Bron and Blatt's Bogus Journey

Somehow in all the hoopla around Byron Scott and Derek Fisher’s adherence to “systems," we missed that David Blatt is a system guy. How exactly that system manifests I think no one knows, but what we did see last night were signals that no one is quite sure how to execute this mysterious system yet. People are passing excessively. Defense collapsed to orbiting around the paint like unexcited electrons. In the Cavaliers we see something that should be and something that isn’t yet.

I wouldn’t sell my Cavs stock yet, but maybe there’s hubris in the idea that a championship team can be built, just like that. The Howard-Kobe-Nash "There Are No Second Acts in American Lives" Lakers would suggest as much. Caveats aside, a lot has changed, and these things don’t take immediately. The Venn diagram of bad shooting nights converged. Now might be a chance to get on the bandwagon, during the inevitable Sportscenter slump.

Elsewhere Russell Westbrook is injured again. Scott Brooks is daily asked to turn water to wine, and he manages an average of Welch’s Sparkling Grape. I’m not sure what more there is to say about Oklahoma injuries. Oh—of course—Perry Jones can do pretty things with a basketball when he wants to.

Among the assorted thoughts we have Steve “DEVELOPERS” Ballmer looking like no owner does—genuinely enthusiastic about his team. We forget, from time to time, what that enthusiasm looks like or that it’s possible, as normally it seems years of billions have worn the owners' brains’ pleasure centers too thin. But here Ballmer was, positively roaring with every make, and I really want to congratulate the man. Not merely for the show he puts on, but because he seems to be one of the rare few that has converted money into genuine happiness. He is an alchemist of our time.

Stray note from that game: the NBA Review Room appears to have a larger budget than NASA now. 

Finally, let’s talk about the Magic. Ben Gordon seemed to take my last judgment on him to heart—I inhabit a fantasy world in which Ben Gordon reads my blog and takes every word personally—and he was the only reason the Magic came close. They were outplayed throughout, yet Ben was more efficient than expected; he brought what was needed.

That being said, I’ll confess I drifted through the third quarter of this game, and most of the fourth. Hope seemed completely out of reach. If you’re Leaguepassing, throw on the soundtrack to Hotline Miami and watch Nene take Vucevic for a foul in slow motion, have your own little psychedelic journey. Think about Andre Miller’s dignity and professionalism in the face of time, relentless and unmerciful.

Do this until Fournier’s WHAT THE WHAT three with 3:26 left in the fourth, when a win transitioned from the realm of the unimaginable to being on that shelf you can’t quite reach without a stool. Ride that hope until the bitter, fouling-spiced-with-trips-to-the-line end. Paul Pierce brought his particular brand of Truth. Nene Aikido wrist-flicked Tobias Harris to the ground, with no foul call. Bit by bit the game slipped away again. 

Wee Little Elfrid Payton was benched down the stretch for Luke Ridnour, and justifiably so. Ridnour should take the lead until further notice. Also Dwayne Dedmon didn’t look great, thanks to Marcin Gortat. 

In general, as in games previous, watching the Magic has not been a whole lot of fun. But I’m doing it. For you guys. We’re all in this together.

-David