…of NBA TV. Beyond just being a solid anchor on the network, Dre has established himself as a veritable All-Star on the Twitter circuit. He is one of the handful of people I’ve encountered who has used that particular format to show another side of his personality beyond just what you see on the airwaves.
That other side of his personality is generally pretty freaking hilarious.
There were a couple of times earlier this year where Mike got Direct Messages from Aldridge on Twitter. Today, I joined the club.
For those of you who haven’t yet accepted the unstoppable forward march of technology and joined Twitter, here’s how this works. The core of Twitter consists of updating people on your thoughts or activities in bursts of 140 characters or less. Instead of “friends,” Twitter uses a system of “Followers.” The concept is basically the same. Once I decide to follow someone, every time I log into Twitter, their new updates appear in my “Timeline,” or home page. So I get to see what that particular person is doing or thinking about (at least to the extent that they’re letting it be known on Twitter. Although I could definitely see a really awful sci-fi thriller based on the next generation of this concept, where people who start “following” you get unlimited access to your actual thoughts in real time should they want it. Then everyone is just hacking into everyone else’s brains. Someone get me David Cronenberg on the phone immediately…)
With rare exceptions, these “tweets,” or updates, are basically public. Anyone can follow anyone else and thus get access to those updates. (Unless that person wants to go out of their way to block your stalker ass.)
However, there’s also a second tier, which is Direct Messages. These are basically private emails that can be sent to a Follower. In order to contextualize the DM I got from Aldridge, here’s the backstory.
First, Mike, my dad, and myself had a Twitter exchange about a week ago concerning the Rick Pitino sex scandal (which really probably deserved its own post.) Second, my dad had also tweeted recently about the just-aired Louis Tiant documentary on ESPN, which he was not impressed by - mostly because Tiant spent the entire doc talking about his time with the Red Sox and never mentioned that he was on the Indians for a while.
For those of you not up on the details of the Pitino scandal, you’re really missing out. Pitino has now admitted to staying behind after-hours at a Louisville restaurant in 2003 with the owner’s permission in order to have consensual sex with a former model who, shockingly, does not double as his wife. Pitino also allegedly paid for her “health insurance,” which everyone has basically agreed is a code word for an abortion. Said woman is now coming after Pitino through her attorneys.
If his press conference to clear the air is to be believed, this whole situation has given Pitino license to state that the struggles in his personal life were worse than 9/11, and that he literally has apologized to his family for this whole episode every day for the past 6 years. Both of which are both hilarious and awful simultaneously. Sort of like an episode of Jackass but starring a 57 year-old man.
At any rate, part of Pitino’s sexual escapades that fateful night in ‘03 consisted of laying pipe in an actual restaurant booth. To which my dad’s immortal response was: “Sex on a table, holla.”
Earlier today, I retweeted (reposted) an update from Aldridge about the Tom Cable / Oakland Raiders “Right Cross”-gate:
Legally, boss can lay hands on subordinate if right afterwards he jumps up & down screaming, “they tried 2 put me n a box!”
…which is a reference to an episode of the Stephon Marbury Meltdown Video Experience where he shouts over and over again “They tried to put me in a box!”
Shortly after posting that, I got the following Direct Message from Aldridge, which flat out made my day.
NBATVAndre If ur Dad broke out a Sex on the Table, Holla—then he’s in my Hall of Fame Line too. But tell him I shed a tear watching Tiant documentary.
If that’s not funny, I don’t know what is. Long live Double A.
-T
