and Human Services.

About an hour before the shootings, Hawkins called Debora Maruca-Kovac, a woman who with her husband took Hawkins into their home because he had no other place to live. He told her he had written a suicide note, Maruca-Kovac said. In the note, Hawkins wrote that he was "sorry for everything" and would not be a burden on his family anymore.

The shoppers killed were Gary Scharf, 48, of Lincoln, and John McDonald, 65, of Council Bluffs, Iowa. The employees killed were Angie Schuster, 36; Maggie Webb, 24; Janet Jorgensen, 66; Diane Trent, 53; Gary Joy, 56; and Beverly Flynn, 47, all of Omaha.

Also Thursday, Bellevue police arrested a 17-year-old friend of Hawkins who they said threatened to kill a teenage girl who had made remarks about Hawkins that offended his friend, Chief John Stacey said.

The teen was being held in a juvenile detention center on suspicion of making terroristic threats, Stacey said. Police found a rifle and two shotguns at the teen's house, weapons he had access to, the chief said.



- The 911 call.



911 calls show fear, chaos during mall shooting

OMAHA, Nebraska (CNN) -- Dozens of calls flooded the Omaha Police Department's 911 emergency line after a gunman opened fire inside the city's Westroads Mall, with witnesses calling in tones that ranged from almost matter-of-fact to near terror.

I haven't seen anything. I'm hiding in a clothes rack," a woman said after a dispatcher asked her for a description of the shooter. "I mean, there's been like 50 gunshots."

In one of the recordings, provided to CNN by the police department, a rapid burst of three gunshots can be heard, followed by two more a moment later before the line goes dead.

A dispatcher asked one caller to move away from a woman shouting in the background.

"Oh Lord God help us," the woman can be heard screaming. Hear some of the 911 calls »

"She said there is a bunch of people shot," the caller says.

Robert Hawkins, 19, killed six employees and two customers of Von Maur department store on Wednesday before turning his AK-47 rifle on himself.

Two employees remained hospitalized Thursday, one with critical injuries and one in serious condition.

A woman who called 911 before ducking into a security office in the store said she heard the gunman demand that a vault be opened near the store's customer service area.

Police have not described the shooting as a robbery attempt, saying Thursday they don't know why Hawkins chose the store as a target.

The caller described the shooter as having "a very large gun" and said he came out of an elevator on the store's third floor and began firing shots into the air.

"I heard the gunshots and I got down as soon as possible because I've got kids," she said.

Later, she told the dispatcher she'd moved into the security office -- where she appears to have seen Hawkins' dead body on a surveillance camera.

"Oh my gosh! It looks like the gun is laying over by customer service -- it looks like he might have killed himself," she said, breaking into tears. "I see him laying by the gun!"

Police said Thursday that Hawkins had had "some mental health problems," including thoughts of suicide. He had lost his job and recently broken up with his girlfriend, according to a family friend.




- The best channel on TV looks back at WWII. I have never seen a channel with more quality programming. Not your generic documentary station, everything is well done and with footage you won't find anywhere else.



How It Was: Attack on Pearl Harbor [TV-14 V Ratings N/A]
Wednesday, December 5, 2007, at 09P
It was an event that devastated the U.S. Pacific Fleet killing thousands of American servicemen and thrusting America into World War Two. The story has been told many times, but the essential reality of that day can only be found on the edges of history. Anchored by dramatic eyewitness accounts, expert testimony, forgotten artifacts and rarely seen images, National Geographic Channels As it Was: Attack on Pearl Harbor presents an American nightmare as youve never seen it before from the decks of U.S. battleships to the cockpits of Japanese airplanes to the propaganda campaign triggered by the attack to the tangible, physical scars that still exist today.

How It Was: Battle for Iwo Jima [TV-14 V Ratings N/A]
Wednesday, December 5, 2007, at 10P
During World War Two, the battle of Iwo Jima was a brutal and unforgiving fight to the death resulting in the highest single event casualty rate in Marine Corps history. The event was immortalized by a photograph of the American flag being raised on Mt. Suribachi the inspiration for the Marine Corps War Memorial at Arlington National Cemetery. But there is much more to Iwo Jima than a single image. National Geographic Channels Battle for Iwo Jima will change your perceptions about one of the decisive battles in the Pacific campaign. This new examination of startling color film footage and dramatic eyewitness testimony is highlighted by a rare trip to the remote island where more than 25,000 American and Japanese soldiers died during five weeks of horrific combat.

An ill wind blowing

- Multiple things that frustrate and I hope I'm not knee jerking. This is based on the start of the season and what I have seen -

1) I'm sounding the alarm on Dirk. He has got caught up too much in Avery's new plan. He has forgotten that HE'S the MVP, HE'S the superstar, and HE should own the 4th quarter. It's fine that he drifts in and out in quarters 1-3 and defers to teammates, in fact this is what has made them successful in the past few years. But he needs to realize that he's Dirk and they're not. He looks out of sync, and out of place. I don't think he's comfortable with this new role/team philosophy.

2) The offense looks horrible without Devin Harris in. There's no rhythym, no flow, no speed to keep up with the top PG's of the league.

3) Once again they get exposed athletically at the 2 guard. They haven't looked right on defense all year. Defense carries you to strong play on the road. They're now 4-6 on the road, with 3 losses to Eastern Conference bottom feeders. That should sound an alarm right there.

4) Josh Howard needs to learn how to score in the 2nd half. This would be ok if Dirk steps up in the 2nd half (like they've been doing for the past 2-3 years), but this year, sleepy Dirk decides to float all game now. It used to be Howard in the 1st half, Dirk in the 2nd. Now the latter is non-existent.

5) I hope this isn't true, but this team's best chance with Dirk in his prime was 04-05 (loss to Phoenix in Conf Semis), 05-06 (lost in Finals), and 06-07 (lost in 1st round). The window of having their superstar be able to lead them to a title may have been shut significantly.

6) They could be the 2000's version of the 90's Seattle Supersonics......

7) Getting bad flashbacks of 03-04, where they had a lot of weapons on offense and Dirk didn't shoot as much, wasn't aggressive, the team played horrible on the road, the defense was terrible, and San Antonio dominated them.



- Without Tim Duncan, against a team they usually can take care of, they still lose. Pitiful. Dallas-Ex Marc the troll Stein bangs it home about Dirk.

Why Dirk Needs To Shoot More

By Marc Stein
ESPN.com

SAN ANTONIO -- After giving the home team what he and Tim Duncan normally supply offensively, Manu Ginobili felt helpless when the ball found Dirk Nowitzki in the corner.

"I was holding my breath," Ginobili said. "Definitely."

As for the Dallas perspective …

"I was running back to the locker room," Jason Terry said. "I bet nine times out of 10 he's going to make that shot."

The reaction on both sides of the biggest rivalry in Texas was grand surprise Wednesday night. Nowitzki was presented with a great look on a game-winning triple at the buzzer and somehow managed to leave it short, preserving a gutsy (and chippy) 97-95 victory for the home team at the AT&T Center, with Duncan watching it all in a blazer and jeans.

Truth is, though, that there were bigger surprises in this one. Much bigger.

Exhibit A: Nowitzki had only 11 field-goal attempts and just four in the fourth quarter, or one less than Mavs newcomer Brandon Bass.

Exhibit B: Mavs coach Avery Johnson volunteered almost immediately in his post-game remarks that Nowitzki was the second option on the play, behind Josh Howard.

Wait a second.

Second option?

Nowitzki's sluggish start has consumed almost one-fourth of the season and finds him connecting on just 27.3 percent of his 3-point attempts, which doesn't seem possible for a shooter of his pedigree, someone who just posted three straight seasons in the .400 Club from deep. So current form tells us that the miss wasn't all that surprising, especially since Nowitzki missed a similar 3 at the end of regulation that could have beaten New Orleans as recently as Saturday night.

The reigning MVP can't duck blame here. Since his first-round nightmare against Golden State, Nowitzki is seeing more double-teams and traps from the baseline and swarms from smaller defenders. But he's been too passive at times in response. And he knows it.

"I'm still trying to figure it out," he said.

However …

As a frequent Mavs observer, I'd say it's time for Johnson to rethink his equal-opportunity offense and start giving Nowitzki more touches. Keep trying to hold his minutes down, yes, but ask him to be even more involved than usual when he's out there. One obvious way to help Nowitzki shake this malaise is to force feed him out of it by calling more plays for him.

Calling the game's biggest play for Nowitzki, at the very least, would be a good start.

"He's still climbing up the mountain right now," Johnson said. "He's going to get it going. And once he gets it going, we know what he can do."

History says so, too. It's difficult to envision Nowitzki's percentage on 3s staying anywhere close to where it's been, since he's only the sweetest shooting 7-footer of all-time.

But it's worth noting that this wasn't the first time in the Mavs' 19 games that Bass -- a fantastic free-agent find, don't get me wrong, who supplied 18 points and six boards in 26 productive minutes here -- has been featured for a spell in the fourth quarter. Which should be Nowitzki Time.

You wouldn't have been thrown by anything San Antonio did without Duncan in moving to 16-3. Long before he set up Nowitzki's chance to be the hero with 10 straight points in the final 2:23, Jason Terry felled Tony Parker and Ginobili with hard fouls that enraged the hosts. But Ginobili typically responds to rough stuff better than anyone and did so again, throwing down a memorable dunk in traffic halfway through the third quarter and capping that 16-point period with an uncontested 3 that enraged Johnson. Relinquishing his sixth-man role to start in Duncan's place, Ginobili was so hot in a 23-point second half that the Mavs (12-7) actually ran three defenders at him at one stage, making you wonder how Ginobili was ever a candidate to join Duncan in street clothes because of a sprained finger on his shooting hand.

Yet it's a borderline shocker to hear that Nowitzki -- going for the tie or the win on an inbounds play against their biggest rivals -- was Johnson's second choice. As a matter of confidence, if nothing else.

Isn't it?

"It's a shot that [I've] got to make," Nowitzki said, rapping only himself for botching the finish after he unexpectedly got himself open in the corner by running "the wrong route."

"Hopefully we as a team and I get better from month to month and we'll be there at the end."



- Stars lose.



Dallas Stars can't catch up to Sharks in 3-2 loss


12:08 AM CST on Thursday, December 6, 2007
By CHUCK CARLTON / The Dallas Morning News
ccarlton@dallasnews.com

On the scoreboard, the Stars were always chasing the San Jose Sharks.

It felt that way on the ice, too. And when Joe Thornton saw two plays no one else did, the Stars were trying to explain a 3-2 loss Wednesday in their homecoming from a six-game road trip.

"Our ability to make plays and pass and skate with the puck was really ineffective tonight and below average," Mike Modano said. "We just didn't have much puck possession. It seemed like most of the night we were chasing it around. By the time you get it, you're too tired to do anything with it anyways."

The Sharks outshot the Stars 28-19 and never trailed.

"Five-on-five, we just need to be better and get the pucks out of our zone and into theirs and create opportunities," Stu Barnes said.

The game had significant ramifications on the Pacific Division, more than the standings reflected on first glance.

The Sharks (13-8-4) moved within two points of the Stars despite having played three fewer games.

And the Pacific just got even more competitive. Defending Stanley Cup champion Anaheim got a boost with the announced return of defenseman Scott Niedermayer.

Thornton was the game's unquestioned dominant force and first star, with two assists and the game-winning goal at 11:24 of the third period.

He dumped the puck into the trapezoidal area of the Stars zone where goaltender Marty Turco was not allowed to play the puck.

Milan Michalek won the race to the loose puck and was able to shovel the pass to Thornton, who scored rumbling to the Stars' net.

"He's a rare combination of big and unbelievable skill, great hands, a great shot," Barnes said of Thornton, who has 34 points in 26 games. "A great player and a great game."

The Stars' best chance for a tie came with less than four minutes to play. San Jose's Mike Grier was called for interference – the first Sharks penalty of the game – and Craig Rivet sent the puck over the glass on the penalty-kill for a delay of game.

But even with a two-man advantage for 47 seconds, the Stars were able to get the tying score against San Jose goaltender Evgeni Nabokov.

"We had a couple of point-blank chances on the 5-on-3 and couldn't convert, which was certainly frustrating," Stars coach Dave Tippett said.

Modano, whose goal had given the Stars a tie earlier in the third period, suggested the timing was bad. The ice was beat up and snowy late, Modano said, making it difficult to set up a perfect play on the two-man advantage.

The Sharks had gotten the game's first five power plays, scoring when Jonathan Cheechoo's pass deflected off Stars defenseman Nicklas Grossman for the game's first goal.



- The theme of kick ass off-seasons continues for the Rangers. You gotta love the commitment to winning. This guy will sell some tickets and be worth at least 10 wins.



Texas Rangers acquire infielder Shelton from Tigers

01:19 AM CST on Thursday, December 6, 2007
By EVAN GRANT / The Dallas Morning News
egrant@dallasnews.com

NASHVILLE, Tenn. – If the Rangers' management team and expeditionary force can find their way out of the cavernous labyrinth known as the Gaylord Opryland Resort today, the winter meetings will officially end.

At least, the club will have a little something to show for the month it spent in Nashville the last three days. On Wednesday night, the team completed a trade with Detroit that sent bypassed outfielder Freddy Guzman to the Tigers for one-time Rangers killer Chris Shelton.

Hey, we said it was a little something.

Shelton, 27, has not played in the majors since being sent down in July 2006. He began that season with 10 home runs and a .326 average in April. It included a series in which he went 8-for-15 against the Rangers with three homers and seven RBIs.

In Triple-A Toledo last season, he hit .269 with 14 homers and 65 RBIs

Shelton could give the Rangers some right-handed-hitting depth at first base and in the outfield. The club is looking at three left-handed options at first base: Frank Catalanotto and free agents Sean Casey and Mike Lamb.

And unless something happens in the waning moments of the meetings, Shelton will represent the entirety of the Rangers' Nashville haul.

Oh, the club has "kicked the tires" on lots of situations. But all they have to show for the tire kicking is sore toes and a lot of clarity. So they have that going for them.

"We said that this was probably not going to be our year to make a big, splashy kind of move," general manager Jon Daniels said. "We're realistic about our situation.

"We've gotten a lot more information and flushed out some options, gotten some clarity of cost and gotten a realistic sense of what it would take to make some deals," Daniels said. "I'm not optimistic [about other moves]."

The Rangers have had ongoing dialogue with agent Larry Reynolds, who represents reliever LaTroy Hawkins, and they were supposed to meet with Eric Gagne's agent, Scott Boras, Wednesday night.

Daniels acknowledged interest in signing more than one reliever to add to what could be a very crowded bullpen. C.J. Wilson, Joaquin Benoit, Frank Francisco and Akinori Otsuka all seem to have spots if healthy. There will be at least one lefty, probably John Rheinecker. Signing Hawkins and Gagne would leave little room for Kameron Loe, Wes Littleton and Scott Feldman. It would also probably mean not bringing back long reliever Jamey Wright.

The club has also held internal discussions about outfield options Corey Patterson and Milton Bradley. The Rangers were expected to discuss Patterson in more depth with Boras on Wednesday. The Rangers are awaiting a clearer medical picture on Bradley, who is recovering from knee surgery, before proceeding on him.

"I'd be very comfortable with Milton Bradley," manager Ron Washington said. "If he becomes available to us, I'd certainly like to have him."

Other expeditions have not progressed much. For the second time in two weeks, the Rangers explored getting involved in the race for Johan Santana, but that went nowhere. The Rangers are not interested in pitcher Mark Prior. They have apparently turned away from veteran free-agent center fielders who might require more than a one-year commitment, such as Mike Cameron and Aaron Rowand. They found the asking price too high – in terms of young starting pitching – to make a serious play for a younger center fielder.

They've fielded some calls about Kevin Millwood and Vicente Padilla, but they are not interested in straight salary dump trades right now.

In Nashville, the Rangers got Shelton and clarity. So, they've got that going for them.




- Rhyner's not dead, he's alive and well singing for Petty Theft.



Dallas Talk Radio Drums Up Local Music Support

By Merritt Martin
Published: December 6, 2007

When I was 21, I had an apartment a half-block and one possible mugging away from Greenville Avenue. Social calendars wrapped around live music and, on shitty show nights like Mondays, drink specials. There was maybe—and I stress maybe—one night a week our social activities team, Quick Like Bunny (I'm so not lying, and I have the shirt to prove it), was not out spending hard-earned cash at the bar and merch booths. Back then, I could drink today's me under the table, smoke a pack and do it all again the next day. I learned that vodka doesn't leave trace stench like gin and earplugs are God's gift to music lovers.

It's different now. I've gotten older. I finally learned how to download music. TiVo has become a member of my household and the livers of QLB just aren't functioning at the rate they once were. We've grown up and slowed down.

But we haven't stopped. Thing is, I notice that while my circle of music fans has naturally slowed down with age and added responsibilities, music audiences in general also have gotten smaller. There are a few must-see/must-hear bands for everyone, but unless there's something like a charity tie-in or a local celeb to meet, people just don't seem as excited about music. That is, unless someone they trust tells them to be.

MySpace, blogs and, hell, papers like this one give readers on the low end of the age bracket their low-down. But I've found we aging hipsters find guidance on the radio. Sounds obvious enough, but I'm not talking about music formats. It's all talk.

Dedicated listeners of shows such as The Hardline and The Russ Martin Show get their daily dose of info from these beloved sources. Along the way, they get tips on what to listen to and—even if it means going to see a cover band—what to do come day's end.

Russ Martin, the head honcho of The Russ Martin Show on KLLI-105.3 FM, avoids taking any credit for influencing his listeners' entertainment choices (a surprise to those who are familiar with his slightly egotistical shtick). "As much as radio people think they are the vanguard of entertainment and music, for the most part, we're just background noise," he says.

Still, his listeners flock to see the Russ Martin Show Band (they benefit the Russ Martin Show Listeners Foundation, supporting the families of fallen police and firefighters). Their free Christmas show is Friday at House of Blues, and based on past RMSB events, it will be packed tighter than the Double Wide and Granada put together. Fans want to see their local celebs in action and will come out for a good cause. The band could be crap or absolutely stellar, but there's added excitement. It's not just a basic local show.

Mike Rhyner, from KTCK-1310 AM The Ticket's weekday drive time show The Hardline, is the lead member of Tom Petty cover band Petty Theft, which enjoyed a packed house at Sullivan's Steakhouse last Saturday night. The audience was a mix of McMansion-ed restaurant patrons (doing the patented housewife side-to-side during "American Girl") and Ticket P1s there to see Rhyner rock out. More important, though, is that listeners, who at one time would have chosen a Deep Ellum every-band over any cover band, were in a Tollway steakhouse to worship at the altar. A dozen guitars, two keyboards, pleated pants and leather vest accompanied their radio king, the Old Gray Wolf.

"We're just some old guys trying to have fun before we get put on the short bus," Rhyner says. "I think a goodly amount of people who come see the band are people who also listen to the radio station and listen to this show. And we have played a few show events, or a few radio station events, and I think that some of the people there who probably wouldn't be inclined to come see us became inclined to come see us elsewhere, after having seen us there. It's a nice dovetail."

The Hardline does more for local music than plug two or three Petty Theft shows each month. It provides music samples, info about local shows, general music news and even the occasional music history lesson during what has morphed from sports talk into all-out pop culture talk. "We do E-News every day. We do community quick hits every day. We do 'What's on Mike's Mind' every day. Any one of those things could turn toward [music]," Rhyner says. "About once every week or two we do new music...Whenever the other boys on the show are getting curious about a band from back in the day, they'll tell me to put together a 'What's the Deal With So-and-So.' We'll play some of their music, and I'll talk about what they did back in the day and what they meant back in the day, all that stuff."

Anyone who listens to The Hardline knows producer Danny Balis (bassist for local darlings Sorta) is the self-deprecating element of the show, and he hates it when the other guys talk about his band. "It's unfair to hundreds of other bands out there that don't have a media forum to shamelessly promote their stuff," Balis says. "I'm more interested in helping other artists than shoving my stupid crap down listeners' throats." Though he says he thinks The Hardline plays more new music than most music stations, Balis won't take undue credit for affecting show turnout.

"Just because we say it's good or suggest that people should attend a show, I think it might translate to a couple of new attendees, if any," Balis says. "Now, if we have some audio to play of a band, and they're good, it will be heard by 100,000-plus people. When we debuted the Redwalls and Midlake, the response was overwhelming. But, if you suck, you suck, and no matter what we say, people ain't coming out." Fair enough.

Rhyner agrees that while the show exposes new music, motivating listeners to get out to clubs requires more than a good play list. It's hard to persuade someone who would be just as happy listening to recorded music to see a show. "You gotta get off your ass to go, and you don't really have to get off your ass and get out of your pajamas or whatever to download something," he says. "And sometimes when you're out, you might think about something you heard us talk about, and you might wheel into Best Buy or wherever and buy the thing. But going to a show, as you well know, is an entirely different and more complicated proposition.

"I think that people base their willingness to go to shows on 30-second clips of a song they hear on iTunes rather than actually being adventurous and checking bands out sight unseen. Basically, people are fucking lazy," Balis says. "Me included."

That's truer and sadder than more of us would care to admit. But what comes first? The live experience or the download? How do you get people excited enough to get off their asses and go to a show and revive that grit we all had just a few years ago? Guilt everyone by tying every show to a charity event? Have a local celeb like Martin or Rhyner in every band? It's not possible.

Non-music shows like the Ticket's The Hardline and Dunham & Miller and Live 105's Russ Martin Show are the event guides to P1s who don't listen to music radio. And they may not think they make a big dent in suggesting and discussing goings-on in Dallas, but they do if just one more person shows up, even to a cover band's show. Because, schlock or not, going out to shows is addictive. And that's not a bad thing.

I'll just have to make sure my downloads are finished before I head out.




- Follow up to the D-Bag column in the Observer.



Douchebags in the Follow-Up Blog Item

Thu Dec 06, 2007 at 12:00:47 PM

I have so thoroughly enjoyed the barrage of mail and comments received about my $30,000 millionaire expose in last week's paper version of Unfair Park. Even (or especially) the part when a guy wrote in calling me a "jaded, man-hating cunt." I just wish he hadn't held back, you know? Oh, well. I needed a catchy name for my next blog, anyway.

The best part was hearing the first-person accounts of homo sapiens douchebagus interactions from across North Texas. You, brave readers, are to be commended for your courage and valor in dealing with douchebagus, who, as we all know, can be a difficult creature. But in reading these letters, I have gained a fair amount of sympathy (or maybe, empathy) for the $30k millionaire, which perhaps I didn't express enough of in the article. Are we not all victims of a consumeristic, materialistic society of judgmental pricks, striving to cover ourselves in whatever pre-packaged façade we find most appealing? If anybody wants to write 5,000 words on narcissistic functional alcoholic wannabe-hipster writers with inferiority complexes who still haven't gotten over the fact that they weren't even C-list popular in high school, I can totally hook you up with a good lead.

Nevertheless, I've hand-picked a few of the very best first-person accounts to post here that we may all further our education with regard to douchebagus. Knowledge is power, people.

Let's blow our load right up top with a letter from Eric in Dallas. Eric sent in this gem about his (good?) friend: "He is a real-life, text-book example of a $30,000 millionaire. Upon graduation from college, my friend moved to Dallas but was essentially unemployed for the better part of a year. He now has a job cold-calling unfortunate individuals who are about to default on their home mortgages and trying to get them to refinance. I do not know his exact salary but I estimate it is in the low $30s."

Eric's friend then "bought a $3,000 home-theater system that takes up most of the square footage in his small living room." As for nightlife, "He enjoys going out on weeknights, always dressed in designer jeans, shiny leather loafers, with a sports coat over a form-fitting t-shirt. He wears copious amounts of gel in his hair. His pride and joy is his 2008 GMC Yukon (leased), topped off with 22 inch rims." Eric was once told by his friend, "'Only 2 other people in Dallas have these rims, Tony Romo and one of the Dallas Stars”

But, according to Eric, "what really makes this guy a true $30K millionaire is the fact that he doesn’t know he is a $30K millionaire. He honestly thinks this is just how people live, from pay check to pay check, with no money in the bank, just paying the minimum every month on his credit cards. His goal is, of course, to have sex with women, preferably attractive ones." Unfortunately for Eric's friend, it seems "the market is flooded with $30K millionaires … he was depressed on account that he hadn’t been laid in 3 months. That was over 2 months ago and as far as I know, the dry spell continues."

Another of our faithful readers supervises a douchebagus in the workplace: "I have one that works for me that somehow was able to buy a 1000 square-foot townhouse [in Uptown.] Price tag: $325,000 American dollars. Salary: $48,000. He doesn't have any furniture."

And, a true treat from John in Dallas, regarding the sighting of female homo sapiens douchebagus: "I was having dinner at the bar in Primo's when this girl flashing her iPhone like a diamond asked about the George Saunders book I was reading. After I described a bit about it, she asked me what 'products' it made me want to buy. As you can imagine, this was about the most nonsensical comment I'd ever heard directed toward an innocent book of essays in my life. She then asked what time I had to work in the morning, and when I said, '8am,' you might have thought I told her I shop at Walmart or something."

A gentleman named Gabe had a case of mistaken BMW-identity with a douchebagus: "The other night leaving Mantus, at the valet stand, I encountered one of them. My car was brought up, and this budding 30K MM, grabbed his silicone breasted gold digga gf and made a beeline towards my car. I was pretty certain it was my car but he looked so confident walking towards it; I thought maybe I could of been mistaken. He got to my car and looked in and made a disgusted look on his face. t was one of those looks that you get when someone mentions your parents in the act of your conception. I said 'Is this your car or mine?'/ The 30K MM looked at me like I had said something blasphemous and replied, 'Nah, you kidding bro...mine has the Navi.'"

I heard from more than one letter writer about an apartment complex called Austin Ranch in the Colony. Reader Andrew calls Austin Ranch "a nest" for douchebagus and writes, "I used to live there. No joke, there was a guy renting above me (couldn't be paying more than $700 per month) that had two, brand-new cars: a BMW 745i and a Mercedes CLS 550. But, it gets even better: 1) he washed his cars himself, 2) he purchased two extra parking spaces in the garage to ensure his cars' safety, and 3) he parked his cars in the garage like they were on display at a car show."

Andrew had another encounter, "even better than that guy." His story: "The day I moved out, I ran into a $30K millionaire (frosted tips, white pants and sweater, big tinted shades) sitting on a curb outside the UPS store at The Ranch waiting for a cab. He asked for my help. His story was touching: he told me he had spent $500 at Dragonfly the night before on an Austin Ranch 'hottie' and was car-less to get home. He offered me $30 (lest he take a cab) to take him back to, get this, the Budget Inn on I-35. In typical douchebag fashion, he blamed his dire straits on 'the things hot chicks make you do, you know?' I said I don't. Then I got in my Acura TSX, drove away, and never felt so rich."

I would also be doing readers a disservice if I didn't point them in the direction of the scandalous DirtyBigD.com, an entire Web site dedicated to doing the kind of work I embarked on for "Douchebags in the Mist." But this is Douchebags On Your Computer Screen.

Do continue to send in your tips, insults and personal accounts. --Andrea Grimes




- Good ol Dwight, won't find these on CMT


- Great Vegas video here

D-Bag 101

- A fascinating study in Douchebaggery.



$30,000 Millionaires: Douchebags in the Mist

Venturing into the Dallas jungle in search of the elusive $30,000 millionaire: Is he myth or fact?

By Andrea Grimes
Published: November 29, 2007


After weeks of painstaking research and late-night expeditions that had turned up next to nothing, I was finally on the verge of a breakthrough. I found myself standing, nearly motionless, in the dark, warm environment that I'd identified as the native habitat of the creature I'd been trying so hard to track down: Homo sapiens douchebagus, a hard-partying bipedal primate indigenous to Dallas.

Many people know this creature better by its common name: the $30,000 millionaire. The name is derived from their distinctive behavioral pattern of spending more money than they make in an attempt to appear wealthy and desirable. A clever creature, adept at camouflage, Homo sapiens douchebagus is a peculiar species, and evidence of its existence is largely anecdotal. I hoped to capture one in the wild.

Earlier that night, as I approached my target location downtown, I took note of the telltale signs that experts agree indicate a high likelihood of nearby douchebagus populations. First, there was the valet stand advertising an $8 fee. Like the symbiotic relationship between a clown fish and the sea anemone that houses it, a $30,000 millionaire is never far from a valet. I handed over my keys to a black-shirted attendant and immediately spotted the next signal: a velvet rope.

Because a good pair of $200 leather loafers rarely leaves tracks on the sidewalks of Dallas, a velvet rope is usually the surest indication of a $30,000 millionaire's location. I'd arrived early on purpose. Tonight's expedition was more of a stakeout than a hunt, so the long line of club-going hopefuls that every $30,000 millionaire hopes to bypass with a quick "What's up, bro?" to the bouncer had not yet formed.

The black-clad doorman unclipped the velvet rope before me, and I descended into a world of neon blue. This was Mantus, and today was Naked Sunday. In 3.5-inch suede Cole Haan heels, wearing a tiny pair of what a salesgirl had assured me were "winter shorts" and with a head full of painstakingly straightened hair, I had done my best to imitate the target mate of the $30,000 millionaire: trendy, scantily clad, but otherwise unremarkable. No flash, no glow. I would leave that to my quarry.

In the bar, credit cards passed from patron to bartender. Discarded glasses containing half-bitten olives and over-squeezed limes littered the scene. As I forked over $7 for a well whiskey and cola, waves of imminent douchebaggery washed over me. Tonight was my night. I moved toward the back of the room, near the VIP lounge and high-definition televisions.

The bar, an increasingly popular type of Dallas drinking establishment known as an "ultra lounge," filled as the minutes ticked closer to midnight. I sipped my whiskey and sucked in my stomach, smiling slightly. To my surprise, many potential specimens were looking my way. My heart pounded. How close I was to making actual human-to-douchebag contact! Yes, it seemed every guy who came within 10 feet of me took a good, long look. It was like they couldn't help but stare at this fine piece of girl-bait. I sucked up my drink, fast, and tried to look thirsty and vacant.

My oglers fit the profile magnificently. A guy in a white shirt sewn from neckline to hem with superfluous off-white patches glanced over three times. His buddy, in a dark green sport coat and Kenneth Cole sneakers, followed suit. Across the walkway, a dude with a bleached faux-hawk and four silver necklaces gave me the eye. I was on the verge of deciding which one of these guys would be the first to buy me a drink when a flash of pink just a few inches to my left caught my eye. I turned my head and realized, to my horror, that the flash of pink was exactly that.

Less than a foot from my head, on the high-definition television, was a giant, gyrating female organ, freshly waxed: the real object of all those glances I'd thought I'd been getting. Naked Sundays at Mantus are taken literally—soft-core porn played on the screen all night. I abandoned my post immediately and was forced to come up with an emergency plan. Thirsty and vacant could not compete with this broadcast of flesh.

The porn on the wall served as a powerful reminder: The $30,000 millionaire is accustomed to instant gratification. He cannot be expected to work or wait for anything. I would not only have to insinuate myself into his environment, but I would have to offer myself up to him on a (leased) silver platter. But I remained resolute: In the name of overpriced martinis everywhere, Homo sapiens douchebagus would be mine.

Elusive and, some say, mythical, the $30,000 millionaire is a creature of legend among the denizens of Dallas nightlife. Used frequently as a term of derision, the $30,000 millionaire is often referenced but rarely captured because it is a master of camouflage: $30,000 millionaires live above their means, usually with the aid of multiple credit cards and sympathetic family units, spending more money than they make on items such as leased luxury cars, designer clothing and $14 drinks.

Fancying myself an intrepid, if boozy, anthropologist, I tried to find out as much as I could about these beings. My hope: to make this urban legend a reality by observing Homo sapiens douchebagus in its native environment. Dallas, with its low cost of living, plentiful jobs and affinity for the flashier, finer things in life, is the $30,000 millionaire's ideal habitat. Exclusive clubs­—ultra lounges—offering bottle service and supposedly airtight guest lists make it that much easier for the $30,000 millionaire to convince himself he is living large.

Live capture may be rare, but sightings are not uncommon, especially in the areas of North Texas where douchebagus is believed to make its nest, forage for food and search for mates. The anthropologist looking for $30,000 millionaires should begin in Uptown, Knox-Henderson or Addison.

Anecdotal evidence, gathered over 2.5 years of shopping, drinking and partying in Dallas, provided me with a basic sketch of the $30,000 millionaire. The creature is predominantly nocturnal. He is occasionally spotted during daylight hours in close proximity to brunch buffets and build-your-own-Bloody-Mary bars. More intelligent than many experts give him credit for, the $30,000 millionaire is highly social and characterized by easily identifiable plumage: wildly spiked, occasionally faux-hawked and usually frosted hair atop the head. About the torso, look for brand-name adornment in the form of shirts stamped with cheeky slogans or printed with a great deal of over-designed crap. There will be man-jewelry.

Indeed, members of the species douchebagus are overwhelmingly male. This is not a problem, as they have no need to procreate and, in fact, are averse to it. The rare female of the species is closely related to Homo sapiens gold-diggus and can be recognized by her exorbitantly priced footwear and surgical enhancement in the chest and facial regions.

But barroom conjecture and blurry, late-night observations do not a proper study make. I needed an expert, someone who could help me find hard evidence. Luckily enough, the world's foremost authority on all things Homo sapiens douchebagus lives in Dallas. His name is Jay Gormley, and most will recognize him as one of the faces of KTVT-Channel 11's nighttime newscast. Gormley is the writer of an independent film called, appropriately enough, $30,000 Millionaires. No one has spent more time trying to understand Homo sapiens douchebagus.

When I meet Gormley at his pleasant cottage in Southern Dallas, he is hardly the martini-hating, fashion-loathing lunatic with poor hygiene I expected to encounter. When a student travels to the outer reaches of the world—in this case, Oak Cliff—to find her mentor, she hopes to be rewarded with an aged, wizened teacher conducting bizarre rituals with smelly, holistic beverages. To the contrary, the tall, gangly Gormley is an agreeable 41-year-old single guy, and he makes a fine cup of coffee.

Gormley says he identified the $30,000 millionaire immediately upon moving to the city in 1997 as a cub reporter. After living on a shoestring budget in cities such as Los Angeles and Philadelphia, the 32-year-old Gormley was pleased with his reporter's salary in Dallas and ready to start looking into grown-up things like 401(k)s and home ownership. He still went out a couple of nights a week, though, and was shocked by what he found at local bars and clubs.

"I'm noticing people five, six, seven years younger than me," Gormley remembers one morning at his home just south of Kessler Park. But these drinkers weren't at dollar beer night, or five-dollar pitcher night, the way Gormley remembers his 20s. "They were partying at $12 martini night."

Gormley initially thought Dallas was just filled with wealthy young people, but closer inspection brought a revelation. "They were sales managers at J. Crew!" The memories are fresh in Gormley's mind as he throws up his hands, acting out his frustrations: "You dress nicer than me! You drive nicer cars than me! But I think I get a little bit more money from my job!" Gormley is honest about the source of his frustration: "It was out of jealousy."

Gormley channeled that negative energy into writing a screenplay. $30,000 Millionaires is a romantic comedy in the vein of Wedding Crashers and Swingers, about the over-sexed, under-funded escapades of five 20-something Dallasites who live by a mantra Gormley coined: "You fake what you don't make."

The film has yet to be made, but Gormley has secured a distribution deal and had an offers sheet—a preliminary contract for a role—approved by Jon Gries, who played Uncle Rico in Napoleon Dynamite. Today, the movie has become both Gormley's greatest dream and worst nightmare. Initial interest in the film was strong, and it looked like Gormley and his filmmaking partner, John Venable, would be overnight successes in the manner of Matt Damon and Ben Affleck.

The Dallas duo launched the film's Web site, 30kMillionaires.com, on February 1, 2006. By the end of the month, their site had garnered nearly 40,000 hits and e-mails were pouring in from around the country and across the globe. Alongside woeful confessional letters from self-professed $30,000 millionaires, Gormley found e-mails of interest or Web hits from Warner Bros. and Fox's comedy development department. Investors were wrangled. Money was promised. And then, nothing. Bigger projects came up, and $30,000 Millionaires was pushed to the backburner.

Today, the film is in limbo. But passion for the $30,000 millionaire remains strong, evidenced by the continuing popularity of Gormley and Venable's Web site and the e-mails they still receive. If anyone can take credit for popularizing, if not originating, the term "$30,000 millionaire," it's these two.

"After I wrote that script and launched that Web site two years ago, it took off," Gormley says. His knowledge and understanding of these financially challenged creatures is unparalleled. He owns what is probably the world's largest archive of writings collected directly from Homo sapiens douchebagus, amassed in an e-mail folder on his personal computer.

Their words are heartbreaking: "Credit is my middle name," one laments, and "the only girls I can't get are the good ones that see through my façade." Another describes "meeting friends for drinks and watching half of them bail for the bathroom or taking a call when the check comes to the table."

With my notebook poised, I become his dutiful student, drinking in years of close study and accumulated knowledge.

"Dallas is the Los Angeles of the South," Gormley lectures, the kind of place where "we drive everywhere to get anywhere." Unlike Los Angeles, however, "there are only two things to do: dine out and shop." With little local history other than the dubious honor of being the site of the Kennedy assassination, Dallas doesn't have the cultural draw of cities such as Chicago or New York or the geographical features that make Miami and Denver destinations. "There's not a family somewhere sitting around a table, holding hands, saying, 'Honey, it's Dallas or San Francisco for vacation this year, where do you want to go?'" Gormley says. (Naysayers who cite Dallas' art museum and gallery culture in order to contradict Gormley are addressed in $30,000 Millionaires directly: In the deserted arts district, a character says, "you could shoot someone in broad daylight and never spend a day in jail.")

The result is a city full of wannabes. There are enough real moneyed folk—North ranks sixth in the nation in number of millionaires—tooling around in Bentleys and Rolls-Royces to drive the image-obsessed to financial extremes to fit in. The recent openings of luxury hotels such as the W and the Ritz-Carlton only further Dallasites' reputation as connoisseurs of pre-fabricated symbols of wealth. Our culture is no culture, or, our culture is shiny objects.

The No. 1 thing to look out for, Gormley tells me, is the car. "A BMW 3 series." The cheapest luxury lease you could get. "It's always a 3 series."

As I prepare to enter the field, however, Gormley gives me a dark bit of advice: "The guys who are $30,000 millionaires," he warns, "don't know that they're $30,000 millionaires."

I am intrigued and undeterred. Bigfoot may not know he is Bigfoot, but that doesn't mean he won't leave tracks in the woods.

Time: 1:15 a.m. Friday

Location: The W Hotel's Living Room Bar

Research team members: Jay Gormley, John Venable, self

Target: Gormley spots four potential Homo sapiens douchebagus drinking vodka tonics in button-down shirts and whisker-washed jeans

Suspicious behavior: Unnecessary amounts of hair gel.

I approach confidently, unknowingly exuding threatening levels of sass. I peek my head into their circle and muster up all the sugary-sweetness I have. "Hey, guys, can I ask you a question?"

The alpha male, sunglasses perched on his forehead, sizes me up. "What's up, babe?"

"Have you guys ever heard the term '$30,000 millionaire'?"

I watch as the guys catch each others' eyes.

"Yeah, man, they're all over this place!" the one in the striped shirt says.

"This place is packed with them," another assures me, leaning in and assaulting my olfactory nerves with cologne.

"Do you guys know any?" I ask, looking from the loafers to button-down to hair gel on each one.

"No!"

"Nah."

"Uh-uh."

The alpha male simply shakes his head.

Results: Inconclusive. Subjects familiar with species. Possible specimens based on attire, over-application of artificial scent and use of term "babe" for an unfamiliar female. Reluctance to continue conversation could be construed as an admission of guilt or merely as plain dislike for this researcher. Does Homo sapiens douchebagus fear sass?

When Dian Fossey first set up camp in the African wilderness, hoping the surrounding mountain gorillas would eventually become habituated to her presence, she made one key mistake. The first behavior she set out to imitate in an attempt to integrate into the gorilla culture was chest beating. Fossey worked hard to imitate the animals' rhythmic signals by pounding on her own thighs. Eventually, she got it down, but the gorillas didn't warm to her. Finally, the answer came: Chest beating is a sign of alarm, not friendship.

I made a similar mistake, and my faux pas also involved a chest—my own. I wanted something that would introduce the subject of $30,000 millionaires subtly. My first overzealous tracking expedition, to the Ghostbar atop the W and the Living Room Bar on the hotel's main floor, had revealed little other than the fact that the Ghostbar's guest list is still a joke. Unless, that is, your idea of a swanky, exclusive club involves middle-aged women in mom jeans juggling cosmopolitans and Brighton purses, plus a whole lot of dudes in pleated Dockers.

Just as valets and velvet ropes attract Homo sapiens douchebagus, there are certain things guaranteed to repel them. Pleated Dockers and middle-aged women are on this list. What would catch the $30,000 millionaire's attention? What would make him laugh? What would get the conversation started? Why, a sexy tank top with "I $30k Millionaires" splashed across the front, of course. I would turn myself into live bait.

I visited Armhole, the perennially trendy T-shirt boutique in the Mondrian building on Blackburn Street, right in the center of the $30,000 millionaire breeding grounds. In less than an hour, I had both an enlightening conversation with the shop owner and a tight, cheeky tank top.

"We get those types in here sometimes," the tattooed owner told me, as she affixed little yellow letters to my shirt. "They pull up in a Mercedes, walk in and ask for a job application." She laughed. "You drive a Mercedes, but you want a job application?"

It is a fine example of the sad state of $30,000 millionaires' financial affairs. Bottle service at any local ultra lounge starts in the hundreds of dollars for one night of partying. Add that to a car payment—figure at least $300 to lease a low-end BMW—and $650 in rent on the smallest available Uptown or Knox-Henderson studio apartment. Pile on designer clothes, and the expenses go up. You might be able to get away with one or two pairs of $150 jeans, but even shirts from Banana Republic or Diesel, if the $30k-er is slumming it, will run $50 each. And he'll need several.

That's thousands of dollars a month in clothes, booze and flash. The catch: Anyone who can be seen partying five, six or seven nights a week, as Homo sapiens douchebagus is known to do, can't possibly maintain the kind of 9-to-5 job necessary to cover those expenses. How do they do it?

"We're not talking three or four credit cards," debt counselor Bettye Banks tells me, when I go to her to find out how these exorbitant lifestyles are funded. "We're talking five or six credit cards." Banks is the senior vice president for education at Consumer Credit Counseling Service of Greater Dallas, and if anyone can confirm the existence of debt-plagued Homo sapiens douchebagus, it's her.

"They are the reason I have a job," Banks says, a sad smile on her face. Dallas-Fort Worth consistently ranks among the lowest nationally when it comes to credit scores. Experian, a company that tracks credit, estimates DFW's average score to be 667 as of October. The national average is 692. Texas' average, 666, is the lowest in the country. We are maxed out.

Banks calls credit cards "C-4," as in plastic explosive.

"It's that bling-bling attitude" that makes credit cards so tempting and dangerous, she says. "Everything's got to be shiny. That's the millionaire outlook, only on a $30,000-per-year income."

Being a $30,000 millionaire is a high-stress job in itself. Debt collectors call every day, but the pressure to act like you're shitting cash doesn't go away. No wonder these guys can't stop bragging about their cars and their clothes—it's all they have to go on, as I learned when I took my "I $30k Millionaires" shirt out for a spin.

Time: 11:30 p.m. Friday

Location: Wish Ultra Lounge, off Knox-Henderson

Research team members: Two faithful co-workers, self

Target: Blond guy in a faux-hawk and black sport coat

Wish skews younger than other ultra lounges, toward the college set, but this guy is older than most in the crowd.

"Hello, love," he whispers in my ear. I've been left alone with my tank top by my co-workers in hope that I might seem more approachable. He's half-drunk, and his British accent is as faux as his faux-hawk.

"Hi, there," I say, turning to face him. This is Jeremy, and he is behind the white half-wall that separates the plebes from the swanksters with bottle service and booths.

"I've been watching you all night," he says, and I refrain from asking what he thought of the Lean Cuisine I'd eaten for dinner. "You're really hot."

"Thanks." I do a little shoulder-wiggle, wondering how it's possible that this guy isn't (1) staring at my boobs and (2) commenting on the shirt.

"Do you come here often, love?"

"No, it's my first time."

Silence. I'm the one being hit on here, right? This should be where he swoops in with yet another brilliant, clever follow-up line like, "Are your feet tired?"

I force the conversation to plod on. "What brings you here?"

"Birthday party for my friend," he explains. More silence. I ask him what he does for a living.

"Mortgage banking." Riveted as I am by our conversation so far, I'm anxious to get to what I need to know: Is he or isn't he a $30,000 millionaire? I reveal that I'm a journalist, writing about nightlife in Dallas. Is he familiar with the $30k-ers?

"You're really cute."

I thank him for his time and head to the bar.

Results: Not nearly enough game for a $30,000 millionaire. Homo sapiens douchebagus has a nearly unparalleled ability in the field of bullshit.

By the end of the night, I find myself relaxing on an outside futon with a musician and a doctor—Wes and Joe, respectively. Recent Dallas transplants from Memphis and Kansas City who happen to know the club owner, they're miffed by the douchebaggery that surrounds them.

"There's nothing like this in Memphis," Wes says. Joe, the quiet one, nods in agreement. Musicians and doctors make terrible $30,000 millionaires because of the inherently cool nature of their jobs and, for doctors, the fact that saving lives limits the amount of time they have to chug bottles of Grey Goose with Justin Timberlake remixes playing in the background. I enlist their help in drawing out a key behavior of Homo sapiens douchebagus: peacocking.

"Peacocking" is a term popularized by the mondo-douchebag's guide to picking up women, The Game. It means dressing to get the attention of women, but I like to apply it to the douchebag vs. douchebag verbal competition in which each attempts to one-up their opponent by bragging about the expensive things they own. For the birds, it's colorful feathers. For the $30,000 millionaire, it's usually cars.

"Hey, man, what kind of car do you drive?" Wes grabs the elbow of the first guy who walks by.

"Infiniti." Low-end $30k-er. Perfect.

Next, a shocker from a blond guy who doesn't look a day over 19: "Aston Martin," he says, grinning and putting his arms around two bulbous-chested blondes in sweater dresses. I try to look impressed rather than incredulous. "What do you do for a living?"

"Oil and gas," he says, winking. Something tells me that might mean running the grill at Cuba Libre, not closing billion-dollar natural resource deals in South Texas.

Finally, lightning strikes. The fifth or sixth guy who comes by is bursting with pride. "ME?" He yells over the music, knocking over a freshly poured Cape Cod at the same time, "I have four cars! Well, three and a motorcycle." He rattles off the ways he rolls: a starter Lexus and BMW, plus a Nissan 350Z and a crotch rocket. Can't get a loan on a $100,000 Bentley? Get $30,000 loans and go for quantity over quality. How did this guy make his fortune? The trademark vagueness with regard to Homo sapiens douchebagus' employment wins: "I sell computers."

In the end, the only people really attracted by my tank top bait are waitstaff and bartenders, the people who end up suffering when the $30,000 millionaire walks his tab or tips 5 percent.

Wearing the shirt to free sushi happy hour at Steel in Oak Lawn, I get laughs and high-fives from every waiter I pass. "You're in the right place," one whispers. "Look around!" another says, gesturing to the whole bar. Same thing at Cretia's on McKinney. "They never tip," the bartender says.

I was done being honest. Like Dian Fossey and her gorillas, I was never going to get anywhere by causing alarm, so I squeezed myself into a tube dress and parked myself at the end of a posh bar, alone on a Saturday night.

Time: Early Saturday night

Location: Kenichi in Victory Park

Research team members: Self, honoring the great tradition of other women who sit alone at bars, such as drunks and prostitutes

Target: A soft-featured guy with a blue button-down shirt tucked neatly into his slacks; lacks the flash usually evident on Homo sapiens douchebagus, but he's worth a try

I'm drawn in when "John" and his friends order six cherry-something-or-other-hoo-hah shots, the kind of wussy, trendy shooters favored by guys reluctant to fork over $17 for top-shelf tequila when they just need to get drunk enough to talk to a couple of bimbos. But they pay cash—not typical $30k behavior. There is one shot left over. John puts his arm on my chair and pushes the drink toward me.

"Who are you rooting for?" I ask, gesturing toward the television over the bar. Oklahoma's losing to Texas Tech.

"Tech, babe!" he says. "It's my alma mater." I sympathize. As a Longhorn fan, I say, I love to see Oklahoma lose any which way. "Did you go to UT?" he asks. I didn't, I admit. I went to NYU. No football there. But UT's my surrogate team. He rolls his eyes.

"That's lame," he says. What am I doing here all by myself, he wants to know. I'm a writer, I gush. I'm looking for $30,000 millionaires.

"Oh, I used to be one of those guys," he says. "I fucked up my credit bad."

I try to keep myself from jumping off of the barstool and kissing him. A real, live, recovering $30,000 millionaire! Mere inches from me! Just as I am about to ask him about how he came to be the kind of guy who pays with cash instead of Visa, Tech scores. A short, blond sorority-type to John's right cheers.

"GOOOOOO, TECH!" she screams. In no time at all, the only conversation available to me is with the back of John's head. "That's my school!" the girl continues to cheer. Within seconds, he is ushering her out the door, hand on her lower back, and I am left alone.

Results: Pleased with success in identifying former Homo sapiens douchebagus. Important lesson learned. Lose all interesting attributes, become as generic as possible and absolutely do not talk about having a job. These things detract from the $30,000 millionaire's desire to divulge copious amounts of personal information in an attempt to sleep with me.

Finally, with this understanding of what it would take to lock down a $30k-er, I proceeded to my final destination: Mantus and Naked Sundays.

All the elements aligned that Sunday night—valets, velvet ropes and the fact that it was Sunday. Lawyers, doctors, businessmen and anyone else likely to be raking in real millions has to work on Monday morning. Homo sapiens douchebagus' life of never-ending leisure is the ultimate giveaway.

Taking a cue from a favorite Sex and the City episode in which Miranda, the successful lawyer, pretends to be a flight attendant in order to get dates, I keep my story simple. I am new in town. My friends are supposed to meet me soon. Never been to college, and I'm studying to be a hairdresser. Isn't drinking fun? Look at my tiny shorts! Tee-hee!

My cover is almost blown immediately. While I'm standing next to the recently discovered porn screen, planning my next move, a familiar face appears in the crowd. He's several years older than most of the 20-somethings in the room, and he's in the telltale striped button-down shirt and pre-distressed jeans. As he makes his way past me, I narrowly avoid making eye contact.

This man is the founder of a social club called The Beautiful Room, a group of people assembled after their photos are approved by the founder and it is established via a phone interview that they enjoy drinking and bragging about their cars. There is a monthly fee. I wrote about the group last year when I infiltrated their ranks in another immersive field study of local assholery.

If Dallas is the land of douchebags, this man is their king.

To my relief, I don't think he recognizes me. Last time I saw His Highness, my hair was long and red, not short and brunette like it is today. I am terrified because the man knows my true identity, but also overjoyed. Spotting the king is like hitting the Homo sapiens douchebagus jackpot.

Time: Very, very early Monday morning

Location: Mantus; inside, near their wall of white pleather booths

Target: A short, five-o'clock-shadowed guy wearing a T-shirt I estimate at approximately 2.5 times too small. I "accidentally" bump into him while climbing over an ottoman.

"Oh, excuse me!"

"No, babe, it's fine. You're looking good tonight." He smiles and gives me a little "Cheers!" clinking his glass with mine.

"Oh, thanks. I'm waiting on my friends. I've never been here before! This place is really nice!" I babble.

"Oh, it's the only place to be on Sunday. I'm new here too." This is Justin, and he recently made the trek north from Austin. I tell him I was at Kenichi on Saturday, trying to keep the conversation safely in booze-and-bragging territory.

"That place is good," he says. "I know the owner, like, really well. I'm going to go broke eating there!" He laughs a little too hard. "Not really, you know."

"Right," I laugh, a little harder. What brings him up from Austin?

"Software," he says, vaguely. "I sell software."

"Oh, computers are fun!" I offer. What brings me to town? "I'm going to be a hairdresser. Hair school." He grins, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"You know what would be a sexy date? You give me a haircut, and we'll share a bottle of wine."

"Wouldn't that be a dangerous date?" I ask. I don't mention the fact that his receding hairline didn't leave much cutting to be done.

Before I can determine if we're going back to his place or mine—$30k-ers almost always insist on the girl's place—King Douche appears right over Justin's shoulder as if he's about to interrupt our conversation.

"Well, it was nice to meet you. I'm going to have a cigarette!" I squeal and head for the patio.

Results: High likelihood of Homo sapiens douchebagus, considering his apparent friendly relationship with Douche Vader, vague "software" reference and name-drop of the Kenichi owner.

I flee potential outing by the Czar of Assholery by chain-smoking Camels in Mantus' underground porch. My feet are aching, and I've got a case of the caffeine jitters courtesy of four Diet Cokes. A drunk guy named Juan tries to woo me after I ask him for a light.

"I saw you over by the porn earlier," he says. A veritable Don Juan, indeed! We talk for a few minutes, and he tells me he's a medical student. "Probably surgery. Something like that." He's too far gone to be milked for $30,000 millionaire info, though he's a likely candidate.

"What's your name again?" he asks, flipping open his phone to take down my number. Seconds after I take leave of him, a guy in a loud, purplish button-down shirt asks me for a cigarette. This one "used to be a jewelry designer." Today, he sells furniture. He's got the day off tomorrow, he mentions. Nothing to do tomorrow morning. Nowhere to be. Hint, hint, hint. I stop caring if he's a $30,000 millionaire or just a garden-variety douchebag. I stomp out my smoke in mid-cig and make for the valet stand. It's almost 2 a.m.

While I'm waiting for the valet to bring my car, I reflect on all the field interviews conducted over the past several weeks. Taken together, these guys equal just about one stereotypical $30,000 millionaire, but I never managed to turn up the total package in one guy. Dismayed, I shift back and forth on my heels and try to calm my aching head—until fate gives me one last wink.

The couple in front of me—a guy in a white button-down and loafers, girl in a sexy top and jeans—walk toward a black sedan as the valet pulls up. It is a BMW. The valet climbs out of the driver's seat, and the guy gives her a nod and a set of finger-guns.

As they speed away, I catch the silver lettering on the back of the car: 328i. Bigfoot disappears into the brush.




- This can't be true, this seems way too made up, but apparently it happened.....has Craig Kilborn really sunk this low?



November 22, 2007

Gin-Soaked Craig Kilborn Shows Up Broke, Homeless At SportsCenter Studio

BRISTOL, CT—Craig Kilborn, the former host of The Late Late Show With Craig Kilborn, actor from the film The Benchwarmers, and SportsCenter anchor from 1993 to 1997, was spotted at 5:30 a.m. this morning broke, homeless, and passed out in front of ESPN's SportsCenter studios.

According to ESPN sources, Kilborn appeared even thinner and more frail than usual, reeked of cigarette smoke and gin, and his clothes—a moth-eaten dark suit that may have been the same one he wore in his last-ever SportsCenter appearance—were in tatters. Kilborn was reportedly only wearing one shoe at the time of his discovery.

Onlookers stated that, upon being woken up from his drunken stupor, the still-inebriated Kilborn asked to be shown to his "regular dressing room." The gangly, 6'5" former anchor then eluded security for long enough to stumble down the studio halls and blurt out random catchphrases from his broadcasting days at SportsCenter, including but not limited to "Gettin' giddy in the zone," "If it feels good, do it," and "The low angle spank!"

"Craiggers is back, people," said Kilborn, whose signature gelled blond hair was described in a later police report as dank and lice-ridden. "Nothing to be afraid of, folks. This is just Kilby simply being Kilby. Release. Rotation. Splash."

Kilborn then regurgitated in a nearby garbage can.

"Da da da—Da da da," an increasingly aggressive Kilborn audibly hummed in a mocking tone, mimicking the final six notes of SportsCenter's theme song while still hovering over the trash receptacle. "I'm Craig Kilborn. He's Dan Patrick. Welcome to the feel-good edition of SportsCenter. Unless you're me, and you feel like complete shit because your whole life is nothing but a goddamn joke."

"Jumanji!" he added, scaring a nearby production assistant.

Kilborn, who had moved to Los Angeles before apparently going bankrupt, losing his home, and becoming a vagrant, would not comment as to how he ended up in Bristol, CT, but police sources said they later found a Mercedes registered to Kilborn's older sister broken down on the side of nearby I-95. The vehicle had clearly been lived in for weeks, possibly even months.

"Craig looked, sounded, and smelled awful," said former colleague Kenny Mayne, who spent half an hour attempting to talk Kilborn out of his makeup chair. "But then again, as a broke, homeless man, that's his job."

Though Kilborn did not harm anyone and was treated with respect by current employees during his unannounced visit to his former employer, his mood shifted noticeably when he saw a framed picture of former ESPN anchor Keith Olbermann.

"Keith!" Kilborn said as he opened doors to the sound, graphics, and editing bays. "Come out, you son-of-a-bitch. I know you're in here somewhere. I just want to talk to you for a second. I got your daily dose of Did You Know right here!"

Olbermann was at MSNBC studios in Secaucus, NJ at the time.

After ransacking sportscaster Stuart Scott's dressing room, urinating on his own shoes, and emerging with a tie knotted around his bare, sweaty neck, Kilborn proceeded to interrupt the 6 a.m. broadcast of SportsCenter by forcibly removing anchor Scott Van Pelt, whom Kilborn referred to as a "wannabe," from his chair.

Kilborn then repeatedly attempted to kiss former colleague Linda Cohn.

"Miss me, baby?" Kilborn said while unsuccessfully trying to suppress a fit of belching. "I gotta say, I'm—I'm—I'm proud of ya, Linda. Longevity, people. This woman just drips longevity. Drips. Linda Cohn, everyone!"

Added Kilborn: "Stick around, folks. I've got five questions with Linda coming up right after the break. Maybe this time she'll say 'yes.'"

Kilborn then burst into tears, collapsed, and was eventually escorted out of ESPN headquarters. According to employees, Kilborn mumbled underneath his breath that he was starving and would be "dropping by" The Daily Show studios, hopefully before they took down the staff's free lunch buffet.

"They still do that there, right?" Kilborn asked.




- Spuuuuuuuuuuuurs tonight.



Dallas Mavericks know Duncan can dominate without big stats

Spurs' star has a role envisioned for Nowitzki

01:38 AM CST on Wednesday, December 5, 2007
By EDDIE SEFKO / The Dallas Morning News
esefko@dallasnews.com

SAN ANTONIO – The next step in the evolution of Dirk Nowitzki – apart from that little detail of winning a championship – is taking place in San Antonio.

As always, the Spurs are a step ahead, which would be fine if the Mavericks were certain they would duplicate all the stops on the four-time champs' journey.

But there are no certainties in the sporting world, except for the fact that Tim Duncan will not play tonight, which renders the Mavericks' visit to AT&T Center a lose-lose situation.

Lose, and it looks really bad that they can't beat the Spurs without Duncan.

Win, and it's hollow, though they don't qualify such things in the standings.

Duncan, however, is neither the Spurs' leading scorer, nor their second-best. That would be Tony Parker and Manu Ginobili.

At 17.6 points per game, Duncan is averaging a career low. His 8.9 rebounds per game is by far a career low.

Yet nobody in basketball views the 7-footer as anything less than the center of the Spurs' universe.

So what it's come to is that Duncan is so great now that he doesn't have to be great. He is such a focus of the defense that Ginobili and Parker and Brent Barry can run loose and just sort of fall into huge games.

"Is it 17?" Mavericks coach Avery Johnson said, wondering about Duncan's scoring average. "It seems like 27 because even when he's not scoring, Ginobili is having his career year off the bench. And Parker has turned out to be the MVP of the Finals.

"Even though he's not averaging the numbers, it still feels like he's getting 27 and 15 every night because he draws so much attention."

If that attention did not come Duncan's way, there's little doubt that numbers would be back up in the stratosphere.

It's no coincidence the Spurs have tied the best start in franchise history (15-3) while Duncan is putting up relatively modest numbers.

"He demands the double-team," Mavericks guard Devin Harris said, "and that gets guys open shots. That means more shots for their No. 1 and No. 2 scorers. Those guys can be more aggressive, and they go from a team that runs everything through the post to a team that is perimeter-oriented and can space the floor."

Which brings us to Nowitzki, who without question is a different type of player than Duncan. But Johnson envisions Nowitzki in a similar role someday, maybe sooner than later. Nowitzki already might be morphing into it. Unlike Duncan, he's the Mavericks' leading scorer, but not by much. He's averaging 21.2 points per game, while Josh Howard is at 21.0.

If those numbers hold through the season it will be Nowitzki's lowest scoring average since his second season.

He's OK with that, at least in part because he's seen what San Antonio has done with Duncan using everything but points to make the Spurs effective.

"Everybody's double-teaming him and he's making them even better," Nowitzki said. "His presence – and we all know he's one of the best defenders – but his presence on the court is unbelievable. He's still one of the most dominant low-post players in the game.

"We all know this league is too good these days that you can win by yourself. You've got to have a great group of guys who can take over games. One guy is not going to get it done. If you want to win the championship, you've got to be solid defensively, and on offense, you've got to know how to attack from a lot of angles. You've got to have a little bit of everything to make the defense pay. Overall, that's what we've been working on over the last couple years."

What Nowitzki doesn't want is to ignore his offense for long stretches, then to have to come up with big plays at crunch time. He doesn't want to stand by, getting everybody else involved, then have to make back-to-back 3-pointers with the game on the line.

He shouldn't have to. But Duncan's aura, which has made the Spurs so successful, is proof that even superstars don't have to put up monster numbers to be the anchors of their teams.




- The Co-GM's of the Pacific leading Stars.



Dallas Stars' co-GMs are NHL's odd couple

12:56 AM CST on Wednesday, December 5, 2007
By MIKE HEIKA / The Dallas Morning News
mheika@dallasnews.com

The puck sped into the goal, and Brett Hull immediately leapt out of his seat up in the press box.

He cheered. He pumped a fist. He punched fellow Stars general manager Les Jackson in the shoulder.

That didn't prevent Jackson, hunched over his notebook, from continuing to scribble notes about the preceding play.

Hull smiled while recalling those events, then stated the obvious: "We are about as different as you can get."

The yin and yang that Stars owner Tom Hicks chose three weeks ago to replace Doug Armstrong, on at least an interim basis, are settling in for this curious two-on-one. Co-general managers are rare in big-league sports and never before seen in the NHL.

"If I had two guys who shared the same thoughts, well, why not just let one of them run the team?" Hicks said. "If you're drawing it up on paper, this is exactly what you want."

Jackson has moved into Armstrong's old office, filling it with piles of scouting reports and other research material. Hull, touted by the Stars last season as the "ambassador of fun," has inherited Jackson's old digs and confesses he prefers to roam the halls and pester people doing "real work."

"We knew there were going to be issues, and we had our own concerns," Jackson said, "so we have gone about addressing each issue."

Jackson handles most of the traditional duties of a GM while Hull spends more time with the players and observing his cohort in action. Jackson is the point man on communications with other teams, which the team even formally stated in a league-wide communiqué to avoid confusion.

Every conversation is then relayed to Hull. Sometimes, he can't help but listen in ... and gesture wildly on occasion while Jackson takes a call.

"He's usually asking the same questions I would have asked anyway," Hull said.


Different paths
Hull is second-generation hockey royalty who followed his famed father – Bobby Hull, the "Golden Jet" – as an NHL most valuable player and Stanley Cup winner. Jackson was drafted by a Stanley Cup champion, stopped playing after only a few seasons in the minors and has learned the ins and outs of front-office work since the mid-1980s.

Hull, 43, has interacted with great hockey minds such as Scotty Bowman and Wayne Gretzky and clashed with great coaches such as Mike Keenan and Ken Hitchcock while climbing to No. 3 in career goals when he retired in 2005.

Hull fires opinions like slap shots, which is why NBC tried to mold him into a hockey version of TNT basketball analyst Charles Barkley. He's blunt even with himself. When asked how prepared he was for this mission, beginning the season as "special advisor, hockey operations," he said, "The intricate details of the daily job? I know zero."

Jackson, 54, was a gritty young winger drafted by Boston in 1972. He bounced around the minor leagues for a few years and stayed in the game in the front office of Canadian major junior hockey.

That led to a job as assistant coach with the Minnesota North Stars in 1985 and a 20-year career with the organization that came to Dallas in 1993. He is methodical and craves information.

From these opposite directions, Hull says they share one philosophy on how to build the Stars.

"We want a team that can score, that has young legs, that can play defense," Hull said. "But mostly we want a team that is a team. We are very concerned about building the chemistry it takes to make a team win."


Distinct perspectives
Both say they have been shaped by the battle to succeed in the NHL.

While Hull has tremendous genes and a knack for doing the right thing on the ice, he was hardly handed a hockey career. He left the game at 16 because it was no longer fun and worked his way back as an out-of-shape teenager battling through Junior A hockey and college play. Jackson sought his niche when he saw an early end to his playing career.

"Les understands the game at so many different levels," said Craig Button, the former Calgary general manager who worked with Jackson for seven years with the Stars. "He worked his way up. He put in the hours. He has put in the miles."

Jackson said the diverse training has been good for him. He said he enjoyed assembling a junior hockey team, struggled when coaching because he sought immediate results and came to enjoy the pace of scouting.

"My strength is assessing talent, and I do believe that is the main challenge of this job," Jackson said. "I have been studying the players in this league for a long time, and I believe I have a pretty good read on them.

"That said, you can only learn so much about a guy from watching in the stands, and I think that's where Brett comes in. A lot of the guys who are out there, he has played with or against."

Hull admits to being supremely confident on hockey matters but recognizes he doesn't have all the answers.

"To have played with good teams, with great teams ... with bad teams ... to understand the difference between a great team and a good team, that's invaluable," he said. "To understand what a great GM does – the way they create atmosphere, the way they treat the players, the way they just make things conducive to winning – you can't ask for any more than that."


Perfect complements
Stars icon Mike Modano is one of Hull's close friends and said Jackson should benefit from Hull's ability to process information and challenge old views.

"As much as Brett has strong opinions, he loves debating things and finding different points of view," Modano said.

Hull said Jackson is the perfect complement to his sometimes knee-jerk style.

"I always seem to go to the extreme, and he's very calculated. He softens the hard edges of my thoughts," Hull said. "The thing about me is I want to go in there and I want to do something right now, and Les is so much more calm. He comes in and assesses everything and says, 'What do we have? How can we get to where we want to go?' It's not just making a change to make a change."

Jackson also has been able to help shape another of Hull's trademarks – his lifelong negativity. Because of the confidence in his opinions, Hull has often been critical of players, coaches, managers, television executives, uniform designers, reporters and even a few world leaders. That's why NBC sought to make him a lightning-rod analyst before both sides decided last spring to go in different directions.

"It really is tough for me to be positive sometimes, because I just want people to do things the right way," Hull said.

Former Stars coach Hitchcock is among those who have weathered Hull's wrath. He said he understands it and sees how the team can channel it.

"Non-smart people frustrate Brett, because he sees the game at a different level," said Hitchcock, who is coaching the Columbus Blue Jackets. "He can tell in 10 minutes whether a guy can work with other people, whether he can sync with his teammates. Very few people can do that.

"As a general manager, he's going to be able to find people who maybe don't fit someplace else but they fit with how he wants the game played."

Said Hull: "I really have learned a lot from Les, dating back to the first day I came here," to work in the front office last season.


Staying positive

While scouting, Jackson developed a philosophy of always seeking the positive.

"I found so often that when a scout went out and looked at a player, all he would tell me is what the guy couldn't do," he said. "So I decided early on that every scout had to find something positive about a player. Tell me what he can do. Tell me what we can build on, and tell if it's possible to make that player better."

That vibe could be a key to this setup. Some of Armstrong's decisions, including taking the captaincy from Modano before last season, led to hard feelings among the players. Jackson said part of the reason he and Hull have the job is simply for a fresh start.

"It's a tough position, and it requires tough decisions. And anyone is going to have a history," Jackson said. "One of the things we want to do is be sure to look at every decision and do everything we can to make the players or coaches understand what's happening."

Can a positive-thinking hockey insider who knows the back roads from Manitoba to Finland mesh with a loud-mouthed, uber-critical superstar?

"The results will obviously speak for themselves; that's the way it is in sports," Hicks said. "But I don't think this is as unusual as everyone seems to think it is. You have two great minds with two great points of view, and we feel we're going to get a very unique perspective out of this position."

LES JACKSON
Favorite road city: Vancouver

Boyhood hero: I didn't really have one. I loved the Maple Leafs growing up

Favorite subject in school: Social Studies

Golf handicap: I don't think they keep them that high

Favorite musical artist: John Mellencamp

First job: Working for highway department


BRETT HULL
Favorite road city: Chicago

Boyhood hero: Watching my dad as a kid was something that was really special

Favorite subject in school: I hated every part of school

Golf handicap: 0

Favorite musical artist: Neil Young and Bob Dylan

First job: Bag boy at a grocery store


San Jose Sharks at Stars, 7:30 p.m. today (FSNSW; WBAP-AM 820)




- Jerry, please sign this guy for whatever he wants. Could you imagine him on the other side of TO Owens, with Witten, and a healthy Terry Glenn? Possibly the best receiving corps ever?



Williams, Jones likely to leave after next season

Tuesday, December 04, 2007By Tom Kowalski

ALLEN PARK -- Neither player will say it publicly, but two of Detroits best offensive players -- receiver Roy Williams and running back Kevin Jones -- are counting the days until they can leave Detroit.

While the losing seasons have taken their toll on the two players, there are other reasons why they want to leave the Lions organization and their motives arent exactly the same.

Williams and Jones, who were both first-round draft picks in 2004, will become unrestricted free agents after next season and sources close to the players say theyve had enough and want out.

Williams, who could miss the final four games of the regular season with a knee sprain, is averaging almost three yards less per catch than he did last season his 16.0-yard average in 2006 is down to 13.3 yards this year.

At one time, Williams embraced the teaching of coordinator Mike Martz and even endured his sometimes abrasive coaching style, but that situation has changed. Williams has offered thinly veiled criticisms recently of Detroits offensive game plan and his role in it.Still, the overriding factor for Williams is that he simply wants to go home or get closer to it.

The one thing you learn about Williams very quickly is that he loves Texas and would love to return to his home state. Williams is a Texas guy and mentions it in nearly every interview and flies back to his home in Odessa to see his young child every chance he gets. If the Lions get two consecutive days off, Williams bolts for Texas. Theres absolutely nothing wrong with that, but it shows where his heart is.

Last week, Williams brought up his contract situation out of the blue and said he didnt know what his future holds. Williams quickly added that every player wants to stay with the team that originally drafted him but added Its hard to do now with free agency.

The situation with Jones is a little different because his entire motivation for leaving is centered on his diminished role in the offense. Jones has become a non-factor with the Lions; hes carried the ball more than 20 times just once all season his only 100-yard game (in the win at Chicago).

If the Lions make some changes in their offensive philosophy, Jones wouldnt be as adamant about leaving but his frustration level is currently off the charts. Jones believes hes wasting his time with a team that doesnt want to use him and would prefer to suit up for a club that needs a back who actually runs the ball.

The irony of the situation with these two players is that Williams and Jones have been at odds since they had a sideline blowup in Chicago in 2005. There is no longer any outward animosity, but theyre hardly the best of friends. Still, theyre wishing the best for each other going into next year.

Williams is hoping Jones has a Pro Bowl season in 2008 because if the Lions are going to use the franchise tag on somebody, Williams doesnt want to be the one. Jones is thinking the same thing about Williams; Jones wants to have a breakout season but he doesnt want to get franchised as a result.

At this point, its highly unlikely that either player would get hit with the franchise tag because of the huge salaries that are involved. The Lions, though, arent in a position where they can afford to lose any talented players so they might not have a choice.

Williams and Jones have contemplated ways to engineer a quicker exit out of town -- trade demands, holdouts, etc. -- but they dont have any leverage so its unlikely to happen.

Dont be surprised, though, if the Lions ultimately attempt to trade one or both of the players. While the front office will do everything it can to make them happy and productive -- and win a few games in the process (which will make everybody happy) -- they know its a battle they might not be able to win.

Williams and Jones arent likely to admit it publicly, but neither one of them believes their long-term future will be in Detroit.