Getting to know Nick Nevares...

Who are you, how old are you and from where do you hail?

I am but a young man who has seen twenty-five years of sun-kissed days in the Southern region of California. I make my residence in the Rancho of Bernardo, but have spent many a day in its beautiful sister city of Poway. As a product of the vaunted Poway Youth Basketball League, I became the muse of many folk tales told around my way. They spoke of a tall, pale giant who reigned supreme over the lesser lads of the land.

How did you come to join this league?

I stumbled into this league via a shaky allegiance with one Britton Dennis. When I told Rancho Bernardo High School they could take their job and shove it, Britton was hot on my tails to scoop up the sloppy seconds of some adorable speech and debate devil babies. This year he saw fit to bring me into the fold with his secret Masonic organization of keeper leagues.

What NFL and NCAA team do you root for?

My allegiances are simple and time tested. I am a 49er fan (ed. note:  sorry) from the day I knew sports, until the day I die. That is all that needs to be said about the sport of football. In the ranks of college, I laugh when my alma mater, USD, steps on to any athletic field and lets down alumni far and wide. NCAA Hoops finds my allegiance to Duke and Coach K (ed. note: This was strangely predictable), and football finds my heart looping somewhere between Florida State and Notre Dame. What can I say? I like pretty colors.

Do you see yourself as more of a 'People's Champion' or 'Hated Villain'?

This is an easy question. I see myself as a creator, originator and tried and true member of an organization like the NWO. You would not see me in the first cut of the outcasts, the ones everybody knew would turn. You would just know that behind the scenes, I had my hands in everything, stirring the pot and waiting. Then at the year's end pay-per-view, you would find me in a huge five man battle royal for the title, as the edgy good guy. You know, the one expected to fight the evils of these usurpers tied to the coup. Out of nowhere, one quick chair shot to the group of heroes, would make my allegiance known. Cue the music, ready the Wolfpack and the spray cans, Big Baby Birdman is coming to party and out to show everyone that in life as in art, I am just too sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeet.  (ed. note:  Seriously, this is gold).

What is the most memorable real life sports moment you have ever experienced?

The year, 1998. The grade, 10th. The location, Meadowbrook Middle School. The event, the first and last triple double in my rec ball career. I took the court against one of my best friends, Tyler Innes, a true basketball talent. The kid was a slashing 2/3 with a quick first step and a shot from the Artic Circle. I was a powerful trunk of man, 6'6" and a daunting 190 pounds (oh the days of yesteryear). The fans came to see Innes put on a show, and they did not expect the gangly, freak child, the perennial underperformer to make this his day to shine. The court was mine, and it was a bloodbath. A dominant 23 points and 14 boards would have made any adolescent tell this tales in the annals of their youth history. Indeed it is true. Yet, the fact that will linger forever are the daunting 11 blocks. In that one day, I took the soul of Ryan Rosen. He should have given me his Varsity Jacket and his letter from the golf team because from that day forward he never played sports again. I blocked him 7 times in the same game, and four times on the same posession. His coach removed him, at which point his mother drove him immediately home and administered a regiment of orange slices and Capri Suns for three market weeks, until his wounds had mended. The lesser beings on my parque paradise carried me off on their shoulders and knew that in that day they had stood in the presence of greatness. (ed. note:  Today, those same people could buy and sell you multiple times with their $400,000 a year income)

Which is the most tedious and rage-filling option; Skip Bayless, Woody Paige, Matthew Berry, Joe Buck or John Mellencamp?
 
Joe Buck is the reincarnation of Satan himself. His voice is the grating on the chalkboard of my heart. With each looming syllable I feel that my life loses purpose, love has no meaning and the color is slowly draining from all the flowers in the meadows across the world. Then he was given commercials, as if to mock me. To speak to me and say, "No, his innane banter with an idiot like Tim McCarver is not enough torture, we are going to pay him to sell out product." Why would I buy something that devil robot is trying to push on me? I should actually blow up every Coors plant in the nation just because he tries to hock their beer tapped straight from the Rockies. Strike that, I want to serve a new beer, tapped straight from Joe Buck's dome. Not because I seek to gain his knowledge, but merely because with each refreshing stein, I know that I am destroying Joe Buck with each tasty bubble of carbonation. (ed. note:  Best.  Paragraph.  Ever.)