Bob Hurley, Sr., one of the most recognized and successful high-school basketball coaches, is subject of The Street Stops Here. The film chronicles his St. Anthony’s (Jersey City) team through the 2007-2008 season, balancing the teams triumphs with the struggles faced to keep the school afloat financially.

I had the chance to attend a screening last week and given my own respect for Hurley couldn’t pass it up. It’s a superb film. Hurley, as a coach, motivates with an old school hard edge. His players, for the most part, have chosen him. Viewed him, and the St. Anthony’s legacy, as their ticket. And, the combination works. The games are shot from a bench view. The talent is apparent, but unlike in the recent More than a Game, the difficulty of shouldering pressure comes across genuinely. These are hardworking kids, like their coach they sacrifice. And, the team represents the school particularly well. A story of sacrifice. A story of little by little trying to make a change.

Just two of the hundreds of kids Hurley’s had at St. Anthony’s have failed to gain entrance to college. A remarkable record, and one that Hurley holds with great pride. As a winner, he’s up there with Morgan Wooten. But, most important is the positive impact he’s had on his players as students and people. Something lost in so many other basketball documentaries.

Produced by Team Works Media, The Street Stops Here plays tomorrow night (March 31, 2010) at 10est on PBS. Watch it. You won’t be disappointed.

J-Zone is my hero.

His ig’nant tapes are hip-hop gold. As the weather heats up and bumping some “aggressive content” becomes key for car rides, my homie Ace Jones and I decided to channel our inner J-Zone.

Springtime Surrender: 60 Minutes of Ignorance is our first collaborative mixtape.* All business, all day. Kick the season off right!

*Ace Jones and I do not support real violence. Only WWE style hip-hop wildn’.

TRACKLIST:

Springtime Surrender

1. Intro b/w 50 Cent- Paranoid
2. Sean Price ft. E Ness- Momma I want to sing remix
3. Young Chris ft Freeway & Beanie Sigel- The Last Two
4. Hell Rell ft. A Mafia- Criminal Minds
5. Catalyst- Inferno
6. Joe Budden- Hello Expectations
7. Ruste Juxx ft. Sean Price- Fuckin Wit A Gangster
8. Rick Ross ft. Florida- Street Money
9. Termanology ft Lil Fame- Thugathon
10. Tony Yayo- Du Rag 2 A Ski Mask
11. Jojo Pelligrino ft. Sean Price & Rebel INS- Triple Homicide
12. Styles P ft. Jadakiss- Holiday
13. Max B ft. French Montana- No No No (Hey We Love You)
14. Project Pat ft. Juicy J- Fish Aint Bitin
15. Vado- No Turning Back
16. Big Twins ft Prodigy- Bacon n Cheese
17. Raekwon ft Game- Falshback Memories

I first saw a pair of tits in 1991.

Well, not first saw. I’d obviously seen my mother’s. Then, there was also that odd experience with my aunt on that weird trip to Palm Springs.

But, the first pair. The first REAL pair. I saw those in the summer of 1991.

The moment was a seminal point in my youth. At age 10, the idea that staring creepily at women was fun had begun to filter into my life. I’d begun to dream that party scenes like those in the brilliant Meatballs 3 were real. I’d begun to believe that the call “show us your stuff” might actually entice a woman to pull up her top.

Simply put, I’d become a little pervert.

Nothing wrong with that, right? Boys being boys stuff. Learning about the birds and the bees, and that.

I assume most other young men become obsessed with breasts before any other female body part. We probably all grow into an interest in ass, and thighs, and lastly a nice smile. At 10, boobs are the be all and end all of the female universe.

My brother, for example, lived that sentiment as complete truism. Between 1988 and 1992 he amassed a magnificent collection of Page 3 sheets from the sun. These were stashed in various places, and at one time took a journey from London to Brussels, on a bus.

That brief anecdote should be enough to hammer down the point that boobs are important to young men.

And, they were incredibly important in the summer of 1991.

I was in Ocean City, Maryland. Wearing, embarrassingly, a blue pair of Umbro shorts as swimming trunks. Had I been old enough to pull, I’d have been exactly what the women would have avoided. As it stood, I was just a little shaver, not harmful and not innocent enough for any young lass to say “aw, what a cute little dude.” Must have been the singular stare to the chest.

Being mid-summer, and being Ocean City, Maryland, the beach was full of some buxom coeds. They had alluring bikinis. I had a boogie board and bad shorts. I was playing in the ocean when a lovely lass sprinted into the sea, dove through a wave, and emerged topless. Meatballs 3 had, in an instant, become tangible. Random breasts. Just feet away.

She looked at my piercing eyes. She screamed. The breasts were swiftly covered up, top retrieved, and girl retreated back to the beach.

I stood, awkward in my bad shorts, stunned.

But, feeling like a grown up.

A few of my friends have produced some quality new film work recently.

Dan Lewis, a mate from UW-Madison, produced Today, detailing a day in the life of three New Orleans families. The documentary premiers on April 17, 2010, at the NewFilmakers Festival at Anthology Film Archives in New York.

Slightly lighter in content, my buddy Sean Sullivan recently put together this amusing spot for Adidas. A playful reminder that sport isn’t just for teams or professionals. You may recognize Sean from his modeling (think Rogues Gallery) and his feature by Mr. Jake Davis for Test Shots.

Congrats are due to both gents.

The tone of Art Pepper’s play never ceases to pull me in.

I recently started a Friday email chain called “Jazz Breaks.” Each week I select a song and send it to a very small group. The idea certainly isn’t notable, but it has been enjoyable to remove some online life from public forum.

That said, today I sent an Art Pepper recording, and as he is such a personal favorite of mine I wanted to share one here as well.

“Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”

This year I said no.

I turned down tickets to the Big East Tournament. I declined a week of round ball magic.

For what? Well, mostly for the freedom of watching more basketball at home. I took a brief moment out to watch Arsenal whip Porto, but other than that it’s been all Championship Week. A week of fighting for Conference glory, for one last shot at the NCAAs, and for certain people to get totally shitfaced at Madison Square Garden (I’m taking to you, Providence College).

It’s my favorite time of the year. It’s the reason I have avoided proper office bound employment since I graduated. In my first job, I signed a contract that allowed me to take off one paid month… outside of allotted vacation… for “personal research.” I used the time to go to the NCAA tournament.

That year Wisconsin drew Arizona in Philadelphia. I arrived two hours before tip, was picked up at the airport and headed to the Wacovia Center. Ticketless.

Disheartened by scalpers I wandered aimlessly into will call. There I saw a beacon of hope – Barry Alvarez. “Hey, Barry! How about tickets for some alum?” A shot in the dark, sure, but worth it right? He replied, “I need to get my own kid.” He turned away.

I turned too. But, a moment later felt a tap on the shoulder. An Alvarez assistant handed over two seats.

I spent that afternoon chatting to an assistant coaches mother, and watching the Badgers get torn to pieces. She asked me which ‘Zona cheerleader I’d most like to bang. I pointed to a busty Asian. Had the older lady not been on oxygen she might have high fived me. Instead, she just smiled.

That evening I watched UCONN play Albany and sat next to Hilton Armstrong’s father. He told me some good stories and I told him that I was a little afraid of Denham Brown’s family.

Point being, basketball has been good to me.

Last year, UCONN played in Philly again. I had two extra tickets. I saw two young Husky fans looking lost. I gave the same way Mr. Alvarez once gave to me.

I may regret the missed opportunity of sitting in my favorite arena watching Greg Monroe battle ‘Cuse this afternoon. I will morn UCONN’s fall from Final Four to possibly not even cracking the NIT. I’ll wait patiently until next year (where it all starts in Maui). I’ll cheer against Duke. I will cheer for the underdog.

I will spend a few days wondering if it is worth to fly somewhere completely random and watch Cornell with some friends.

Mostly, I will happily celebrate 3 more weeks of tournament.

(Oh, and then I will probably go to the Jordan Brand Classic and a few other high school all-star games).