Dear Diary...

Re-living the good, the bad and the ugly of Red Rally day

Jason Friedman
Rockets.com Staff Writer

Houston - I’m not sure how or why I became the Rockets’ de facto talent competition judge. For two years straight I’ve masqueraded as a judge for Rockets Power Dancer auditions despite the unfortunate fact that I have about as much dancing ability as David Andersen (we’ll get to him later). Somehow, for reasons which still escape me, I parlayed that into a gig judging Rockets’ Fans Got Talent and Red Rowdy auditions this past Saturday.

I suppose there are only two explanations: 1.) The people who make these decisions derive unholy amounts of pleasure from watching me stew in my own ineptitude or 2.) Someone out there thinks I have a keen eye for talent.

I’m going to go ahead and rule out option No. 2 right now based on my recent selection of LaDainian Tomlinson and Tony Romo as two of my first three fantasy football picks this year. Needless to say, LDT and Romo are currently treating my squad with the same sort of malicious malefaction Dexter Morgan typically reserves for his victims, so I think it’s a safe bet that you’ll never see the words “talent evaluator” headlining my CV. In fact, things have gone so far downhill that a friend of mine emailed this Bill Simmons’ excerpt (written last Friday, prior to Tomlinson’s Sunday night stink bomb) asking me if I had paid the Sports Guy to write this:

“By the way, can someone start a support group for everyone who took LaDainian Tomlinson over Chris Johnson in a 2009 fantasy draft? I made that move in my East Coast draft; now I just want to sit in a room on Tuesday nights with other depressed fantasy owners as we shake our heads at one another, feel sad and watch video clips of Norv Turner saying that LDT is feeling better but he still might need another week before he's ready to come back.

(FYI: I continue to hate fantasy football and wonder why I participate in something that gives me a 90 percent chance of being angry and feeling bad about myself. This is fun? It's fun to watch your first-round pick standing sullenly on the sidelines every week as his backup whom you forgot to pick as a handcuff is putting up points? That's fun? REALLY? THAT'S FUN? I'M HAVING FUN? #$^@ YOU, TOMLINSON! #$^@ YOU! #$^@ YOU! OK, I feel a little better.)”

Important note: Make sure you replace Chris Johnson’s name from the preceding paragraph with Michael Turner (since my team had the No. 3 overall pick). Think about that for a moment. Now you know why I spent my weekend researching the best way to tie the perfect noose. Well, at least that’s what I was doing while I wasn’t judging talent competitions. And with that in mind – and a nod to the Sports Guy, the man who mastered the medium – here’s my running diary of Saturday’s events.

9:45 AM: Hey, as long as I’m sharing all the things I’m terrible at, let’s add one more to the list: I’m pretty sure I’m the least mechanically-inclined person on the planet. I think I could identify a hammer or screwdriver if I were presented with primitive pictures of those tools but that’s probably about the extent of my expertise. So you can imagine, then, how helpful I was while standing outside Toyota Center watching a few of my co-workers try to correctly set up the audio mixer and speakers for the inaugural Rockets’ Fans Got Talent event.

They worked while I watched and did my best to at least feign interest and moral support while, in reality, I was in the throes of a passionate internal debate attempting to figure out whether my near-useless skill set would make me the first person kicked off “Survivor” or a force to be reckoned with. Isn’t there always someone who slips through the cracks simply because he’s not seen as any sort of threat early on? I could totally be that guy, right??? That thought momentarily lightened my mood until I realized that I had essentially found solace in achieving success through non-threatening incompetence. Way to aim high, Jason.

10:03 AM: For those of you unfamiliar with the Rockets’ Fans Got Talent concept, here’s the gist: Participants have two minutes to show us whatever they’ve got in an effort to be eligible to either sing the national anthem before Rockets’ home games or perform at halftime. And since more than 90% of the attendees were there to sing the anthem, that means I’m on the precipice of hearing The Star Spangled Banner approximately 18,254 time over the course of the next two and a half hours. Is it anti-American of me that I’d much rather be forced to sit through the director’s cut version of the movie Crossroads than listen to our country’s signature song over and over (and over) again? I vote no. I feel like even Francis Scott Key would have my back on this one.

11:15 AM: Surprisingly, after hearing various renditions of the anthem for more than an hour straight, I’m not yet numb to the experience. Credit that to the talent onstage which has been consistently solid for the most part. Some have even been exceptional, like the young male quintet which absolutely knocked their version of “In the still of the night” out of the ballpark, eliciting a tremendous response from the crowd on hand. That’s the sort of performance we’re looking for and exactly the type of moment which makes this event worthwhile.

A word of advice, however, for those who wish to take part next year: style counts. It’s not everything, mind you, but be sure to keep in mind the saying about first impressions. If you’re a woman applying eye shadow, it’s probably best to stick to one color instead of using the entire spectrum. If it looks like you’ve painted “ROY G. BIV” across your eyes, then that’s probably a good sign that you’ve gone too far. And if the effect is so jarring it prompts an onlooker to crack, “It looks like a bag of Skittle threw up on her eyelids!” then let that be a lesson to you: Taste the rainbow. Don’t wear it.

12:30 PM: The competition wraps up on the perfect note (literally) as our final performer belts out a rousing rendition of the anthem. She was fantastic and there truly were some tremendously talented people on stage today. And though two and a half hours of (mostly) anthems was, at times, tough to sit through as a judge, I’m sure it wasn’t exactly a picnic for the myriad performers either, especially given the fact that they were the ones on the hot seat and it was their responsibility to do something, anything to stand out from the crowd. Well done, Houston.

(editor’s note: We promise that Jason was not faced with the threat of electrocution, dismemberment or any other form of torture when he sat down to write the preceding paragraph. Any random blinking, scarring or evidence you might witness to the contrary is purely coincidental.)

1:38 PM: This day is, after all, about basketball so it’s only fitting that we discuss the Rockets’ open scrimmage for a bit. It’s always fun to see the guys have fun out there, especially after a long opening week of practice and “fun” is definitely the operative word of the day. There’s not even a hint of defense being played as everyone is doing their best to entertain the crowd with a variety of long-range bombs and high-flying circus dunks.

The top three highlights on my list: Luis Scola’s nothing-but-net trey, Kyle Lowry’s bounce pass off the backboard to himself dunk and Chuck Hayes’ improbable reverse jam. Chuck ran straight to the bench after his effort, knowing full well that there was no use trying to top that. Nice touch, but I would like to have seen him pull a Bo Jackson and simply run right into the tunnel following his dunk, providing the perfect exclamation to his signature moment. Since Hayes is a Raiders’ fan, I’m a little disappointed he didn’t think of that himself. Heck, given the sorry state of the Raiders these days, Hayes’ throwdown could very well have held up as Oakland’s season-long highlight.

1:50 PM: This is it, it’s time for the event everyone’s been waiting to see: the Rockets’ Rookie Dance-Off. There’s just nothing quite like seeing these incredible athletes, who are accustomed to performing in front of huge crowds on a nightly basis, shrink before the spotlight when asked to bust a move or two.

Of particular interest to the schadenfreude freaks among us: getting a chance to see David Andersen rock the party. Here’s what the 6-11 Aussie told the Chronicle’s Jonathan Feigen the day before: “I can't dance. I'm Australian, man. We don't dance. We sit back, relax and talk.” Yep, this is going to be good. The only question: Will he relish the moment á la Mark Madsen or simply try to get it over with as soon as possible?

1:52 PM: Not surprisingly, Andersen opted for door No. 2. With Men at Work’s “Land Down Under” blaring from the speakers, the big man half-heartedly shuffled his feet with the sort of tortured look on his face eerily reminiscent of the way I feel every time I refresh a Cleveland Browns’ box score to look at Braylon Edwards’s (another one of my savvy fantasy football selections) receiving numbers. I feel your pain, David. I feel your pain. On the bright side, Andersen will be done with his misery within 30 seconds while mine figures to last another 3 months (not including the winter, spring and summer-long harassment certain to come my way from fellow league members). In semi-related news, I’m currently exploring any and all loopholes in order to gain admittance to the Witness Protection Program.

1:56 PM: Uh oh. Andersen’s not out of the woods yet. In the ultimate indignity, fans have voted him in to the finals of the dance-off, pitting him against rookie Garrett Temple, someone who actually can dance. This is sort of like inviting the Yankees and Nationals to play for the World Series title. Never underestimate our society’s lust to see a good train wreck. Andersen is a good sport about it, though I’m pretty sure his effort has been downgraded from halfhearted to one-one hundredth-hearted. Too bad, because I think I speak for everyone when I say this would have been the perfect time to re-create the Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze classic Chippendales skit. Bummer.

2:35 PM: The scrimmage is done and the players have made the rounds signing autographs, which means we’re down to the final event of the day – Red Rowdy auditions. The format is simple. Each contestant gets 30 seconds to wow the panel of judges with their passion. And by “passion” I mean “insanity,” though only in the best possible sense of course. These men and women LOVE the Rockets and I can’t even imagine the homecourt advantage Houston would have if we had 18,000 people bringing the noise the way this crew does every single game.

That said, would I immediately become a sobbing infant curled up in the fetal position if I ran into a select few of these rowdies in a dark alley somewhere? Without question. (Side note: For those of you scoring at home, we’ve now established that I don’t know my way around a toolbox and resort to tears when confronted with a perceived threat to my personal well being. Add in the fact that lately Rockets’ GM Daryl Morey has taken to comparing my hair to Wally Szczerbiak’s and I think I’m now at a solid minus-48 on the machismo scale. Life is good.)

2:45 PM: Good to know I’m not the only one a wee bit frightened by some of the Rowdy participants. During one of the more clever skits which witnessed a pretend beatdown to a fan wearing a Kobe Bryant jersey, one of the spectators ran away in terror. Now it’s only fair that I point out that the spectator in question just so happened to be the daughter of fellow judge (and Sports Radio 610 super-host) Adam Wexler. And she’s only three years old. But still. The important thing is that I’ve got a kindred spirit out there and don’t have to feel alone in my wussitude. At least until she starts kindergarten, that is.

3:30 PM: The selections have been made and I’m happy to report that the Red Rowdy section will be in very good hands this year. We’ve got one heck of a loud, colorful and creative group ready to represent with pride and passion. Can’t wait to see them in action.

As for me, I’m ready to retire from the judging process for awhile. After all, it is basketball season, right? Time to focus on the things that matter most – you know, like finding a way to upgrade my slumping team by trading for Kerry Collins and Clinton Portis. I’ve got a real good feeling about those two…

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