UGH...

I've been approaching this NBA season with all the enthusiasm of a housewife approaching her third caesarian section. There are no excuses for this, not with The Answer jumping to my beloved 'Stones and stealing a win from the Cavs just in time to prevent them from getting too big for their bridges. Any true Piston fan should feel enthusiasm like they haven't felt since Chauncey routinely sank half court shots in autumn's past. Allen takes bad shots, that's a given, but his intangible effect on the team is phenomenal. Rasheed is running. I haven't seen that dude run since Game 7 versus L.A. way back in the day. I remember that even though that was the year I didn't fit in and decided to like Slipknot and not sports. Rasheed is rejuvenated. Watching him play basketball like this is like watching Mike Utley learn to walk again. Furthermore, Kwame Brown has been a revelation of rejuvenation. If he of all people can rise from the ashes, our greatest successes are only a fingertip away. He sends Amir to the bench, but Nick and Bryan conclude that was the plan all along (I think. I'm not certain of the conversations). IF this is the case it means Dumars was daring enough to keep a red herring on his roster. Genius. Brilliant. Bold. 

Derrick Rose has been so much fun so far. It's a shame the Bulls are the stupidest NBA team ever assembled. Outside of Rose, Deng, and Hinrich, the team is a team of autistics. I watch Tyrus Thomas make two superstar plays in a row but sulk the rest of the game. Larry Hughes carries the weight of Atlas and is forever on the verge of tears. Ben Gordon hoists up shots like they came from an expense account. Drew Gooden? Don't get me started. I have nothing to say about a man who pays more attention to his hair follicles than his game. He calls his current beard the tarantula, he used to wear something on the back of his head that can only be described as a Neck Pussy. For the love of god man, become a stripper already. Rose appears to be special and surrounded with Deng the Bulls could rise to the tops of the East in time. They may even make the playoffs this year, but that does nothing to dissuade me from thinking the Bulls need to blown up more than any other team in the league. 

I am interested in the NBA but far from intrigued. Why is this? It's been predictable so far. The teams expected to be good are doing good. Teams expected to be bad are doing bad. The Knicks are the closest thing to a Phoenix rising from the ashes but the Knicks of my lifetime have been the ultimate turn off. Stark's constant teases and the last three years tumult makes them the last team I would ever deign to care about. I love Lee, I coddle J-Craw, but the blue and orange uniform is a demerit of the highest standard. 

As the saying goes...

First is the worst. 

Second is the best. 

Third is the nerd with the hairy chest. 

I accept the holy triumvirate of LeBron, Kobe, and Chris Paul, but it seems like this season's interest hinges on whoever the 4th best player is. So far no one is stepping forth. Will the old guard (actually a PF/C) Duncan carry a shorthanded team? Will Dirk come back on the horrifically ugly Mavericks? Will Nash still be Nash under Porter? I don't know the answer to these queries but I know it's time for someone to step up and be the man. I suppose Wade has been the fourth best player so far. That goes without saying... but his presence in the pantheon feels somehow doomed. I pray for the new guard to take the reigns. Come on Bosh, go get 'em 'Melo. Someone be unpredictable...

Also...thanks for shitting the bed Horf. 

Since We Last Spoke

"From the ashes I rise like a phoenix."

I once started a blog post (or a live journal post, but how could it be that I am much to cool for Live Journal!!!) and one friend called me up at 4am to ask if my apartment had burned down and if I was okay. No I assured him, that was not the case at all, I was just returning from a prolonged absence, born anew and ready to write. So please, everyone reading this, fret not, my apartment is fine, even with two Canadians holed up next to me. But I am back to writing.

As I've been gone for more than a week there are quite a few things that I wish to cover, so please forgive the fragmented nature of the following post. It just seems like the most efficient way of saying what I want to say.

Last Wednesday, November 12th, was the first great day of this infant NBA season. We were treated to not one, but two quality games. First there was the Boston-Atlanta game that wasn't over until the final second when Pierce had to hit one of his now commonplace clutch shots.
And finally there was the Lakers-Hornets game which may not have seemed like it was great, but what looked like it would be a sure Los Angeles blowout turned into a tense game 7 point game that was closer than that.

I will now delve into what was important about these two games.

1. Atlanta showed that they're for real. No I doubt they'll finish in the top half of the conference, but I fully expect this team to make it to the playoffs. There's something refreshing about this, that even Childress' departure can't temper (I have a long history with Childress, maybe I'll go over it one day). I was sure that last year's showing against Boston was a fluke, but this team is going as far as a Hawks team can. They're not a title threat, but they can now make the playoffs AND! just might steal a series from someone.

2. Even I have to admit that Paul Pierce has now reached the rank of terrifying. He is a perfect example of what confidence does for a person. When he got the ball at the end of the game, there was no doubt in his mind (or any other Celtic) that the game was theres. That's just who Pierce is now. I really do miss the old likable and incredibly flawed Inglewood native who wasn't prone to over theatrics and all around assholeness, but this one is probably a better player. But as Joel and I have talked about before, those old drives to the basket were exhilarating.

3. Like everyone under the sun I fully expect the Lakers to be at the top of the west all season. But I've decided that the Hornets will be right there with them. New Orleans probably won't be a good as last year (people know what to expect from them this year), but they're a fantastic team, a player or some luck short of a championship. As I mentioned earlier, I was dissapointed when I finally checked in on the Lakers/Hornets game because Los Angeles seemed to be fully in control of things. But during the fourth quarter the game got flipped on its head. Next thing I knew the game was in the final minutes and New Orleans was within a basket. And this is the thing, the Lakers didn't let Chris Paul & Co. back into the game, the Hornets forced their way back. It was just good to see the team show such fight and I think this means it might yet develop into an awesome rivalry. I'm keeping my fingers crossed at least.

Some other notes not related to last Wednesday:

Portland is good. I know they got off to a rough start and with the exception of last night Oden has looked meh at best, but this team is fun to watch. Joel probably wouldn't agree, he's full of anti '07 draft backlash, but there's something very idealistic about them. They're a ways from actually being great, but they'll be there some day. Probably a little longer than the rest of the blogosphere thinks though.

Houston is a wreck. I wrote about my dissatisfaction with them last week (something that is partially my fault) but now the injury bug has got a hold of the team. Yao (foot!), Tracy (something!), and Ron Ron (a case of the crazies!) are all banged up and Artest is the only one the team will probably let play through the team. There is a lot of the season left but I feel the Rockets will never live up to their potential. What happens to Artest if they don't though. He's an unrestricted free agent. Unless he punches David Stern during their All Star Weekend dance off I think someone will pay him. I would.

Finally, because Joel demanded it I will mention Pao Gasol's monstrous game from last night. It was just that--monstrous. The fact that he is the Lakers' No. 2 is why they are dominant and will remain so for the time being. The thing is that's about all I have to say. I love Pao. I think he is at times: masterful, graceful, goofy, and kinda cool. But he is not Lamar, the player with whom my heart lies with on the Lakers. I can appreciate him, but I've yet to really embrace him. I'm so glad he's a Laker, but I still need time to adjust to him. Last season he was a novelty, but now the new car smell is gone and he's a just a nice import sedan. Let me spend a few more month rooting for him though. Then the luxury will sink in.

Big White Stiffies!!!!

Please note: This isn't really about race. It's more about meatballs, Mark Eaton, and hot wiring an ATV for a joyous jaunt around rural Utah.

Race plays a big part in the perception of NBA players. This is so elementarily evident I learned it the tender age of six. My Dad and I went to Meijer to purchase a basketball pump for my flat sphere of rubber. The time must have offered a market boom in ball inflation as there were five different selections to choose from. I noticed one of them featured a caricature of Michael Jordan alongside a caricature of a white man in a Milwaukee Bucks uniform. I was an NBA expert, eager to rattle off the name, jersey number, and college affiliation of any playoff team, but had no idea who this goofy white man was.

Upon closer inspection it was Brad Lohaus. Brad fucking Lohaus. He of the career 5.9 career PPG was featured next to Michael Jordan, inspiration for the feature film "Michael Jordan: An American Hero" that I watched for fifteen minutes this morning. As a tangent: fifteen minutes of the film offered three scenes of Jordan crying.

Jordan had yet to vicariously break the hearts through mediums of Barkley and Malone so I was still a Jordan fan. His tongue waggling gave a good excuse for my drooling problem. I didn't have a muscular deficiency in my lower lip, I was just trying to be like Mike. My Dad, being the good father he was, instinctively picked the pump with Jordan on it. I told him to put it back. Not even children want any part of Lohaus.

As I grew up with the NBA I was forced to accomodate a series of big white stiffs that were shoved down my throat and marketed to embarassing excess. Shawn Bradley, Keith Van Horn, Christian Laettner, Big Country Reeves, Bobby Hurley, and an assortment of other caucasian ballers played the game with the fire of an accountant and cast a stigma upon white players that follows me to this day upon forays to the local basketball court.

Other players of Hispanic or African origins get compared to Kobe or Ginobilli upon making a great play. I played a dominant game on Wednesday, scoring eight baskets from all over the court. I blocked several shots, drove and dished, and even threw my fat frame into the lane for a stylish reverse layup. After threading an outlet pass the length of the court through two defenders, I felt like Karl Malone 1997 vintage edition.

"Nice pass Manning but save it for the Gridiron."

These backhanded compliments rub me the wrong way but I accepted it as I thought I was wearing my Detroit Dream Team shirt reading "Manning" on the back. Taking it off before the third game I realized the back said "Tomlinson" , leaving no connections to Peyton Manning beside my race and awkwardness.

No matter what the white player does he is being eliminated from the Great Narrative of the game. I can't blame this for happening. They receive undue amounts of praise for intangibles, poise, and solid help defense. I'm a huge supporter of Kevin Love. Minnesota is the perfect situation for him and I see him blossoming into an All-Star with Al Jefferson hiding his downfalls and McHale teaching him beautiful footwork. Still, Kevin Love is overhyped.

Held out hope for the Great White Hope builds mountains out of Kevin Love molehills. I can't delve into discussions of Love's game without first prefacing my unwillingness to discuss sociopolitical ramifications.

I don't know what determines who is hyped and who isn't but focus on white basketball players is usually piled on the wrong citiZens. Joe Alexander, come jump for us. Adam Morrison, come conjure the spirit of Larry Bird. White players get labeled as previous caucasian incarnates but these labels harm the game. Undue pressure on white players to become Bird, Nowitzki, or Stockton is lazily applied to any white player usually because of a silly haircut or similar background. Dan Dickau was touted as the next Stockton even though his abilities are that of a career 12th man.

If an undersized point guard with a glittering smile were to come out of inner city Chicago, there's no way in hell he'd be touted asthe next Isiah Thomas.

There is a double standard here. Players get extra credit that applies the same pressure faced by any of the failed "Next Jordans". Are you reading this Harold Miner? Are you there Jerry Stackhouse? Players of no remarkable ability are predestined to the heavens only to be quickly revealed to be nothing more than pretenders. However, idiotic implications of this were quickly realized as we save the Jordan label for the deserving (ie Kobe)

The full scope of this has made me tired of white basketball players as it produces a double double standard. White players only matter if applied with the "NEXT" label. There's a poor imitation of Bird every year. Imaginary Stocktons pass without notice. The result of this jades me from caring about any caucasian prospect this side of Walter Herrmannnnnn. This is not the crime as it is neccesary to lash out against the all-encompassing media, but when a good white player comes along, someoine special and different but lacking the distinction of being an heir apparent, we fail to take notice.

There is no such thing as underrated and overrated. I don't know who would rate these things, let alone give them creedence, but Tayshaun Prince would top most underrated lists. Tayshaun Prince, star of a perennial contender, Gold Medal winner, one of the most hailed players of his era. Tay, I love you, but you ain't underrated. People care, people watch, people listen.

Greg Ostertag.
Darko Milicic.
Jon Koncak.
Joe Klein.
Chris Dudley.
Paul Shirley.
Pat Burke.
Joel Pryzyzyzyzizizbilla

In my years of watching the league, the white center has been ingrained in my mind as the athletic equivalent of a yawn. They get dunked on, get red and silly looking when winded, and even when a white man excells in the post (a la Chris Kaman) they do so in the brute force of quiet servitude. 16, 14, and 3 blocks, never looked so workman like. In the rare case that a white center has some down home gumption or Yugo Street style (a la Brad Miller or Vlade Divac) it exudes peppered with enough passing game and jumpers from the 'bows to render them as ultimately irrelevant abberations. Even Mehmet Okur, paragon of pasty seven footers everywhere gets paid for jumpers.

Seeing a white center I look away from the screen. Give me Bynum (raw oozing potential), Horford (gusto in a sea of Dominican flags), or Dalembert (Haitian like Brock!)

It has taken some work. I glued my eye lids wide open as hour upon hour of Bill Laimbeer's greatest hits (literally and figuratively) flickered on screen and into my cerebral cortex. Post-brainwashing I am ready to remember the white center and welcome them back to the NBA. Congratulations guys, you're relevant!

Andris Biedrins and Spencer Hawes are playing the Center position as well as any young big this side of Young Thunder. It takes some getting used to, some adjustment, but if you open your mind you will see that these two play a very beautiful game. Hawes is maligned for Republican roots and Biedrins is ignored for being Latvian (long whither the Latvians), but between these two the role of the big white stiff is forever being vanquished. It is probably KG's influence ignoring racial boundaries to inspire big men every where, but I don't much care about the reasons. The rtwo are playing c0mplete games. They bang in the post, fulfilling the role of big man as they block shots and board but are till unsatiated with the million dollar contracts afforded to such role players. They take it a step further, ignoring the glass ceiling of Big White Stiffs as they evolve into complete players. Hawes shoots jumpers, Biedrins drives to the basket like a sixteen year old playing drunk for the first time.

Their current stat lines are as follows:

Biedrins: 35 minutes, 16.8 points, 14.8 rebounds, 1.7 Blocks, 1 Steal.
Hawes: 30 minutes, 13 points, 8 rebounds, 2.2 blocks, 1 Steal, and carries a parasol whenever he is outside.

I read an inordinate amount about the NBA and such publications are rife with the development and deployment of the next great big men. The focus is often on Andrew Bynum and Greg Oden. While Bynum is well on the way to All-Star Games and Oden is... supposedly nice. As highly touted bigs they deserve the attention but whither Biedrins and Hawes. They languish in near obscurity as no one can come to grips with the fact that a White Center may actually be good. Such a notion rocks the foundation of our basketverse.

Maybe it'd held if we labeled them. Henceforth: Hawes will be "Rik Smits on Adderall" and Biedrins will be "The Latvian Laimbeer". I know their games have absolutely nothing in common with Smits and Laimbeer but if it takes an idiotic labeling process to get them some attention so be it.

Poor Bogut

Bryan on Nate Robinson: "The possibility of D'Antoni turning Nate Robinson into the next Steve Nash is fascinating." 

Nate Robinson is a good player. His merits come forth in furious flash mobs of excellence--scoring bursts with impossible degrees of difficulty, herky jerky drives consummating in dunk thunder, and blocks of Yao Ming--. He's a good player and the genius of D'Antoni bottles his lightning but Robinson will never SEEM like a good player. He could score thirty a game on a playoff team and still reek of novelty. 

As he rose to eminence in Dallas, Nash seemed like a novelty as well. His status as a Canadian and the mythologic bent of his origins rendered him the NBA's cute imp. His made for sitcom friendship with Dirk Nowitzki, a goofball himself, lent a tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum aspect to his game. It was hard to take him seriously, even as he made All-Star games.  

Nate and Nash are both gimmicks and it is tempting to compare them for purely plot reasons but the two players could not be more divergent on the floor. Their shared freneticism manifests itself in vastly different ways. Nash, cool and controlled as he dashes through traffic, zipping curveball passes and draining open threes, is the output of an adventurer. He is a leader of men, a tawdry mish-mash of Shawn Michaels and Christopher Columbus. 

Nate? His ceiling is Michael Adams. His achievements, no matter how gaudy, will be the achievements of a little man. If you aren't down with the league like we're down with the league this might not make sense but Nate Robinson will never be considered a basketball player. 

That's a strange thing to say about a professional basketball player. 

*****

Bryan argues that last night was the first great night of the NBA season. It looks that way on paper but Greg Oden made me turn off the TV. 

The 2007 Draft Class was supposed to be one for the ages. With Durant and Oden, the league boasted two predestined superstars, and most of the lottery picks were cited as having All-Star potential. They played at esteemed Hoops Universities and were poised to set the league on fire. 

I've read so many words on this class I began to believe the hype but the results have been disappointing. I fear for the future of the league, not because Oden will dominate, but for the amount of wasted words spent on Oden. I've lived through Darko. I can't do this again. 

Durant... :( Poor fella. 

Could 2007 go down in history as the Horford Draft?

In the days leading up to the 2007 draft, praises were sung of every player with heaps of attention loaded onto their very best good attributes. 

The 2008 Draft made mountains out of molehills as every prospect was nitpicked for flaws. Was Rose too small? Beasley too immature? Mayo too high strung? Most importantly: Could Kevin Love run? 

It's early to speculate as we are only six or seven games into the  story arcs but these guys look like ballers, already outshining the more seasoned sophomores, which begs the question "WHY THE FUCK ARE WE STILL TALKING ABOUT GREG ODEN?"  

We may pretend we were best friends

I promised another post tonight and here it is. It might be brief, but the books and another failed practice test are calling me.

So last night I watched the Lakers play with the Houston Rockets. By the end of the first quarters the Rockets looked to be in total command with a healthy 12 point lead, but then came a second quarter charge by the Lakers that led to them taking a two point advantage into a half which they then turned into a 111 to 82 thrashing.

The Lakers are of course good enough to come back from a dozen point deficit early on in a game, but there were two startling (maybe three...you'll see) things about last night. First, although Kobe played his usual closer role, the comeback was sparked by the second unit. The bench was great for the Lakers last year, but seems even better this year. Seriously, the Lamar-led backup squad seems like the best in the league. Easily. But as impressive as that was, the thing that really caught my eye was Houston's impotence throughout the final three quarters of the game. This is a team I have high hopes for, but two things became clear last night. As much as Artest adds to the team's attitude, they still don't seem tough. I believe this will change at some point during the season, but it was alarming sight last night. There was one moment in the second quarter, after Jordan Farmar finished off a two-on-on, that you could just see the Rocket's exhale and check out for the game. Shortly after this McGrady rolled/tweaked/fucked up/did something to his ankle which high-lighted the fact that other than him, the Rockets don't seem to have anyone who can just score when they need it. The Rockets looked woeful before the injury, but after it they just looked retarded. Stumbling around, passing to no one in particular, taking shots when they realized there was a shot clock. It was an all around disappointing display.

Now before anyone gets any ideas, I'm not sticking a fork in Houston. I think they'll end up either the two or three seed in the west, but I just wanted more than I've seen from them this season. It's disappointing to think that they might just end up being this year's version of the Carmello/Iverson Nuggets, a team that on paper and in my dreams comes off as nothing short of enthralling but in actuality is quite boring.

One last thing though, despite the commentators befuddlement at Ron Artest immediate hoisting (and draining) of a three milliseconds after a Lakers turnover, I absolutely loved it. It felt like the most natural thing for Artest to do at that moment. It was not a showing of stupidity, but seemed to exemplify a understanding of the games ebb and flow that no one else on the Rockets seemed to have. The game was slipping away, they needed points, as ingloriously as they may come.

Oh shit! Updates have been scarce!

But they will return to a somewhat more normal frequency later tonight.

Quick thought before leaving (and which will most likely be expanded upon in the next actual post): the Rockets are sometimes woeful on offense. I don't know if it's because it is easy to neutralize their scorers or if they just don't have many good shooters.

Ponderize that and shit.

P.S. Words of Wisdom - Sometimes it's not smart to start a blog when one of you is finishing up his last semester of college and the other is studying for the G.R.E.s. But fuck it. We did anyway.

Oh. Wow.

We're in the business of wasting both words and brain power on the Rockets and Blazers but I missed last night's game with a case of youth and a dose of a bloody knee. Dried blood is still stuck to much of my leg and tawdry bits of flesh slink from my scab like tentacles. In short: it's pretty fucking cool. My knee's gone octopus. 

I didn't watch the game but that is a good thing. I'm normally against highlights, as they dilute the essence but highlights from last nights Blazers-Rockets game were a work of art. The reason sports highlights exist in the first place. The announcers didn't even make jokes. They assessed the situation, something amazing happened. Time commenced and another amazing thing happened. Jubilation followed but was ousted by yet another amazing occurrence. Three lead changes in 1.9 seconds, our favorite stars (YAO!!!) on display, and dramatic tension occurring in thirty seconds but taking a big part in the great narrative of the season/life./ The Blazer's balls is what will set them apart. 

On a side note: Yao Ming is leading the NBA in highlights this season. Seriously, his fundamentals are manifesting themselves in extraordinary ways! 

Allen Iverson plays tonight! Allen Iverson plays tonight! I feel as if I have forgotten everything about Chauncey Billups and feel terrible about it. He was my least favorite of the Piston Fab Five of Billups/Hamilton/Prince/Wallace/Wallace but was perhaps the most extraordinary performer. He won the 2004 Finals MVP but that was a team effort. All of the Pistons sort of sacrificed themselves for the good of the team but this got shredded before the '05/'06 session of season. In the first half of the season Billups played basketball as magnificently as the game can be played. His averages for the year were 18.5 and 9 but that does little to encapsulate the effect he had on the team. His confidence immersed the totality in a furious expression of jubilee. Think of his '05 Chauncey as the greatest drummer who ever lived. He'd parade down the court, hit a jumper from 27 feet out with 18 on the shot clock, and the rest of the game would become a dance off.