Go down stuntin'
Ordinarily I wouldn't devote 20,000 leagues of gargantuan prose to a player about whom I'm relatively indifferent, but the strange situation of Josh Smith and his Atlanta Hawks has got me all bunched up and distorted. I don't hate Smith the way I do Jason Richardson, and the still photos of him in action are among the most globular treats the Association has to offer these days. But, as I've detailed in other posts that I don't have time to hunt down right now, there's just something missing. As far as I'm concerned, he's as dull as his name until he sheds the shyness, bumpkin-ness, awkward and cowed youth, whatever it is that currently seems to infect and disjoint
(Preemptive: this is different from my problem with Wade. Wade's game is perfect, just not for me, and without the swagger more than a little inexplicable. Smith, though, has no such moments of pure fury that would justify pelvic oration; even the highlights seem tentative.)
But today I beseech not ye the reader, whose opinion of the mistakenly-hyped Smith I might hope to correct, but to the very organization he calls home: yon Atlanta Hawks, so lowly and beset upon that "laughingstock" would grant them far too much relevance. The thing is, that team's going nowhere with the quickness, the Joe Johnson experiment is not looking up, and they might as well just cut their losses and set their scouting on overdrive. Yet in this climate of absolute, indiscriminate misery, their most marketable, popular, and just plain known player can't get consistent burn. This isn't about how Atlanta, for all sorts of reasons I laid out
P.S. I put the dunk picture in here cause I'm in a rush, but it's the blocks that get me. Ten in one game from a swingman? Revolution has come!