My Name Is Jonas
How Weezer and I just might have fixed everything
As the wheels go up on this outbound Southwest flight, after a chaotic boarding process where both employee and passenger alike knew not what to do, save seethe in a collective, almost hostile confusion—really, Southwest? You’re just going to up and chuck your entire business model?!—I find myself reflective. I watch out the window as the city of Denver, the prairie jewel where I was born, rescinds into the distance, and I can’t help but ruminate on my time spent there, what it all meant.
Spent? Meant? Past tense? Adam! Are you leaving the Queen City of the Plains? Say it ain’t so?!
Alas. It is so. I’m leaving Denver.
For two days. To go do shows in Pittsburgh. I’ll be back Sunday.
Nevertheless, now feels as appropriate a time as any to take stock of Denver, my relationship to it, and the many ways that I contributed to the city’s very heartbeat. Indeed, when this old bag of bones has devolved into dust—after failing to call before digging in my backyard, no doubt, but I will NOT go out tonguing boot-heels—what tale will the historians tell?
They will be tempted, no doubt, to opine on how I was a leader of men. How I backslapped and guffawed with fellow neighborhood dads, sometimes for nearly ten minutes before retreating inside, making up some excuse about having to arrange an dentist appointment for a child.
There’s certainly plenty there.
But I hope they choose to focus on the intangibles, the ways I influenced life in the Mile High City that one doesn’t see. He was like the wind, they might say. He was sunshine at altitude. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen.
Were one of these historians tempted toward poetic license, a certain literary panache, they might draw a comparison between myself and the city sidewalks themselves: always there, in essence the very ground beneath your feet.
That was Adam Cayton-Holland.
All this to say, I recently got the Denver Nuggets to play a Weezer song.
Unless you’ve been living under Dwayne Johnson, you probably know that the greatest basketball player in the world, Nikola Jokic, plays for the Denver Nuggets. I feel about Nikola Jokic the same way many feel about Beyonce: I’m grateful to be alive at the same time.
That the gods decided to birth this Serbian wizard is reason enough for praise. That they saw fit to one day send him to play basketball in my backyard is a blessing I do not take for granted. When the gratitude Lazy Susan came my way this year at Thanksgiving, I said I was grateful for Jokic, and I meant it.
Which is why I, along with so many Nuggets fans, walk around filled with a certain clenched-teeth anxiety over wasting the best years of Jokic’s career. Sure, we won the NBA Championship in 2023, and that was incredible. But Jokic is an all-time basketball great; such a once-in-a-lifetime talent needs at least one more championship under his belt, and probably more. His legacy deserves nothing less. And for a few seasons now the Nuggets have been fucking up.
There’s a stat that all die-hard Nuggets fan know: the non-Jokic minutes. Minutes when Jokic is resting. Typically, they’re garbage. When Jokic is off the court, it all falls apart. We pound our fists, yell at the TV, then Jokic comes back in and order is restored. It’s infuriating to watch the team give it all away when he exits.
Finally, though, the Nuggets got the memo. This off-season they built up the bench so well that many preseason pundits argued that the Nuggets had the best off-season in the NBA. The marquee acquisition was Jonas Valanciunas, a backup center for Jokic.
I mean look at this dude. He’s incredible. That beard, my god. Handsome-ass Jason Kelce looking mofo.
He’s never not been a starter, and we got him to come off the bench to relieve Jokic! Hell of an acquisition. And that’s precisely what he has been. He got injured and had to sit for about a month, but he’s back now, and Big Val is slotting in nicely. He’s a bruiser, to be sure, yet he also has this sense of calm about him, one that Nuggets Nation has been pining for. Never mind the fact that the Nuggets have been absolutely SHITTING THE BED lately, I’m keeping the faith.
Regardless, my first thought, when they signed Jonas Valanciunas was that whenever he subs in surely they’ll play “My Name Is Jonas,” by Weezer. Because, as you may recall, his first name is Jonas. Kind of a textbook no duh situation.
But then I went to my first Nuggets home game this season at Ball Arena, and they didn’t play that song. Not when Jonas subbed in, not when he made a great dunk, block, or rebound. They just never played it.
That’s funny, I thought. Perhaps they haven’t made the connection yet. After all, Valanciunas is Lithuanian, his first name is pronounced with a soft J—Yonas—I can see how one might not leap to the connection.
Still, it’s spelled “Jonas,” identical to “My Name is Jonas,” the first track on Weezer’s seminal Blue Album, which sold over 15 million copies worldwide; let’s hurry up and connect the dots here, Nuggets in-stadium entertainment team.
Then I went to another home game, and they didn’t play it. And then another.
Clearly, it was time take action.
I took to the bully pulpit that is Bluesky.
For those not familiar, Bluesky is like Twitter, if it took place inside a PBS canvas tote bag. Which is actually kind of great. A lot less toxic. I used to be on Twitter (I’ll never call it X), but as human orc Elon Musk ascended, the platform turned into nothing more than right wing incelery—versus, say, the NBA chat board I had used it as previously—so I deleted my account.
I had a pretty big following over there on Twitter, 50,000 followers or so. Felt like I had some clout. But Bluesky, oof. Bluesky has been a struggle. I don’t even have 1000 followers. This is not a pity party; I’m not shilling for followers here. Believe me. Social media is the cancer infecting our society, and I sincerely hope the next generation legislates it out of existence. I merely tell you this to let you know that when I wrote on Bluesky:
Dear @nuggets, I’ve been to three games this season, and you are yet to play Weezer’s, “My Name is Jonas,” whenever Valanciunas does something great. Can we get someone on this?
I didn’t have high expectations.
Then my friend Chris messaged me. He saw my…Bluesky? Tweet? Who knows, but the Nuggets DJ was his friend, he told me, and he had messaged him my exact sentiment.
This is the kind of drug 45-year-old dads live for. Dopamine for the middle-aged-guy-with-cool-sneakers soul. I couldn’t believe it was maybe happening, but it was! One after another, the wins kept coming into my phone.
The Nuggets DJ thought it was a great idea. The Nuggets DJ was seeing if he could get the track. The Nuggets DJ could get the track. He was going to play it that very night at Ball Arena.
I let my imagination go apeshit. I started thinking that this could be the exact spark that the Nuggets need to take home another championship. “My Name is Jonas” sparks the crowd, which sparks Big Val, night after night, shoring up those non-Jokic minutes all the way to the goddamn bag! The Larry O’Brien trophy at the end of the year would be ours, cementing Jokic’s legacy forever as one of the all-time greats.
Then, at the victory parade, they play, “My Name is Jonas,” and Valanciunas laughs his big Lithuanian laugh, and some Nuggets PR person grabs me, and introduces me to Big Val! He tells him how it was my idea for the Nuggets to play that song in the first place, and Jonas claps me on the back so hard I spit out gum I swallowed six years ago.
Then Rivers Cuomo is there too! And he runs up and hugs me. And I hug him back. And I tell him I’m so sorry about the critical reception to Pinkerton. That album was so ahead of its time those moron critics didn’t get it. It was too big of a swing! But it fucking rules, River! That album is incredible, and had it been met with the proper acclaim, the one it received gradually, over time, it would have set the band on an entirely different trajectory.
And Rivers will be like it is what it is, man. I don’t look back, only forward. Like to my next birdwatching outing. You birdwatch, Adam?
And I’m like, oh, Rivers? Do I birdwatch? Does the ocean touch the shore? Come on, let me to take you to my favorite spot!
Then Big Val is like can I come to, boys? And I’m like of course! Get in my Subaru Outback. I’ll push the front seat back as far as it goes.
And then it’s just me and Jonas Valanciunas and Rivers Cuomo birding at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal, and I show them where the burrowing owls are, and how we laugh.
How. We. Laugh.
Snapping out of my reverie, I texted my inner circle of Nuggets homies the news. One of them, my buddy Pat, was going to the game that night. He would report back.
Which he did, after the game had ended. They didn’t play, “My Name is Jonas.”
Oh well, I thought; a minor complication. They couldn’t implement the track into the rotation immediately. All good. These things take time.
But then I happened to go to the next home game. And they didn’t play it, again.
So, I buried my head in the sand.
Look, when you text an inner circle of sports friends about something that you accomplished, something that effects the very fabric of the organization you all collectively fetishize, you’re putting yourself out on a limb.
Hey guys! You know this thing we all love? This golden ring? Well, I touched it. But for a mere moment, I touched it. And it might even somehow help it in a weird, sixth-man kind of way that none of us really understand, but also that we all EXACTLY understand.
And when that thing didn’t happen, I was let down, and a little embarrassed, to be honest. Nothing approaching shame, but I wished I hadn’t texted everyone until I had sealed the deal.
I let it go.
Then the other night my buddy Pat texted me, maybe a month after my initial Bluesky Hail Mary. Pat was at the game. Big Val just subbed in. They played it. They played “My Name is Jonas.”
I was watching the game, with my wife. We rewound the TV, and sure enough there it was: “My Name is Jonas,” accompanying Big Val’s entrance into the game. I filmed it. You can barely hear it in this video, but brother, you can hear it.
I’ve heard it a half dozen times since then. Last night I watched a game and not only did I hear it, I heard Ball Arena fans singing it! Jonas sunk a sweet, order-restoring mid-range jumper, they played the final, almost taunting refrain of that lyric. “My Name is Jooooooonaaaaaas!” and the audience sang along.
I had texted my friend Chris that specific instruction!
Tell the DJ not to play the first time Rivers Cuomo sings that lyric at the beginning of the song, I told him; have him play the last time he sings it, at the end of the track. I thought that would work better as a call-and-response kind of thing, and I was right!
You can imagine how swelled my chest has been ever since this development. I walk down the street and people are like bruh, you been lifting? And I’m all nah, dog. I’m puffed up on pride.
And it’s been nice.
Imagine how I’ll posture then, when I hear “My Name is Jonas” for the first time in Ball Arena, which I will, this month, as I have tickets to not one, not two, but three Nuggets games. God, I can’t wait.
Maybe I’ll stand and yell, “That was me! I did that! I got them to play that song!” And some kid will be like, “Hey dad, who is that man?” And that dad will be like, “Why that’s Adam Cayton-Holland! He’s helping secure the legacy of Nikola Jokic, once and for all. As should you, son. Because we all must do our part. It takes a village to raise a championship banner.”
Then a Nuggets employee will realize I’m there, and they’ll come fetch me out of my seats. They’ll take me down to court side, and they’ll be like you sit here tonight, Adam. And also, here’s court side seats to another game. It’s the least we could do.
And I’ll take them, graciously, because you see this really is the only reason I’m writing this month’s Substack. I sincerely hope someone in the organization reads this, and gives me court side tickets to a game. I’ve never sat court side in my life, but I really, really want to. And you have to put out into the world what you hope to see. After all, that’s how I got them to play “My Name is Jonas” in the first place.
And sitting court side would be pretty amazing. One time I was there when Russell Wilson was sitting court side. And this guy Russell was sitting with was flossing his teeth. You heard me right. He was sitting court side at an NBA game, flossing his damn teeth.
See?
At the very least I won’t do that, Denver Nuggets. Promise.
Still, I know it’s a long shot anyone from the Nuggets organization reads this, and it’s an even longer shot that they give me court side tix merely because I wrote on Bluesky. I’ll just have to enjoy this all on my own.
So, on that occasion, when I first hear that song—my song, Weezer’s song, Valanciunas’ song—I’ll probably just sit there smiling to myself. I’ll listen to an entire stadium belt out “My Name is Jonas,” and I’ll play it cool. Because say what you will about Adam Cayton-Holland, he was always there for Denver, in ways both obvious and imperceptible, the very ground beneath our feet.
March Shows!
I’m not leaving Denver for comedy this month but I have two killer shows locally that merit your attention!
First off, are you aware I’m regularly doing a Mystery Science Theater 3000-esque show with my buddies Ben Roy and Rory Scovel?! It’s called Movie Night, and it’s as much fun as I’ve ever had in comedy. Seriously, Rory, Ben and I are in a groove, and the shows are regularly selling out; so if that sounds up your alley, join us at the Bug Theater on March 11th for the next installment.
March 11 - Denver - Movie Night - Tix
Then, as loyal readers will recall, it’s time for another installment of The Grawlix, our Denver indie comedy jewel, that runs every other month. There was no show in February, which means we’re chomping at the bit for the March show. We’ve got we Grawlix three with brand new sets, local up-and-comer Bailey Tyler, and Chicago-based killer Kristen Toomey will be headlining.
Join us at the Bug! Get tix now!
March 28 - Denver - Grawlix - Tix
And just a heads up Fargo, ND, Eau Claire, WI, and Minneapolis, MN. I’m heading your way in April.
Tickets available on my website now.
Movie News
While I may not be hitting the road for comedy this month, I will be heading to Austin, Texas for a screening of my movie, See You When I See, at SXSW. I’m so excited for more people to get the opportunity to see this thing, and there’s more festivals on the horizon. So stay tuned. But in the meantime, if you’re heading to SXSW, come to a screening! There’s two of them; I’ll be at the first one, on March 13th. More info here.
What in the actual fuck?
Loyal readers will recall an occasional segment wherein I ask what in the actual fuck of various states where I don’t have a single subscriber. Last installment, I scolded Connecticut. And I’m delighted to report, I now have two readers there. Great job, Connecticut. You got the memo.
Rhode Island, why can’t you be more like Connecticut? I mean, what in the actual fuck? Not a single subscriber? I know you’re tiny, but I’ve always found you mighty in spirit. So why are you so soft when it comes to number of subscribers to this Substack?
Plus, I’ve spent time there. I had a friend at Brown I visited a few times. I did a college gig at Johnson and Wales once. Christ, I’m buds with those sweet, sweet boys in the band Deer Tick, and they are the like the very sidewalks of Rhode Island itself if you ask me! I think it’s high time some of you in the Ocean State started subscribing to this screed. Get to gettin’, I say.
And for other states who don’t subscribe - North Dakota, South Dakota, Arkansas, and a few others! - you’re on HIGH alert. I’m tired of America in it’s current state. And I earnestly believe that this madness will only end when I have subscribers from all fifty states. So subscribe to this Substack. It’s the first step to fixing things, the butterfly desperately flapping its beautiful wings.
The Monthly Clip
God damn, Adam. Great clip. Way to go.
Before you go, give the ole socials a follow
Thanks so much for reading. If you feel like sharing, by all means. And if you feel like upgrading to paid subscriber, hey amazing! That’d be real swell too.
It all helps.
Hope to see you at a show soon! Or a Nuggets game. We can sing “My Name is Jonas” together, and oh how we will laugh!