There is a major problem in the United States that no one addresses. As a pseudo-journalist whose name has yet to appear on President Trump’s enemies list, it falls upon to me to address this very serious issue. I know I’m not on the list because former FBI Director James Comey did not bring it up during his appearance on “The View.” (Or was I was watching Lurch on “The Addams Family?”)
Anyway, this major problem is from the world of sports. And, no, I’m not talking about that quarterback who took a knee — Colin Kaeppur … Caperni … Whatever, I don’t feel like googling how to spell it right now.
No, this issue involves the NBA. It’s not about the games taking way too long with 27 timeouts and 45 free throws in the final two minutes. I’m not talking about the fact that they banned actual defensive effort since 1998. I’m not even talking about how you can’t enjoy the game anymore because they feel compelled to play horrible music between play and even worse music during play.
“All this dribbling and dunking is making me sleepy. Hey, I know! Play that ‘Seven Nation Army’ thing again!”
I’m talking, of course, about the biggest problem in the NBA, professional sports and quite possibly American history. I’m talking about the Utah Jazz.
What do you mean, “What about the Utah Jazz?” What a stupid question?! You just said the words “Utah Jazz!” That’s the problem. Those two words should never go together. There’s nothing jazzy about Utah. There’s barely anything even musical about Utah.
You know who Utah’s greatest musicians of all-time are? Well, there’s Douglas Spotted Eagle, master of Native American-style flute — which sounds kinda cool, and I’ll withhold final judgment until I hear his song “Altar of Wisdom” played while the Jazz are dribbling down the court. There’s Elaine Bradley, drummer for the Neon Trees, which I’m almost certain is a band and not the result of Scott Pruitt’s policies at EPA. I guess you can also add Jim Holmberg, who gave us one of the best cosmic folk albums of all time in 1969. I don’t know what cosmic folk is, but I’m pretty sure cosmic folk are on the list of folks banned from entering the U.S. these days. (That album, by the way, was titled “Mij,” which is Jim spelled backwards. Whoa! Now, that’s cosmic!)
You know who New Orleans has given us in music? Jelly Roll Morton. Louis Armstrong. Louis Prima. Harry Connick Jr. Allen Touissant. Fats Domino. Irma Thomas. Al Hirt. Wynton Marsalis. Dr. John. And a guy I personally mentored and taught everything he knows about music, Lil Wayne.
I saw Dr. John perform at the RiverCenter in Columbus. Not once as he was coming on stage with his cane, crazy clothes and giant feathered hat did I think, “Hey, wait a minute? Is that Mitt Romney?” If that had been Romney, I might have been in the right place, but it’d have been the wrong time. And if you don’t understand that last sentence, then you probably think there’s nothing wrong with Utah’s NBA team having the name jazz just because they fled New Orleans for Salt Lake City in 1979 and didn’t have time to change the name and colors of the jerseys — mardi gras colors, by the way.
Have they ever had a mardi gras parade in downtown Salt Lake City? Do they get drunk and throw beads to ladies lifting their shirts to show the tops of their all-white undergarments? You know why? Because there’s nothing Jazz about Utah. It has been scientifically proven to be the 48th jazziest U.S. state, barely ahead of Alaska and Vermont. (Although, I have a theory Sen. Bernie Sanders secretly performs jazz piano under the stage name “Crazy Bernie” at one of those wild Burlington clubs.)
When you pick up and leave New Orleans for Utah, you can take the uniforms, the basketballs and even Pistol Pete. But you can’t take no jazz to a place that ain’t got no jazz. And you dang sure can’t leave Pelicans in your place.
Pelicans aren’t even as jazzy as Utah.