#it is indeed rare amongst young athletes

[f0point5]

Jenson Button thinking he ate by passive aggressively saying “Max knows the rules very well *nudge nudge wink wink eye roll*”

I’d have been like “yeah, he knows how to do the job I pay him for? Maybe McLaren want to invest in a copy of the rules for Lando for Christmas?”

[redditnosleep]

The Suicide Orphan

by Cymoril_Melnibone

I’ve long been fascinated by internet horror stories and creepypastas. I was young and impressionable when I stumbled across my first; Jvk1166z.esp, a story about a video game mod that went eerily wrong. That tumbled me down a dark and narrow rabbit hole into The Russian Sleep Experiment, then further lost me in the cryptid wonderland where all those other internet classics live. No matter how unsettling the story, I really wanted to believe it. At first, I wanted every single detail to be true. Later, I came to most relish the tales that seemed to contain one or two real ingredients, liberally seasoned to please the palates of the audience. And there was a growing envy that rode along with my fascination; I wanted to wield the spices, to be just like those infamous writers. I wanted to create a viral sensation that would sweep across the internet and make people’s spines tingle and burn with genuine, inescapable fear. The kind that really makes you feel alive. But first, I needed to find the raw, true heart for my recipe. I began to pore over old newspaper articles, looking for weird things in my area. I sifted through mountains of garbage online, looking for a tasty kernel of truth hidden within the bland layers of unappetising urban myths. But inspiration eluded me, and I started to lose interest. As adulthood took hold, it slowly began to strangle my childish ability to believe there was some wild truth running around out there, despite never finding any footprints. I was almost ready to admit that perhaps the world was far more mundane and uninteresting than I’d ever imagined – and that every one of my treasured stories were in fact just marvellous fictions, all pretty frosting and no cake. Then, like a horrible gift dropped right into my lap, I chanced to overhear two nurses at the local hospital talking in hushed whispers about the mystery of The Suicide Orphan. How could I not do everything in my power to find out more?

I’ll spare you all the dusty details about how I came by the information I have. Most of it was uncovered by boring hard work; ordinary journalism and archive delving. And I’m not proud; when that fails, I’ve found that there’s very little information you can’t dig up if you use some natural and enhanced advantages. In my case, honey-blonde hair, a splash of bright lipstick and a short skirt. The real story begins in the 1970s, when a young couple, Danny and Susan Johnson, prematurely birthed their second child. They named her Catherine. The baby grew quickly and was soon healthy enough to come home, where she was doted on by her elder sister and her parents. She was bright and happy, apparently escaping any disadvantages of her prematurity; she began to speak at 18 months, and started to read by the age of four. The first tragedy struck the family when Catherine was in kindergarten. The elder sister, Sarah, was found hanging in her wardrobe, a pink plastic skipping-rope looped about her neck. Emergency services were called, but the nine-year-old girl was not able to be resuscitated. As you would expect, the family was devastated. They cooperated with the police and the coroner, and endured a protracted and gruelling investigation into every aspect of their lives. No evidence of foul play was ever uncovered, and the ruling on Sarah’s death was left inconclusive. Either it was accidental, or it was a rare child suicide. Everything slid rapidly and predictably downhill for the Johnsons from there, with the mother falling into black depression frighteningly fast, and the father drowning his own pain in a bottle. The date on the second ambulance report is barely six months after the one on the invoice for Sarah’s headstone. Susan Johnson was found in the family garage, her asphyxiated corpse as pink as a child’s skipping rope, a side-effect of carbon monoxide inhalation. The car was still idling, with a hose from the exhaust pipe pushed through a crack in the window. The grim trifecta of paperwork is complete two months later, when Danny Johnson successfully hanged himself in the very same garage, a sawhorse kicked out from underneath him, and his wife’s perfume heavy in the air. With no other living relatives able to be traced, Catherine Johnson became a suicide orphan.

The Walders were her first foster family. They were experienced in caring for children from difficult circumstances, loved her to pieces, and did everything they could to heal the poor girl. Only five, she barely understood what had happened and why, so she adapted quickly. I found one of her first school reports, buried amongst random papers in a forgotten box beneath the Walder’s house. It paints a bright picture of an exceptionally gregarious child, a little girl who made friends easily and was radiant in her happiness. All seemed to be going very well for Catherine and her new parents. She’s all dimpled smiles in the photograph of her cuddling the kitten she received on her seventh birthday, and certificates and trophies suggest that she was something of an athletic prodigy, outrunning every other girl in her district. There was not a single warning sign that anything was wrong for Jenny Walder, the foster mother. According to the archived reports, she had appeared completely normal, right up to the day she was found in her bathtub, the life seeped out of her into the deep crimson water. There were no hesitation marks surrounding the long, definite cuts in her wrists from where she had opened her veins. The foster father, Michael Walders, survived his wife for another nine months before he succumbed to catatonic depression and was taken to a mental health facility. He didn’t move nor speak for the next six weeks, so none of the staff appear to be sure how he got onto the roof. The leap from the fifth floor shattered his skull into nine separate fragments, and his life ended in a concrete parking lot. Catherine was left utterly alone for the second time in her short life. She was put into state care while another family was sought to take care of her.

Now, this is the point where the rumours really start. The pool of prospective foster families was much smaller thirty-odd years ago, and it was becoming difficult to keep her history from the community. People back then were superstitious enough to be very leery of a child with so much death in her past. Families long noted as being eager for a child, any child, abruptly change their tune when it is revealed that the child being considered is Catherine, the suicide orphan. People were beginning to speculate, very quietly, that Catherine herself was to blame for the five deaths. I like to think that there were others who shushed them and told them not to be so crude and cruel. A pair of childless atheists, Melissa and Tony Lipsey, finally accepted the girl into their care and instantly fell in love with her. Melissa was an aspiring writer, who kept long, detailed journals of her life and experiences. After some convincing, her family let me read a few of the ones concerning Catherine. Their existence seemed idyllic, with no great calamities afflicting them, only the very ordinary hardships of family life. Psychological support was provided for the couple and the child from the day Catherine entered their home, and appears to have been quite careful and thorough for the time. Right up until the point of her suicide, Melissa’s diary spoke of love and hope and great plans for their new daughter when she grew up. Indeed, Catherine was excelling in every aspect of school life, and had even been moved up a year. The final entry in the notebook is uncharacteristically short, and contains one curious sentence about feeling ‘empty’. For no reason that anyone could fathom, on that date Melissa and Tony Lipsey drove their car to the river, then walked into the water, fully clothed and hand-in-hand, and drowned together. It was ruled an accident, but anyone who knew about Catherine knew that was a lie.

Nobody wanted to adopt her after that. Ten years old, she languished in a state orphanage, other children coming and going. She seems to have made the best of it; her tattered, photocopied file repeats the same phrases as reports from her early life; she was a child who smiled easily and often, was loved by the other children, and she never caused any trouble. She educated herself, borrowing great piles of books from the local library, clearly reading well beyond her age, and engaged the facility’s staff in thoughtful and philosophical conversations about her plight. Anyone close to her appeared to like her, yet heartbreakingly, she seemed to understand exactly why nobody wanted her. The first staff suicide – that of Catherine’s primary caregiver – sparked a panic, and half of the orphanage workers refused to come to work the following day. Children were quickly shifted to other facilities in nearby cities, and the place was temporarily shut down. Catherine knew precisely what was going on and asked several times to ‘just be let go’. She said she didn’t want to trouble anyone anymore, that she would find a place in the woods and live on her own. She was interviewed and re-interviewed by law enforcement and by psychiatrists from her temporary, solitary room in a juvenile holding facility, until no-one had any questions left to ask. The conclusion was rational, and completely sensible. It was not this child, but the mythos following this child, that was the cause of the suicides. Catherine should be provided with a new identity and placed anonymously in another home on the other side of the country, and then the suicides would stop. Unfortunately, this conclusion was also completely wrong.

Tracking Catherine became difficult at this point. I eventually managed to find her again when a fellow student, her school teacher, and her new foster parents all killed themselves within a few months of each other. She was fourteen, and must have been very much aware what that meant. When she was taken into custody, she fought like a demon and required two male police officers to restrain her. There is a curious note in that police report, stating that those officers ‘received injuries’ but Catherine’s later medical examination showed no injury at all to herself, not even a bruise. She was placed into inpatient psychiatric care. The breezy, bright child with the easy smile does not appear in any more of the reports I was able to obtain; she was gone. The teenage Catherine is clearly deeply disturbed, and any trace of her personality was probably medicated away. The range of psychotropic drugs they managed to dose her with is extensive, despite some odd notes in her charts from this time. Initial attempts to administer heavy-duty sedatives by injection are simply recorded as ‘unsuccessful’, and followed by a recommendation for ‘oral medication only’. But pills must have been enough; with ‘the suicide orphan’ locked away in a psych ward and a chemical straightjacket, anyone would assume that was an end to the bleak trail of death that Catherine Johnson left wherever she went. And with a high turnover of overworked staff, there wasn’t much risk of anyone getting attached to the young woman. Some of the inmates in her facility were found hanged or dead from self-mutilation, but, well, it was a place for crazy people – that sort of stuff happened all the time. No more connections appear to have been made. But on August 3rd, 1991, two staff members deliberately overdosed on patient medications and several inmates escaped using the keys of the deceased. Amongst those that escaped was Catherine Johnson.

She was smart, once the drugs left her system. Much smarter than the others, who were all caught in a matter of days. I think Catherine probably cut and dyed her hair and hitch-hiked as far as she could get, as there are no sightings of her despite bulletins and flyers. The trail of documents was cold for a long time, and I expanded my search wider and wider, hoping to find the lost thread of her existence. And I had one grisly card up my sleeve; even someone as smart and resourceful as she was couldn’t do anything about the one thing that made her trackable: everywhere she went, people killed themselves. Unfortunately, suicide is more common than you might first think, so the background noise is extensive. People kill themselves every other day, for all kinds of reasons. A seemingly happy father of three will take a shotgun into the shower and blow his brains out, even though he was recently promoted at work, and his life seems perfect. After reading far too many of those stories, I did eventually find her carrion footsteps. Leading out west, a neat line of unexplained suicides which pointed to the forested mountain wilderness – the common factor that drew my attention was that each of the deceased owned some sort of supply or convenience shop. I contacted the library near Catherine’s teenage orphanage, posing as a family member to access her library records. My suspicions were confirmed; since she was ten years old, she had been researching outdoor survival and how to live self-sufficiently in the wilderness.

I’m really not much of an outdoors person, but the heady prospect of finding the mythical Suicide Orphan was too much for me. I probably overstocked on supplies and safety gear, but I didn’t want to be caught short in poor weather. With an expensive GPS machine and enough food for a month, I started searching the mountains for Catherine Johnson. I suspected I was on the right track when I started finding increasing numbers of dead animals. Although that’s not unusual in the wilderness, the corpses became very regular, mostly intact, and quite fresh. Birds had seemingly fallen from the sky mid-flight, as though their tiny hearts had simply given up. Further on, dead rats and larger mammals marked a sort of grisly perimeter around Catherine’s isolated bolthole. The first sign was terrible and stark, a white board nailed to a tree and splashed with faded red paint. “STAY AWAY OR ELSE” it read, like the warning on a child’s treehouse. There were more signs as I pushed through the scrub, bearing similar imprecations. Each of them threatened some kind of violence, without being specific. Eventually I saw a crude hut through the trees, and painted on the door in that same naïve hand were the words “COME INSIDE AND YOU WILL DIE”. I knew what was going on here. Catherine blamed herself for the deaths of everyone around her; she had done so since she was very young, and she didn’t want it to happen again. By isolating herself in the wilderness, she believed that she could avoid bringing any more death to other people. And if she didn’t have anyone who cared about her, she couldn’t lose anyone she cared about. I had walked in Catherine’s appallingly sad footsteps for so long, that at this point I really did care about her. And I was no longer thinking about what that meant. Perhaps, having spent my whole life looking for that kernel of truth, when I found it, I didn’t want to believe it. “I’m coming in,” I declared loudly as I pushed open the door.

She sat by the stone fireplace, a small figure lost in a chair made of carefully woven branches. Dark hair was piled up on top of her head, tied in place with a frayed scarf. Inside, the hut was tidy and clean, meticulous care evident in the orderliness of the piles of split logs and the fur-covered furniture. She seemed to know immediately that I wasn’t there by accident; that I was not some lost hiker or hunter who had stumbled into her hideaway despite the warning trail of animal corpses and signs. “I should have moved,” she said without preamble, turning her gaze towards me. Her face was too youthful, she looked like a twenty-year-old. “I should have stuck to my plan and moved to another place in the wilds, to stop people like you finding me.” “Well, I’m glad I did find you,” I replied weakly, unable to stop staring at her. I felt strangely uneasy at how young she looked. She was almost twice my age, yet somehow it felt quite the reverse. “You won’t be,” she said simply, with a small and solemn shake of her head. There was a tense, pregnant pause, then she glanced at the iron kettle hung over the fireplace. “Would you like some tea? It’s mostly mountain herbs, but it’s hot.” Not knowing what else to say, I simply nodded. The tiny hut should have been cosy, yet I was cold. “Tell me how you found me.” And so I told her the same tale I’m telling you now. I laid out all my clever discoveries from end to end as she poured tea into fired clay cups, the sharp scents of mint and pine suffusing the air. She was silent while the account unfolded, but would sometimes nod, confirming a snippet of information when I sounded uncertain. At other revelations, she bowed her head and averted her eyes as though ashamed – but she never interrupted. When I was empty of words, she finally spoke. “So. You wanted fame. That’s why you sought me out? You wanted to tell my story to the world and become a sort of television celebrity.” Her voice was layered heavy with undisguised contempt, and I felt the colour rise in my cheeks. “I guess so,” I mumbled. My stomach twisted, hollow, despite the tea. “Well, now you have your story. You found your Suicide Orphan, and everything about her is true. Wherever I go, death follows.” It was my turn to be silent for a long moment; what could I say to that? But I needed to ask. I needed to be sure about one more thing. “I have a question,” I said finally, my voice dull in my ears. She shifted in her chair, placing one hand on the rough-hewn table. “You want to know why I never killed myself,” she stated flatly. “Yes.” A knife hung from her belt in a leather sheath, and with a well-practised movement, she pulled it free – stabbing it cleanly through the hand resting on the rough wood between us. I shrieked in alarm, and reflexively jerked away, the wicker chair nearly tipping me onto the floor. As quickly as she had drawn the blade, she yanked it free; leaving a deep cut that glimmered white tendon, then welled dark with blood. She raised her wounded hand in the air, and I watched, disbelieving, as the vicious rent in her flesh knitted immediately, like some kind of claymation. It left not even a whisper of a scar betraying where it had been. “Poison doesn’t work, either,” she said, calmly wiping the knife clean on her sleeve, “even deadly nightshade only gives me a tummy ache. I tried a pistol once, but the bullet bounced right off my skull and made a mess of my crockery.” The knife was rehomed in the scabbard and she gave me a wan smile, “I’d bury myself alive, but I’m too frightened of spending an eternity screaming into the lightless dirt.” Another long silence followed as we sipped our cooling tea. I drained my cup and stared at the dregs of grey leaves, their green all boiled away. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?” I asked. It wasn’t really a question. “Of course you are. What other possible outcome did you think there could be? Did you really think just because you were the one to find me, you’d somehow be immune? That caring about the truth would save you? That’s not how real life works, I’m afraid.” I swallowed, fear swelling like an ugly bubble inside me. “How does it happen?” “It will start as an ineffable feeling of loss, like you’ve misplaced something important. The emptiness grows inside your breast, then invades your head until it gnaws at all your thoughts, tainting everything good with poisonous doubt. Eventually the yawning nothingness within will be so complete that you’ll have naught left to live for, and you’ll end your life.” “So there’s nothing I can do.” She leaned forward and grasped my head in her strong, dirt-rimed hands. “You can do exactly what you were going to do all along, but not for yourself. Tell your story. Write out your little electronic letter and send your ‘creepypasta’ all around the world. Tell people that this horror is true – I am real, and that if anyone comes near me, they will die.” She let me go, the intensity fading from her eyes. “Now leave me. I can’t stand seeing yet another human being die because of me.”

And so I guess I got my wish. I hope you enjoyed my little story, because it’s the last one I’ll ever tell. I can already feel that void inside me, widening, growing, feeding. It’s grey and it’s cold and it’s deeper than space. I’ve tried as much as I can to stop it – therapy, medication, immersing myself in dizzyingly happy music and distracting myself with books and films – but everything seems so hollow, so trite, and so utterly pointless now. Nothing feels real any more. I’m not exactly sure how I’ll do it, but I think that somewhere in my old things from my childhood, there might be a pink plastic skipping rope.

Yes, that seems real. That feels right and true.

[real6lacktony]

Version:1.0 StartHTML:000000244 EndHTML:000080888 StartFragment:000051367 EndFragment:000080832 StartSelection:000051598 EndSelection:000080797 SourceURL:https://www.ssense.com/en-za/editorial/fashion/triple-s-to-xxx-the-data-of-desire Triple S To XXX: the Data of Desire | SSENSE                          

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Triple S To XXX: the Data of Desire

SSENSE and Pornhub Partner To Examine the Relationship Between Fashion and Human Sexuality

Text: merritt k

“Sex is worth dying for,” once quipped Foucault, as he mused that the most important form of modern political leverage is control over our reproductive functions. Could he have predicted today’s digitally-fuelled brave new world, for which there exists a porn video for any given sexual whim, no matter how eccentric? Perhaps porn sites wield far more cultural influence than we give them credit for.

We partner with Pornhub Insights to examine the data of desire, at what reveals itself at the intersection of fashion and pornography. Here, we turn our attention to the sneaker. Equipped with data surrounding sneaker-related porn consumption, writer merritt k considers its broader implications and connection to the fashion industry.

In the late 2000s, a group of Canadian men repeatedly lined up days in advance for the releases of high-end consumer electronics—iPods, gaming consoles, and so on. Purchasing these products using funds they'd raised online, they would then remove the items from their packaging and dash them to the ground in front of the rest of the line of consumers. Wails of despair and anger could often be heard from the crowds, intermixed with pleas that they just give the expensive item to someone in line rather than trash it.

Was this a kind of psychic revolt against consumerism? A voyeuristic spectacle? A cheap stunt for attention by bored young men with no underlying political content?

The answer seems to be, "yes." Plus, it was probably pretty fun.

The image of a desirable gadget reduced to fragments of plastic, circuitry, and metal is a complicated one, embodying waste, excess, amusement, and denial, among other things. Like all wreckage, it captures the eye. But I'd like to ask you to shift your gaze away from the wreck, to pan ever so slightly to the line of young men waiting for their own chance to purchase one for themselves. Check out their feet. What are they wearing? More than likely, sneakers—a form of apparel fraught with a complex history, whether slipped on a foot, sitting in a box, or, echoing the image of the ruined electronics, dripping with cum.

The line between sneaker culture and sneaker fetishism, then, isn’t always clear.

Yes, people jack off in, on, and around sneakers. It's a thing. Data from Pornhub shows sneakers coming in at number 993 in overall searches on the site. That might seem low, but consider that these queries include studios, performer names, specific acts, and so on. This means that people search for sneakers thousands of times a day. Of all apparel-related porn searches, items relating to feet such as boots, socks, and, of course, sneakers occupy 20% of the top twenty list on Pornhub.

Why are people into sneaker porn? We could start to answer this question by discussing the role of feet in broader trampling and worship fetishes, how they're an abject part of the body culturally coded as filthy and thus available to use in fantasies of degradation and submission. And, I mean, it's 2018—feet are mainstream now, just search "and she got feet" on Twitter.

But we're not just talking about feet here—we're talking about what's on them. And the meanings associated with, say, stiletto boots are very different from those associated with knee socks, which are different still from those associated with the humble sneaker. And to understand the appeal of sneakers specifically, we need to talk about the history of footwear.

Featured In This Image: Vetements sneakers.

While casual wear ascended to popularity amongst men and women in the latter half of the 20th century, the sneaker qua sneaker has become an object tied to male athletic performance, wealth, and prestige. Similar to how the combat or work boot is an erotic symbol of authority, power, and rugged masculinity, the sneaker is associated with masculine personas like the skater, the sports star, and the rapper. And since the explosive rise of the sneaker in the 80s and 90s, the shoe has arguably become the male equivalent of the high heel in terms of status, price, and desirability.

Like a pair of Louboutins, high-end sneakers are meant to be collected, seen, and adored. Some of the most expensive, sought-after sneakers are rarely worn and in this sense are no more functional than $700 stilettos. Unless you're wealthy enough to rarely be on your feet and to have backup pairs available when they inevitably get scuffed, they'll likely spend most of their time in a box.

Sneakers, then, straddle the line between the practical combat boot and the ornamental pump. In this sense they’ve shifted away from the image of the physically dynamic wearer they began with, now occupying more ambiguous ground. And they're footwear with a charged history, culminating in the early 1990s panics around “sneaker killings,” which often conspicuously targeted prominent black celebrities like Michael Jordan and Spike Lee for their purported role in instigating violence over sought-after brands.

So it would seem wrong, to assume that sneaker porn is a straightforwardly masculine fetish and leave it at that—to do so would be to ignore the strata of meanings heaped upon by sneakers over the past several decades. And these meanings are always being excavated and reappropriated by subcultural elements in much the same way as historical accoutrements of torture and slavery have been taken up by queer sadomasochism.

Of course, in attending to the symbolic we shouldn't completely eschew the physical. The complex tactile pleasures of leather have been well-documented by theorists of sadomasochism and those pleasures are at play with sneakers as well. It's easy enough to recognize the visual beauty of footwear, which after all is the primary criteria of value in high-end and celebrity-branded sneakers. But to touch the soft leather, the careful stitching, to slide one's foot into a plush enclosure reveals another kind of beauty. So why should it be any surprise that people find pleasure in touching, rubbing, smelling, licking, and even fucking them? As one self-described sneaker fetishist puts it, "It feels pretty good, especially if the sneakers are more narrow like Shox, adidas Racers, or Puma Speedcats.”

This kind of physical intimacy with sneakers brings the body back into contact with a piece of apparel that's increasingly divorced from its original function. Huffing, caressing, and fucking sneakers, using them to trample another person, or even simply fucking someone while wearing them is a physical act, albeit one that runs counter to the designed function of the shoes. These practices are the mirror of the unworn sneaker collection: dedicated in their adoration yet expressing that adoration through physical means.

But even this may be overstating the division between fetishist and fan. When a sneakerhead pulls his shoes out of their box and delicately fondles them, inhales their scent, or shows them off, the difference between his actions and those appearing in sneaker porn seem more of degree rather than of kind. The line between sneaker culture and sneaker fetishism, then, isn’t always clear.

And the use of sneakers as an easy reference to a whole set of identities (erotic and otherwise) isn't limited to porn, either. Fashion always wants us to aspire to something better, different, or richer—the whole purpose of mass market advertising is to inspire associations with products. But these associations aren't always handed down from above, and sometimes consumers repurpose them in ways that run counter to the expectations and desires of fashion brands—see for instance the early 2000s "chav" adoption of Burberry’s iconic beige check pattern. Could sneaker companies, then, try to get porn featuring their footwear taken offline? It's possible, but it seems unlikely—not to mention a little late.

Featured In This Image: Raf Simons sneakers.

Featured In This Image: Balenciaga sneakers.

If any brand did pursue a takedown of sneaker porn featuring their products, it would likely be in an effort to protect their image against "unfriendly" associations. (Remember when the games company Blizzard asked people to stop drawing pornography of their characters?) But to do so would be to expose an anxiety at the heart of this moment in capitalism and especially with regards to luxury products: that we are all in love, we just express it differently. Not many of us masturbate on our shoes or phones, but most of us touch them and keep them close on a daily basis. Yet the Fight Club-esque analysis that "your things come to own you" falls a little flat for me, because there is indeed something pleasurable about our relations with the designed world.

In post-industrial societies, no gesture, no pose, no desire exists outside or before the base framework of capitalist exchange. As Sonic the Hedgehog tells us, there is no ethical consumption under capitalism. At the same time, consumption is a complex process that involves symbolic values, social influences, and often erotic desires, all enmeshed within production networks based on exploitation and enrichment of affluent countries and corporations at the expense of the rest of the world.

In a sense, then, sneaker porn but is the logic of object love taken to its extreme. But in another, pushing past "normal", acceptable levels of interest in everyday objects to reach explicit sexual fascination (the classic definition of a fetish) creates the potential for rupture. Taking love to the point that it manifests in destruction—smearing shoes in saliva and cum or scuffing them up on some else's back—isn't simply a form of nihilism, a simplistic consumerist romance, or an expression of violent masculine sexuality. It's a complicated gesture that reveals the erotic constructions of identities under capitalism.

This article is a collaboration with Pornhub. For the full analysis with more detailed data visualizations, and more details on the data behind the story, please visit the Pornhub Insights version of this story.

merritt k is a writer and podcaster. Her writing has appeared in Real Life Mag, MEL Magazine and Kotaku amongst other publications.

Text: merritt k

Director: Nik Mirus / L’ÉLOI, Caravane

艺术指导: Francis Dakin-Coté / Caravane, Jean-Constant Guigue / L’ÉLOI

Post-Production: Francis Dakin-Coté / Caravane, Jean-Constant Guigue / L’ÉLOI

Composer: Loïc Ouaret

Production: Karyne Bond / L’ÉLOI

[universitysportsandleisure-blog]

10 Heroes of the 2017 BRND WGN & University Ring Road Races

It’s been over a month now since our 6th edition of the races and even though the hype is slowly dying down, here at the office we are still buzzing. A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting at my desk reading an article from the Times about the event and it really got me thinking. 

After every race, the winners are always put in the limelight and although they definitely deserve to have their efforts commended, sometimes we tend to take this overboard and almost worship them. In fact as a kid, being the keen athlete that I was, I too remember idolising some of the top local athletes in my sport. 

Although it is always great to have role models, i think sometimes we put so much attention on the victors that we fail to notice the feats of others which are just as admirable. 

Which brings me to our next blog post - here’s my take on the real heroes of this year’s edition of the Ring Road Races:

1) The Emergency Fire & Rescue Unit and the San Gwann Scout Group

As the saying goes: ‘Many hands make light work’ and this is indeed the case for our races. We are pleased to have the support of so many people working behind the scenes. It is down to organisations like these that our races are so successful year in year out and they are definitely heroes in our eyes!

2) Euchar Camilleri and his team from Birkirkara St. Joseph Sports Club

Most people hate getting up in the morning, I myself have a mental battle with myself every day to get out of bed for swimming (and many a time sleep wins...). 

What if we told you that at around 5am on race morning you’d find Euchar and his team setting up for the day. They sacrifice their Sunday to help us out and in the many editions we held, never have I heard any of them complain. Euchar really goes out of his way to help even in the build-up to the races, what with route marking and lending us equipment. He definitely deserves the title of Race Hero!

3) Giuseppe Lenti and the rest of the BRND WGN Crew

If we were giving out an award for productivity, then without doubt Giuseppe would be the man for this. I am not sure he realised what he was getting into when we initially met him round about December but he definitely got the job done! 

Anyone who has ever organised an event knows that things never run completely smoothly but Giuseppe was always there to provide a solution. He was great to work with and we will definitely miss our weekly chats over the phone and email correspondence. He was also up at the crack of dawn on race day to help set up!

At this point we must also mention the rest of the BRND WGN crew who were there on the day in masses (Murphy and all) to help support Hospice Malta.

4) Mark Zammit on behalf of Agones Sports Club and his timing system

In past editions, one of the most stressful parts of the actual event was collating results in time for the presentation of awards. This year we solved this problem by investing in chip timing (as opposed to doing everything manually). Mark is probably my manager Johanna’s number one hero of the day; she probably still has nightmares from past issues ;)

5) Jake Vella and his team mates from the Malta Youth Triathlon Academy

At just 7 years old, young triathlete Jake Vella has won over the hearts of thousands of people around the world. Everyone is talking about the little boy who despite training regularly and eating healthily, suffers from a rare disease called ROHHAD which causes him to keep gaining weight. 

Jake has participated in numerous editions of our event and he is possibly the most determined 7 year old athlete I have ever met. Furthermore he is an inspiration to both adults and children alike; in fact it is always an amazing sight to watch the support he gets from his training buddies at MYTA.  

Being a triathlete myself, whenever I’m lacking motivation or going through a difficult period in terms of training and racing, watching Jake is always a reality check. If a 7 year old suffering from ROHHAD can conquer each challenge he sets himself then so can I! Jake you are not only our youngest RACE HERO of 2017 but also my personal hero :)

6) Our Photographers

‘A camera is a save button for the mind’s eye’  Roger Kingston - and also let’s just face it, everyone looks forward to seeing the race pictures on Facebook. Personally I love to look back at albums as it always jogs memories and I often find myself smiling.

We are extremely grateful to our photographers Angie Conti (http://www.angieconti.com/), Robert Camilleri (Fotoclassic) and Alex Turnbull (@alexturnbullimages/) who all did an amazing job at capturing the day’s activities and emotions on film.

7) Wall’s Malta and Dr. Juice

If you’re like me and you think with your stomach then anything related to food is definitely a winner! Let’s face it, who can refuse a free ice- cream or an ice cold smoothie after a run in the sun. I am sure we are not the only ones who were grateful to have them there on the day.

The cherry on the cake was the ice cold Acai Sorbet also on offer at the finish line.

8) Mykill Cini, Capoeira Nagô Malta, Bouncy Castles Malta, Outdoor Living Malta

Because no event is truly complete without some awesome entertainment to keep the crowd going. And with an eager team like ours it’s no surprise that we had not 1, not 2 but 4 different forms for all types of people.

Having partied at various local clubs on his DJ set until the early hours of Race Morning, we definitely have to hand it to Mykill, one of Malta’s top DJs for once again being present at our races. His lack of sleep didn’t seem to have any effect on his energy levels - let’s just say he ‘brought the house down’.

A combination of martial arts and dance/ aerobatics, Capoeira was also a winner amongst our crowds. Their presence alongside the race route helped to keep spirits high, as did their performance on the university track.

Bouncy Castles - need we say more! Kids love them, adults wish they could still justify trying them out. They just add colour to an event like this.

Participants were even given the opportunity to build a 4 x 4, courtesy of our friends from Outdoor Living, to get a taste of how much fun and how beneficial team building activities can be.

4 more heroes who gave up their Sunday morning to be with us on the day!

9) Our fellow Colleagues, Friends and Family

If you read our previous blog then you’ll know that organising an event of this scale is never easy. Stress levels can get super high and let’s just say the last few weeks in the build-up are not the easiest of times for us at the office. After a day like that, you also aren’t the nicest person to be around at home (especially if you are busy fretting about tying up loose ends).

We are lucky enough to have so many people around us who really do have our backs and although at this stage it would be difficult to mention each individual - you know who you are and you really are heroes in our eyes. Whether you helped us out with logistics in the build-up to the event, showed your support by rallying troops to participate or gave up your Sunday Morning to help us out on race day (some were even there at the crack of dawn with us) - we cannot thank you enough!

10) All of you !!!

This year we were able to raise €3200 for Hospice Malta and it is all down to you! Thank you for being a part of our races whether you were there on the day or in spirit! 

Bonus Heroes - Our Sponsors (YOU WERE AMAZING!)

[buddyrabrahams]

Each NBA team’s most important player

The mother of all NBA seasons is nearing. So as you finalize your League Pass subscriptions, complete your fantasy drafts, and prepare the guacamole for your watch parties, take some time to ponder the true meaning of the season — specifically, the benevolent stars who make such a joyous holiday possible with their prodigious athletic talents.

Here I present, each NBA team’s most important player heading into 2017-18:

Atlanta Hawks — Dennis Schroder, PG

“All my friends are dead,” said Schroder in his best Lil Uzi Vert voice as he gazed upon his roster following the respective exits of his last remaining All-Star teammates in Paul Millsap and Dwight Howard this summer. Yes, the Hawks are now as thin as a toothpick, and the incentive for them to “Do Badly for Bagley” or “Make The Fans Puka for Luka” will be enormous. But somebody has to lead this JV squad, and their resident German is as good of an option as any. Perhaps we will see Dennis the Menace gun for 20 and 10. Maybe he develops some nice pick-and-roll chemistry with new additions Dewayne Dedmon and rookie John Collins. Perhaps he finally bleaches his entire head blonde. Anything to give this team a modicum of watchability this season.

Boston Celtics — Kyrie Irving

After selling an arm, a leg, and a hip for him this summer, the Celtics will hope that Irving’s performance in his first season with them does not fall flat. The outside noise in Uncle Drew’s ear will be deafening — mockery of his decision to ditch LeBron James and go off in search of his own empire, jeers at the perceived stagnation of his playmaking skills, pervasive meme treatments of his unorthodox views on astronomy. But Irving is here for one reason and one reason only: to ball out. And that’s what he’s gonna do. Just remember kids, there’s no such thing as distractions when you’re very much woke. [mic drop]

Brooklyn Nets — D’Angelo Russell, PG/SG

If the Nets were a Harry Potter novel, Russell would definitely be the Golden Snitch. Banished from the Magic Kingdom in Los Angeles, the former No. 2 overall pick now finds himself in a situation where he could easily go 20-5-5 this season. Playing next to Jeremy Lin gives Russell the dynamic offensive threat and extra penetrator/creator that he has lacked in the backcourt to this point of his career, and there’s little doubt that D-Lo will be serving as Kenny Atkinson’s go-to scorer as well. His halfcourt skills are divine, his court vision is superb, and his opportunity is now limitless. [points to solid water in veins]

Charlotte Hornets — Kemba Walker, PG

Nicolas Batum is down for the count, so that leaves Walker as the Charlotte Tune Squad’s only true playmaker for now. Fear not though, for this 6-foot-1 slayer of giants is certainly up for the task.

Walker was in peak form last season with 23.2 points a game on 44.4 percent shooting and 39.9 percent from deep (all career-bests). Whether he’s bullying your ankles or stepping back and splashing from outer space, Kardiac Kemba is the Hornets’ cash cow (which is somewhat ironic given that his four-year, $48 million deal marks one of the best bargains in the league today), and he is definitely here to stay.

Chicago Bulls — Zach LaVine, PG/SG

Congrats to LaVine for narrowly beating out the lesser Lopez brother, Michael Porter Jr., and Fred Hoiberg’s polo shirt. A cornerstone of the franchise-resetting Jimmy Butler trade, the two-time Dunk Contest champ is all Bulls fans really have to be excited about in a clear rebuilding year. Even so, LaVine is coming off an ACL tear and might be out a few more months. So the worst-case scenario is that the Bulls are a flaming tire fire, and the best-case scenario is that the Bulls are a flaming tire fire interspersed with some LaVine rim-rockers towards the latter part of the year. Make Chicago basketball fun again.

Cleveland Cavaliers — LeBron James, SF/PF

14 years and over 50,000 minutes later, and The King’s Court remains in session. That troublemaking court jester Kyrie Irving is now exiled, his best knight Dwyane Wade has returned to his side to put the shine back in his crown, and his new cast of noblemen (Isaiah Thomas, Jae Crowder, Derrick Rose, and more) are pleasing. The reviled Golden State empire is a mighty rival indeed. But King James, now aged 32 but with all his physical faculties still intact, will rise from his throne once more and lay down his scepter in preparation for battle. And I fear for all who are forced to stand in his midst.

Dallas Mavericks — Dennis Smith Jr., PG

The Mavs are near-unanimously seen as a non-playoff team in the demonic West, and that likely won’t change no matter how many 20-point games Harrison Barnes drops or how many heartwarming moments our beloved Dirk Nowitzki graces us with. As such, the name of the game for them will be player development and the excitement factor. Enter DSJ and that batty athleticism. The NC State product is one of the rare rookies (ultra-rare when you consider head coach Rick Carlisle’s track record) with the opportunity to start and make an impact right away. Smith Jr. will touch the moon and walk amongst the comets this season, and we will all be better people because of it.

Denver Nuggets — Nikola Jokic, C

Jokic exists in the space where basketball and romanticism intersect. Every post-up is a dance recital, every delivery to a cutter is a precise work of art, and every fast break is a case study in musical theory. Now paired with a like-minded frontcourt partner in Paul Millsap, the Serbian big man has a strong chance to build on his 2016-17 averages (16.7/9.8/4.9) and become the suave slaughterer he was always meant to be. Don’t rain on my parade with cries about his defense, for this is a celebration: a celebration of the man who is making slow and unathletic fashionable again, Mr. Nikola “Big Honey” Jokic.

Detroit Pistons — Andre Drummond, C

Drummond probably came along a dozen or so years too early for his own good. The reality is that a big man stiff who has zero range, possesses limited ability to either protect the basket or switch onto opposing ball-handlers, and shoots like Sheldon Cooper from the free throw line has minimal value in the modern NBA game. But here’s the good news: Drummond is still just 24 years old and his rebound-gorging, rim-assaulting ways at least give him a decent floor as a starting center. With another year of maturity, he will look to become less of an enigma and more of the basketball bully he was born to be.

Golden State Warriors — Draymond Green, PF/C

[jumps into vat of liquid introgen due to the smoldering heat of the take] Truth be told though, this might not even be that bold of an opinion, as Green is legitimately indispensable to everything the Dubs do. Lose one of Stephen Curry or Kevin Durant, and they still have one transcendent bucket-getter who can punch you right out of the scoreboard. Lose one of Curry or Klay Thompson, and they are still capable of raining human suffering on you from long-range. Lose one of Thompson or Durant, and they can still lean on the 3-and-D attributes of the other. But lose Green? Their best distributor, best screen-and-roll player, best team defender, and emotional leader all wrapped up in one? Not great, Bob. Yes, Green is the most vital part of what’s arguably the greatest team in hardwood history, and you gotta get a kick out of that.

Houston Rockets — Chris Paul, PG

James Harden already knows Houston’s personnel and head coach Mike D’Antoni’s offense as well as the back of his beard, which leaves the majority of the adjusting in this relationship to be done by the newcomer Paul. CP3’s methodical, walk-the-ball-up style is in direct incongruence with the up-tempo principles that D’Antoni preaches (and to an extent, Harden’s own ball-dominating tendencies), so a middle ground will definitely need to be reached. Still, with his defensive activity, his subtle strokes of pick-and-roll genius, and yes, his leadership, Paul should provide a hard-hitting yin to Harden’s yang as the Rockets vie for the title of best non-Warriors team in the West.

Indiana Pacers — Myles Turner, PF/C

With Paul George peacing out of Indiana, the springy 21-year-old suddenly has the opportunity to be the biggest Turner on this side of Desiigner. While he could still use some improvement when it comes to rebounding and overall consistency, Turner otherwise has an ideal skillset for a young centerpiece to build a team around. Step 1: manufacture an elite defense using Turner’s shot-blocking and mobility. Step 2: construct a top-tier offense centered on his versatile scoring arsenal. Step 3: profit. OK, maybe it won’t be quite that easy, but it should still be a pleasure to watch Turner raise Hickory Hell in 2017-18.

Los Angeles Clippers — Blake Griffin, PF/C

“The Blake Griffin Show” is not only my favorite new primetime television series of the fall, it’s also the new reality for the Clippers in the aftermath of Chris Paul going ciao. The usual health disclaimers are inescapable with Griffin, whose availability could be the difference between 47 wins and the playoffs or 37 wins and the lottery. But for all you beleaguered point-forward enthusiasts, have I got a new god for you. Should I be institutionalized for believing Griffin has a chance to go LeBron Lite this season with a stat line somewhere in the range of 22-8-7? Probably. But what stands in the ex-top pick’s way in his debut season as Lob City’s sole breadwinner is neither talent nor circumstance: it’s his own body. Are you the gambling type, Clipper fans?

Los Angeles Lakers — Lonzo Ball, PG

It’s time to find out what Big Ballers are really made of. The eldest Ball bro may seem more like a reality star than a professional hooper and his signature shoe may be priced like it’s made of diamonds and caviar. But look beyond the funky jumpshot and the constant negative LaVar covfefe, and you will find a truly special talent. May his passing be so contagious that Adam Silver has to call in the CDC. May the conventions of the sport be turned further on their heads with each full-court outlet pass from his angelic triple-B fingertips. And may the Showtime Lakers bend at the knee and make way for a superior new brand of basketball: The ZoTime Lakers. Tell the haters to stay in their lanes.

Memphis Grizzlies — Mike Conley, PG, Memphis Grizzlies

It’s a point guard-driven league, and by golly, if the Grizzlies are paying Conley over $30 million a year, he darn well better be driving. Fortunately, that the dynamic southpaw did in 2016-17, doing whatever the exact opposite of the big contract blues is by putting forth a career-best year in production. Memphis seems to be going nowhere fast, especially with the untimely (or depending on your perspective, overdue) demise of Grit-N-Grind. But at least we’ll still have Conley getting us lost in the sauce with his two-way exploits.

Miami Heat — Hassan Whiteside, C

Goran Dragic’s nightly 0-to-100 act is enticing, as is the glow of that beachfront property on Waiters Island. But Whiteside’s areas of expertise remain the most irreplaceable on the Heat as he continues to prove his worth as their highest-paid player. The 2K rating has been up for awhile now, the block parties remain the most lit, and the midrange jumpers off glass are a quality wrinkle to what many once believed was a strictly one-dimensional offensive game. Now the focus for Young Whiteside should be on how to effectively match up against stretch-fives a la Kevin Love and Al Horford while still asserting his birthright over the painted area. Open up my eager eyes.

Milwaukee Bucks — Giannis Antetokounmpo, PG/SG/SF

My large, basketball-playing son is here to turn every day into Freaky Friday, bless his heart. Few superlatives could articulate the season Antetokounmpo put together in 2016-17. Embodying the spirit of Oprah Winfrey herself, he pointed at each of his major statistical categories and shouted, “YOU’RE GETTING A CAREER-HIGH! AND YOU’RE GETTING A CAREER-HIGH!” When the dust settled, Antetokounmpo finished with 22.9/8.8/5.4/1.6/1.9 and dragged a Bucks team that missed an entire season combined between Khris Middleton and Jabari Parker to the 6-seed. He’s a monstrosity no matter what end of the floor he’s on, and if he ever starts hitting his jumper with any consistency (which we’re already seeing glimpses of), not to be overly dramatic or anything, but we’re probably all dead. O Giannis, my Giannis.

Minnesota Timberwolves — Karl-Anthony Towns

There’s a reason why our young three-named emperor recently topped the 2017-18 NBA GM survey of which player they would most like to start a team with. True, he may still be a net liability as a defender. But 25.1 points per game on 54.2 percent from the field and 36.7 percent from three is special for any player, much less a 21-year-old pupper. Towns is equal parts physical and finesse, and while the buckets of St. Jimmy Butler and the all-around vigor of the newly-extended Andrew Wiggins will be key for the Wolves, what will truly bring the Western Conference to its knees is when KAT gets its tongue.

New Orleans Pelicans — Anthony Davis, PF/C

I’ve run out of clever eyebrow-related puns, so let’s just look at Davis for what he really is: the biggest walking mismatch in the league today. His trusty 18-footer makes him a tougher cover than a Giannis Antetokounmpo, his 6-foot-11 frame and his 8-foot wingspan make him a more unique hell than any shorter player, and graceful strides make him harder to guard going to the hoop than a Karl-Anthony Towns or a DeAndre Jordan. Now that Davis has hopefully gotten over his growing pains with fellow All-NBA big and ex-Kentucky Wildcat DeMarcus Cousins, the 30-point-per-game mark, the Defensive Player of the Year Award, who knows, maybe even Most Valuable Player honors are all hypothetically within the reach of his octopus-like grasp.

New York Knicks — Kristaps Porzingis, PF/C

Au revoir to the Melodrama at long merciful last. With Carmelo Anthony finally making like an egg and beating it, ’tis a new day for the Knickerbockers. And who better to lead them into their next chapter than Mr. Three Six Latvia? Sure, Porzingis will have some help from a Suicide Squad of sorts: Tim Hardaway’s overpaid son, rookie guard Frank last-name-pronunciation-unknown, and of course Woke Michael Beasley. But the people are finally getting what they want: a 7-foot-3 fairy-tale creature finally getting his moment as the focal point of an offense. All rise for the honorable Porzingod.

Oklahoma City Thunder — Russell Westbrook, PG

I don’t know about you, but I’m still out of breath from the rampage that was the Brodie’s 2016-17 season. His breakup with Kevin Durant left Westbrook free to release his earthly tether and spread his wings to live a war-hungry life among the dragons. Now, an MVP award, a scoring title, and basically every triple-double in NBA history later, Westbrook’s short-lived but nevertheless unforgettable solo career is over, and a new superteam has arisen before him. The equally stunning acquisitions of Paul George and Carmelo Anthony pose as many chemistry concerns as they do title upside, and now the onus in on Westbrook to be the gracious host who welcomes them into his house.

Orlando Magic — Aaron Gordon, PF

The poster child for the #NotMySmallForward movement that I just started literally five seconds ago, Gordon has nowhere to go but up this season. The talented 22-year-old endured a bitter 2016-17 campaign that saw him forced out of position in Orlando’s sardine-like frontcourt and left with an egg on his face after his dud of Dunk Contest follow-up act in what was an overall discouraging year for his growth as a player. But Serge Ibaka and Jeff Green have since gone bye-bye (albeit with rookie big man Jonathan Isaac saying hello), leaving Gordon to (hopefully) see more minutes in his natural habitat as a multi-position defensive padlock and energetic north-south presence from the power forward spot. Don’t blow this for us, Frank Vogel. Not again.

Philadelphia 76ers — Joel Embiid, C

“Live by the Process, die by the Process” -Matthew 26:52. With Philly committing a full five-year, $148 million max extension (albeit with some injury protections) to Embiid after just 31 career games, they are not just taking a leap but an entire skydive-out-of-a-C-182-aircraft of faith. The Cameroonian is well-worth the dice roll though — when he’s on the court, Embiid is a conqueror of galaxies who dominates every aspect of the game from paint to paint and often extends his reign of terror to the three-point line as well. To put it simply, Embiid’s health will be the singular defining factor for the Sixers’ trajectory as a team these next several years. No pressure, bro.

Phoenix Suns — Devin Booker, SG

Fact: Devin Booker scored 70 points in a game last season. Also fact: Michael Jordan’s single-game career-high was a mere 69. I don’t know about you, but I personally require no further convincing that Booker is the greatest basketball player of all-time. In all honesty though, it’s absurd how many different ways the Kentucky product can score the ball, and he’s still not even old enough to get into the club yet. Booker will stunt on you running the high screen or coming off it, and while the crux of his development needs to come on the defensive end, Phoenix has found their meal ticket for the next decade-plus.

Portland Trail Blazers — Damian Lillard, PG

Fresh off the hottest album drop in the history of either hip or hop, what exactly can we expect from Dame D.O.L.L.A. as we enter into a new season? Well, he went 27-5-6 last year and missed out on every major accolade before getting swept in the first round, so he probably has an entire bag of potato chips on his shoulder at this point. But Angry Lillard remains best Lillard, and thus, here’s looking forward to another year of him firing cannonballs from the three-point arc and delivering an assortment of inside-out dribbles to leave your knee ligaments in the abyss. From (number) zero to hero indeed.

Sacramento Kings — Buddy Hield, SG

No, this is not Vivek Ranadive’s alt-account. But as the Kings search for a new savior in their first full season post-Boogie Cousins, the smart money is on His Majesty Prince Buddy ascending to the throne. Hield is thoroughly marvelous at scoring and attacking off the dribble, and the 15.1 points per game he scored as a rookie after being traded to Sacramento provided a momentary glimpse into his offensive upside. And as we enter into the new NBA season, I’d like to propose a toast to the best basketball-playing Buddy since Air Bud himself.

San Antonio Spurs — Kawhi Leonard, SF

Not since the 2001 Sixers have we seen a team rely so heavily on a head of cornrows. With everybody on the Spurs aging and LaMarcus Aldridge getting some major style points for his Houdini act, Leonard in all of his stoicism may be the only thing preventing San Antonio from descending into a state of uncharacteristic chaos. There remains no better player alive if you need a stop on one end and a score on the other end, and as he looks for his third straight 60-plus-win season as the lead singer of the Spurs, expect Leonard’s stone-faced and iron-fisted rule to be front and center in the West once again.

Toronto Raptors — DeMar DeRozan, SG

“I’m just like DeRozan, if I shoot it, it goes in.” While that lyric might not be entirely statistically accurate (DeRozan’s career FG percentage is 44.6, so odds are if he shoots it, it probably won’t go in), his importance to the Raptors is no less. Though he took Toronto the bank over the summer, Kyle Lowry will turn 32 this season. Thus, the burden could increasingly lie on DeRozan to do most of the heavy lifting on offense.

After finishing fifth in the league last year with a personal-best 27.3 points per game, he is clearly fit for the job. But efficiency will always be an issue for No. 10, and it’s probably time to give up on the dream of him ever developing a reliable three-point jumper. So at the end of the day, if Toronto has any further growth to make with this current core, it will almost certainly have to come from DeRozan’s end of the equation.

Utah Jazz — Rudy Gobert, C

Raise thy hand if thou art ready for Rudy Gobert to go St. Anger on the National Basketball Association. Gordon Hayward is no more, but fear not Jazz fans, for The Stifle Tower remains to defend your honor, both literally and figuratively. There’s still a lot to like in Utah this year with Gobert set to catch lobs from fellow Euro stud Ricky Rubio as he and the rest of the team sop up the shot attempts that Hayward leaves behind. Meanwhile, the defense he anchors could potentially prove even more suffocating with the arrivals of rock-solid one-on-one stoppers like Thabo Sefolosha and Jonas Jerebko. Yep, this season especially, this Rudy should be anything but regular-sized.

Washington Wizards — John Wall, PG

With the vivid image of Wall catching the Holy Spirit and sinking a game-winning three in front of his home crowd in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference Semis still crisp in the minds of many, he enters 2017-18 with a lot more work ahead. It will be tough for Optimus Dime to build on a season where he flirted with a 23-11 line while playing in 77+ games for the fourth straight year and finishing top-ten in the NBA in usage. But he is embarking on the fabled age-27 season and will be running it back in a feeble conference with virtually his entire supporting cast still intact. All in all, it’s just another brick in the Wall.

from Larry Brown Sports http://ift.tt/2xCvia3

[medicalmarijuana-news]

Vitamin THC: Cannabis as a Superfood

Is marijuana a superfood? Should cannabinoids be considered essential nutrients? And if so, why are so many edibles still sugar-laden sweets? To find out, we tracked down a few infused-food professionals focused on transforming the herb into fuel for a healthy, vital lifestyle.

In 1753, a Scottish surgeon by the name of James Lind proved that scurvy could be effectively cured with citrus juice. By drinking plenty of lemonade over the course of a two-week long treatment, his patients would fully recover from the fatigue, sores and bleeding typically inflicted by this malady, which was formerly thought to be caused by poor digestion and unclean water (when the real culprit was a simple deficiency in vitamin C).

Until that discovery, the debilitating and often fatal disease limited the ability of seafaring vessels to travel long distances. But after Lind’s popularization of a cure, sailors learned to effectively prevent scurvy by packing barrels of lemon juice and fresh limes for their travels. Today, the disease is so rare as to be almost unheard of, but British sailors retain the nickname limeys, which dates back to their adoption of the practice.

Meanwhile, often derided as a marketing term without scientific basis, the label “superfood” indeed has no legal definition, but according to the Macmillan Dictionary it can be applied to any food that’s “considered to be very good for your health and that may even help some medical conditions.” And so, because vitamin C is found in large quantities in citrus fruits—oranges, lemons and limes can be considered superfoods.

You are what you eat, after all, and foods like kale, sweet potatoes, blueberries and wild salmon provide essential macro- and micro-nutrients that the human body requires for health. Superfoods confer increased vitality and allow humans to fully thrive, along with preventing or treating diseases.

For example, broccoli has widely touted anti-cancer properties, while salmon provides Omega-3 fatty acids that protect your heart, and blueberries arrive packed with antioxidants and phytoflavinoids that prevent inflammation and can help prevent cancer and heart disease.

Include cannabis as part of diet rich in superfoods. (Photo by Damion Lloyd)

Now imagine that all around the world, millions of people are suffering from a modern-day version of scurvy—that is, an easily treatable condition caused by a lack of essential nutrition. Only in this case, the missing dietary element is cannabis, or more specifically cannabinoids, a set of incredibly medicinal compounds found primarily in the marijuana plant.

All humans have what’s called an endocannabinoid system, comprised of receptors that fit these cannabinoids like a lock fits a key, and this endocannabinoid system regulates many vital systems in the body—including respiratory, circulatory and neurological. Which means, if that system malfunctions and cannabinoids are not brought into the body from the outside (by smoking/vaping/eating cannabis) to return it to balance, the negative consequences can be severe, or even life-threatening.

Dr. Ethan Russo first articulated this idea of “clinical endocannabinoid deficiency” (CECD) in a 2004 scientific paper, describing a condition that contributes to high levels of cancer and degenerative diseases,inflain such as Alzheimer’s, inflammatory bowel disease, multiple sclerosis, Parkinson’s and rheumatoid arthritis. With the research to back it up, he’s basically claiming that a lack of cannabis can be the underlying cause of these and many other potentially deadly conditions.

Now imagine that the preventative cure for all of these painful, heartbreaking outcomes could lie in the cannabis plant being widely used as a dietary supplement, much as lemons and limes ended scurvy over two hundred years ago.

After all, if CECD is caused when the body doesn’t produce enough endocannabinoids on its own, and this lack of endogenous cannabinoids can be corrected by adding cannabis from herbal sources, such a simple dietary supplement could save untold lives and relieve immeasurable suffering.

And so, much like James Lind and his studies into the effect of vitamin C on scurvy, Russo is currently pioneering research into one of the least understood, but probably most important, superfoods on the planet. One significant difference in their research? Oranges and limes aren’t a Schedule 1 narcotic that can get you thrown in jail for years.

That legal status has been a serious impediment to proper research on cannabis’s nutritional and medicinal value, but it hasn’t stopped other physicians from picking up on Russo’s lead.

An outspoken advocate for juicing raw cannabis leaves as a dietary supplement, Dr. William Courtney popularized the practice amongst growers in Northern California. Currently in the midst of setting up a juicing retreat center in the Caribbean, Courtney writes that “akin to Essential Fatty Acids and Essential Amino Acids, there needs to be Minimum Daily Requirements established to guide worldwide adoption of raw cannabis as the single most important dietary element.”

You can use cannabis much like any other vegetable.

While juicing raw cannabis is not psychoactive, it does allow for much of the plant’s medicinal benefits to be absorbed by the body. However, for many patients, sourcing an adequate amount of fresh cannabis leaves for juicing purposes can be troublesome. So Courtney and a growing chorus of other activists continue to agitate for the right to use cannabis in any amount necessary, much as any other vegetable.

Because along with its botanical cousin hemp, it seems that cannabis is a superfood in its own right, conferring superb health benefits, anti-inflammatory action and the power to prevent and treat diseases, along with many relaxing and rejuvenating qualities. In this sense, we can consider cannabis as another tool in our arsenal along with blue-green algae, maca, yacon, ginseng, cacao, matcha and other health-positive superfoods that help us reach our full, vibrant, active potential.

Fortunately, while all-too-many cannabis-infused edibles manufacturers continue to flood the market with sugary sweets, an increasing number of progressive companies recognize the plant’s unique medicinal benefits and have devoted themselves to creating cannabis-infused foods that combine cannabis with other superfood ingredients for maximum healing and supreme vitality.

Heather Hoffman from Pura Vida Health.

Heather Hoffman, co-founder and chief medical officer at Pura Vida Health, is a radiant young woman who studied holistic nutrition at the Canadian Institute of Natural Nutrition. When meeting her, it’s hard to imagine that she struggled mightily with epilepsy throughout her youth, but the condition is currently non-existent.

“Since I tried cannabis, I have not had a seizure,” Hoffman told HIGH TIMES. “It’s been five years, and I consider myself cured.”

Pura Vida creates power bars and granolas that pair ganja with other healthful ingredients, including papaya extract, oats and almonds, a blend that Hoffman believes “helps the body better utilize cannabis.” Available in over 100 California dispensaries, Pura Vida products use coconut oil, which “acts as a platform for cannabis to help the body absorb it, so people report getting higher quicker and feeling more of an impact.”

Hoffman said that while it can be tough to get healthy options on the shelves of dispensaries, if “we want cannabis to be what it truly is—a healing medicine—then we have a responsibility to actually do that,” and greater education is necessary so patients understand that nutritious cannabis-infused foods exist.

“It’s best to not give cancer patients a chocolate bar,” she explained. “Corn syrup and sugars aren’t medicine.”

When using cannabis as medicine, especially for patients fighting cancer, it’s important to remember that sugar feeds cancerous growth. Items that eschew refined sweeteners and processed ingredients in favor of combining cannabis with other nutrient-dense whole foods, additional herbs and supplements create functional edibles designed to promote specific effects like “energy boost” or “super sleep.”

It’s a viewpoint shared by Ezra Malmuth, founder of the Sababa Snacks Collective and also a graduate of the culinary nutrition program at Johnson & Wales University. While assisting a friend’s father who was suffering from stage 4 cancer, Malmuth found that a lot of the cannabis edibles he was eating “were not health conscious, had a lot of sugar and calories and didn’t taste great.” Determined to find a better way, Malmuth began combining superfood ingredients into “clusters,” small, bite-size morsels of dried fruit, nuts, spices and herbs.

“It was like an oatmeal cookie meets a granola bar,” Malmuth explained. “And it was delicious while providing the medicine that he needed.”

Sababa Snacks went on to capture a second place award for their Caramel Cashew Apricot clusters at the 2016 Nor-Cal Cannabis Cup, a win Malmuth attributes to “people who understand the value of wholesome food being attracted to this product.”

When selecting ingredients to pair with the 25 milligram dose of THC per cluster, Malmuth chose to create “an inherent offering to the body,” mixing oats and nuts to provide protein and dried fruit to provide carbohydrates, making a combination of macro-nutrients that supports the metabolic process. Favored as an athletic recovery snack, these clusters help long-distance runners “eliminate the inflammatory response to exercise,” Malmuth said, “while optimizing performance.”

Joseph Winke, founder of Jambo Superfoods, has always treated cannabis as an essential vitamin, mixing it into new versions of traditional healing foods, such as the company’s bestselling “Daily Ritual,” a unique blend of THC combined with medium chain triglyceride (MCT) oil and ghee from grass-fed cows. The resulting super-butter is meant to be enjoyed with morning coffee in the Bulletproof-style, or simply spread onto bread or used in cooking.

Winke champions the use of MCT oil, a type of coconut oil that is liquid at room temperature, explaining that this form of fat is especially bioavailable, so the “body is able to easily process these fats, so you get a really good uptake,” making the THC more effective.

“We use actual food that the body knows how to metabolize,” Winke explained. “Not high fructose corn syrup, artificial flavoring, or whey protein isolates…humans perform better when we have an abundance of cannabinoids.”

Much like how we perform better when we have vitamin C, antioxidants and essential amino acids available in our diets.

So remember, when we fight to free the cannabis plant, we’re fighting for our lives!

Related: 13 Healthy Cannabis Superfoods

For all of HIGH TIMES’ edibles coverage, click here.

from Medical Marijuana News http://ift.tt/2iMikva via https://www.potbox.com/