Rocky, Vodka, & Kobe - by Ryan Nar

Because my life is non-stop a mayhem-filled party with booze, gambling, sex, and drugs, you can imagine I get into lots of interesting arguments. The kind of debates that may seem idiotic to the vast majority of the God-fearing public, but to me they are of life-or-death importance and must come to a definitive conclusion that leaves all parties in peaceful accord. Despite my lofty goals this never occurs; instead, I routinely find myself in situations where knives are drawn, blood is spilt, and friendships are ended. Until the next day. When all is forgiven. For the very last time.

One question sure to lead to blows is, "Who is the best player in the NBA?" Some say Kobe, you say Lebron, I say Durant. I have spent more hours than I care to admit pondering this. I can bring out all the stats, we can talk of historical importance, teammates or criminal charges. I know them all. I know more about Lebron and Kobe and Durant than I do about some members of my immediate family. But that is a small price to pay in pursuit of the answer to the only question in life that matters. Up until yesterday I was certain that Durant (or Wade or Bron) was the best in the NBA. That is why it pains me today to let you guys in on a little secret. The best is Kobe, and it isn't even close. How do i know? A Russian expat with ties to the mob told me so.

Dashia is a rambunctious Russian woman who resembles Heather Locklear that lives in my building . She is never without a bottle of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other, even though we aren't allowed to smoke in the common areas. Her husband, Paul, is an All-American nerd, an accountant. They married for her to get a green card and be a trophy wife. But all in all, he is meek and kindhearted.

One day a few weeks ago I see her crying in the hallway, and I think her husband has beaten her up. She comes to my apartment, vodka and cigarette in hand, as she cries. I want her to feel safe. I tell her its not cool for a man to beat a woman. She responds, "Oh no, he don't beat me, I beat him for telling me I gamble too much. It makes me sad when I beat him." From that moment on, a friendship was born.

We gamble all the time, seeing how we both spend our days doing less work than a dead dog. Things as innocuous as who will say the first word on today's rerun of Beverly Hills 90210 are worthy of bets. (I got ten bucks on Brandon!) She also tells me of the motherland (Russia) and why she hates Rocky IV. ("Why does Drago have to be so mean? Why all movies make Russian so mean?"). What does this have to do with Kobe? Nothing. Everything.

Kobe's game against Memphis was on when she stopped by earlier this week. As the Grey Goose poured we laughed and joked about how we know the secret to life and where it's found. The bottom of a fifth of vodka. She had just beat up her husband for two hundred bucks so we were able to get a pizza. One with pepperoni at that. For all her gambling, Dashia knows next to nothing about basketball. It's the one sport she has never gambled. That's why it surprised me when she said "Oh dis is da Black Mamba." I was shocked. How do you know him, I asked. "He kills his prey with one strike, just like Kill Bill." I told her that he actually stole the name from the movie, she claimed she knows its the other way around. I say it can't be. She said, "Trust me I'm a woman this is how the world works." She also said he would win the game.

I told her she may know a lot about climbing the Ural mountains in Siberia, like Rocky, but she best leave the basketball knowledge to me. Kobe isn't that great, and he is no killer, and Durant is better. As I took a swig of my drink she thrust a knife against my neck. As its cold blade brought goosebumps to my skin she said "I don't like Rocky, never mention Rocky. I will kill Rocky and you... Anyhoo, I bet you 50 bucks Black Mamba wins the game with a last second shot."

I'm not one to refuse a bet when i have a knife to my throat so I agreed. The very next play was Kobe's layup drive that was stuffed by Mayo. I got happy. Mayo goes to shoot free throws, he bricks them both, Kobe comes down and hits a three, game over.

As I handed over the money to Dashia I asked her how did she know? She said, "Black Mamba, he is the best, can't you see. He is killer. I know killers from Russian Mob. They have look in their eye of killer. Black Mamba has that look. I've never seen any other player with that look. No way he loses in the first game back from injury."

"You know more than you let on about hoop. You are talking about Kobe as if he is Jordan or someone!"

"Who is Jordan? Kobe is the best, trust woman. We know dis things. I know a killer when I see one. I don't know who Jordan or Durant or Wade or Lebron is, all I know is Kobe. Black Mamba is killer, anyone can see it."

Until next time ladies and gents...