DJMJ's Rock Across America

As you may or may not know, I've left central Pennsylvania and landed in Los Angeles, trading Harrisburg and agriculture for Hollywood and agoraphobia. I'm out here pursuing a dream, which is the very essence of America. Amid the 2008 political conventions, with a black man earning the Democratic nomination for president and a woman earning the Republican nomination for vice president, that essence is stronger than ever.

To get to the West Coast, I had to drive approximately 38 hours across the country, although I did make a couple out-of-the-way stops to say goodbye to friends. After leaving Chicago last weekend, I had a 30-hour trip ahead of me, an open road of infinite possibilities. It was an optimistic voyage to the land of movie stars.

You might even call it a "Star Trek"...



California...the final frontier...these are the voyages of the Starship Pontiac. Its three-day mission: to explore strange, new states. To seek out new citizens and new civilizations. To boldly go where DJMJ has been a few times already...


Captain's Log, Stardate 801.8

Chicago is a beautiful city. As I told my friend who lives there, I'd seriously consider moving to Chicago if it wasn't relatively close to where I'm from.

Captain's Log, Stardate 822.3

There are billboards galore that have Miley Cyrus' picture all over them. Which means she has "Britney Spears" written all over her.

Captain's Log, Stardate 864.5

There isn't much between Chicago and the western border of Illinois, but the lack of civilization hasn't bored me one bit. I'm sure that'll change in a few hours.

Captain's Log, Stardate 893.2

I've just crossed the Iowa border and I stopped at Iowa 80, which proudly proclaims itself as the world's largest truck stop. If you think about it, though, there isn't much competition outside of the United States. I mean, Europeans drive slick cars, Africans drive jeeps, South Americans and Australians drive four-wheelers, and Asian extremists drive off-road pickups. Do they even have trucks in Antarctica?

Captain's Log, Stardate 902.10

Now I'm rolling through Iowa, home of Enterprise Captain James Tiberius Kirk. The vast countryside expands far past each horizon, and the gaping sky is a window to humanity's possibilities. It's easy to envision a young Jim Kirk dreaming of space as he looked up to the stars. But right now I'm envisioning how cool I'd be if my middle name was "Tiberius."


Captain's Log, Stardate 956.7

It's been four hours since I entered Iowa, and I'm not even out of the state. This is going to be a long trip.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1010.5

Omaha is upon me, and my gas tank is low. I figure I'll wait til I'm past the city, find a less hectic exit and fill up then.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1011.6

Lots of traffic, still no sign of I-80 getting past Omaha.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1012.8

Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Omaha is much bigger than I thought.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1013.9

I'm officially resigned to the fact that my car's going to run out of gas and I'm going to have to call Triple-A.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1014.1

Wait! Omaha is finally behind me! And there's a service station!

Captain's Log, Stardate 1033.6

Nebraska's official state motto is "Equality Before the Law." I'm a history minor from Penn State University and I have no idea what the hell they're talking about.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1084.2

Radio coverage of this evening's Democratic National Convention is about to begin. So to, apparently, are massive thunderstorms on each side of I-80.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1105.3

Hillary Clinton is giving her speech, which endorses Barack Obama and implores her supporters to help Obama win the election. As she delivers these concessory words, I can't help but picture her wearing a great shirt I saw at T-Shirt Hell.


Captain's Log, Stardate 1150.7

Those storms to the left and right of me must be big. The thunder is booming, and the lightning is pretty impressive at night. What a comforting thought as I drive through Tornado Alley.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1198.9

I've decided to stop for the night in Cheyenne, Wyoming, a quaint little town with a Comfort Inn that's running discounts. Warp speed.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1294.1

I've checked out of the Comfort Inn and I'm heading out of Cheyenne. For a one-night stayover, it was very pleasant.

Captain's Log, Stardate 13.33.6

Wyoming seems to be getting drier the further I head west. I wonder if the plant life will make a rebound.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1363.4

Doesn't look like it. Arid Arizona has nothing on this place.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1394.5

Sports talk giant and DJMJ favorite Jim Rome doesn't seem to be available in southern Wyoming, but the large rock formations are distracting my attention from the radio. This is gorgeous scenery.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1424.6

I've seen relatively cheap gas prices all along my trip. So naturally, I choose to fill up for 50 flippin' bucks in some alternate dimension known as Rock Springs, Wyoming.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1453.8

I'm approaching Salt Lake City now, and these sharp turns are horrible, much like many of the other drivers. Seriously, who builds a stretch of highway down a mountain and then posts 65 mph speed limits??

Captain's Log, Stardate 1475.2

The arduous process of getting to Salt Lake City was worth it. It's a tight-knit, well-constructed community with a pleasant climate that's equal doses rural and urban. Biggest impression: It's really easy to see why so few NBA teams beat the Jazz on the road. No joke.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1500.3

I've finally broken off I-80 and I'm well on my way down I-15, which runs right through Las Vegas. Stop and cruise the Vegas strip before continuing to Los Angeles? You've talked me into it!

Captain's Log, Stardate 1517.4

Glenn Beck's co-host just made fun of the Greek temple built for Barack Obama in Denver by comparing it to the Colosseum. This is the third time today I've heard a conservative radio host make such a mistake. I guess they don't teach the difference between Greeks and Romans at private school.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1537.7

Bill Clinton is in the building. Fleetwood Mac's "Don't Stop" is blasting. Hello 1992.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1553.8

Of all the politicians I've heard, Bill Clinton is the best speaker. He's tossing the tennis ball, and these liberals keep chasing it and bringing it back.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1568.5

Clinton's done dropping knowledge on them suckas, and he's being followed by...John Kerry. If they wanted the crowd to fall asleep after Clinton finished speaking, they could have just sent everyone home for the night.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1577.3

Forget everything I just said about John Kerry being boring. He's SERVING John McCain right now. I've almost crashed twice from laughing so hard.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1577.4

OH SHIT! Make that three times.

Hey McKobe, tell me how my ass taste!

Captain's Log, Stardate 1610.5

Democratic vice presidential nominee Joe Biden is speaking, and he's not all that engaging. Also, I can't say his name without adding "pump, pump-pump it up!" If you don't get the reference, you don't listen to enough crappy rap music.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1647.1

Driving through the Rocky Mountains at night is something to behold. The scenery of America continues to live up to expectations.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1648.2

So do the crappy drivers, who I've officially dubbed "Speed Racers", because they drive that fast and they're as awful as the movie.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1667.3

I'm 18 miles away from Las Vegas, and I can already see it: a sweeping ocean of golden lights set against the black desert night, reaching as far as the eye can see. Absolutely the most awesome thing I've ever seen.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1675.4

This is the first time I've ever driven myself down Las Vegas Boulevard, the No. 1 place on Earth in the latest coaches' poll. I think I'm just going to save money so I can permanently live at the Bellagio.


Captain's Log, Stardate 1717.7

America's Playground is behind me, and now I'm heading down the southern California portion of I-15, which has to be the most boring stretch of the whole highway.










Captain's Log, Stardate 1784.9

Jeez, I'm finally past Barstow and close to San Bernardino, where I hit 210 West toward (you guessed it!) Los Angeles.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1801.5

The streets of LA are dense at night, without much traffic or headache. So I'm going to eat this up as long as possible.

Captain's Log, Stardate 1804.3

The Starship Pontiac has reached its destination, cargo intact and equipment functioning well. Before you know it, I'll move in to my new apartment and start plugging my contacts out here.

The big discovery is around the corner, I can feel it. But for now, I express this sentiment with the ultmost altruism:

Hate For Real

I hate you, Kobe Bryant. Most people do. McDonald's and Sprite hate you, ostensibly because they hate rape. I hate you for making a commercial telling people to hate you for how hard you work to excel on the basketball court, seemingly oblivious to the fact that most people hate you because you're at best, an adulterous pansy who tried to buy back his wife, and at worst, a rapist. Let's put aside the fact that you're about the worst teammate in the history of organized sports, and an egomaniac of the first order. Let's just focus on the fact that you're a walking, breathing sack of syphilis, who would kill someone if you thought it would get you a ring without Shaq around.

Kobe, my hope for you is that you contract Ebola and herpes at the same time. I hope that the herpes, in a medical first, somehow prevents the Ebola from killing you while at the same time subjecting you to all its side effects. Then I hope you get tied to two posts while your teammates teach you how to pass by bouncing basketballs off of your balls for 3 hours. Finally, I hope you choose to slink away to your own private island, complete with dozens of mirrors, so you can have sex with yourself while you watch in a mirror, only to be interrupted by three masked men who give you an enema of wet cement. Please die, and get out of my sporting world.

(ps: The fact that you're the most popular athlete in China is NOT a good thing. Though I'm sure you've used your clout to bag a few of those female gymnasts, as they seem to be just about the right age for you.)

Anthony Smith=Tremendous Waste

Given the events of about a week and a half ago at Steelers' training camp, I'd say we have a front-runner for Dipshit Pittsburgh Athlete of the Year Award, or as it is more commonly known, the Derek Bell Award. The dumbass in question is Anthony Smith, the Steelers' safety who has been described by some as having a body "chiseled from granite," but who unfortunately is described by all as having a brain "molded from Silly Putty."

Smith's crime was pretty simple: He laid out Hines Ward in a non-contact drill. Even if Smith hadn't pulled this stunt last year with Willie Reid, it would still be the pinnacle of stupidity. Ward is a borderline HOF'er, the Steelers' longest tenured player, an undisputed team leader and a guy that has battled injuries for the past few years. Risking an injury to him is inexcusable. Smith is a guy that guaranteed a win against the Patriots and got burnt. Smith is not Hines Ward. Smith is not even Dedric Ward, and some would argue he does not even approach Sela Ward. But I digress.

The most troubling/amusing part about the Smith/Ward saga is the fact that Smith doesn't seem to think that his practice antics and overall poor play have put him on the hot seat. He seems unconcerned that every other player in coach in camp is speculating on his future with the team, instead talking about making small adjustments in the remaining pre-season game. Unfortunately for everyone in the 7 county metropolitan area, due to an injury to local high school product Ryan Mundy, and the continued Marinovich-induced gimpiness of Troy Polamalu, it looks like Smith will last through this year, even though everyone pretty much hates him.

Still, since I can't stand the guy so much, I have dreamt up a few ways to get him out of the team's collective hair:

--Fight to the death with Steve Smith of the Panthers (only true winners are the fans)
--Fight to the death with Kellen Winslow Jr. (on free tv, no less)
--Post-lunch snack for Casey Hampton
--Enema of hydrochloric acid
--Clamp eyelids open, tie him to a chair, and force him to watch A-Rod/Madonna sex tapes
--Clamp eyelids open, tie him to a chair, and force him to watch tape from last year's Pats game
--Feed him to the lions, a la ancient Rome
--Make him play for the Detroit Lions
--Deportation to Philadelphia
--Paint picture of famous teammates on brick wall, watch as he attempts to tackle them until he knocks himself unconscious
--Cast him as buddy sidekick in next Eddie Murphy vehicle
--Four words: Rosie O'Donnell's Loofah Manager
--Make him start boy band with Chad Hermansen, Kevin McClatchy, Matt Morris and Dave Littlefield

Or, they could just, you know, release him.

(God I hope.)

Misery 101

Now that I've successfully removed the steak knives from my eyeballs and regained my vision, it's time to comment on Monday's nationally televised mass-murder in East Rutherford, New Jersey.

Where do I begin? That's just it. There's nowhere TO begin. The Giants beat the Browns 37-34, but they were up 30-3 before Ron Jaworski could even say "National Football League." If preseason games are about how your starters look, then we're pro football's answer to the Elephant Man.

I can't possibly do our performance justice in a blog description. Just know two things: your football team has never played that poorly, and it was actually worse than what you're reading.

While I was watching the slaughter at work, I cycled through my mental rolodex of ways to summarize the Browns' Monday Night Fuckup. Lots of thoughts crossed my mind, from writing a 300-word post made up entirely of cuss words to comparing the Browns to a Star Trek episode I'd watched earlier in the day. I ultimately decided that we were so bad, there's only one thing to do:

Rank this debacle among the worst things in history.

Adolf Hitler

The trendy pick for "history's worst" lists, Hitler oversaw the murder of more than nine million Jews, Gypsies, Communists, POWs, Slavs, homosexuals, disabled people and dissidents over the course of a decade. The Browns oversaw the murder of 2.5 million fans' optimism in one night.

VERDICT: Hitler, by a lot

The Black Death

Specifically a massive case of the bubonic plague, the Black Death was responsible for the fatalities of anywhere from 75-100 million people in the 14th century. Warning signs (term used loosely) included bleeding extremities, nausea, aching joints and severe overall discomfort. Other than the bleeding extremities, I experienced all that Monday night watching the Browns.

VERDICT: The Black Death, by a good amount

Original sin

When Adam and Eve ate those apples, mankind was fucked. Kind of like the Browns' o-line against the Giants.

VERDICT: The Browns, by a hair

Transformers (film)

I was never into Transformers as a kid, but it wasn't hard to get excited for the movie. I mean, cars that turn into robots and beat the shit out of each other? Let's go! But instead of that, we had to sit through an hour-long teen drama before the Transformers even showed up, and when they did, it was lame scenes and cartoonish action sequences the rest of the way.

VERDICT: Transformers, by a lot

Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus

Better known as Caligula, it's believed that this first-century Roman emperor suffered from an inflammation of the brain stem, which characterized his gleeful cruelty, abject decrees, vainly expansionist policy, twisted sexual indulgences and total insanity. Come to think of it, "total insanity" is a great way to describe rooting for the Browns.

VERDICT: Caligula, because of the sex appeal

The Cretaceous-Tertiary extinction event

That's a fancy way of saying "how the dinosaurs died." Here's what we know: approximately 65 million years ago, something happened that caused the mass extinction of a large percentage of the Earth's plant and animal species in a relatively short period of time. As recent as the mid-1990s, it was believed that a giant asteroid struck the planet's surface and caused a period of darkness that lasted about a year, which effectively destroyed the Earth's life cycles. Since the turn of the century, scientists have begun to theorize that it was a combination of multiple impact events, increased volcanism and marine regression, the perfect cocktail for geological obliteration.

Which must have tasted better than the cocktail I'm slamming right now.

VERDICT: The Browns, but dinosaurs are still way cool

50 Cent's sophomore album

You follow your instant-classic debut with this? I was a Penn State freshman when Get Rich came out, and I remember how every stereo on campus was blasting it. I also remember how great it was, and how great you were, and how it deserved a worthy successor. Instead, we get pedestrian party singles, uninspired penmanship and a feeble, overhyped diss track that was torn apart by superior lyricists like Jadakiss. If you're looking for G-Unit's first sellout CD, look no further.

VERDICT: The Browns, only because "I'm Supposed to Die Tonight" is a sick song

The sinking of the Titanic

More than 1,500 people died when the "unsinkable" ship struck an iceberg on April 14, 1912. But most of them were rich snobs who probably deserved it.

VERDICT: The Browns, who ran into similar disasters on the Giants' 10-yard line

Mount Vesuvius' eruption of 79

Most of us learned about this in second or third grade, under the chapter about Pompeii. The volcanic eruption completely wiped out the town of Pompeii and significantly damaged several neighboring communities, and recent research has suggested that an earthquake 17 years earlier contributed to the eruption's tectonic precursors. I dunno about Vesuvius, but lava and ash were nothing compared to what I was spewing Monday night.

VERDICT: The Browns, shout out to Morrison Elementary

Robocop 2 (film)

A sequel that's ultra-nihilistic, gratuitously violent, barren of imagination, retrograde in its visual effects, and thoroughly preposterous in its convictions. Without a doubt, the worst movie with serious intentions I have ever seen. No funny jokes in this paragraph.

VERDICT: Robocop 2, by a lot

DeShawn Stevenson

So awful I had to end a post by making fun of him twice!

Jensen Lewis hates America

I don't know how else to say it, Jensen.

At first, I was ready to congratulate you for Sunday's effort. The Tribe defeated the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim Adjacent to Irvine Down the Road From Burbank A Stone's Throw From Long Beach 4-3 and became the first team since late June to win a series against them. You worked out of a sticky situation in the ninth, when Gary Matthews Jr. was on third with one out. You picked up the save, your third of the season, and you're looking more and more like a capable closer every day.

Only now I find out that you may not appreciate America's national pasttime as much as I thought. In fact, you may not appreciate America at all!


Don't give me that look! You know EXACTLY what I'm talking about! I read that little quote you gave after the game, about pitching with former Vanderbilt teammate and current Indians starter Jeremy Sowers:

"This was just like college," Lewis said. "Jeremy would start and I would finish. I told him during the anthem, 'I'm going to come in and save it for you.'"

Oh reeeeally? Talking during the national anthem, are we, Jensen? Do you have any respect for our country?


Oh, so you think this is FUNNY, huh? Mmkay! Mmkay! We'll see how funny you think it is when I talk during the fight song for Anderson High School in Cincinnati! Or when I take a leak during the alma mater song for Vanderbilt!


Ooooh no you don't! You can't run off with some pretty little fan THIS time, Jensen! We have to fix your aversion to America IMMEDIATELY!


Good. I'm glad to see you're treating this assignment as enthusiastically as you treated Sunday's game against the Angels.

There are many ways to inject the spirit of America back into a person, and one of the best just so happens to be presenting itself tonight.

Since the Indians have the day off, Jensen, I want you to plop yourself on the couch and flip the channel to ESPN at 8 p.m.

Why?








Get excited.

Phelps is the New Eleven

I knew the Olympics would arrive in the blog eventually, and I figured they'd get here through a heinous smash piece about USA Basketball. Believe me, every 10-minute stretch Chris Paul and Deron Williams are on the floor together, I'm chomping at the bit. Whenever Coach K shortens his rotation on a roster where everyone's a star, I'm foaming at the mouth. Yup, I'm sitting here like a petulant sniper, waiting for these guys to continue USA Basketball's impression of David Caruso's movie career.

Now that's a snappy one-liner

But they're not. In fact, Team USA has been so impressive that I have no doubt we're going to win the gold, and my national pride has pounded down the cynicism harder than LeBron rejected Felizardo Ambrosio.

I've been waiting to chug similar haterade with Michael Phelps, who competes in the supremely sissy Olympic sport of swimming and has taken the Brett Favre baton as the most annoyingly over-saturated athletic figure.

After watching Phelps win his record eighth gold medal Saturday night, however, I don't really feel compelled to bash him. Eight golds is ridiculously impressive no matter how you slice it. At the same time, swimming sucks, so I'm not exactly going to celebrate the achievement, either. Think of it more as a twisted congratulations from Creative Differences to Michael Phelps, with several random thoughts tied together by this Olympic titan.

Random Thought No. 1:

I was watching NBC's coverage with my aunt and uncle Friday evening when DJMJ favorite Bob Costas did an interview with Phelps and former Olympic record-holder and mustache-rocker Mark Spitz. In a revolting lovefest, Spitz congratulated Phelps on breaking his record for most gold medals in a single Olympics (which Phelps hadn't done yet) and described his performance in the white-knuckle 100 butterfly as "epic."

While Spitz isn't wrong, my aunt and I quickly developed a bunch of jokes about that statement, one of which was the line "Phelps is the new epic." That phrase has been used to describe many things, the coolest of which was no doubt the teaser poster for Ocean's Twelve, which read "Twelve is the New Eleven."


Random Thought No. 2:

Michael Phelps is a dork.

Yup

His overbite, his Dumbo ears, his Diplodocus posture. Can't forget his accomplishments, either, and Phelps' medal-mongering is the latest in a recent trend of dorks coming up big in sports.

Just a few months ago, Eli Manning led the Giants to a championship.

Ladies and gentlemen...your Super Bowl-winning quarterback

Then, Kevin Garnett led the Celtics to a championship.

Way to go, KGeek, knock that bully out

Right now, Kyle Busch is eviscerating the rest of the NASCAR Sprint Cup series.

I wish my car was sponsored by Magic: The Gathering

What's next? Napoleon Dynamite, World Series MVP?

Random Thought No. 3:

The Olympics are drawing record ratings. Apparently, we live in fourth-century Greece.

Random Thought No. 4:

Since NBC began advertising Michael Phelps DVDs two minutes after he won his eighth gold medal, I figure a biopic isn't far off. In that case, I have the perfect actor to play him.

First, here's another shot of Phelps:


Now, here's a shot of CSI: Miami cast member Jonathan Togo:


When Togo's character debuted in the third season, he clearly had no charisma and wasn't very good at acting tough. Sounds just like Phelps to me.

But enough monkey business. Phelps' eight gold medals are a testament to great moments in sports, an achievement we'll remember the rest of our lives, like Barry Bonds' 756th home run* and the Patriots' perfect season*. It's a hallowed mark that will live in the annals of Olympic competition until the next timeless swimmer comes along, if he ever does.

With that in mind, congratulations, Michael Phelps.

I think.

I Hate You, Kevin Millar

Fuck you, Kevin Millar. You had a few average years with the Red Sox, ran your fucking mouth for awhile, got your name in the papers, and then went to Baltimore. Sure, you made a funny video awhile ago that got some play, but you still have dyed your goatee blond and you still couldn't hit an outside pitch to save your life. On top of that, you seem like the type of guy that LOVES Nickelback. I hope you have a horrible weekend, Kevin Millar, you rotting mixture of chipmunk feces and head lice.

Shalom, shitty shooter

It's been 12 hours since my Danny Ferry diatribe, and in those 12 hours, Ferry has not only managed to acquire Mo Williams, but also dumped a contract that would make Adonal Foyle and the Warriors blush.

That's right, our boy Damon Jones is leaving northeastern Ohio for Milwaukee, and this deal is neat for a couple of reasons. It's the second sports trade between Cleveland and Milwaukee this summer (after the C.C. Sabathia deal). It's also the second three-way NBA trade between the Cavs, another Central Division team and the Seattle Oklahoma SuperCitySonics in the past six months.

Really, though, the story here is the departure of our man DJ, so instead of expounding with those trade tidbits in a thoughtful, logical direction, I'd rather re-visit our family photo album from DJ's time as a Cavalier.


This is how most Cavs fans first met DJ. Sure, it would have been a warmer introduction if we drafted him, but seeing LeBron YouTube the shit out of him worked just fine.


Here's DJ later in the 2004-05 season, his only one with Miami. This sentimental photograph shows that even at a young age, he knew how many years of Cleveland's time and money he'd waste.


A special little boy, DJ always liked to celebrate with flair. This is a rough approximation of the dance he did in summer '05 when we signed him to a $16 million deal.


With the YouTube dunk a thing of the past, LeBron and DJ were shoulder-leaning in no time.


DJ wasted little time in spending the money we wasted on him. Here, we see his newly pimped out crib and closet...


...which allowed him to hang out with bigger celebrities and better basketball players.


On the court, however, DJ struggled to find his role. As a guy who could shoot 3s and shoot 3s exclusively, DJ just wanted to run to the corner and wait for LeBron's double team. But offensive genius Mike Brown decided to let DJ handle the ball and set up the offense. Imagine John Kruk on Dancing With the Stars, and you're 90 percent there.


DJ got a confidence boost when he closed out Washington during the first round of the 2006 playoffs. Actually, LeBron's 32 points, seven rebounds, seven assists and 60 percent shooting did most of the heavy lifting, but DJ's last-second jumper in overtime -- his first action of the game -- was decidedly clutch.


Before long, though, it was back to the same old DJ, seen here throwing a temper tantrum after Brown took him out of a game...


...and here, playing defense like only DJ can against the Spurs in the Finals.


Off the court, DJ was still a man around town, with his chic wardrobe popping in and out of clubs...


...and his curious haircut choices influencing younger, dumber minds.


It's too bad DJ's influence couldn't be felt on the court as well. The man who once proclaimed himself "the best shooter in the world" was relegated to the bench, where he watched young guards like Daniel Gibson drill the 3-pointers he could not. This photo, taken during Boobie's record-setting All-Star Weekend performance in 2008, appropriately depicts DJ riding his coattails.


So went DJ's time in Cleveland. His final days as a Cavalier were spent cheering from the bench.


He had to fight through LeBron to get on the court...


...and explain to opponents who he was when he got there.

And while we have a hearty laugh at DJ's expense, one thing is certain.


He's still more valuable than DeShawn Stevenson.