When they were kings
Nash and Q controlling the dance floor, off the same personal page I linked to yesterday (I'm sorry, two links in two days to someone's BlackPlanet spot is too much). THC reminds me that this photo probably deserves as much of a FreeDarko grand salute as is mortally possible. Based on the scant evidence, you'd have to call it a draw in the goofiness dept.
You can talk all you want about the Suns change in strategy (umm, I did it for a thousand words yesterday), but this is really about the waning moments of as likable and colorful a team as we're likely to see for some time—much less one as competitive as the Suns.
(Spare me the "Miami Heat, next year" noise. You can't tell me that they're all going to fall into martial order behind Shaq, and then also expect Toine and Williams to make this a flare-ful team. And the whole thing kind of smacks of the old guard trying to catch up with the revolution, as filtered through the grainy jaws of acceptability. Like my friend's father who tried to impress her by downloading older Common, not Common Sense, albums.)