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Bazı araştırmalara göre Z kuşağı sex yapmak yerine LeBron James izlemeyi tercih ediyor.

Quick timeline of the takes surrounding Lakers-Rockets, with a prediction on tomorrow’s. April 17th: “The Lakers have NO chance. They’ll be lucky not to be swept.” April 20th: “If LeBron pulls this off I’ll call him the GOAT.” April 22nd: “The Rockets are frauds!” April 25th: “The Rockets are the dumbest team I’ve ever seen! Anyone would beat them!” April 30th: “The Lakers are cooked & LeBron is exhausted. Rockets in 7.” May 1st: “LeBron is going to blow a 3-0 lead & his GOAT case is over!” May 2nd: “Yeah, the Lakers won, but it’s actually not that impressive, the Rockets were pretenders.”

És una sensació molt rara la d'estar al costat d'una persona amb la que et portaves al cole i que no et reconegui i tu tampoc vulguis fer el ridícul

@punyateru Ernest Urtasun 2031 serà espectacular

@punyateru No estàs preparat per l'Ernest Urtasun

AN OPEN LETTER OF APOLOGY TO MR. LEBRON RAYMONE JAMES —— Dear LeBron, I come before you today not as a fan, not as a hater, but as a sinner seeking absolution from the only man in recorded history who has ever beaten Father Time in a game of one-on-one, talked trash during it, and then signed Father Time's jersey afterward. I have wronged you, King. I have wronged you grievously. I have wronged you in group chats. I have wronged you in comment sections. I have wronged you in front of friends, that "he's not even top 5 anymore" and I watched the light leave their eyes. I have carried that sin for months. Because tonight I witnessed a SPECTACLE. Tonight I witnessed a MARVEL. Tonight I witnessed a 41-year-old man, in his 23rd professional season, in a league full of genetic freaks who were in ELEMENTARY SCHOOL when he was already an All-Star, casually stroll into Toyota Center and remind an entire generation that the throne was never vacant, we were just looking at the wrong chair. I was a doubter. Say it with me. I. Was. A. Doubter. I said "the minutes are down." I said "the burst isn't there." I said "he's a compiler now" as if compiling 40,000 points is something you can do by accident, as if I could compile a grocery list without forgetting the eggs. I watched this man drop 19-8-13 in Game 1 with EIGHT assists in the FIRST QUARTER and I said "yeah but can he score?" I watched him go 28-8-7 in Game 2, strangle Kevin Durant to three second-half points, get to the line 14 times, throw down a two-handed dunk with 55 seconds left to seal it, and become THE ONLY PLAYER OVER 40 TO LEAD A PLAYOFF RUN IN POINTS, REBOUNDS, AND ASSISTS; and I, a clown, a fool, a man with functioning eyeballs and a functioning brain refusing to speak to each other. I said "let's see Game 3." Well. I saw Game 3. Let's talk about the last 26 seconds. Let's sit with the last 26 seconds. Let's LIVE in the last 26 seconds, because I will be living there, rent-free, for the remainder of my natural life. They were up SIX. Six points. In TWENTY-SIX seconds. That is a possession and change. That is a timeout and a commercial break. That is the window between "I should order food" and "never mind I'll just eat cereal." Toyota Center was SHAKING. The crowd was on its feet. The Rockets bench was already doing that little celebratory bounce, that premature bounce, that bounce that says "we got it." Somewhere in Houston, a man was pulling a Bud Light out of the fridge. Somewhere in Houston, a woman was texting her husband "told you." Somewhere in Houston, a child was being lifted onto his father's shoulders. The building was BOOKED. The building was CLOSED. The building was, as far as every person in it was concerned, a W. And then LeBron looked at the scoreboard. And then LeBron looked at the clock. And then LeBron decided, in what I can only describe as a cosmic, galaxy-brain, Men-in-Black-neuralyzer moment, that this was not going to be how the evening ended for any of us. What followed was not basketball. It was an exorcism. It was a man methodically walking through a haunted house turning off the lights one by one. Steal. Three. Somewhere in there a pass so audacious I started shaking in a hot room. The Toyota Center crowd went from LOUDEST BUILDING IN AMERICA to a library to a funeral to one of those silent monasteries where monks take a vow and only communicate through bells. You could hear the HVAC system. You could hear a Rockets fan, three rows up, whisper "no." You could hear the ghost of Hakeem Olajuwon apologize to the city on LeBron's behalf. Twenty-six seconds. SIX POINTS. He did not close the gap. He did not tie the game. He OPENED the gap in the other direction. He took the Rockets' lead, folded it in half, folded it in half again, and put it in his pocket like a receipt he might need for taxes. The scoreboard operator had to Ctrl+Z his entire career. The broadcast director cut to Austin Reaves on the bench and Austin Reaves had the face of a man who has just seen God and is slightly annoyed he didn't get a heads up. I watched it happen. I watched it happen LIVE. I have to be honest with you, I have to be honest with myself, I have to be honest with the NBA league office, the Basketball Hall of Fame, and God Almighty: I am not okay. I have not been okay since he hit the three. Archaeologists will one day unearth my twitter post and carbon-date it to "the night LeBron did the thing." Six points. Twenty-six seconds. A team, a building, a city, a narrative: dismantled. Not beaten. DISMANTLED. Taken apart piece by piece like IKEA furniture in reverse. The Rockets did not lose that game. They were disassembled on live television and shipped back to the warehouse with a note that said "return to sender, 41-year-old in aisle." So here, formally, in writing, with my full legal name attached and a witness present, is my apology: I, Jathin Pranav Singaraju, of sound mind and recently shattered worldview, do hereby and forever APOLOGIZE to LeBron Raymone James Sr. for every slanderous, disrespectful, hot-taking, podcast-brained, Twitter-poisoned, bad-faith, Jordan-stan-adjacent, ring-culture-addled, "he had help," "he left Cleveland," "he left Cleveland again," "the Heatles," "the block was a travel," "Kawhi did it with less," "MJ went 6-0," "but the 73-win Warriors," "but the 3-1 lead," "but load management," "but the minutes restriction," "but the Lakers are a play-in team," "but he can't close anymore," "but he's a regular season guy now," "but but but" — take that I have ever uttered, thought, liked, retweeted, or silently agreed with in my heart. I renounce them. All of them. I renounce them in this life and, should the technology become available, the next. I will never doubt you again. Not in this series. Not in this playoff run. Not in this career. Not in any GOAT debate, at any bar, in any group chat, at any wedding, at any funeral, at any deposition. If you come back next year at 42 averaging a 30-point triple-double I will not be surprised. If you come back at 45 coaching yourself I will not be surprised. If you are inducted into the Hall of Fame and then UN-inducted because you are somehow still playing I will not be surprised. If you erase a six-point deficit in twenty-six seconds again next week, on a Tuesday, against a random team, for no reason, just to remind us. I will not be surprised. The bar is on the floor. The bar is underground. The bar is in the Mariana Trench. The bar has achieved enlightenment and moved on. I am sorry, King. I am so, so sorry. I was wrong. The throne was never empty. Long live the King.

Happy Sant Jordi.🌹❤️💨

@marti_neet @punyateru Jo un llibre, Arnau

@punyateru te n’he comprat una, Arnau

Culers, ho donarem tot a Madrid. Per vosaltres. Us ho prometem. 💙❤️

al psoe pero con un chasquido de lengua y negando con la cabeza mientras metes la papeleta en el sobre

@albertfc11 De hecho hay un jugador en la NFL de los Lions que se llama Sam LaPorta

Me gusta que escriban LaPorta como si fuera LeBron James o LaMelo Ball.

La imatge dels jugadors botant amb Laporta és un raig de llum en unes eleccions que han estat molt fosques pel Barcelonisme. Tant debó l'èxit d'aquest equip tanqui ferides i per l'altre banda les eleccions serveixin perque hi hagi un tic d'autocrítica

Al ja conegut odi sense sentit a Frenkie, Ter Stegen, Araújo i Ferran afegim ara l'odi a Laporta, odi a Font, odi a Deco, odi a Alemany, odi a Jordi Cruyff, odi a Xavi, odi a Eto'o, odi a Busquets, odi a qui vota per Laporta, odi a qui vota per Font...

Laporta havia de guanyar perque el seu projecte es mereixia continuïtat i els jugadors estan amb ell, però bastant preocupant que segueixi creixent una dinàmica entre els culers d'estar tan menjats per l'odi.

Xavi era un entrenador mediocre, Font es un pelele acomplejado, Laporta es un mentiroso compulsivo y un trilero, Echevarría es el que corta el bacalao en el club, Bartomeu y Rosell son basura y la estabilidad económica no se podía tambalear por Messi. Todo cabe en el mismo tuit.

La imatge és desoladora, no cal negar que en Laporta és el millor candidat disponible per admetre que és un mentider i que té a un franquista declarat al darrere i no cal enfonsar un equip il·lusionant i una bona gestió per denunciar els problemes d'aquesta.

🔴🔵 @danisenabre, sobre las declaraciones en La Vanguardia de Xavi atacando a Laporta 🙄 "El problema de Xavi es que se le ve el plumero" 😑 "En la cabeza del culé habla el entrenador del Barça que salió hace poco" 😮 "El contenido es bestial" 📻 #PartidazoCOPE

🗣️ Xavi: “La gente necesita entender esto; esta es mi historia. Recuerdo que Sergi Roberto, mi amigo y comandante, se me acercó y me dijo: “Xavi, ¿es cierto que no quieres que siga?” Le dije que era todo lo contrario, que me atacaban principalmente porque abogaba por la renovación de su contrato. Luego me informó que el Sr. Alejandro estaba difundiendo el rumor entre varios jugadores”

💥 Xavi Hernández parla del paper de l'excunyat de Laporta en una extensa entrevista a @LaVanguardia 🔸 "El Barça pràcticament el dirigeix Alejandro Echevarría, tenia una relació íntima amb ell i va ser la decepció més gran en la meva sortida" 📲 3cat.cat/esport3/xavi-t…

😳 Xavi, en La Vanguardia: 🇦🇷 "Messi estaba fichado después de ganar el Mundial. Teniamos luz verde de LaLiga. Él quería volver, pero Laporta echó para atrás su fichaje. Laporta me dijo que si venía Messi le iba a hacer la guerra y que no podía permitirlo"