The House That Zelmo Built

"Butthead: Uhhhh....I'm, like, angry at numbers.

Beavis: Yeah, there's too many of them and stuff." ~ Beavis And Butthead episode


"Most college students dream of getting a final exam with easy questions like: How many goals are on a basketball court? How many quarters are in a high school basketball game? How many points does a 3-point field goal account for?

To top it off, there are multiple choice answers."


Final exam in Harrick Jr.'s class at Georgia was absurdly easy




Hi folks! We're back for another segment of House Of Zelmo, and what better way to start off the month of March Madness than by discussing an article related to one of the most boring and overrated slap-and-tickle sports in the world.....BASKETBALL!

Or coonball, as some of my less politically-correct counterparts like to call it.....I'm sure they're out there somewhere.

In all honesty, I think basketball is one of the biggest displays of showboating while showing little if any real substance known to the modern sports world today. And this goes for all levels of the sport. Why do I say this, you ask? Two words....

HOOP DREAMS.

No, I'm not talking about the movie. I'm talking about the grand conspiracy of the entire industry of major league sports. True, this goes a bit beyond just the sport of basketball, but since we're on the subject of basketball right now, let's just try to stay on topic here.

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, the "grand conspiracy". Here's how it all works, in a nutshell, of course. Now, way back in the day, the sport of basketball had actually meant something more than what brand of shoes that you're wearing (more on that in a minute). Back in the '70s when Zelmo was a wee lad, we had guys like Doctor J, Larry Bird, and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar ruling the roost. In the '80s, we had Magic Johnson and the beginning of the Michael Jordan Era.

Now back in those days, 'Ball still had some substance to it. It wasn't a sport for just any ol' nigga to play. You had to have skills, of course. But more importantly, you had to have integrity, respectability, and good sportsmanship to go along wit' yo' bad self. But then, somewhere along the way, right around the time when Michael Jordan knocked the entire sporting industry on its ass with his godlike court skills, the entire sport of basketball began to lose something. Suddenly, it wasn't about the sport anymore. It was all about the shoes, or what brand of soda that you drank, or what brand of trunks that you wore.

That's right, my niggaz, the ugly world of Product Endorsement took its ugly hold on the sporting industry. Personally, I think it all began with Nike endorsements and those Wheaties boxes that we all grew up with in the mid-to-late '70s. But back then, there was a sort of innocence to it all. Nowadays, it's all about which nigga got the best shoes on the court.......and let's be honest here, Air Jordans didn't make you jump any higher. They only made your nigger ass run faster through the 'hood when that bigger, meaner, and poorer nigger saw your little monkey ass walking around like a pimp, and decided that he wanted hisself a free pair of Air Jordans to go along with the brand new basketball that he was also gonna steal from your sorry wannabe-like-Mike azz.

But I digress....along with the ugly world of Product Endorsement came the even uglier world of Hip-Hop. Now whoever thought that THOSE two would ever go hand-in-hand, eh? But you can always count on Whitey or some rich Jewish marketing wizard with $$$ in his eyes to know an excellent EXPLOITATION opportunity when he sees one.

It was only a matter of time before all the rising rap stars who grew up 'ballin' in the 'hood started rappin' 'bout dey Air Jordans. Which would subsequently warm the greedy black hearts of the Product Endorsement vultures, who would subsequently pay big buck$ for these rap stars to appear in the commercials pimping their products. Which in turn would send every young nigga in junior high school (or middle school, whatever the fuck you want to call it) either cryin' to mama to give him some money to go out and buy the newest pair of Reeboks that he saw L.L. Coolio wearing on TV while he was jumping 30 feet in the air to dunk a basketball to the tune of his newest single "Mama Said Knock Yo' Bitch Out" (with the MTV Premiere Video version set to kickoff the beginning of March Madness, yo!), or would send them out to steal enough lunch money from the white kids or sell enough crack for Smokey, da brotha wearin' da wifebeater an' Dickies livin' in da projects across da railroad tracks, so that they could save up enough to buy these products that the Product Endorsement vultures be pimpin' all over the television sets that the little niggas' daddies stole from the pawn shops during the L.A. Riots of 1992 before they daddies either got shot by the National Guard or sent up to the state pen for looting...or both.

And no, it don't stop there, peeps! Because you see, while all of this Product Endorsement is going on in order to exploit the young minds of these young little shits all wanting to Be Like Mike, you have the NCAA spurting cum all over that sexy-lookin' ca$h cow as well.

So they start scouting the high schools and middle schools looking for potential young future prospects that they can sign on to some easy college scholarships or keep track of along the way, making sure that their high school or middle school coaches works the kids hard while making ultra sure that they get signed on to the junior varsity and/or varsity team. Of course, a lot of these kids by now, aren't coming from the suburbs or rich neighborhoods, no! Now they're coming from the projects, the mean streets, where the real game is played. Not in no fucking high school basketball court, but in the street courts....you know, the kind where there are six backboards but only one or two of them has a rim, just down the street from the crack district? And naturally, a lot of these kids are unedjumicated or just plain stupid. So they can't very well be expected to score as high on their school tests, much less show up for school at all.

So they're given a little incentive. "Hey, young brotha, I see you can play some ball. Wanna sign up for the junior varsity team? You gotta do well in class though, but don't worry, we'll get you in. I'll pull some strings with the teacher in that math class that you're having trouble in, don't you worry. Just show up for practice tomorrow."

And before long, that young brotha is winning the state championship. And you know that he be gettin' that pussy on the side, too. Maybe got himself a brand new Beamer as a "gift" from that lawyer or accountant friend of the head coach's, who also just happens to have a couple of fat cat buddies working up at Duke or the UCLA. Then before long, that young brotha is approved for that elusive college scholarship that really isn't all that elusive, if you got da skillz. And I don't mean academic skillz, either.

Then before long, our young brotha is in college, realizing his dreams. His hoop dreams. But he's not the only one that has those hoop dreams, no suh. His new college basketball coach and the college faculty have their hoop dreams as well. Not to mention the NBA scouts working for the NBA franchises that have been watching this kid play for a few years now. And the Product Endorsement vultures? Well, you know they've been watching him, too. Along with countless other young brothas who were given that "special" ride through middle school, high school, and now into college.

Hell, there's even brothas that have never been to college now that are achieving them hoop dreams. And they call that nigga, Kobe. Ain't he in court now being charged with rape? How typical.

I guess my dumb ass should've started playing 'ball when I was a little kid. Maybe now I wouldn't have to be paying my way through college. But then again, you don't see too many Eskimo guys under 6 feet tall playing in the NBA. Hell, I don't think there are any Eskimoes in the NBA, period, come to think of it. But hey, when all else fails, I'll always have my namesake, Zelmo Beaty, to share a Google page with. Just go to Google.com and type in zelmo, and you'll see me and my nigga, Big Z, kickin' it on da Web an' sheeit.

Goddamn, it's good to be the king.


How do you stop Kobe Bryant from raping a white chick?

Throw him a basketball.