BADASS TUESDAY: Rudd

I'll be honest: I've been a fan of Paul Rudd ever since he first appeared in Friends as Mike Hannigan, Phoebe's longest love interest and eventual husband, and in Clueless as Josh Lucas, Cher's ex-stepbrother. Minor roles, sure, but I loved them nonetheless. Then there was Wet Hot American Summer. Before long, Rudd was acting and starring in some of the funniest comedies in recent history: Anchorman, 40-Year-Old-Virgin, Knocked Up, I Love You Man, Forgetting Sarah Marshall.

Beyond all that, Rudd is something of a hometown hero. Having moved to Kansas City when he was ten, Paul remains a regular visitor to the city and a huge Chiefs fan. Hell, he even narrated their season of Hard Knocks on HBO. In interviews, you can sense both his humility and his humor. He's a professional who never makes the mistake of taking himself too seriously. As he once told Nylon, "I hear people talk about 'the craft,' and I just think, 'Oh, you're so full of shit.'"

Also, he's pretty damn good looking. As one Elle writer once wrote, Rudd is "better looking that your neighbor but not so gorgeous that he couldn't play your neighbor in a movie." Plus, we're pretty big proponents of men who are just as comfortable in a week's worth of unshaven scruff and T-shirts as they are in a tailored suit. Paul, of course, is one of these men. He's also a Jayhawk. While that is something that we're willing to overlook, his swagger is something we simply cannot.

*Try not to stare into those eyes for too long, ladies.

BADASS TUESDAY: Phil Jackson

With the big man finally coaching his last NBA game just a few short weeks ago, there comes an end to perhaps the most dominating professional coaching career in sports history. And with the beginning of the NBA finals at our fingertips, it seems fitting to look back on the man that is Phil Jackson.

As a fan of professional basketball, I'll always remember Phil Jackson as the most prolific, yet backhanded, trash-talker the game has ever seen. Phil always had something to say. A few words to the media to stir the pot for their upcoming series or a pointedly subtle insult aimed at his opponent's best player. Basketball may have been Phil's trade, but mind games were his specialty. Phil's trash talk wasn't a product of anger or intimidation as it so often is with others. Jackson opened his mouth to the media with a premeditated purpose to distract his opponents, to get in their head and throw their psyche off balance. Half of the fun of the NBA playoffs was checking SportsCenter to see what the Zen Master was going to comment on or even go on a rant about next. In a world where every player in professional sports seems to want to be friends the guys on the other team (or even plan an elaborate free agent trade to their side of the fence), Phil wasn't afraid to make a few enemies in pursuit of championship rings.

Ahem, eleven championship rings. The numbers speak for themselves. Eleven rings in just over twenty years. A 50 percent success rate for winning it all. And don't feed me any BS about how he had Jordan, how he had Kobe. With great talent comes great expectations and, moreover, huge egos. If anything, the guy deserves an award as the best manager of personalities the league has ever seen. And he thrived on making his best players peak at playoff time, when it mattered. Fanning the flame of their confidence when they needed it, humbling them when their heads ballooned, as they so easily do when you're busy three-peating all over the place. I'll remember Phil less for the triangle offense and more for his relational approach to coaching—the approach that built him a dynasty of success that doesn't look like it'll be surpassed any time soon.

The league's gonna miss you, Phil. And I will too.

[image source]