Well, I'm Glad We Got That Cleared Up

As one or two of you might have heard, there was a bit of a kerfuffle recently regarding the owner of a professional basketball team.

(For the foreign readership, go ahead and google* 'Clippers' to catch up on the backstory.  We'll wait)

*Other search engines are available

Everyone back?  Good.

Short version- A guy named Sterling casually makes a few ridiculously racist comments to his mistress, who of course tape records them as one does and then released them to the press.  Huge outcry.  Another man, named Silver (who is apparently a big high muckity muck with the NBA), responded to this by banning him from the league, warning him against ever even thinking about basketball again, and fining him 2.5 Million dollars.*

*This is roughly the equivalent of fining me twenty-six cents, so don't bother dwelling too long on that point.

Now, a lot of commentary has been put out there in response to the issue.  Lots of it has raised some good discussion points about race, institutionalized racism, the ethics of recording private conversations, and why it's probably a better idea to at least pretend like you're trying to keep your wife from finding out about your mistress.

I'm not actually going to talk about that, beyond recommending a piece Kareem Abdul Jabbar wrote which can more or less be boiled down to - 'Seriously?  Two decades of documented racist activity doesn't raise an eyebrow, but a couple of racist comments on tape and suddenly you're all up in arms?  seriously?'

What I do want to draw your attention to is this-

The two men noted in the story are named 'Sterling' and 'Silver'.

Which I am pretty much taking as proof that the whole world is just being made up by somebody as they go along and that somebody has stopped putting in any effort at coming up with names. 

Now, as to exactly who is half-assing their way through making up the world as they go along I can not speak.  Perhaps it's that kid from the end of St. Elsewhere.  Maybe we're all about to wake up in bed with Suzanne Plechette*.  Personally I'm kind of hoping for Grant Morrison, but I suspect that's not the case based on the general lack of thematic continuity**.

*Awkward.

**Go read his run on Animal Man numbers 1-27 right this very moment.  You're welcome.

No, what I suspect that this pretty much confirms is that we are, in actual fact, in the Matrix.  The increasingly disappointing Wachowski one, not the increasingly disappointing Doctor Who one.

I'm glad we got that cleared up.