I’m not going to lie to you. I know that I’m not supposed to scare you, but I feel like you’re old enough to deal with the truth.
The Memphis Grizzlies’ logo would straight up fucking murder you. No shit.
Look, I know what you’re saying.
“But Mike Conley doesn’t even scare people on Halo!”
“Hasheem Thabeet’s coordination make Donkey Kong look like a ninja warrior!”
“It’s blue, for Chrissakes! The last blue bear was a Care Bear!”
I get that. I hear you.
“There aren’t even any grizzlies in Memphis!”
Yeah, well there’s no music in Utah, but the Jazz play on. And this logo will fucking kill you.
It’s not just the sheer size of the head. Though it’s a gigantic melon. I mean seriously, it’s like sputnik. Spherical but quite pointy in some places. But the head has itself a force field. You think that weak-ass zombie-buck has a force field? No. It doesn’t. But what you don’t know is the force field isn’t to keep you out. It’s to keep the Grizzly in. It’s a self-restraint, built to pacify this demon that has been sent to rend you from inside out, like a Joe Crawford foul call or the latest album from Pearl Jam. And you will know its wrath.
You know why you will know its wrath? Because of the evil eye. Seriously. Check out that expression. That’s no screaming wussy tantrum-throwing Bear. This bear isn’t surprised to see you. It’s just ready to kill you. And leave you for dead. Possibly take a dump on you before wandering off to go have sex with some farm equipment. And that’s if you get the good side.
What’s the good side? The good side is one that isn’t obscured by shadow like the dark side of the moon. You know what lives on the dark side of the moon? No, not terrific albums from 60s rock legends. Hell. That’s what. There’s even a movie.
So before you go running around thinking you can go dancing with that bear, sweetheart, you better check yourself before you disembowel and get shredded by the icy cold claws of wrath yourself. This bear lives in Memphis, and its sweet blues rhythms will be the last thing you hear before you’re swallowed alive.
Seriously, dude. Farm equipment.
Matt Moore is an all-around nice guy who when not reading to kids who can’t read good or helping old ladies with their groceries writes about the NBA at Hardwood Paroxysm, NBA FanHouse and BusterSports.
And on the seventh day, Smoky the Bear said “You know what? Fuck it. Burn that shit down.”
Known Associates:
Care Bears,
Donkey Kong,
Grizzlies,
Halo,
Hasheem Thabeet,
Jazz,
Mike Conley,
Smoky the Bear,
The NBA Logo Ranking Project
You’re not what Sarah Palin was talking about. You take on nothing in an aggressive, against-the-grain way. You’re a cross between the white horse that a hero in an old Western movie would ride in on and a poor artist’s rendering of No Heart from the Care Bears. Perhaps you were supposed to be a new-aged Two Face to bridge the gap between Tommy Lee Jones’ interpretation and the gem that Aaron Eckhart put together
Whatever the concept behind your “Black and White” tribute to Michael Jackson, nothing can explain the giant blue conch that you’re listening into. This isn’t Lord of the Flies and you’re not fair-haired Ralph. You’re more like an emo version of Piggy, whose weight has gotten so out of control that it’s starting to test the sturdiness of the block letters below you. They’re bending. You’re weighing them down.
But you don’t care because nobody understands you.
You are Emo Horse.
You sit in your room with your skinny jeans and your ironically conforming black t-shirt. You listen to every Morrissey and Hawthorne Heights album that has ever been burned to disc but nothing stops the pain. You paint your nails black to be unique but when you walk into any mall in America and see dozens of tragic teenagers with the same Clinique black polish above their cuticles, you find yourself wanting to call them posers because only you know true pain.
Dad doesn’t understand you. Is it because you don’t dig Bob Seger or know the difference between a middle relief pitcher and a pain reliever? No. You want to know why he doesn’t understand you? BECAUSE YOU WEAR GUYLINER, YOU FREAK. Snap out of this emo phase of your life, grow a pair and realize that your upper-middle class existence isn’t so bad.
You’re a hideous logo, but that doesn’t mean you have to possess greasy hair swept across your forehead. Pick your head up and quit relishing in your own sorrow. You would embarrass Derek Harper, Rolando Blackman and the old Mavericks “M” that used to sport a cowboy hat.
Zach Harper writes on the NBA for TalkHoops, Hardwood Paroxysm and Cowbell Kingdom. He also can be heard on The Weekly Fix podcast as well as The 8th Seed podcast. You may also know him from such BTPH collaborations as Talking Hoops with TalkHoops and that one epic White Men Can’t Jump quotathon. In his spare time, he occasionally takes a nap.
Emo Horse can’t wait to move out of his parents house and leave the country for Berlin, where, when this all gets sorted out, he and Dirk can get an apartment together.
Known Associates:
Batman Forever,
Care Bears,
Emo Horse,
Lord of the Flies,
Mavs,
Michael Jackson,
Sarah Palin,
The Dark Knight,
The NBA Logo Ranking Project
