tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84386695963581988352024-03-12T21:48:59.500-07:00Garbage Time Pump FakerWe talk about trash ball.Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-65959361911188253382015-05-06T22:11:00.001-07:002015-05-06T22:18:04.043-07:00David Lee: The Man Who Is Alive, But Not<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=humdrum&oq=humdrum&aqs=chrome..69i57j0l5.1738j0j7&sourceid=chrome&es_sm=91&ie=UTF-8">humdrum</a> November night in 2009, a much touted spindly limbed rookie guard found himself inserted in the closing seconds of a game with a foregone conclusion and promptly fouled David Lee (PF, New York Knicks, Old Money). Umbrage was taken, trash was talked. In a game bereft of drama or stakes, a benign altercation would have to suffice for a denouement. The Madison Square Garden camera crew fixed their sights on the comparatively hulking figure of Lee as he viciously admonished the slight guard who had the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">fucking</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">chutzpah</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to garbage time foul him. The young guard for his part appeared unflappable, supremely unconcerned with the large white man talking shit. This was, as far as I can tell, the first time the world saw David Lee and Stephen Curry on an NBA court at the same time. They've been together nearly ever since. One dude became the most popular man-boy on the planet and the other guy is David Lee. David Lee, huh, what's that guy with the boring name's story? Well, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">David Lee is a seemingly pleasant enough rich guy rocketing towards an inevitable reckoning with </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">the point of no return</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he was just a smaller and younger version of himself, David Lee used to feed jaguars and lions with his grandfather. His grandfather was a fellow who had lots and lots of money</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and feeding big cats is something rich grandfathers like to share with their heirs. It also seems like something Caligula would do with his grandson, but apparently this old dude was cool and not the least bit like Caligula. E. Desmond Lee had made his fortune manufacturing metal hangers and wire shelving. He also played a bit of basketball back in the day, loved his model trains, and was nuts about the symphony. The thing we know Grandpa Lee for best was philanthropy. Before he died he had given an atrociously vast amount of money ($70 million) away to various charities and causes, mostly to the good stuff, education and the arts. He lived long enough to see his former feed-the-lions buddy somehow become a professional basketball player, and even more </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>somehow</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, perhaps owing to the well known generous and forgiving nature of New York Knicks fans, become a fan favorite. Doughy David Lee: a Hero for Our Times!</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Since signing with the Warriors the national media has mostly been less eager to write puff pieces. A scrappy white man who can jump is a lot more inspiring for the kids back home than a guy pocketing a cool $80 million and not even being anything close to a messiah. Expectations were sidelined for hopes, because no one really expected </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">that</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> much. Every defensive breakdown was scrutinized, held up as proof that you can’t teach old dogs new tricks and also hey, this guy can’t hold his ground against the big front courts or chase the quick ones out to the three-point line. He’s battled being a punchline from the likes of Kirk Goldsberry, who referred to him disparagingly in a let's face it, way too highly publicized presentation at the Sloan Conference as the “Golden Gate". My counter-point? The Golden Gate Bridge is not terrible.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The best press David Lee seemed to get was a mumbly Shaquille O’Neal dubbing him the “White Chris Webber”, which is...a nice-ish thing to say? Lee never came close to getting the loudest applause at Oracle. No one will write a “Why We Watch” article about him for the Classical. My sense of it is that most Warriors fans at least sort of appreciated the little things he brought to the table, like his White House Press Secretary style sideline interviews and his willingness to get into scrums to back teammates. It's never been proven that Lee is a psychopath or a murderer, or that he enjoys Smash Mouth. And come on, dude almost lost his shooting arm courtesy of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="http://deadspin.com/5711633/wilson-chandlers-tooth-almost-ended-david-lees-career" style="text-decoration: none;">Wilson Chandler’s teeth</a>.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> That probably endeared him to some folks who value Purple Hearts and stuff like that. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Everyone has an opinion on David Lee, the missing piece that never much fit. Golden State of Mind comment sections, the dank alleyways of Twitter, your friends and neighbors. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We need not shed tears for David Lee. Shedding literal tears for that guy would be a weird waste of tears. He was born rich and he will likely die rich. He partied with Snookie. He's tall and not </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>uncomely</i> as they say.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It’s not about that of course. When he is gone and mostly forgotten the Warriors will keep on moving, one way or another. This sports thing is all about cycles, and only the smartest and luckiest franchises get to be contenders ad infinitum. It may be that we’ll be back where we started soon enough. But to cherish what we have, where we are, as close to the crown as we’ve been since the goddamn 70s, it feels wrong to not give David Lee some small amount of </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">regard</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. The world won’t stop for David Lee, or any of us. All that we can hope for is to be remembered somewhat fondly, for being attached in some small way to a part of this living thing that was precious to someone for some amount of time, and for not being involved in betrayal or neglect or destruction or abuse or failed power-plays. David Lee never rocked our sinking boat or tried to single-handedly navigate it past treacherous shoals. He just did what he did. A pick-and-roll savant, great hands, superior finisher around at the rim, some slick midrange jumpers for awhile there...It wasn’t nearly enough to match his pay stubs, but he went about it without throwing a single sulk, even now that’s he’s the new (old) Kent Bazemore. So now I will raise a glass of affordable but not shitty whiskey and make a toast: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Here’s to David Lee, who played hard in ofttimes shitty circumstances, a man signed to my favorite team who made them better than they were. I feel mostly no regrets. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Imagine David Lee spending the day with his grandson at the zoo in St. Louis. He’s arranged it so that they will feed jaguars and lions together. The concrete beneath their feet burns. His hair has receded, what little left is white as bone. His body has gone to fat a little, the hint of a heavy middle no longer a hint at all. But he can still keep up with an energetic eight year old. The boy fixes him with an inquisitive look as they watch a sleeping zebra. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Grandpa,” the young boy says, “Did </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> fight in the war?”</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">David Lee’s takes a kerchief out of his fanny-pack and wipes his brow. He sweats a lot now. His thoughts are mostly half remembered shadows, but some things never go: high-fives and thunderous applause and then heckling and the screech of sneakers pivoting on hardwood. And then there was that time he had 37 points and 21 rebounds... </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">David Lee shakes his head at his eager grandson, “No...but I was a Golden State Warrior for a few years. And you know what? Never mind what haters say, ignore them ‘til they fade away, amazing they ungrateful after all the game I gave away. Safe to say I paved the way, for you cats to get paid today.” </span></div>
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Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-45487773534353653812015-02-11T14:09:00.002-08:002015-02-11T21:50:12.881-08:00Be Like Brandon, not Mike<br />
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So, a few weeks ago we all heard the shitty news that Brandon Jennings <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://www.nba.com/2015/news/01/25/pistons-release-brandon-jennings/" href="http://www.nba.com/2015/news/01/25/pistons-release-brandon-jennings/" target="_blank">will miss the rest of the season</a> after suffering a ruptured Achilles tendon during a perfectly random middle of the season who gives a shit Detroit loss to Milwaukee. It was a personal tragedy for Brandon and his family, a possibly pivotal setback for the Pistons who were in the midst of mounting a supremely rare redemption story, and a sucker punch to the gut for anyone who puts stock in the unrepentant and wild 80s LA hardcore punk ethos of the playground baller amidst the staid machine that is the National Basketball Association.<br />
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There are much better talents and way better players than Jennings, but the 25-year-old point guard was always unmistakably himself, and he didn't market his brand for Republicans who also bought sneakers. His journey from basically a cast-off to a sorta leading man wasn't quite the stuff of legend, but it would do. It was the crossroads where pathos skull-fucked bathos and made a human seem like a person.<br />
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Brandon Jennings spent the first four years of his NBA career in Milwaukee, before being traded to the Detroit Pistons in the summer of 2013. At the time, Detroit had lost its way in spectacular, almost super-human fashion. They were routinely clobbered in almost every manner you can be clobbered, accumulating a straight-up cornucopia of painful losses. Teams win and then they lose. No recent team has done the latter more strangely and suddenly than the Detroit Pistons.<br />
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The Pistons have tried a lot of different things to improve their talent level since ceding the mantle as the Eastern’s elite team to the Big 3 Celtics back in 2008. [The gory details include: Michael Curry’s plodding big-ego compromised version of small-ball, Lawrence Frank’s ghostliness, the mutiny against John Kuester, the helplessness of Mo Cheeks, the gamble on Allen Iverson, the false prophet of Rodney Stuckey, the contracts of Ben Gordon and Charlie Villanueva, the broken down TRACY MCGRADY playing point guard, the return of Old Ben Wallace, the continued prominence before a merciful exile of Tayshaun Prince, the rookie promise of Jonas Jerebko, the hair of Kyle Singler, and finally, acquiring Josh Smith and Brandon Jennings for the Great Ball Hog Renaissance. ]<br />
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Detroit lost and lost and lost some more. To forestall more losing, their new owner reached out to Stan Van Gundy and made Van Gundy a veritable Grand Vizier of Basketball Operations, putting the entire campaign in his hands. And then they kept losing, starting this season with a dismal 5–23 record. Another lost year, it seemed.<br />
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But then something happened. Highly-paid chucker Josh Smith was waived, and almost instantly the Pistons started winning games. In a row. Call it addition by subtraction, call it an exorcism, that’s how history will no doubt see those few magical weeks when the script was flipped, burned, torn apart and re-written from a tragedy to a triumphant underdog story. There was suddenly hope in a town that had subsisted on crumbs since 2008.<br />
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On paper, resurrections look inspiring but largely shapeless. But in reality they tend have faces, and the two guys that the pundits were eager to bestow the credit to for the remarkable turn-around were Van Gundy and his spindly starting point-guard, Brandon Jennings. The team put together 12 wins in a 15-game stretch, beating the league’s lowlifes and giants alike. Brandon was winning again, averaging 20 points and seven assists per game. He was making a last stand against being typecast as an inefficient and perpetual loser, the type of guy that seems always on the verge of becoming a journeyman, even though he hasn’t done much NBA-journeying.<br />
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The nice little run the Pistons made after jettisoning Josh Smith, a run very much led by Brandon Jennings, was supposed to be the first step in reversing our perspective on the Pistons. Teams that far in the hole don’t come back with a vengeance. They just accept their fate, wait for the lottery, and give it the old college try next year. For whatever silly reason, these Pistons thought they could be the exception to the rule, and sneak into the playoffs and possibly even make some noise once they got there. For a while that seemed probable, and — given the torpidity of Brooklyn and the myriad of setbacks in Miami — perhaps even likely. One torn Achilles tendon later, and all that hope in Detroit was cruelly extinguished.</div>
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And that’s a fucking shame. Because there aren’t too many Brandon Jennings’ in this league. Guys with <a href="http://www.jsonline.com/blogs/sports/203722531.html">the sense of humor of a doomed poet</a> carved into them. Complex guys who exist in mirth and in darkness at once. Watch his scenes in <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://youtu.be/nILTtwCgII8" href="http://youtu.be/nILTtwCgII8" target="_blank">Adam Yauch’s “Gunnin’ For That #1 Spot”</a> and tell me Brandon doesn’t have a certain gloom to him, even in his ebullient moments, that feels rare in his particular cohort. The way the camera lingers on him during a quiet moment, the stenography of his silence. This is a young man whose father committed suicide. A person written off by so many people it must seem almost blasé.<strong class="markup--strong markup--p-strong"> </strong>This is a guy who had decided at a very young age to give David Stern’s cynical paean to the sanctity of college hoops a middle finger, <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/05/sports/basketball/05jennings.html?_r=0v" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/10/05/sports/basketball/05jennings.html?_r=0v" target="_blank">and go overseas to play in Italy</a>, thereby denying himself of a mandatory year of being enrolled at a university before declaring for the draft.<br />
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<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="c3cd">
Brandon’s <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLwVq48W5AQ" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BLwVq48W5AQ" target="_blank">stunt at the 2009 draft is the stuff of legend</a>. Hearing rumors of his draft stock plummeting, Jennings took the novel approach of not even being in the building instead of risking embarrassment in the Green Room. When the Bucks drafted him at No. 10, David Stern was forced to keep the show moving before Jennings eventually arrived on the scene. He took the stage with an excess of bitter swagger, waved to the crowd, and only then offered the Commissioner<strong class="markup--strong markup--p-strong"> </strong>a perfunctory handshake. It’s brilliant, nearly art.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="a21f">
And then the 55-point explosion. In just his seventh career game, Jennings went absolutely bonkers, but in the most beautiful and dangerous way. It was a fantastic display of moxie and desperation and spoke to his irritability vis-à-vis losing. It was those playground handles, relentless drives, crafty moves under the basket, daring tip-ins amongst the trees, and one trebuchet-looking three-point attempt after another. He looked immortal, like a goddamn superstar.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="21a8">
However, as is the case with early critical acclaim, outliving his great moment took a toll on him. Never again would he even sniff 50 points. The Bucks made the playoffs in his rookie season and lost in the first round. Turns out he wasn’t a superstar, and the Milwaukee fanbase slowly turned on him. His tenure with the Bucks was more underwhelming than terrible. His shooting percentages were never great, his individual impact on the game was often in doubt. He was the leader, but not a leader. He was a serious person, but played like a joker. Brandon’s trajectory did not seem to be a happy one.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="b217">
After the Bucks sent him to Detroit there seemed at least the possibility that things might turn around, but the Brandon Jennings/Josh Smith Pistons were a complete disaster from the get-go. The guy who had dared to not even show up to the NBA Draft was now going through the motions. Then suddenly the team’s fortunes reversed, capped off by a blistering stretch that confounded supporters and detractors alike. The Pistons as a whole looked strangely great. They played like a team, as if they knew each other's names and favorite spots, played as if they've even shared non-silent meals with one another from time to time. And no one on that Hoosiers meets the Bad News Bears squad played better than Jennings, the scrawny kid who certainly gave a damn, but perhaps not a fuck.<br />
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<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="0f5c">
Since Smith was cut loose and before suffering his season-ending injury, Jennings had posted the seventh-best PER in the league — his name alongside Harden, Curry, Klay Thompson, Durant, LeBron, and Anthony Davis. Although by itself such a small sample size proves nothing, to people who have been watching him all along it reinforced what we already knew. He belongs. He’s not those guys, not a transcendent talent, but he damn-well belongs. I don't know how to feel about Michael Jordan, other than I don't want to be like him. Brandon's more accessible and sympathetic to norms like me. There’s something to be said for a mid-tier terror, a menace that lurks and waits. Brandon has that 55-point masterpiece inside him always, timing its escape.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</section><section name="364b"><div class="section-divider layoutSingleColumn">
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<div class="section-content">
<div class="section-inner layoutSingleColumn">
<div class="graf--p" name="a7d5">
The Pistons may very well make the playoffs without him. They may not. It’s the luck of the draw and fortune’s shitty caprice that dragged him down this season, of all seasons. But the unlikely and all too short Phoenix (the bird!) like rise of the Detroit Pistons is the latest example of a life’s worth of mounting evidence that every now and then we get the chance to see the mathematics of certainty fucked with. Sometimes it's beautiful when that happens.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="graf--p" name="7598">
A now deleted tweet by Jennings read, "Not being able to play basketball is the worst thing."</div>
<div class="graf--p" name="4da6">
<br />
Depressing. But just like Detroit, Brandon Jennings will rise again. Then he can have his revenge and eat it too.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf--empty" name="2470">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</section>Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-73594220506021934192015-01-09T22:12:00.004-08:002016-10-27T11:11:33.841-07:00On Being Removed from the Situation<div class="p1">
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Many of us, particularly those of us stateside, forget why basketball blogging and twitter are important. You of the more convenient time zones ask simply, “Why not just watch the games?” For those of you with cheap Bucks or Kings tickets available in particular, it’s hard to convey the position we on the other end of the world have. We get things through you second hand. We wake up in the morning and check fantasy scores and scroll through reposted dunk Vines. Try as we might, having a job or school means watching the vast majority of games, even for a favorite team, isn’t feasible. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>So I’ve lost my right to blog about basketball. I’m not longer engaged in the primary source, the text of the sport, and am instead resigned to taking your word for it. A handful of podcasts, a box score or two, this is how we keep in touch. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Am I seeing the same NBA as you? I am not. Can I be as objective about it as you, or bring forth original insights? I cannot. Perhaps, in my position, I am only qualified to tell you what it’s like from “over there,” and how we might spread our dear league to the world. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>The sport itself, as you probably know well, is portable. Buy a ball and it’s easy enough to put up hoops, to find three other people. And foreigners do play. Foreigners even call “Kobe” at appropriate times. It does not need explaining that anyone, anywhere “can.” </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Deficiencies abound. We probably don’t know what happened in that game last night. We might, if you’re very lucky, know that the Wizards are doing well, or that Tom Thibodeau is a good defensive coach. Here in Israel, nearly everyone knows more or less what David Blatt is up to, understandably, but that’s the most detailed knowledge you’ll find. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Yet many understand the basics of basketball. A random weeknight walk past the park, you’ll find Orthodox Jewish men and boys in black suits backing each other down in the post. The Maccabi Tel Aviv win dominated the papers for three solid days afterward, and this was during the tumult leading up to Operation Defensive Edge. Clearly, sports and basketball in particular matter.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>But somewhere between shores the game becomes estranged from itself. Here they know names of greats, and some mythological qualities they possess: LeBron can drive like a train, Rondo has a quality no-look assist. They know very few concrete facts, and this somehow adds to the beauty. Performances pass into legend with no one checking the facts. You, basketball blogger, create this reality for them. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>In the same way a young man from Tel Aviv reads stories about D.C. and Bad Brains, and places himself there and fabricates his reality of the way things must have been, in some ways better, in some ways worse, so we wreathe basketball in our own particular fictions, here. For all we know, John Wall never hit a three point shot in his whole career. We exaggerate, we simplify, and we build it all from you. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>So consider us, when you don’t know what you’re writing, or why you’re doing it, or if it’s worth it. We here, of the less fortunate time zones, need you. You feed our myths. You bring us the basketball from the sacred lands, incalculably better than our own, though we couldn’t exactly explain why. </span></div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-14833961334097736972014-11-26T16:32:00.001-08:002014-11-26T16:35:42.216-08:00The Memories of Older Men<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst">
I
was tall for my age,</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And
turned to basketball in hopes <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Of finding trousers that fit. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Perhaps
it sounds silly, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But,
so does a cracking voice <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In a silent room – <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">That
funny, broken language of youth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Here,
during the early years,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">There
are fewer things more important <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Than to know, you aren’t alone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">So,
I sought the trouser deficient <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Because
shared plight is hardly a plight at all, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It is a chance to be, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Without
being more than you can handle. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
was a revolution of the physically awkward. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We
danced across the hardwood. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We
moved in synchronicity, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And we moved in corresponding paths,
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Larger
than the sum of our parts, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Which
is difficult to believe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In waking life, we stumbled, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">But
here, we found grace. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Though
my limbs remained gangly, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And
what I sought never found its way into my possession, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I did eventually inherit wealth; <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
glowing riches of glory delivering itself <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Into
my hands: the soft arch fighting against time – <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A time I never thought of – <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">And
when it ended, how was I to know? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
can still hear the voices, the throats urging glee. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">I
don’t remember if I eeked anything more than a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Squeaky whelp, but for that moment,
I was loved. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">If
you go into that gym now, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">My
name will still hang, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And there I am young. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">It
is a life that continues on, with age and death be damned.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The
laurels short-lived, and I have lived too long without. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-75881738039590102952014-11-16T10:24:00.000-08:002014-11-16T12:02:40.678-08:00Wednesday Night in Mexico City<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well, I'm back for my (now) weekly blog post!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg4Mq-5LJ8mXhOyYY76KpEM_jvDZ5eVzx90Od_AW52tpHS9tGhlkYDk2JZdq77i4NGP4fp2gKwl9DiDJg5vjelVI6XwQeWlEClddyckmmjIPpKvtqsblX35ln0DK4iUSTDRN59RRF0nO4/s1600/4f3a0bcdcbe1a1c5cddba9a804b54c59_crop_north.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzg4Mq-5LJ8mXhOyYY76KpEM_jvDZ5eVzx90Od_AW52tpHS9tGhlkYDk2JZdq77i4NGP4fp2gKwl9DiDJg5vjelVI6XwQeWlEClddyckmmjIPpKvtqsblX35ln0DK4iUSTDRN59RRF0nO4/s1600/4f3a0bcdcbe1a1c5cddba9a804b54c59_crop_north.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I watched the entire Rockets-T-Wolves game on Wednesday night. I did this for a few reasons:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> 1. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>They are the 10th and 5th youngest teams in the NBA, respectively</b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The six youngest teams in the NBA, in order, are the 76ers, Bucks, Jazz, Celtics, Timberwolves, and Magic. What do all these teams have in common? They suck. And aren’t going to sniff the playoffs this year. Which makes sense, in today’s NBA where you want to load up on picks, and suck until you acquire enough young talent to make an actual run. But what a difference a few spots makes. At 9th youngest you have the Thunder, and then 10th youngest are the Rockets. Two teams with definite championship aspirations, which goes to show that there’s a point for every team where you have to stop leaning on the excuse of youth, and just go out and win a few games. But back to the point, this game was going to be actually interesting to watch. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>D</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>wight Howard may have the ugliest, yet most effective game in the world</b></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As frustrating as Dwight’s offensive game may be to watch, if he’s put in the right position (like, say a regular season game played in Mexico City, where he’s the biggest star) it can be a real treat. He was egging on the crowd, goaltending, and generally acting a fool. Which we certainly didn’t get a glimpse of during his Lakers years.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>The Timberwolves have no idea what they are</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. But are still super fun to watch.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Now that Rubio’s out, Zach Lavine is attempting to run the point. The man is not a point guard. He’s a super athletic two, with arms, legs, and dunking ability for days, but not who you want running your offense. There were probably three plays a half where he made such an athletic play that maybe six other players in the league could make--going coast to coast through 4 guys, turning the corner into the lane, or just jumping over the rim--but every time he had no idea how to finish. It was like he knew what to do, and could barely believe that he was allowed to do it, but had no concept of how to finish elegantly. And to be fair, that upside (see also: The Brow) is so tempting if you’re a general manager. This kid has all the physical abilities, we just need to harness that energy. Every UCLA fan agrees, and that’s what made him such a frustrating player in Westwood, and will continue to frustrate Minnesotans for years to come. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.15; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Andrew Wiggins</b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. What did Minnesota get in return for Kevin Love? (I don’t count Bennett.)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Did I mention that I had three players in this game in a daily fantasy game with $20 riding on it? </b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Oh yeah, that probably should have been reason number one. Turns out Isaiah Canaan is horrendous--Jason Terry outplayed him, and it wasn’t even close. The man can’t finish at the rim, or anywhere else on the court for that matter. Konstantinos "Kostas" Papanikolaou is my new favorite Greek (after the Freak, of course--that’s forever and always a lock). The man has a wet jumper, isn’t horrendous defensively, which is to say, he plays Houston Rockets basketball. But, I still pulled out the 50/50 because James Harden can get to the rim whenever he desires. Here’s a thought, NBA defenses: try to not hack his arms when he puts them out there for you to foul him. The man is always on the free throw line. We’ve seen this for five years. Whatever, I guess that’s why I’m not the next Thibs. And to be honest, I’m OK with it. At least I’m capable of a smile.</span></div>
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JonGetzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03724869413661544989noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-88278506533410787002014-11-10T19:11:00.004-08:002014-11-11T09:30:39.679-08:005-1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The Warriors look amazing. At 5-1 and as of yesterday boasting the league's top ranked defense, they've finally started looking the part of true contender, shedding the Junior Varsity feel of a talented yet fatally flawed paper tiger. Most of this, in my humble and fairly well shared opinion, is the result of Mark Jackson's dismissal. I thought Jackson did more than most to shackle the potential of this team, but to be fair, he did a lot of good things for the Warriors, most notably getting (most) of them to fall totally head over heels in coach-love with him. When Jackson was fired some of us wondered about the chemistry or the raw lingering feelings guys like Steph and Draymond and Andre Iguodala might carry with them after seeing their guy done dirty. I thought about this for half a second, mentioned it to my dad, and what my dad told me was <i>to get real</i>.</div>
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My father has tried to teach me many things over the years, and it’s not the least bit his fault I downright failed to learn most of them. He has a patient heart, but I am a poor student. Fractions, Windsor knots, how to keep a car from exploding, these are just some of the things I failed or half-failed to grasp under his guidance. Born in the middle of the pack of eight children, with beauty queens and a boy genius leading the way, he figured going out for organized sports was his ticket to defining himself. Basketball was his favorite. It’s safe to say that it is not a coincidence that basketball is the only sport that I really care about. </div>
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Dad was interested in slightly manlier things than I was. Besides football and basketball, he was also captivated by the history of war, drove a pick-up truck, enjoyed jets, and liked his steak rare. As I grew up awkward and sarcastic, he accepted and approved and supported. He watched with patience as I tried to throw that huge orange ball up at the hoop and rarely lucked into a made shot. I really was a terrible pupil, but as I said, that didn’t matter to him. He explained the game with grace, deflecting one dumb question at a time or several at once. He peeled away arcane layers and made it all so simple, so profound, so <i>no shit</i>. He was like a hoops-head Socrates, pre-hemlock.</div>
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So, imagine my surprise last season, when this team-this <i>successful </i>team of Warriors, this team my dad revealed to me, finally GOOD after so many awful and worse years-<i>annoyed the shit out of me</i>. And seemingly at all times, the national media and any talking head in proximity to a microphone browbeated us into accepting Mark Jackson as the benevolent savior of a beshitted and cursed franchise. He was the Patron Saint of Beggars Can't Be Choosers. Notwithstanding finding him a thinly veiled hypocritical blowhard, it was painful to watch this team as constructed continually attempt to paint using hammers. </div>
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There were moments, of course. Good moments, excellent moments. But the joy hovered just out of reach. It was coy cruelty, potential so obviously unrealized it felt almost ludicrous. But yes, there was good stuff. Stephen Curry unleashed was and is lovely to behold. Andrew Bogut’s blunt rage inspires, but didn't have such good home and away splits. Those games in which Iguodala shifted into the corporeal and looked like the player he used to be…When Draymond Green showed again and again why he deserves minutes over Nice Fella Harrison Barnes…when Klay Thompson hits a corner three completely stoned out of his mind and hella dreaming of munchies…</div>
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And yet one of the defining feel-good moments of last year, when the Warriors snarled back from an unseemly ass-whupping by the then lowly Toronto Raptors en route to a(n) historic comeback, felt altogether more nauseating than inspiring. When they couldn’t defend their homecourt against cellar dwellers (reflexively thinking of a group of grown men as “cellar dwellers” also seems wrong!), or when they couldn’t manage to put away the Spurs sans their Big Three or when Harrison Barnes consistently failed to beat Kirk Hinrich off the dribble… A jilted lover’s obsession with taking advantage of match-ups…18 year veteran Jermaine O’Neal as your best player for long stretches…Walking the ball up the court…The rumored exile of the avuncular and wise Jim Barnett…The calling for hedonistic hero ball again and again, <em style="margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">by design.</em></div>
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This team should have been able to run anyone off the court and yet…</div>
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They just didn’t, or couldn’t, or wouldn’t.</div>
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They were poets reduced to copywriters. All the incessant talk of the offensively dominant and exciting to watch Warriors ended up being precisely that-<em style="margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">incessant talk.</em> Supremely constructed mediocrity! And so it was. “Perfection” was closer, but not that close. After exile from basketball relevancy, I wanted to immediately be the Spurs and the Showtime Lakers, and the 1996 Bulls. Several things became apparent in rapid succession. Maybe Bulls and Lakers and Spurs fans have never felt the joy that comes with uncertainty. Their teams are too good, too well managed. Success is terrifying. Being a fan of a professional sports team is insanity. Willingly signing up for a plane crash, or at least a plane that may never end up landing. Is it moral to hand down this trifling angst generation to generation? Should I put a Golden State Warriors cap on my son’s head? Should I watch the games with my little girls?</div>
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My phone calls home were infrequent, but they usually consisted of 75% Warriors talk. I’ve kept a lot of my angst from Dad. But there was one particular game I had to sound off about. It was a narrow win, over a terrible team. A game we should have won by forty points. A game we should have won before the whistle even blew. I was driving home from depositing a negligible check. My mood was foul. There was frost on my window and this winter was never going to end. Two rings and dad answered. I readied some talking points.</div>
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“See the game?” Dad asked.</div>
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“Yeah. It-”</div>
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“It was <em style="margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">great</em>.” And then he started talking about Stephen Curry the way young Macedonians might have spoken about Alexander the Great.</div>
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I swallowed my petty complaints instantly, or at least compartmentalized them. They were valid. But they didn’t have anything to do with this version of the Warriors, this part of their objective truth. The part that had to do with my dad.</div>
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Dad still <em style="margin: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">believed. </em>Dad has been around long enough to keep the faith. Dad didn't care about Mark Jackson. He shared every one of my misgivings. But unlike his feckless son, Dad is not one to quit on something. As I said, I’m slow to learn. </div>
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One thing I’ve always retroactively admired is my dad has always been ready and able to pull my head out of my ass, but benevolently, and without reprimand. And sometimes the faithful are rewarded. Sometimes they aren't of course. Sometimes the faithful are hanged from the neck until they be dead or forced to endure five seasons of pure unencumbered tanking. But...<i>sometimes </i>they are rewarded.</div>
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And this year has been a very nice reward, indeed. The Golden State Warriors have played a mere six games and yet the world has turned and left Mark Jackson looking awful. From top to bottom, the Warriors look like a team ready to make a run of it, literally a <i>run</i>, as they no longer stroll leisurely up the court as if on the way to a mid-term. My grim prognostication about the Warriors getting thrashed early in the season for failing to acclimate to Steve Kerr's new system seems to have been unfounded. My nightmares of Mareese Speights shooting half court shots with 23 seconds left on the shot clock were just that, nightmares (weird nightmares). There's always the possibility of a mass unraveling. Injuries, Shakespearean betrayal, a panic trade, the Reckoning of the Return of Kevin Durant, many and more things can of course derail this beautiful train. But that's the game, yo. And the Warriors are playing the game out of their fucking minds right now.</div>
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And my dad is happy.</div>
Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-71313917127420962642014-11-09T15:34:00.004-08:002014-11-09T15:37:38.445-08:00An Ode to Regular Season Defense - The Most Grandiose of Guest Posts<i>Welcome to another exciting guest post from friend of the blog, Jon Getz (@jongetz09). -David</i><br />
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You unheralded nightly Warrior<br />
(Well, Bogut, Iggy, Thompson)<br />
Nightly grinder, full of grit<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No highlights for you, in fast live tweets<br />
Only on posters, will you be put<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For challenging a Blake or James<br />
And yet, without your close-outs<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your swift rotations, and crouch so low<br />
The ABA would have returned<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>119 to 105 would be no surprise<br />
So with this forum, we honor you<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Your craft is for the playoffs<br />
How championships are won<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Though never understood, or focused on<br />
Thibs is proud (well, can he be?)<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>No smile may cross those lips<br />
For an uncontested three<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Or too many throws, free<br />
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A block in bounds, let’s say, a "Russell"<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Will never make it through to that muscle<br />
Of Howard’s arms, they’ll swat with fury<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>But Duncan taps, and then will hurry<br />
Secure the possession, and the break<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>And Leonard too, we all would take<br />
If on-ball defense were a stat<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>If only life could be just that—<br />
Unrecognized, we still want more<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The biggest steals, we know as lore<br />
But is it worth, to gamble so?<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>For Paul, yes, Rubio, no<br />
So get low, wing man on D<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Hike up your shorts, slap the floor<br />
And if it’s up to me<br />
So long as you’re not Craft, we’ll love you more<br />
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<i>Follow Jon "Keats" Getz on twitter @jongetz09, where he promises to only make clever literary puns, if at all. And he’ll only reference the Celtics’ Marcus’ defense as "wicked Smaht" once a season.</i>Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-4216507019778674612014-11-09T05:09:00.001-08:002014-11-09T05:42:41.558-08:00The Saturday Evening Post-Up: "Falling in Love Again"<div>
So the C’s do just fine without Rondo. They won despite Aaron Brooks’ best efforts, which were mighty indeed. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Points. He brings points.</span></div>
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I’m not sure I’d chalk this loss up to the Celtics being good so much as the Bulls inexplicably dropping a game from time to time. They get tired, and Thibs can only yell so loud. Maybe he should develop the carrot aspect of his motivational combo. He could take Pau to get some history books at Myopic, or buy Taj a Tastee-Freeze or something. </div>
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Elsewhere in the league, basketball’s favorite billionaire netted another win. Speculation abounds w/r/t the Clippers being "<a href="http://www.latimes.com/sports/sportsnow/la-sp-sn-clippers-gillian-zucker-agenda-20141108-story.html">LA’s new team</a>," and I’m not sure why the city would even hesitate with hopping on board. LA is a notoriously fickle town as-is, but who does it hurt, really? It’s not like the Lakers are going to vanish, or check your bank history for Clippers ticket purchases. Plus I’m all for conspiratorially ignoring Kobe, in order to make him achieve Maximum Kobe out of spite.</div>
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Steve Kerr can coach some basketball. What’s the Arabic for “only undefeated team left”? Expect Alex to say more about the Golden State in the near future. Expect that "more" to be 90% fanfiction.</div>
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Finally we have the Milwaukee Bucks, properly earning a win against the heretofore undefeated Memphis squad. That isn’t to say Memphis played perfectly. Z-Bo got a little too confident from deep, and the Grizz started to lean on him in lieu of running a proper offense. Randolph made the improbable halftime buzzbeater seen here:</div>
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<div>
And, paradoxical though it may seem, that shot was the beginning of their end.</div>
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<div>
There are a few factors that correlate highly with the Bucks that win vs. the Bucks that lose, and they all fell into place. Ersan Ilyasova can play very well, but some nights he performs so badly as to become a liability. Other nights he’s beautiful defensively and efficient on offense. Last night was the latter. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then we have the “arms race.” Physical freak spotters all around have pointed to Giannis as if to say, “This is what I meant.” As if all that is required to succeed on the highest level of basketball is to be a gigantic bundle of limbs. In this way many undermine the talent of players by reducing them to borderline-phrenological ratios of arm length, studies of speed and height. These numbers indicate something, certainly, but last night was a reminder that Giannis is here because he can play. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvJ5CLuKm4yIWOn-kETSaDwSufpUBDl556axnLOYeKLEehzjGvziPW3VWzGWb7wq6DwHUM1CQD-11Qve-QXsZsCIE8AGrjqXeb6mZqPS2Mr8iLl-LhqAF7MudQifrZyruc2aVrCKpt6KZ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-09+at+7.51.13+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTvJ5CLuKm4yIWOn-kETSaDwSufpUBDl556axnLOYeKLEehzjGvziPW3VWzGWb7wq6DwHUM1CQD-11Qve-QXsZsCIE8AGrjqXeb6mZqPS2Mr8iLl-LhqAF7MudQifrZyruc2aVrCKpt6KZ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-09+at+7.51.13+AM.png" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div>
Consult OJ Mayo’s gorgeous football assist to Antetokonmpo near the end to see what I mean. Court/ball awareness, and most importantly trust, a relationship between teammates, and pretty darn fun basketball. I know the Bucks will ultimately hurt me, as they have before. <span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">Alas, <i>I can't help it.</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZlhLrzgDlx0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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-David</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-7672424391361737982014-11-05T18:14:00.002-08:002014-11-09T15:28:49.016-08:00Clippers/Warriors Preview<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWnRyRY96EuLXF7gqNR3wnbK-iel_FzVLhtHNVHM4CkM95ZdyymXmwUpDDdhHE3l4M1SifdhtgeemIGTh5WlB9gaWP-YKhVpX2vA936W8o2FB1161q415YE3FnIhh-bg6KKAri5W7q_U/s1600/R-Bar.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWnRyRY96EuLXF7gqNR3wnbK-iel_FzVLhtHNVHM4CkM95ZdyymXmwUpDDdhHE3l4M1SifdhtgeemIGTh5WlB9gaWP-YKhVpX2vA936W8o2FB1161q415YE3FnIhh-bg6KKAri5W7q_U/s1600/R-Bar.jpeg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>A dimly lit bar. ANDREW BOGUT is sitting by the taps, four empty pint glasses arrayed before him in no particular pattern. Light pours in momentarily as DRAYMOND GREEN saunters through the door. He spots BOGUT and smiles, which is also a sort of light in the darkness.</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Draymond. How're you, mate? Just throwing back some amber fluid before the big game. How "big" of a game is it really though, what with the early returns on the Clippers season being a bit bodgy, especially this mad three-point social experiment from Blake Griffin, that miserable bogan.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm fine. Coach sent me to find you, said you told him you just had to go to the bathroom.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yeah, that's true enough, though I meant the one at this bar, even though it smells of freshly made chunder in there. Have a pint mate, it's on me, I'm richer than you after all. Richer than damn near everyone on the squad, really!</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Thanks.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>A BARTENDER, round in the mid-section, but with kind eyes approaches. </i></div>
</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BARTENDER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
What'll it be?</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll have a Screwdriver.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BARTENDER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Vodka preference?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, please.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BARTENDER</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Coming right up.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>The BARTENDER walks off to make the drink. BOGUT and DRAYMOND sit quietly together. BOGUT is lost in his thoughts. The BARTENDER returns with the drink. DRAYMOND tips two dollars.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIWvmztt_FFTshhfhoIr_hIqL9vZDnuNUVDDvdbHMJy1BxgJM4pY8NWbYj8xwgbBMmJUrt7_DiWEby7d6R1mLU4120I33ELJyfsO7mWUNuOUl51uyFyYjFOn60gVJk0iucHpY3zCdpfY/s1600/940x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdIWvmztt_FFTshhfhoIr_hIqL9vZDnuNUVDDvdbHMJy1BxgJM4pY8NWbYj8xwgbBMmJUrt7_DiWEby7d6R1mLU4120I33ELJyfsO7mWUNuOUl51uyFyYjFOn60gVJk0iucHpY3zCdpfY/s1600/940x.jpg" height="225" width="320" /></a></div>
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BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Heard you <a href="http://www.ibabuzz.com/warriors/2014/11/05/draymond-green-changes-agents-general-manager-bob-myers-sees-help-warriors-re-sign/">switched agents</a>.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yeah. Figured-</div>
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BOGUT</div>
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Why'd you do that, Draymond? He ear-bashing you? </div>
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DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh no. I just want to put myself in a good position to-</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To what, Dray? Fuck over the team? Destroy what we've been building here? </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Hell no. You know I'd die for this team.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Heh! Know you'd kill for it, that's true enough. I don't mean to have tall poppy syndrome, mate. You've done bloody well for yourself. Second round pick, impact well beyond the boxscore, fan favorite, all the rotten vegetarians on Twitter love you. You help a squad win a championship. That's why we need you. This squad. You and me and Klay and Steph. The four of us. The rest are expendable shit, well, Iguodala is great, but at the end of the day it's the four of us. Two shooters and two goons. One of us is going to be Finals MVP. You know it, I know it, everyone in the whole world knows it. Even the bloody Kiwis know it, mate.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I want to stay with the team, Andrew. You know that.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know you saw how much money that whacker Klay just got. Don't get me wrong, he's a talented whacker, but he's a whacker nonetheless. You want the brass to know you're worth this money. You want the leverage. Well, let me tell you something, Draymond. Don't forget who you are. You're one of us.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I haven't decided anything yet, Andrew. Calm down. Can't we talk about the election or something?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I don't want to talk about the election. I'm not sitting here in the middle of the day in a boozer because this Yank beat that Yank in some state that doesn't matter. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, what <i>are</i> you doing here?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm thinking about which quarter I want to punch Blake Griffin in his balls.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That is a coincidence. I was also just thinking that. Except which quarter <i>I </i>want to punch him in the balls.</div>
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BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think it's best we don't both pick the same quarter.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I agree.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think if that ginger boomer tries to posterize me I'll just grab him by the scrote and knock him into the meanest looking cameraman. He'll have to commission a special pair of budgie smugglers after I'm through with him. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpZqNWCLXh__zY6b9eJhdqcdUmd3dwzkmWSpDmkLhNldexh83enVn32AxRjYFMzRXTye_wZlXWXjHD6BChwEU_8PACq2xxPLW4OQ_zVNe6ZOf6BRo1ZOEEc4wvQj_fLTVooEAKfkJr54/s1600/20140426_draymond-green-blake-griffin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQpZqNWCLXh__zY6b9eJhdqcdUmd3dwzkmWSpDmkLhNldexh83enVn32AxRjYFMzRXTye_wZlXWXjHD6BChwEU_8PACq2xxPLW4OQ_zVNe6ZOf6BRo1ZOEEc4wvQj_fLTVooEAKfkJr54/s1600/20140426_draymond-green-blake-griffin.jpg" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Okay, so you want to throw him into a mean looking camerman after you grab his balls.</div>
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BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yup.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Which quarter though?</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Doesn't matter.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd like to whisper in his ear "<a href="http://i.cdn.turner.com/nba/nba/multimedia/photo_gallery/0908/09rookie.portraits/images/17.jpg">Your parents love Taylor more than you</a>" during the third, probably in the first minute or so, you know, help us get us off to a hot start.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Niiiice.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yeah, I figure I'll start shoving him really hard in the second though. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnG-0aimKsKUGoea5Rk4EQfuQ7kq5x18_WY5x8huptIULKETBGsZsYRSVGi1c1nc410fAz2mK7thiFpLMwb1_x_9nD0dRRM9-Y9TBKb1816oNjatP0AaFM1fUQi8dN59BT18EjvO7DRk/s1600/la-sp-clippers-warriors-20140422.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwnG-0aimKsKUGoea5Rk4EQfuQ7kq5x18_WY5x8huptIULKETBGsZsYRSVGi1c1nc410fAz2mK7thiFpLMwb1_x_9nD0dRRM9-Y9TBKb1816oNjatP0AaFM1fUQi8dN59BT18EjvO7DRk/s1600/la-sp-clippers-warriors-20140422.jpeg" height="210" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Draymond, you are a regular bushranger! You remind me of a young me. Except I was the #1 pick. You know that?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Damn, Bogey. Of course I knew that! And Marvin Williams went second, Deron Williams went third and-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Chris Paul</i> went fourth. Never trust a man with two first names. Never. Chris Paul...He's a cut snake he is. Meaner that almost anybody that plays the game.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Except us.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>BOGUT smiles. He raises an empty glass in salute and Draymond clinks his barely touched Screwdriver to it. </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That's right, mate. Except us. Now prove it. What's your plan?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm going to devour the soul of Matt Barnes tonight. And then I will devour the soul of Chris Douglas-Roberts and I will burn his novelty short shorts on a fire I've lit using the body of Reggie Bullock. If Hedo comes at me I will break his thumbs and put a hex upon his offspring.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Their small forward rotation leaves a bit to be desired, don't it? London to a brick they're going nowhere in the post-season without some trade deadline reinforcements. </div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0mmeFszQhJ8RK9KMg69G7AUISQQ7vehE9_jFriIr_j6seq_i0-mqfYrVddY5LlmgYglKXaE9rv3qydjfWzvkRsiFyQy3Syk-P_RLzSN4DXpevisfHL_gdcPCA9Ek7pFClhwVUY8C_74/s1600/andrew-bogut-mark-ayotte-deandre-jordan-blake-griffin-nba-golden-state-warriors-los-angeles-clippers1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0mmeFszQhJ8RK9KMg69G7AUISQQ7vehE9_jFriIr_j6seq_i0-mqfYrVddY5LlmgYglKXaE9rv3qydjfWzvkRsiFyQy3Syk-P_RLzSN4DXpevisfHL_gdcPCA9Ek7pFClhwVUY8C_74/s1600/andrew-bogut-mark-ayotte-deandre-jordan-blake-griffin-nba-golden-state-warriors-los-angeles-clippers1.jpg" height="205" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes you give them a taste of their own blood and it gets in their heads.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Right you are, mate. I already told Festus to wink at DeAndre Jordan every time he catches the ball and if winking doesn't work drool a little bit.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Every time who catches the ball? Festus or DJ? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Don't matter. Festus has a little bit of the devil in him, same as us. A few more games to knock the rust off he'll be routinely sending dongers to the never-never.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Man, I hear that.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blake Griffin does not reach the fourth quarter.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Blake Griffin <i>does not</i> reach the fourth quarter.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Fourth quarter Steph and Klay clean house. Iguodala and you will shut down Chris Paul. Don't worry about hitting him in his old fella. What must be done must be done.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We would have won last year in the playoffs if only you could have been with us, man.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know, mate.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
DRAYMOND</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some people say the Grizzlies and the Clippers are the best rivalry in the NBA.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
BOGUT</div>
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I want to know what kind of raw uncut heroin those people are snorting and where is it that I can get some. Sure, it's fun watching the Grizzlies treat the Clippers like the technicolor yawn in human form that they are, but seriously, who on the Grizzlies is going to punch Blake Griffin's dick the way we do? Who is going to punch his dick and then convince the world that he actually fouled us? Tony Allen? Zach Randolph? Those blokes are not exactly <i>Crocodile Dundee</i> when it comes to acting.</div>
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DRAYMOND</div>
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Tonight I will destroy Blake Griffin. Tonight he'll wish he had never made a KIA commercial. Tonight he'll dine in hell.</div>
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<i>They toast again. A long pause.</i></div>
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BOGUT</div>
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Blake's a pretty nice guy, actually.</div>
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DRAYMOND</div>
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Yes, I like him alright.</div>
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<i>The BARTENDER sighs at that and starts cleaning a beer glass. He thinks of his mother's smile and the long walk back to his apartment. Everything will be okay...if he can just get back home.</i></div>
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<i><b>warriors by 10</b></i></div>
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<br />Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-55579199559826258022014-11-04T09:27:00.001-08:002014-11-04T09:33:34.973-08:00At C: A Boston Sports Post<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0GzEKdMZ0fEUTa8NX2-yVMY3xdQuHHbULceRw6JkFV7K2izAtKUM-gUYyGUSFBmCiASjREqDlqXesz-zxS5lHYh4EmsgKRB_j-xtqvHH9mCcodxqMZLNoGw_7abMTCUTqZK8z4h6hvEn/s1600/rajon+gq.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0GzEKdMZ0fEUTa8NX2-yVMY3xdQuHHbULceRw6JkFV7K2izAtKUM-gUYyGUSFBmCiASjREqDlqXesz-zxS5lHYh4EmsgKRB_j-xtqvHH9mCcodxqMZLNoGw_7abMTCUTqZK8z4h6hvEn/s1600/rajon+gq.jpg" height="192" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://lit.genius.com/Ts-eliot-the-waste-land-annotated">“Frisch weht der Wind</a></div>
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<a href="http://lit.genius.com/Ts-eliot-the-waste-land-annotated">Der Heimat zu</a></div>
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<a href="http://lit.genius.com/Ts-eliot-the-waste-land-annotated">Mein Irish Kind</a></div>
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<a href="http://lit.genius.com/Ts-eliot-the-waste-land-annotated">Wo weilest du?"</a></div>
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As is the case with all other Boston sports teams, you can only claim to be a fan if you’ve threatened to fight someone over team-slander. But most of the bad things you could say about the Celtics right now happen to be true. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2i-ObEA_jAU">Former GQ intern Rajon Rondo</a> does not look as good as we’d like. For those of you defending the man who stands before us, remember this? </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ndyfsS0bFK8?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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That’s what could-have-been looks like. </div>
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I managed to avoid watching the C’s most of last year, if only because I don’t like to see epic poetry turn into a bildungsroman. But now I’m back, from outer space, and there’s a very little bit of hope. Kelly Olynyk and his gross facial hair still aren’t impressive. Zeller turns out to be the German word for “bench”.</div>
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It’s still early days in this year’s education of the never-sufficiently-tanking Celtics, but a light shone in the second half of the Mavericks game. After being thoroughly stomped into the ground by the dark scoring engine that is Dallas in the first, things came together. Marcus Smart looks like he’s been to this particular rodeo before, and nowhere was this more apparent than with his beautiful recovery-to-behind-the-back-assist combo when it was needed most. </div>
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Announcers said—like you do—that you shouldn’t get behind by so many points early in the game, but that’s not always controllable against Dallas. The Mavs score at an unmatchable clip unless they’re somehow destabilized, and this happened in much of the third quarter.</div>
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It should be noted that there’s a bit of rivalry between Jeff Green and Dirk. Jeff broke Dirk’s face open with an elbow. Dirk does not forgive; Dirk does not forget.</div>
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Avery Bradley stepped up to get the team within striking distance, but then, in the blink of an eye, the Dallas lead went from three to ten and it was all but over. Certain demoralizing factors played a role. On a tear, Rondo eurostepped into an offensive foul (~5:30 remaining in the 4th), and it seemed to give Dirk and Co. the deep breath needed to take things home. </div>
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Ultimately, the Celtics were playing a game they couldn’t win. The wheels come off, and you try to caulk the wagons and float. Sometimes the stream is so strong you scrap the wagons, build a flatboat, and ride downstream into better country. Sometimes you build your own little civilization on your raft, and tell yourself the shore doesn’t exist. You learn to catch oceanic birds with bits of glue and fish guts. You develop a wicked tan. As the noise of the sea rocks you to sleep, you dream of Kevin and Paul and Ray, of a better time, of the only Celtics you choose to remember.<br />
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Tell me you don't miss it.<br />
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-David<br />
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Stray thought:<br />
The Mavericks drumline. I don't have a joke for this one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0x4ocYBLZ-cmhvEBM5BYRmOIhI1hXZY-gq5EkYzEyiuKK8SbAqNnWDg2yMve47TJU0DSGT9EHNl7NmIzcix7d-h9YHcPW77Df0PdOzK8hH3syqufjaxnfCTzEQtKZ7hFNH_A1P2ADg7p/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-04+at+5.49.52+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie0x4ocYBLZ-cmhvEBM5BYRmOIhI1hXZY-gq5EkYzEyiuKK8SbAqNnWDg2yMve47TJU0DSGT9EHNl7NmIzcix7d-h9YHcPW77Df0PdOzK8hH3syqufjaxnfCTzEQtKZ7hFNH_A1P2ADg7p/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-11-04+at+5.49.52+PM.png" height="200" width="320" /></a></div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-58352770154735360482014-11-03T19:06:00.001-08:002014-11-03T19:25:24.534-08:00Jazz-Clippers Preview<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShfVnZCzjDv6PPO2xUa5uZubQHlFHuHFmNteDEsxPaK12_wqk4SHPVACBexMDd3On_CoQIIPL2iGJrQf5C8X1xHOq5Gnf8pAudYjjzuaP58f3zU0fOPZ3hA06hn_naAKD15lY7tAXEVg/s1600/chris+paul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShfVnZCzjDv6PPO2xUa5uZubQHlFHuHFmNteDEsxPaK12_wqk4SHPVACBexMDd3On_CoQIIPL2iGJrQf5C8X1xHOq5Gnf8pAudYjjzuaP58f3zU0fOPZ3hA06hn_naAKD15lY7tAXEVg/s320/chris+paul.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">if i let you go...do you think you could fly?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">huh!</td></tr>
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Get ready for the game of the century. The 16th century! This is a game for people who remember the Old Ways. The Clippers come into the season as prohibitive favorites to limp out of the West, but there is always some unexpected anarchy during these early days. Thus, it is no great surprise that the heretofore laughingstock of polite society, the Sacramento Kings, put a six-point whooping on them. As one of our best Scottish proverbs tells us: <i>if you can't get revenge on the goose then get revenge on the gosling</i>. That gosling is the Utah Jazz, a basketball team featuring several men, none of which happen to be Andris Biedrins. May it ever be so.</div>
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These are probably the starting line ups, but on the other hand, maybe they aren't? There's always the possibility that Doc Rivers goes insane and starts Big Baby Davis at point-guard <i>and </i>shooting guard or that Enes Kanter falls truly, madly, deeply in love with a pretty girl he sees in the stands right before tip-off and they hit it off and take a romantic stroll to the LaBrea Tar Pits together but at the end of the night she confesses it was actually Dante Exum she liked the entire time and do you think she likes him back? Anyway, the lineups:</div>
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<table align="center" border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" class="sbnu-legacy-content-table" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; border-spacing: 0px; border: 1px outset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; color: #292929; font-family: 'Gotham Narrow SSm A', 'Gotham Narrow SSm B', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; width: 500px;"><tbody style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">
<tr style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><td align="right" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/21662/chris-paul" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Chris Paul</a></b></td><th align="center" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="20">PG</th><td style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="210"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/198035/trey-burke" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Trey Burke</a></b></td></tr>
<tr style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><td align="right" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/21613/j-j-redick" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">J.J. Redick</a></b></td><th align="center" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="20">SG</th><td style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/149904/alec-burks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Alec Burks</a></b></td></tr>
<tr style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><td align="right" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/21517/matt-barnes" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Matt Barnes</a></b></td><th align="center" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="20">SF</th><td style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/111897/gordon-hayward" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Gordon Hayward</a></b></td></tr>
<tr style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><td align="right" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/71901/blake-griffin" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Blake Griffin</a></b></td><th align="center" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="20">PF</th><td style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/149905/enes-kanter" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Enes Kanter</a></b></td></tr>
<tr style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><td align="right" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/35088/deandre-jordan" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">DeAndre Jordan</a></b></td><th align="center" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="20">C</th><td style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; border: 1px inset rgb(170, 170, 170); box-sizing: border-box; padding: 3px;" width="240"><b style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;"><a class="sbn-auto-link" href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/players/111982/derrick-favors" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; color: #27599b; text-decoration: none;">Derrick Favors</a></b></td></tr>
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What will happen in this game is anyone's guess, though here are my particular guesses. </div>
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These are the faces of Utah's big man tandem, still getting to know each other, still trying to understand one another's space and spaces, as they behold the first <i>lob</i> of the night. Enes takes it especially hard, since it was he, sweet young man from Turkey that he is, that Blake Griffin how do you say, posterizes. Derrick Favors, always sort of a stoic dude, tells himself not to get even, but to get mad.</div>
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This is Quin Snyder when he sees the Jazz storm back to take a slim lead right before halftime. This curious rally was more curiously led by Steve Novak, who is not the stretch 4 the Utah Jazz need, but the stretch 4 the Utah Jazz have. Every time Novak nails a three Enes Kanter hops off the bench and pumps his huge fist in the air. Snyder then tells the guys to pick up the pace, and is caught mic'd up in a huddle revealing secrets of NBA coaching, telling the guys to "push the pace and get easy baskets in transition, and to do the thing where you grab the ball after someone misses it."</div>
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The Jazz have taken a ten point lead midway through the 3rd quarter. They are already dumping gatorade on each other, high fiving, low fiving, fist bumping, shaking hands solemnly. Quin Snyder tells them to calm down and that "there is a lot of game left" but he too cracks a tiny smile, for he knows that one day, perhaps very soon, this team may be halfway decent. Gordon Hayward runs his hand through his hair and is actually nice to the kid trying to hand him a towel. He's a playmaker. He was born to get out in the open floor and run. It used to be that you couldn't run in a Jazz uniform without tripping over Al Jefferson or Paul Millsap. Perhaps those days are over. Perhaps...</div>
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But then Chris Paul makes four long-twos in rapid succession and Blake Griffin tumbles to the hoop for some mildly upsetting dunks. Utah's entire frontline is disrespected. Hedo spits in Trey Burke's general direction and a few technicals are called. Steve Novak misses the free throw. Blake dunks five more times. A man in the stands chokes, but manages to spit up the pretzel. His wife rubs his back the rest of the night. They voted for Jon Huntsman.</div>
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"I'm so happy we won the game!" J.J. Reddick tells Matt Barnes after the buzzer sounds and the Utah Jazz slink off the court like beaten curs. Matt Barnes thinks back to the days when he and this nice looking boy-man used to be on the Orlando Magic together, when they would stay up all hours of the night talking about the future, and space technology, and how they wish summers could last forever, and how Dwight Howard had a staring problem. </div>
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Matt Barnes finally just musses Reddick's hair and says "Yeah." Then he walks to the showers, whistling a Gladys Knight and the Pips song. </div>
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"Matt Barnes has a strange and dark road to walk," Doc Rivers says to a very sweaty J.J. Reddick.</div>
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J.J. then comes out of a trance and turns to his coach and says, "My middle name is Clay. My middle name...is <i>Clay</i>."</div>
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The Utah Jazz go out to In-N-Out Burger. Rudy Gobert's order is all wrong, but the team is more or less happy with their performance. They showed promise, they showed they belonged, they showed <i>up. </i>This team has a lot of talent, a lot of guts, more brains than usual for a young team, and a spirit that is at least above average. It's a long season, but they've already made their point. Even the wretched need not go quiet into this long dark hellish night.</div>
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Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-24328390053770670362014-11-02T23:53:00.001-08:002014-11-02T23:53:13.895-08:00Let them Eat Blood<blockquote class="twitter-tweet" lang="en"><p>On Steph defense RT <a href="https://twitter.com/ThomasAwful">@ThomasAwful</a>: <a href="https://twitter.com/Money23Green">@Money23Green</a> Awesome win Dray. Sup with giving people a taste of their own blood though?</p>— Draymond Green (@Money23Green) <a href="https://twitter.com/Money23Green/status/529178015042121729">November 3, 2014</a></blockquote>
<script async src="//platform.twitter.com/widgets.js" charset="utf-8"></script>Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-78986058549165073592014-11-02T22:28:00.002-08:002014-11-03T00:21:03.438-08:00The Boogie Enigma <i>Hello everyone (hello Dave), and welcome to Garbage Time Pump Faker's first guest post, courtesy of the mysterious Jon Getz!</i><br />
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I'm torn on Boogie Cousins. On the one hand, he's been one of
the few legitimate no-brainer double-double threats every single night since he
came into the league four years ago, and on the other, he's
just...volatile. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sacramento's win today against the Clippers was a microcosm of
Boogie (who, let's be honest, has the best nickname in the NBA--what's more fun
than screaming BOOOGIIEEEEEEE after he puts the fear of God into Jonas
Valanciunas). He put up a 34/17/5 with three blocks, the Kings ran the offense
through him in the last four minutes, and he had two beautiful drop passes down
low that you would expect from someone like Steve Nash rather than a 6'11''
center. On the other hand, he looked disinterested, jogged up the court, and
almost lost Sacramento the game with a stupid offensive goaltending on a
Collison shot that was going in with 24.4 second left in the game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Do we care too much about Boogie's "body language?"
Would we even notice his sour looks if he didn't have his reputation? Probably,
but that's like saying "if LeBron wasn't LeBron, people would call him a
terrible teammate for embarrassing Mario Chalmers on a nightly basis last
year." Most of the time, you earn both the free passes and criticisms you
get.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #222222; font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I think the Boogie enigma, as much we want him to turn into a
Tim Duncan-type that just goes about his business and doesn't mope when he
doesn't get the ball for three possessions in a row, can be summed up like
this--Boogie is the ridiculously talented pick-up basketball player that you
just don't want to play with. You know the guy--he's got a wet jumper, killer
handles, and can get to the rim whenever he wants, but if he thinks he got
passed up when he was open he's going to walk back on D, leaving your team to
play four on five defense. You'd almost prefer to play with a bunch of your
buddies and risk losing the game (and then be relegated to pick-up purgatory,
when there are eight guys who all "have next") than play with that
guy and be guaranteed at least three straight wins. At least you and your
teammates can bond over how much it sucks to play with him. Sometimes your
Boogie is actually fun to play with, you enjoy yourself, and get to stay on the
court for a bunch of games in a row. But the issue is when you start losing.</span><br />
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And with Darren Collison leading your team, losing is in
Boogie's future. We'll see how long he can hold it together, because if he can,
we're going to witness something really special.</div>
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<i>You can follow Jon Getz at <a href="https://twitter.com/jongetz09">@jongetz09</a> where he'll overreact about Vanderbilt football and occasionally has humorous thoughts, and sometimes wonders if he is that pick up guy. </i>Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-77707625373882356112014-11-02T22:18:00.002-08:002014-11-02T22:18:56.654-08:0025 Things Klay Thompson Does Not Reminds Me of & 25 Things Klay Thompson Reminds Me Of<i>25 Things Klay Thompson Does Not Remind Me Of</i><br />
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1. Punk rock. Any kind, from any time<br />
2. A recently extinguished campfire at a Methodist retreat when you are 14<br />
3. The collected works of Isaac Asimov<br />
4. New Order covering "Love Will Tear Us Apart"<br />
5. The laughter of hyenas before a kill<br />
6. Mychal Thompson<br />
7. Falling down a flight of stairs in front of the woman you love<br />
8. A guy who enjoys black and white movies<br />
9. An empty Fugazi show<br />
10. A messy apartment<br />
11. Being slightly late for a job interview<br />
12. Eating the last donut<br />
13. Getting sucker punched, bragging that it didn't hurt<br />
14. Stephen Curry<br />
15. The Wire Season 4<br />
16. A committed relationship<br />
17. A long embrace with your estranged father<br />
18. Holding the door open for a stranger<br />
19. Helping a friend move<br />
20. Bloodsport<br />
21. Baseball<br />
22. Cool hair<br />
23. Coke Zero<br />
24. Blues scale<br />
25. Being upset when the Crocodile Hunter died<br />
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and on the other side of the pretend coin:<br />
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<i>25 Things Klay Thompson Reminds Me Of</i><br />
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1. A guitar solo that goes on a few seconds too long<br />
2. <i>Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me</i><br />
3. The wide eyed innocence of a newborn babe on dope<br />
4. A misattributed quote<br />
5. 3 of the 7 samurai from <i>Seven Samurai</i><br />
6. Microwave dinners, specifically those of the <i>Lean Cuisine</i> variety<br />
7. Interpol's discography<br />
8. Satan, if he was a little younger<br />
9. Ordering a Philly Cheesesteak from an abrasive and racist cheeseteak joint<br />
10. The second option we've been dreaming of<br />
11. Trying to learn Farsi, giving up, trying again<br />
12. A fear of ghosts<br />
13. Pepsi Max<br />
14. Waving at someone who was actually waving at the person behind you<br />
15. Movies with swords<br />
16. Extremely basic dance moves<br />
17. The subjunctive<br />
18. Washing a car while listening to "Jesse's Girl"<br />
19. Flip flops with socks<br />
20. 25 points per game<br />
21. In-N-Out Burger<br />
22. A barely noticeable earthquake<br />
23. College radio<br />
24. Worn down colored pencils<br />
25. <i>Gigli</i>Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-57142425202317063572014-11-02T09:46:00.002-08:002014-11-02T11:52:21.329-08:00On Being Wrong, and Why We Bother: Toronto at Orlando<div>
It’s a difficult line to walk, between saying that an individual game means something and that it’s a long season, and a lot can change. There are <i>some people</i>—<a href="http://theclassical.org/articles/a-lot-of-basketball-left">cough cough</a>—who would have you believe that the shiny bubbles that wash up to our feet in the surf of countless hours of regular season basketball are actually enough. There are some who would suggest that the glimmers of hope or spikes of despair mean everything, that you can accurately predict something about the future from what we’ve seen so far—<a href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CCAQyCkwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DbsnpbOA739o&ei=fmhWVJC4IObX7AaP0oC4AQ&usg=AFQjCNETHJbBClJydUDofHOs712IzFBS1g&sig2=khXyiuc9BoSYI4TKRriqKw">cough cough</a>. There are some who would tell you it doesn’t mean anything and that you should be watching football right now. And then I suppose there’s me, just trying to make some sense of this Magic team.</div>
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Welcome to today’s installation in my slow journey into masochistic madness, the Orlando Magic versus the Toronto Raptors. First, let me say, I was wrong. I apologize. I said that Luke Ridnour should start over Elfrid Payton. Elf was out there, doing it. He had a few beautiful assists and a dunk he can frame and put on his mantle. </div>
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What does one game against the Raptors mean? Nothing. But I’ve found that I care. Not for the elegance of small instances of perfection, not for the purposes of wager-advice prognostication. As Alex suggested <a href="http://garbagetimepumpfaker.blogspot.co.il/2014/11/die-together-or-live-alone.html">previously</a>, we care because we can’t not care. </div>
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So I’ll also tell you that Dewayne Dedmon caught a couple of nice feeds from Payton, and maybe, possibly, Dedmon’s issue in the Wizards game was that Marcin Gortat is very, very good. Oh, yeah, BEHOLD THE BLOCK:<br /></div>
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Vucevic and Channing Frye and even Evan “Transform” Fournier performed, yet it wasn’t enough. During the early late third and early fourth quarter moments of hope, you would see a Magic player battling through to make an improbable shot on his possession, and a Raptors player responding with an apparently easy basket in transition. The Magic eventually regressed to the mean and the final score, I believe, represents the game that was played.</div>
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Elfrid looked just a hairsbreadth away from ready, and maybe the rest of the team is in the same boat. Until then, I’m here with you. Because where else would I be?<br />
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-David<br />
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Stray thought:<br />
Joey Colon, you are my ray of sunshine. Every game.</div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-25380288765432554742014-11-02T03:33:00.001-08:002014-11-02T03:38:30.615-08:00"Wale - Wizards Creative Liason"<div>
Times are I can’t remember whether it used to be Nene Hilario or Hilario Nene.</div>
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For those who prefer the bangaround, you’ve-got-four-fouls-left-to-give brand of basketball, Wizards-Bucks was your make and model, with a pine-scented air freshener jangling on the rearview. </div>
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It was rarely pretty. Paul Pierce received a clear path, a tech, and then another tech off of one play. I talked to a war veteran once before a terrifying midterm, asked him if he was nervous. His response? “Dude I was in Fallujah. Men in tweed don’t scare me any more.” I’m pretty sure getting <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Sports/story?id=100441">stabbed a dozen times</a> similarly changes the way you think about referees. </div>
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Randy Wittman shows some tough love:</div>
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Pierce’s ejection was a blessing in disguise. Otto Porter, steampunk scoring engineer, had all valves humming appropriately. Jerryd “He Went to Jerryd” Bayless, after getting blocked a near-comical number of times, proceed to deliver shooting justice from the perimeter, and really would’ve closed the gap in the late game if not for the Otto Porter explosion. Fans chanted the name, appropriately. </div>
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Marcin Gortat continues to embarrass inferior talent in the paint. Looking forward to having a better idea what that means against the higher-tier teams. </div>
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Go forth and be happy, Wizards fans. You’re fine without Beal for now.<br />
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Stray note:<br />
What are you doing here, Wale? No one likes you. </div>
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Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-53922673637517211062014-11-01T12:59:00.001-07:002014-11-02T00:37:38.956-07:00Die Together or Live Alone<div class="MsoNormal">
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<span style="font-family: Didot;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Didot;">There’s no battle per se for
the soul of the NBA. The NBA doesn’t have a soul. But if there <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was a battle for a certain soul that doesn’t actually exist, </i>then that battle is being waged in the trenches of halftime shows
and the choppy blood stained seas of Twitter, in superfluous sideline
interviews that nobody anywhere wants to see and a host of counterfactuals and
jewelry tallying. It is being fought by reactionaries posing as revolutionaries
hiding behind silly-ass acronyms and by revolutionaries who actually are
revolutionaries, also hiding behind silly ass acronyms. It’s a schism on par
with the Popes of Rome and the Popes of Avignon, of grindcore and pop punk.
You’ve got a bunch of nerds going
toe-to-toe with the krakens of conventional wisdom and sort of winning. Everyone is getting in on this: Neophyte fanboys, Kobe partisans, grizzled color commentators, former stars cum television analysts, different sorts of GMs (there are <i>brilliant </i>ones and <i>dumb</i> ones), prized
assistant coaches, owners <a href="http://sports.yahoo.com/blogs/nba-ball-dont-lie/report--kings-owner-vivek-ranadiv%C3%A9-has-pitched-a-4-on-5-defense---leaving-one-player-to-cherry-pick-221946018.html">thinking so far outside every box there is</a>, and more...there is a lot of cacophony going on in this hardwood culture war. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">This is the war between
those who want their basketball to resemble football, and those who want it to
resemble </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">fútbol</i><span style="font-family: Didot;">. Call it Millennial basketball vs. Peloponnesian War basketball. In the blue corner wearing normal clothes you’ve got the passing friendly, exquisitely
spaced, hyper skilled San Antonio Spurs model. In the red corner wearing a suit of chainmail and cowboy boots you’ve got a
side that venerates a model built on the blueprint of individual prowess and
grit, nostalgic for the good ol’ days of illegal zones and hand-checking,
nostalgic indeed for if not the Bad Boys Pistons themselves, for the idea of
the Bad Boys Pistons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Basketball is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">soft</i>. Even the Socialist Europeans can excel at it! It’s not a man’s sport anymore.
There isn’t enough pain. Three-pointers are still looked upon with a certain
mistrust by this spartan school of thought. Even Gregg Popovich, the greatest coach we've got, <a href="http://www.sbnation.com/nba/2014/6/8/5790178/gregg-popovich-threes-nba-finals-notebook-heat-vs-spurs">doesn't care for the three point revolution</a>! The old guard, which is not as fringe as Clever NBA Twitter might have us believe, has become an anachronistic bunch desperately clinging to homemade muskets when homemade machine guns are available. This cognitive dissonance is good for laughs sometimes. This is an attitude exemplified by a lot of people on the World Wide
Web laughing at Byron Scott and his superstitious mumblings of three-pointers
not winning championships. Charles Barkley, Shaq, and Kenny Smith take this
Luddism to an art at times, that is, when they are not making fun of each
other’s shoes or waistlines or giggling in general. They expect something different from the center position from what we are getting these days. They expect positional purity. Attacks on conventional wisdom is an attack on them. There’s so much saccharine longing for the good old days. It puts me in mind of when conservatives long for the stability and prosperity of the 1950s, with the friendly milk man and the white picket fences, and oh never you mind the water fountains certain people weren't allowed to sip from or the collective hysteria and paranoia over the C word (Communism of course!). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">What I gather from listening to these talking heads is that basketball used to
be such a muscular sport, a sport Norman Mailer and Ernest Hemingway would condone, a sport of single-mindedly backing your man down with
your ass. When they talk like this, it sounds as if they are saying this is the <i>true</i> game. This stuff the kids are playing now, well, it's sort of like basketball, but it's not their game. Their game was a slow game, a deliberate game, a war zone, a game the Memphis Grizzlies almost sort of play, a game for brawlers. I get it. I miss the days of dominant big men with awesome post-moves too and I might not mind perhaps scaling back the itchy trigger finger on flagrant fouls, but the reluctance of this august cohort to give up the ghost creates a strange disconnect between the so-called
“experts” and the burgeoning and inclusive hoops intelligentsia caste, guys who understand the ins and outs and what-have-yous of modern basketball and also guys who are super good at spreadsheets and data entry and flattening the human condition. It's maddening to hear things like <a href="http://espn.go.com/espn/story/_/page/Michael-Jordan/michael-jordan-not-left-building">Michael Jordan's weird declaration</a> that only four current NBA players could possibly have thrived in his era, but it is also sad and revealing. It's no doubt an elitist way to take a stand, but these old cats are simply defending something precious to them, something that seems doomed, that holy time when they mattered more to the game than the math.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">This is an old boy's club at the end of the day, just like Weird Twitter, the Manhattan socialite scene, and mainstream political machinery. It's the same as the way Joe Scarborough and Chris Matthews and other mouth breathers reacted so poorly to Nate Silver, because they want their spittle themed bluster to have equal footing with aggregate polling. B</span><span style="font-family: Didot;">yron Scott is a dinosaur wandering around the late Cretaceous looking up at the sky, waiting for the inevitable meteor to take him off the set. But he's going to use his clout to instill his code into a few more kids before his name is put on the blacklist. </span><span style="font-family: Didot;">His NBA is not my NBA, but my NBA is not the NBA of most people, in fact, it is probably dumber or at the very least weirder than most people's NBA. My NBA is about real emotional trash and jokes. His NBA is about respect and tradition and championships. </span><span style="font-family: Didot;">I am glad Byron Scott is not the coach of a team I care about, </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_Valley_(TV_series)" style="font-family: Didot;">but it takes all sorts</a><span style="font-family: Didot;">, as one old saying goes. </span><span style="font-family: Didot;">Another old saying: Let the </span><a href="http://wot.wikia.com/wiki/Lord_of_Chaos_(concept)" style="font-family: Didot;">Lord of Chaos</a><span style="font-family: Didot;"> rule. Throw those in a blender and make yourself a basketball milkshake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">To reiterate: the current philosophical disagreement between people who think excessive three-pointers are witchcraft (bad!) and those who think three-pointers are wizardry (good!) is <i>not</i> a war for any one particular pretend soul. I'm equally uncomfortable pretending this is a game of numbers and discardable faceless assets as I am with the idea that a magical player must adhere to some arbitrary standard set by a man playing an almost unrecognizable game twenty years ago. There is a third way. And a fourth way. The tide is unquestionably turning away from the old timers, sometimes in sinister ways as in the case of the burgeoning <a href="http://thedissnba.com/2014/10/31/exchanging-blood-for-profits/">biometrics revolution</a> and sometimes in just more dorky ways, as fan sites purporting to be experts in that deep analytic swamp have multiplied tenfold. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">It is the Houston Rockets, under the guidance of Daryl Morey, that have become the official unofficial Moneyball squad of the NBA. They like layups, dunks, three pointers and drawing a lot of fouls. This is the model of NBA efficiency, no fat and no nonsense, just getting dudes on base in good position for runs. Certain sorts of modern NBA fans will even find the thought of long two point shots so odious that they will tweet disparagingly after each such attempt! There's a new rule in town, and the rule is only <a href="http://www.blazersedge.com/2014/10/3/6888405/portland-trail-blazers-lamarcus-aldridge-3-pointers">LaMarcus Aldridge is allowed to take long two pointers</a> without sacrificing his hard earned dignity. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Didot;">But back to the Rockets, and their basic revolution. I hate watching the Houston Rockets play. There's no joy. It's like watching a basketball game before the special effects are added. It's all James Harden standing in front of a green screen and giving the camera a sort of enthusiastic thumbs up before ramming into someone like Corey Maggette and expecting a bonus on his next paycheck. Not everyone is required to agree with me, but the Rockets I have watched these past few years are some stale and soulless shit. Like a spreadsheet. Like data entry. Like flattening the human condition. How much of that is Kevin McHale reacting to orders from on high and James Harden's naturally unpleasant style of play I cannot be sure. Some of this may just be bitterness. I'm tired of seeing the Rockets clobber the Warriors again and again, season after season, rosters be damned. And yet, this is an exaggeration. This is the preferred method of madness in Houston under the regime of <a href="http://deadspin.com/5937728/daryl-morey-has-a-counterintuitive-and-analytic-reason-for-giving-money-to-mitt-romney">Mitt Romney supporter Daryl Morey</a>, but midrange shots happen, because James Harden can hit those with ease. Dwight sometimes mixes it up with attempts at back to the basket chicanery, because the old guard laughing at him under the studio lights have told him the only way to win championships is a dominant center that can score a hundred points and corral two hundred rebounds a game. These guys have to prove many things to many people.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Didot;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Didot;">It takes all sorts.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Didot;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Didot;">For many years one of my favorite players to watch was Monta Ellis. I understand, in some minor way, the fury Kobe Bryant's fans feel seeing their once proud icon savaged by a new set of organizing principles less kind to his brand. I watched the same hyenas pounce on Monta for being Monta, that is to say, being <i>great</i>, but not great in the way that Daryl Morey would have much use for. Monta could do amazing things on the court, things that made me happy, made me cheer, but he was trash according to the stat sheet and trash according to a slew of smart people, wise people, people who generally knew their stuff. It confused me. I love Monta Ellis. I'm glad the Warriors traded him so that Stephen Curry could become who he became. It's been satisfying to see his reputation rejuvenated in Dallas. But it's not like he learned to be awesome just last season. The analytics gang, so wise in most ways, also adhere to their own set of hoary truisms, which must be challenged from time to time. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFBQ_W3OGp2Xn6DG_aYZ4PNkNBAo4-hNGU3lNDT6voYPzWGrUpeeQJ1H4jTf83w75Tp8b0JehAVAQSaf6kCEquFN5Gb3c6C-fNQYHLwuLf_FzfX_uMdYCXbfiWzr_xJ5i2E08Qp1THck/s1600/and-out-come-the-wolves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFBQ_W3OGp2Xn6DG_aYZ4PNkNBAo4-hNGU3lNDT6voYPzWGrUpeeQJ1H4jTf83w75Tp8b0JehAVAQSaf6kCEquFN5Gb3c6C-fNQYHLwuLf_FzfX_uMdYCXbfiWzr_xJ5i2E08Qp1THck/s1600/and-out-come-the-wolves.jpg" height="400" width="295" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Didot;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Didot;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Didot;">I </span><i style="font-family: Didot;">do</i><span style="font-family: Didot;"> want to live in a world with headlines like </span><a href="http://nyloncalculus.com/2014/10/31/relationship-usage-average-distance-closest-defender/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter" style="font-family: Didot;">The Relationship Between Usage and Average Distance to Closest Defender</a><span style="font-family: Didot;"> but I will punch myself in the face before ever attempting to write something like that. It just isn't the thought that keeps me up at night, pondering usage and the average distance to the closest defender, is what I'm saying. Byron Scott's NBA is not mine, and neither is the NBA <a href="https://twitter.com/thecity2/status/525706191939182593">where stats can prove Anthony Davis is the not the future</a> of this league. There's room for both science and faith in this thing. I want the NBA to be more soccer than football (aesthetically, no need for hooliganism and insane racism, please!). I want the future. I want guidelines instead of rules, spirituality instead of religion. I want a big table for a big group, a coalition of the willing to watch. <a href="http://grantland.com/the-triangle/mark-deeks-nba-contracts-cba/">Mark Deeks</a> and his superlative salary cap studies is at that table, and Zach Lowe's surgeon like play dissections, and Woj bombs, and guys who run off-brand team blogs, but also the guys who wouldn't know what eFG% is if it bit them on the face. I want the fan-fiction of <a href="http://biscutball.blogspot.com/">Corbin Smith</a>, and the insanity of the Classical, and yes, even the cocaine fueled ramblings and what-kind-of-life-must-you-have-lived pop culture references of Bill Simmons. I want people that don't matter, such as myself and Dave, to have a place at this table, even if we're just in the corner, eating the scraps and trying to figure out a way to get netw3rk to re-tweet us</span><span style="font-family: Didot;">. Byron Scott is also at the table. I don't understand him and he doesn't understand me, but "</span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KAIUf_SYpwE" style="font-family: Didot;">I wouldn't bother with these questions if I didn't sense some spiritual connection. We may not be the same, but it's not like we're from different planets. We both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it."</a><br />
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Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-36347799155017609502014-11-01T07:05:00.002-07:002014-11-01T07:19:47.163-07:00Rose and Injuries: A Hamfisted Thinkpiece<div>
Derrick Rose came down wrong and sprained his ankle. He tried to play a few minutes before being shuttled off to the locker room under the pretense that he’s fine and we’re just erring on the side of caution. </div>
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We use different registers of voice to talk about injuries in the NBA and injuries in the NFL. Neurological damage can happen, certainly, but it’s rare enough that—at least for now—it falls within the margin of acceptability for Wholesome American Sporting Contest Entertainment. Most of what we see is broken bones, torn ligaments, things that wouldn’t be devastating unless you live within the small group of people for whom those bones and ligaments make many millions of dollars. </div>
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So there’s a broad range of responses. Players are sometimes called to “play through,” and praised when they do so, even if the long-term results are undesirable for both team and player. Isaiah Thomas’ <a href="http://www.nba.com/history/isiahheroic_moments.html">game on a sprained ankle</a> comes to mind.</div>
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<div>
“Why is he crying? My friend tore his ACL and played three more minutes of soccer before he realized what happened.” We hear suchlike on couches, at bars. “They have insurance,” even. We forget, I think that money plays only a partial role in the lives and motivations of these people. Most of them, from a very young age, have been groomed to play and promised hope through sports, and almost only sports. By high school that becomes one sport, and before too long that becomes a life. The game becomes about having a meaningful life, about crafting an immortal name, and about having the chance to truly express one's self. Not to give a byline, but to portray something that transcends language. To be the subject of a parable about hard work to younger generations, to be one of the enigmatic, untouchable myths people make careers out of failing to interpret. You can get paid and still lose something incalculable. </div>
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We can debate if there’s something wrong in the way players are taught the game, or that they’re encouraged to play wrong. Doubtless, in some ways, that’s true. As in all else, we will continue to refine the ways to play and to teach. Maybe players cut too aggressively. Maybe we don’t really have a model for what happens when a man of Derrick Rose's or Russell Westbrook’s size moves in the way that they do. And even if these and others never find ways to reconcile their modes of playing the game with not being injured, their lives will continue. Again, thankfully, death and brain damage are not high on the basketball worry list. But it’s a genuine disappointment not to see them on the court. Hope everybody’s okay.<br />
<br />
-David</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-62641530107860170762014-10-31T03:02:00.001-07:002014-10-31T05:04:06.109-07:00Bron and Blatt's Bogus Journey<div>
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. </div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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<div>
Among the assorted thoughts we have Steve “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8To-6VIJZRE">DEVELOPERS</a>” 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.</div>
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Stray note from that game: the NBA Review Room appears to have a larger budget than NASA now. </div>
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<div>
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.</div>
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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 <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKD-MVfC9Ag">soundtrack to Hotline Miami</a> 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.</div>
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<div>
Do this until Fournier’s <a href="http://watch.nba.com/nba/video/games/magic/2014/10/31/0021400016-was-orl-play6.nba">WHAT THE WHAT three</a> 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. </div>
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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. </div>
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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.<br />
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-David</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-3950372633107463502014-10-30T07:21:00.000-07:002014-10-30T07:21:23.105-07:00Midweek Update -- Some Basketball Happened<div>
Sports fans exhibit a certain resilience, innately. Unless you came into the NBA as a Spurs fan within the last fifteen months or so, you’ve experienced your fair share of disappointments. Even in the losses, we carve out our personal wins: “It was crazy that the Royals even made it this far,” “The Lakers are rebuilding,” “Think what the Lions would be like if all of their players were on the field,” and so forth. </div>
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We find ourselves reading blogs like these not because we follow winning teams. We hardly need the mildly-employed man telling us how good such-and-such could be when we’re fully immersed in the glow of excellence. We follow these things for potential. We want to be reassured we were in the right places, fully prepared when the right players break out. We want to say we expected it. We want to be the Dutchman, contentedly unloading coffee beans and tobacco leaves from his ship after months of the neighborhood telling him his boats were never coming back. </div>
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Well we have coffee now, chumps.</div>
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For a long-time Bulls fan, the “what-ifs” all came up Millhouse yesterday. Post-Lakers-despair Pau looked like the good ole Pau we know, righteously collecting his points at the line. Taj can produce in the post. Derrick Rose didn’t re-injure anything. And even at a thirty-point lead, Thibs was there, shouting at the rafters like his audition for the Tempest was this weekend. It was the Bulls we love, with offense. Just like figuring out your favorite pajama pants have pockets now.</div>
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And as we’re ostensibly a Magic-related operation around here, what can we say? Tobias looked good in the way I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU, JERKS, but that didn’t mean a lot. Harris baiting Davis into an and-one was a thing of dad game beauty (13:00 for the LeaguePass folk). How did it somehow escape me how paper-good the Pellies became leading up to this season? How was I surprised when that somehow played out exactly how it was supposed to on the court? </div>
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For those of you on Team Unibrow, bask. It’s your time. For us on Team Middle-Florida, there’s not a lot to be proud of. Mighty Morphin’ Elfrid Payton looks very much the rookie, despite some glimpses of promise. He can still move. He can’t actually shoot around Anthony Davis. Ben Gordon still sucks. Aaron Gordon looked great, excepting the most whifftastic corner three attempt in recent memory.</div>
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Overall remain in your seats, Magic people, glory is still beyond the horizon. Aside from a scrawled missive delivered by mythical sea eagle (“Orlando is fine. I am doing alright. Send money. -Elf”), we’ve received no word. The ships are still at sea. </div>
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-David</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-45579928661376571142014-10-25T15:42:00.000-07:002014-10-30T23:22:15.578-07:00In His Blade We Trust<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<i><br /></i>
<i>“Nobody crossed him
without a battle. He disliked almost everything, particularly his wife, his
children, his neighbors, his church, his priest, his town, his state, his
country, and the country from which he emigrated. Nor did he give a damn for
the world either, or the sun or the stars, or the universe, or heaven or
hell." -John Fante</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Current music: Shellac</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Current pants: None</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Current Cat: Roast Beef</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Current mood: Suspicious</span></i><br />
<br />
I never had any
attachment to Rajon Rondo, nor any feeling for him at all but a hazy respect for his game. He
never terrified me the way Chris Paul or some of the other<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>super point guards</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>did. That wasn't his function or
purpose. His purpose was to make it easier for others to terrify me. He worked
behind the scenes with a big old spotlight fixed on him. He was a quiet
showboat. I knew he wasn’t a scrub, knew he was in fact quite amazing at a
great many things. But I watched so few Celtics games that most of this was
absorbed knowledge, stuff I knew that I ought to know, like trigonometry or the
moon landing. Boston was a headache. The Celtics were annoying, both for their
affected intensity and their unchivalrous scream-y paths to victory.<br />
<br />
The only
time I actually felt<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>joy</i> watching
Rondo play was during his duel with young acne scarred Derrick Rose during the
2009 playoffs. Holy shit, now that was something<i>.</i><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>Whoever thought a series featuring Ben
Gordon and John Salmons would go down in the NBA book of legends and lore? No
one, not even Jesus. But Rondo was great in that series, and it is not fun to
imagine him becoming even more of an abstract presence. As I said, I was never
too fond of the little gremlin, but I'm worried to live in a world where Rajon
Rondo doesn’t matter. Others may inspire more ire, but Rondo inspires a passionate ambivalence. Like the people loitering in the church in the last episode of LOST, it's
his turn to move on or die trying.<br />
<br />
Rajon Rondo is many
things, many strange and boring and beautiful and perplexing and creepy things.
He’s a pass first point guard with gigantic hands and eyes that have seen the
end of the world. He’s a guy who scowled so hard at Jordan Crawford’s attempts
to run an NBA offense and fumed at every trade rumor that devalued him. He’s a man that at one point owned a pair of two hundred
dollar roller skates (which, since he is a literal millionaire many times over,
is probably not all that outlandish)! He’s been operating under the assumption
that he was the heir apparent for years, and yet those greybeards
limped around the court for so long, denying him the reins. Rondo is a
throwback, an old soul, a dour and down on his luck gumshoe detective in a game
full of speakeasy patrons. He has too much rebellion in his guts
for management types with their crisp Windsor knots and diminishing return
smiles. Danny Ainge was ready to trade him many
times because he’s such a <i>pill</i>. Some still blame him for Ray Allen’s departure. In later years, with an
untenable situation growing more and obviously over and done with, Rondo would
be accused of the most unforgivable and <em style="outline: none 0px;"><span style="font-family: Didot;">disgusting </span></em>crime of all, the crime
of “dropping an F bomb” on Doc Rivers during a team meeting. He said "fuck" or "fucked" or "fucker" to another grown man.<br />
<br />
Doc Rivers, a minor Saint in most hoops circles, now coaches a different All-Star Point Guard. Rondo
languishes in nowhere land, a discarded puppy; bitter, bent, and hopefully not broken. Too many have been broken recently.<br />
<br />
Players fade in and
out our peripheries. I can go an entire year without thinking about Joe
Johnson, and I am no longer sure that Allen Iverson ever really existed. Rondo is
always there, but he’s not. Even before his ACL injury, he felt half a ghost to
me, and not a benign one. One that has no desire to murder the family
living in the haunted house, but surely one that wanted to shake the bookshelves and
write menacing things on bathroom mirrors. He’s an instigator, and can you
blame him? Look at the dudes he came up with; no shrinking violets suited up for the Ubuntu Celtics. Rajon Rondo is the last scowling man standing from that championship team. That was a year that hardly seemed fair. They stomped all over the country (and Toronto) like Shamrock shrouded manifest destiny. His
importance only grew the following years as the Boston mercenaries continued to give the rest of the league hysterics as they did a
serviceable impression of a darkest timeline version of the San Antonio Spurs.
Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce in their near primes were a formidable tag team,
and Ray Allen daggers make for good highlight reels, but Rajon Rondo was the
little disciple that could and it was harder and harder to ignore him. He made
things happen without smiling. His single-minded
obstinacy is part of what made the Ubuntu Celtics so successful. The guy is out of
his mind competitive. This is the man who once reacted to a Connect Four loss
to a child with the following words: <i>"But did you notice I played the guy five more times
and won them all? I had to show him, ‘You beat me, I’ll beat the shit out of
you.’” </i><br />
<br />
I hope that kid learned his lesson and never tried to win anything ever again and henceforth carried with him a healthy fear and mistrust of both his elders and celebrities.<br />
<br />
His borderline cruelties
to children aside, his rebirth would be a boon for people who enjoy this basketball thing.
At twenty-eight years old he should have a few more years left to segue
his career from Hong Kong gangster cinema to something more comfortable and comforting. There’s time yet to find a situation that brings more harmony and stability than what the behind the scenes Celtics
chatter has crudely brushed for us. Whether it is just the man’s nature, or the
strained relationship with his perhaps over-lauded coach, or being asked to do
too much whilst too young with too little thanks, or the years alongside brash
and deranged competitors, Rondo’s pass-first smile-later bleakness
on the court sometimes felt like it bordered on unsustainable. It is appealing
to imagine then, as the opening of a new act, to see him lead a gang of wet
behind the ears next-generation youngsters (whether in Sacramento, Detroit, New
Orleans, or on the Moon) into the win column instead of threatening to kick the
shit out of them because they beat him at Connect Four.Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-70036389291728982042014-10-21T22:01:00.000-07:002014-10-21T22:11:04.182-07:00STEVE<div>
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If there’s one thing Mike “<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=wooly+willy&espv=2&biw=1292&bih=720&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=sTtHVKjZGuS0ygPz9IDYBg&ved=0CAYQ_AUoAQ">Wooly Willy</a>” Woodson was adept at, it was getting two good minutes from his bench, be it from veterans or role players. You rotate the man in, get him a couple of shots, and then send him back to the bench. This meant more than just economical use of his smaller figures, and it meant more than just making your team difficult to figure out. Switching up the pieces meant the development and recognition of certain crowd favorites. I, for one, can’t watch the “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGwzcuKDzJE">You Wanna Play Rasheed?</a>” clip without tearing up a little bit. </div>
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Moments like these made me love not so much the Knicks as that team at that specific moment, those guys, seemingly assembled from nothing, and most importantly, Steve Novak. I remember my college roommate hurling a chair across the room, Bobby Knight-style, as we both screamed, “STEEEEVE.” Novak, you see, is not the man who beats his man and creates offense out of nothing. He is the man who waits for you to under-guard him, at which point he delivers exactly the three you’d hoped for. We admire the player less than the perfection of the shot. There are the various internet profiles of his life in Wisconsin, and none of them ring terribly interesting. We’re drawn to Steve not because of his humanity. He does not have off-the-court drama. He does not have interesting tattoos. We watch because when he steps on the court, he is that one shot personified. The man disappears and only the shot remains. </div>
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So we find him moving to the Utah Jazz, <a href="http://www.spotrac.com/nba/utah-jazz/steve-novak/">at a surprising 3.7 million annually</a>, to deliver what will doubtless be a similar product. Because Steve Novak Does Not Change. Steve Novak chuckles at Lake Wobegon as he drives himself to games. Steve Novak eats exclusively wheat toast. Steve Novak thinks the US Postal Service is a miraculous thing. "How did this postcard from Shanghai make it to <i>my </i>mailbox?” he asks himself. A coin, hollow in the middle, with two dried grains of jasmine rice placed inside--a male and female figure painted on each, respectively--is taped to the card. Steve knows that the weight of the coin jacked up the price of postage. </div>
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On the card is written a simple message: “Whatever happens, there will always be a home for you here. Love, Yao.” Steve places the card on his mantle, because Steve appreciates the kind gesture and because the message strikes Steve as a warning. </div>
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Steve returns to his backyard half-court setup, shoots a three from the corner, and smiles to himself as he jogs for the rebound. “Not yet."Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-86539868292962490082014-10-19T13:47:00.002-07:002014-10-19T21:35:46.373-07:00Sleep Forever or Die Trying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Come all ye faithful and triumphant, and embrace the bitter callous darkness of the Sports Fan's heart. It's the Season of Schadenfreude, a term so overused by non German speakers that perhaps we should use a likeminded sentiment instead, this one from Sweden: <i>skadeglädje</i>. The literal definition (<i>injury joy</i>) is probably a bit too on the nose, but evokes a queasy aspect irrevocably tied to professional sports, namely the knee-jerk urge to find the silver lining of men too physically damaged to play basketball. It's hopefully true that only the worst and weirdest scumbags are actually out in the streets shooting off bottle rockets to celebrate the respective misfortunes of Kevin Durant or Paul George or Bradley Beal. But seeing as how this is a both a business and a pastime certain reactions are impossible to suppress. You go to that dishonorable place and ask questions that no one can hear because you still want to believe despite everything that you are a good person. What does this injury mean for <i>my </i>team? What is the tangible benefit of this young man's broken leg for me? How will it affect playoff seeding in this one particular year? It's gross, but unavoidable. Shameful, but also expected.<br />
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Bradley Beal is injured. He's expected to be out of commission until late November. He's a player I enjoy quite a lot. He's explosive and cerebral. Kind of an Eric Gordon 2.0. Old soul eyes and a boyish grin that'll kill you. Basically, he's a kid. A kid who is great at scoring and just tall enough to capitalize on his skills in the best league in the world. And yet, within a few minutes of hearing about his injury, I joked with a friend, "Well, the Wizards definitely don't have the best backcourt in the league now." That's a good joke, asshole. Good delivery. It really kills at wine and cheese parties. Anyway, it feels bad to dehumanize kids, though I have made worse jokes (content wise, as far as laughs achieved that is probably literally the worst joke I've made). Kevin Durant's fall is even worse news for the league, and tremendously depressing for fans of the Thunder or for fans of the universally accepted Runner Up Best Player In the World. It's no good when a titan is struck down (though is it actually worse than when JJ Hickson is struck down?), no good for us who live for extremely basic joys like made baskets, and certainly no good for the people actually making U-Boats full of money off this racket.<br />
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And of course the season seems incomplete when you lose a Durant or a Derrick Rose. When you thrash the Thunder or the Bulls you get an asterisks next to your to victory, and of course when you get shellacked it's all Shame City USA, Population: You. And speaking from a more primitive perspective, not only is Kevin Durant a great player, he's a <i>fun</i> player and I want to watch his long spider limbs do amazing spider things with the orange ball. And also, a month long interruption of all these pathos! Durant is a knight errant embroiled in a quest to throw the Mantle of the Silver Medal into the sun. And as far as household names go, he's tops when you factor in love (not cult like fanatical/creepy devotion!). Kobe Bryant is settling into a life as an fade-away jumpshot anachronism, LeBron James still inspires rage amongst a certain type of person, and Chris Paul is a person who punches dude's dicks. Durant is by all accounts the leagues universally beloved megastar. The world wants to see him succeed. The world wanted to believe in the dream of the Oklahoma City Thunder very much. And yet there were thousands and thousands of fans, let's say fans centered in the Bay Area, Houston, Dallas, Memphis, Phoenix, Los Angeles, San Antonio, Portland, and New Orleans that found their silver lining very quickly indeed when Durant went down. All for the possibility of moving up every so slightly in the pecking order of the Western Conference. Injuries are a fucking bummer. But don't forget, there is a cadre of sports wits rubbing their hands in anticipation of finally revealing to a dubious world that Russell Westbrook is no good at basketball after all! Oh the longform, oh the thinkpieces, or the blogspot bloviating! We'll get so much of that, whichever path Westbrook walks during those first few desperate games. Everyone is on a mission, but missions are stupid.<br />
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But there are so many more instances of <i>shameful joy</i> or j<i>oy of misfortune </i>or <i>enjoying calamity upon an enemy </i>that take us in slightly different directions of gerrymandering our moral compasses! It's an exhausting world of the low impulses! Sometimes it is unworthy, sometimes just plain reactionary, but sometimes motherfuckers are motherfuckers and to hell with motherfuckers so let justice prevail though the heavens may fall. We've all got our own version of Nixon's Enemy List. Sometimes it is histrionic goofballs we disdain, though they're harmless more often than not and the knowledge that they'll soon be suiting up for the Sichuan Sharks ameliorates things a bit. Sometimes it's the poor hapless old-timer, a Mustache Pete like Byron Scott and his almost troll-worthy efforts to push some sort of antiquated style of basketball that doesn't really make sense in this century. Plus it's just aesthetically displeasing and we hate it! We want him to fail, we want him to go down hard and clutch the earth beneath him and beg for mercy and then we want him to promise the next team he coaches will field a starting five of Stephen Curry, Anthony Morrow, Jason Kapono, Steve Novak, and Channing Frye. Then there are the half-cheaters who try to play the odds but almost always end up fucking up the act of purposefully fucking up. The 76ers tanked with the sort of aplomb usually reserved for masturbation after a long break and they ought not to be rewarded, and hey, Philadelphia fans booed Santa Claus and never appreciated Andre Iguodala so let them wander in the desert for another forty seasons. Jason Kidd attempted a curious power play against a Russian oligarch and now he coaches an absurd franchise called the Milwaukee Bucks. I wish the Bucks well, they seem like nice dudes mostly, but Jason Kidd's face has always annoyed me, he looks like a self-satisfied eagle just looking for the right moment to sucker punch someone. I hope you are fired, Jason.<br />
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Speaking of the Bucks, Larry Sanders, a darling of the NBA nerd caste, has been cited for animal cruelty. Say what you want about humans, we are awful and disgusting and cheat and lie and become politicians and bureaucrats, but animal cruelty is something that sticks in my craw at a primitive level (Grantland footnote: I am not a vegetarian sooo). It would not kill me if Larry Sanders never returns to form, it would not kill me if someday a dog bites his hand. Carmelo Anthony's continued mediocre achievements in the post-season are also just fine. Blue blood franchises like the Lakers, Celtics, and Knicks treading water or just drowning seems appropriate, fair, proper, and desirable. Lance Stephenson ruined the Pacers chance at a title with his silliness well fine, that just happens to be his punishment from the cosmos for throwing a woman down a flight of stairs. But apart from these little one-sided feuds that may or not have something to do with honor or revenge or some misplaced sense of justice, there are fans (or those that pretend to be fans) that just want to watch the world not burn per se, but at they at least want to see it buckle, bend, and threaten to break. People with myriad well nurtured grievances that feel nice and warm when LeBron fails to hit game-winners, or feel vindicated by Steph Curry missing open threes and turning the ball over, or delight at Dwight Howard bricking free-throws, or feel a little funny down there when James Harden falls on his ass whilst attempting to defend a towel boy slashing to the rim.<br />
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So, massive amounts of schadenfreude might just be unavoidable. That is to say, it's unavoidable for me. I allow for the possibility of people much less petty than I am, who take no sides and can look at OJ Mayo without becoming agitated. I also allow for the possibility of people much more petty, but also racist, violent, and cruel. Because the league is entertainment, but also <i>non-fiction</i>, as far as that goes, it's all too simple (and also fun) to fill in the blanks and start creating heroes, villains, scoundrels, missions, arcs, goals, victories (moral/actual and strategic/tactical), defeats (short term/long term), sub-plots, cliffhangers, and in general close relationships with the most familiar characters. But much of our construction is kinda bullshit or at best just a partial truth. As long as we can admit that, well then we can hate hard and love hard and hopefully pray no bone is ever shattered on the hardwood again, thereby absolving of us from having to momentarily rejoice that we might make the playoffs this year after all! A split second of shameful joy is still shameful, son, but just like mama always said, shame is like a box of chocolates; it's full of shame of different shapes and sizes and textures and perhaps ingredients and some taste good and some don't and as long as you don't eat too many pieces of chocolate you are not a piece of shit, just a person who eats chocolate from time to time.<br />
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<br />Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-37263960777015287192014-10-17T22:11:00.001-07:002014-10-17T22:48:20.784-07:00Let Us Now Praise Obscure Men<div>
In early 2013, the Milwaukee Bucks traded Tobias Harris and sundry minor players to the Magic in exchange for J.J. Redick. As the blog’s resident Milwaukee fan, I’m driven to consider the year Milwaukee had in the wake of this: Redick moved, Caron Butler happened. Another of the Bucks’ “win now” moves resulted in a salad of mediocrity worse than the sum of its ingredients, a naive re-sorting of luxury cabins in the Hindenburg.</div>
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But we’re here to talk about the Magic, aren’t we? 2013 also marked the shifting of McRoberts to the Bobcats for coin. 2013 marked the changing of Tobias Harris’ number from Bucks 15 back to Volunteers 12—surely the number holds no significance for Magic fans. But there’s an engine behind the Bucks, an <i>eptness </i>in social media marketing as profound as the previous management’s ineptness at making a good basketball team. The Bucks present themselves perfectly to basketball Twitter as the team for the viewer that likes players individually, that likes promise and developing talent over realized greatness and W’s. It’s no surprise, then, that Tobias Harris somehow drifted below the radar even as he grew into a more competent player on the Magic. The Magic fail to grasp how they can be sold. The Magic don’t see the hordes of LeaguePass kids begging for a reason to like the team. </div>
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Look at that. This is the Magic reaching out to you. Does it register? Do you feel yourself represented by the man on the right? (Or the man on the left, for that matter.)</div>
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This is the same team that played U2’s “Vertigo” to get the fans hyped up for an important pre-halftime play out of a time out. It’s as if they’re trying not to get your attention.</div>
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And in all of this we miss Willie Green, without the LeBron-headband, boldly asking you to confront the reality that is his hairline. We miss the (romantic?) connection building between blog-favorite Elfrid Payton and Tobias Harris. We miss Tobias developing into a man that can do actual damage. </div>
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Perhaps it’s not because of the Twitter Bucks Bias, or Twitter Magic Ignorance, perhaps it’s because he’s missing certain features. Braggadocio is certainly first among what Harris lacks. He brings an intensity to every play that utterly vanishes as he descends from the basket, as he walks up to the interviewer and tells her he thanks God that he’s even here. This after dropping twenty-plus points and assorted dimes in a game-winning effort. </div>
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Maybe it’s because he makes one too many threes. He makes the kind of threes that reassure him it’s okay to take them from time to time, when his overall performance beyond the arc, stats-wise, is more reminiscent of Josh Smith than Kevin Durant. This is one of a few flaws. </div>
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But watch him ram the ball home off a pass in the paint. Watch him exhibit self-control and humility and a commitment to the team, and not to himself. Really sit down, watch a Magic game, and tell me why you care about Khris Middleton more than you do Tobias Harris. </div>
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Maybe he’s not out on the streets of Milwaukee getting photographed with BANGO THE DEER. Maybe that’s not where he’s supposed to be.<br />
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-David</div>
Davidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09071451393225558928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8438669596358198835.post-12498572276379777932014-10-17T15:10:00.003-07:002014-10-17T22:38:15.014-07:00NBA Science: Which Team Should I Cheer For in the "World Series" anyway?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year it is the same old tired shitty idiotic slowish vaguely My Bloody Valentine sounding song: The MLB playoffs are getting in the way of the sporting event that really matters, namely the NBA preseason. Yes, it's true, the preseason is half pointless and definitely too long, but even so, at least it is NBA basketball, a superlative iteration of a sport which moves at a nice pace and makes sense, a sport that does not typically reward categorically inferior teams because of luck or wind and rain or "errors" or destiny or the zeitgeist of our times. Still, just like guys who ride horses to work or use fax machines more than their hotmail accounts, baseball is a real thing, a thing that I, as a cultural relativist and secular humanist, must respect and honor.<br />
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Okay, the truth is that baseball is a very nice thing, though perhaps confusing to an NBA fan. The NBA fan is used to an organizing principle not predicated on the slow death, unless they live and die by the Memphis Grizzlies or the Edicts of Byron Scott. Baseball is all rugged individualism and the wrath of the invisible hand of the free market. But baseball also stormed the beaches of Normandy to fight fascism. Baseball is as American as that flag being raised in Iwo Jima or two men starting a small business on the moon.<br />
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Basketball is more of a street war, an alleyway skirmish, kind of a Stalingrad thing, bolt action rifle guys trying to make a dent in tanks come to put a hurt on your family. They are not compatible wars. Imagine Lawrence Frank or P.J. Carlesimo wearing jerseys on the sidelines. Imagine only using the most important player on your team once every three or four games, and imagine he's not even in the game during crunch time. Imagine if making shots was next to impossible. Imagine every team had a court of different dimensions. Imagine this fucked up world, won't you?<br />
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If you are done imagining, I've made a very helpful list that you, as fans or players of these basketball teams, can use to decide which of these two stick-ball squads you ought to support in this most dire of times. I think you'll find it most <i>helpful</i>.<br />
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Golden State Warriors- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>. This is some real <i>no doy</i> shit here, son.</div>
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Utah Jazz- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. This is all about the culture war, and a blood red state like Utah can't afford to support anything even tangentially connected to Nancy Pelosi.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpiHALWTcuLEoxnvjEYh_i3Fg7s_MNzFdftv0c4K_7dTSBQ9t1zWFN4qzkRmxE7o6ILpoVuk-uLc0nCHKDrJmXVBj9zMAf55krwo08x2hWrbh0g9LwT8Ri2Wb0r1QoLCSCvLL4P6Ozmw/s1600/Game-Of-Thrones-80s-characters-Jon-Snow.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpiHALWTcuLEoxnvjEYh_i3Fg7s_MNzFdftv0c4K_7dTSBQ9t1zWFN4qzkRmxE7o6ILpoVuk-uLc0nCHKDrJmXVBj9zMAf55krwo08x2hWrbh0g9LwT8Ri2Wb0r1QoLCSCvLL4P6Ozmw/s1600/Game-Of-Thrones-80s-characters-Jon-Snow.png" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
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Milwaukee Bucks- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. Why? I'll break it down into four words: <i>Giannis Antetokounmpo</i>. <i>Mike Moustakas</i>. The urge as a Bucks fan to cheer on the success of yet another "Greek Freak" will be difficult to suppress.</div>
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Detroit Pistons- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>, despite the fact that the Giants swept the Tigers in 2012. The reason for this is the people of Detroit do not like the people of Kansas City. I can't explain it, but it's a real thing and it will bleed into this series. </div>
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Atlanta Hawks- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. The Giants are annoying.</div>
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Miami Heat- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>. The Royals are annoying.</div>
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The Oklahoma City Thunder- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b> because post-season dominance really turns you on, you know, it's gross but it's a thing and maybe we should be less judgmental about our various idiosyncrasies. Plus, you also get mad boners for cities that are so desperate to prove they are cities that their names end with the word "City" (examples: Kansas City, Oklahoma City, Ho Chi Minh City, even the suburb of Sadr City in Baghdad).</div>
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The Denver Nuggets- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. The Giants come from an area that was once awash in gold nuggets, and Denver does not take that lightly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlsHjoMA4zQfBKngGmuVPqiKY3UjN0RXdnZ3jX3gaz2NFNhfJj-i1niu2Mu4bbG4naxK7B3AilmSu8FL2nKhIQW82vBUU_ogC6A7Q5mAtU4vHOLsWoLiyCNfwUDBI_8wvEMo8tOVZMhk/s1600/joffers-2-630x474.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlsHjoMA4zQfBKngGmuVPqiKY3UjN0RXdnZ3jX3gaz2NFNhfJj-i1niu2Mu4bbG4naxK7B3AilmSu8FL2nKhIQW82vBUU_ogC6A7Q5mAtU4vHOLsWoLiyCNfwUDBI_8wvEMo8tOVZMhk/s1600/joffers-2-630x474.png" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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New York Knicks- You should support the <b>Giants</b>, though not go so far as to do anything as base or crass as <i>cheer</i>. New Yorkers will never support a team from a "fly-over" state, and may as well not even acknowledge the existence of Missouri. On top of this, the Knicks and the Yankees both are like that kid in <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2UywepYhTRE">Blank Check</a></i> visiting a Thai whorehouse. Old money wins championships, and to hell with teams with smallish payrolls accomplishing things. Plus Carmelo sometimes wears an Orioles hat. The Royals took the Orioles behind the woodshed and made them commit <i>seppuku</i> in front of their best friends.</div>
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Toronto Raptors- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>. I mean, if it was the Alberta Raptors or the Winnipeg Raptors things might be different, but it's not. It's not about what you want but what you get.</div>
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San Antonio Spurs- The Spurs will be watching <i>fútbol</i> or perhaps developing new theories of advanced mathematics and putting those theorems and equations of advanced mathematics into their peace pipes and smoking them. Spurs fans can cheer for whomever they want. They've earned that much.</div>
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Portland Trailblazers- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>, because your two cities are spiritually entwined in more ways that either of you could ever admit. In fact, the things you hate about one another are actually the things you hate about <i>yourselves. </i>No Blazers fan could in good conscience root against a kindred spirit or a long long evil twin like San Francisco. Flannel don't lie.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcNOqpz_l9o0YjTQW5ISetDggUduHs72xM8aUtcUiAIJ_gogqzrgC5vCgSdT3HSaZ09Ky41ocxLSiQj-3FfVpaeFRWq9h8P8YF9GxyqgZfLHs4EIbGCIOx2N0nQpxdit1hLibZYBbckQ/s1600/mlb-teams-as-houses-in-game-of-thrones-960x500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwcNOqpz_l9o0YjTQW5ISetDggUduHs72xM8aUtcUiAIJ_gogqzrgC5vCgSdT3HSaZ09Ky41ocxLSiQj-3FfVpaeFRWq9h8P8YF9GxyqgZfLHs4EIbGCIOx2N0nQpxdit1hLibZYBbckQ/s1600/mlb-teams-as-houses-in-game-of-thrones-960x500.jpg" height="166" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Los Angeles Clippers/Lakers- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. The Dodgers have sort of a Royals color scheme and the Giants are just a bunch of jerks to the poor, poor little baby Dodgers. In fact, you are just angry that any one from Northern California has the temerity to call you out on using the expression "hella" or to tell you that your burritos are second class burritos at best. </div>
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Brooklyn Nets- Doesn't matter what the fans or players of this team think.</div>
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Minnesota Timberwolves- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>. The Twins have bad history with the Royals, the Twins are your team, therefore, you will support the team that is not the Royals and that team is the Giants.</div>
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Chicago Bulls- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. Michael Jordan is considered the King of the NBA. You are devoted monarchists. You will support the embattled nobility over the slobbering <i>petite bourgeoisie</i> any day of the fucking week pal, now get me some damn hot dogs and put crazy green relish on it and some fucking tomato slices in there, what's taking so long buddy, youze got hot dogs for eyes or something??</div>
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Sacramento Kings- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>. Despite the very royal sobriquet, Sacramento is Giants country. I feel bad for having to tell you this, I mean do you even own a map and no, the one that still has the USSR on it does not count.</div>
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Memphis Grizzlies- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. Nobody can really figure out why. You know, it's really quite a mystery.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1n4ObmuPp1pUHZd8n1NyZv5h4qUA5y5PxCDRz9jSrXBIzUquJXNsl3823h9f7Ad80GQAsOqEp_38pDaIICGss6TpbAqrzBIkrznFkHYd__cMQ3P1dKGl_LsXiyiigJirkqCh6i1CcX0/s1600/enhanced-buzz-16412-1363289856-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis1n4ObmuPp1pUHZd8n1NyZv5h4qUA5y5PxCDRz9jSrXBIzUquJXNsl3823h9f7Ad80GQAsOqEp_38pDaIICGss6TpbAqrzBIkrznFkHYd__cMQ3P1dKGl_LsXiyiigJirkqCh6i1CcX0/s1600/enhanced-buzz-16412-1363289856-0.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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Indiana Pacers- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. Though both teams are sort of perennial under-achievers (the Giants are under-achievers that have won two World Series' in the past few years), the Pacers will side with the team they can imagine understanding acid rain and taking your lunch box to work. The Giants are scrappy, but they have the scrappiness of former frat-boys slowly coming out of the darkness. They probably haven't ever walked a mile or even mourned a murdered friend.</div>
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New Orleans Pelicans- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>, but only because Anthony Davis both consulted the bones and took the auspices. Two crows flying overhead heralded a vote of confidence for the team by the Bay. And then this happened:</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: sans-serif;">"</span><span style="color: #252525; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Come then," Tyreke Evans said angrily, 'Deduce when they make up in bed, if your augury can, whether what I have in my mind right now is possible.' And when Anthony Davis, expert in augury that he was, immediately said that it would happen, Tyreke Evans replied: 'Well, I thought that you would cut a whetstone with a sharp knife. Here, take this and do what your birds have predicted would be possible.' And Anthony Davis, hardly delaying at all, took the whetstone and cut it.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> 'Boom shaka laka.'</span></span></div>
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Washington Wizards- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b> because the Giants stole your honor. Wolf Blitzer, both a Wizards and Nationals fan, wept. Rivulets of tears turned his erstwhile proud beard into a salty graveyard of dreams never to be realized. Plus, John Wall and Bradley Beal aren't the best backcourt in the league.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSAOdDlXcyo6_vjE5xF-6gLLlCrDeVpJ8cp76kE5sPGWjSPG-fhbuMdzZy2xhmt2ropH7cEMfKMj3WLZ55FRcKZuk4-uqDtYfJNeYPiw0fQ0ZYDfkXCM1feY6NisMsvAiuXVchwSsz8v9/s1600/jj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgSAOdDlXcyo6_vjE5xF-6gLLlCrDeVpJ8cp76kE5sPGWjSPG-fhbuMdzZy2xhmt2ropH7cEMfKMj3WLZ55FRcKZuk4-uqDtYfJNeYPiw0fQ0ZYDfkXCM1feY6NisMsvAiuXVchwSsz8v9/s1600/jj.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></div>
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Cleveland Cavaliers- You should cheer for <b>whichever team will take Dion Waiters</b> off your hands. Probably the Royals. Okay, I got this one. You will cheer for the Royals.</div>
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Seattle Supersonics- #dang</div>
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Charlotte Hornets- You should cheer for <b>whomever Lance Stephenson tells you to cheer for</b> because god damn it, that guy is a helluva persuasive speaker. He's like Pericles meets Cicero meets all the characters from Deadwood. Some say he is such a persuasive speaker because he has an uzi pointed at your head, but others say it is because he has a mastery of egos, pathos, and logos. Sometimes life is a lil' of column A, a lil' of column B. That's fine. </div>
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Phoenix Suns- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>, despite your better judgement and past ambivalence, because when I googled "goran dragic eric bledsoe kansas city" nothing came up. </div>
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Orlando Magic- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b>. Yeah, I don't know why.</div>
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Philadelphia 76ers- You should cheer for the <b>Royals and the Giants</b>. The rebuilding process is a convoluted and subtle process indeed.</div>
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Houston Rockets- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b>, because the Royals beat the A's, and the A's are the moneyball team, and Houston loves moneyball. Darryl Morey is a rich Republican asshole, but man, is he a wiz-kid that loves "moneyball" or what!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAs_0V1QnpolAS9a-UC4IHNhOl3tg_f8NZB9bAanjwGnNp-3s2AC8WEngBGCWcJeoc23TaALh8CLOwpI4QCkTsuaoO2C-vYFA6Ezi3dQI1FPldoqLfGT6xJMgQqNufLIc75mbKTtfLS4/s1600/george-rr-martin-baseball-618x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaAs_0V1QnpolAS9a-UC4IHNhOl3tg_f8NZB9bAanjwGnNp-3s2AC8WEngBGCWcJeoc23TaALh8CLOwpI4QCkTsuaoO2C-vYFA6Ezi3dQI1FPldoqLfGT6xJMgQqNufLIc75mbKTtfLS4/s1600/george-rr-martin-baseball-618x400.jpg" height="207" width="320" /></a></div>
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Dallas Mavericks- You should cheer for the <b>Royals</b> because the Royals understand what makes this country great and because being from Dallas you could never cheer for a team called the "Giants" due to circumstances beyond your earthly control.</div>
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Boston Celtics- You should cheer for the <b>Giants</b> for a variety of reasons, but chiefly because Giants are big and bigger is better and Royals tried to make you pay for stamps and tea and shit and Boston never forgives, never forgets, never relents, never stops going in, never trespasses, never fights that war that rages within its own heart, never gives up, never gives in, never gives out change, never eats more than its fair share, never shares, never shaves, never runs, never walks, never hides, never backs down, and also they already won a World Series, so they are good. On the other hand, a vocal minority of Boston Celtics/Boston Celtic fans will cheer for the Royals, because the Orioles kept the Red Sox out of the playoffs a few years ago and the Royals put a beating on the Orioles championship dreams, so you know, it's all just a dumbed down transitive property joke #blessed #proud #bostonstrong #dropkickmurphys #goodwillhunting </div>
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Game of Thrones.</div>
Garbage Time Pump Fakerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03734359776250298192noreply@blogger.com0