The Taste of a New Generation

Stephon the Great hooks up the Knicks.

The problem I have with Joseph Abboud's line is that - while tasteful - it lacks the certain flair necessary for the hip, young set of NBA Ballers.

Stro Swift sure as hell ain't Nordstrom . He's genuine Neiman Markass.

One eye open like

I know some readers fondly believe that I spent too long harping on the Amare cataclysm, but I'm beginning to worry that my obsession carried the sting of prophecy. The season hasn't even started yet, and already T-Mac, and New Vince, arguably two of the most important reasons to watch the NBA, are ailing (see yesterday's roll call of "things we're not excited about"). Both Arenas and Marbury have been assaulted in the eyepiece, neither seriously but nonetheless a warning of how easily sizzle can turn to must. And, perhaps auguring the Spur-ification of the Association (in contrast with the Suns-ization that '04-05 bravely suggested), the Bucks are the buzz team of the moment.

With a "big trade," a "hyped rookie," "edgy off-season acquisition," and some "internal drama," they are the closest the media can find to a roiling circus of basketball conquest; not surprisingly, they are also about as vanilla, and lackluster, a franchise as you can find north of the Alamo. I find it more than a little shocking that even the "personality" aspect of the Association has somehow been subjected to a whitewashing, such that Middle America's forgotten NBA hole can, as if through some sort of banally ruthless engineering, end up as ground zero for the kind of unscripted mayhem that, hate it or love it, even Stern admits is part of this league. This has always been a league of self-commodification, but formerly you sensed that players were in on the scheme, perhaps even earnestly styling themselves as be-sneakered emissaries to the outside world. Here, though, they're pawns in a game, as if the soap opera fits fine with that fan's view of the Association as long as it's only so much toothless kvetching. Certain fans actually want their NBA players to embody a lot of what they loathe, just not in such threateningly empowered terms.



Let me repeat that in brail so you blind fools can hear me: the Bucks are a government experiment to bring the FreeDarko worldview to the undeserving sports fans who spend most of their time reveling in the NFL. Revolt accordingly.



While I'm going full gripe, let me speak my encumbered peace about a new, disturbing trend I like to call "free agency is the new draft." I'm getting sick of cutting and pasting HTML, but I'm sure it comes as no surprise to anyone desperate enough to look at this site regularly that 2002's befuddling draft crop is coming up for extensions. Among others, Dunleavy II and Nene are looking at contracts in the fifty to sixty mill? GM PLEEEEZE!!!!!! This isn't even the strange, strange case of blessed 2001 Draft alums Curry, Chandler, and Kwame, all of whom toiled in the shadow of the MONJO (Myth of Next Jermaine O'Neal, for those not rocking their own mental FreeDarko glossary); Junior and the artist formerly known as Hilario (did anyone but me, at this moment, grasp what an amusing last name that is? if I make a reference to "the Great Hilario," will I be the only person reading this who cares for the Richard Thompson reference?) have both had ample PT and appear to have more or less fully-formed NBA games. Yet still we hear of front offices drooling over potential, athleticism, skill sets, wing span. . . It would be one thing if we were talking about Larry Hughes, who at least had one masterful season of putting it all together before garnering big money, or Dalembert, whose eventual brilliance is just a matter of a favorable system and consistently supportive coach. With Nene and Dunleavy II, though, we're basically seeing them splash into the market as if they've still got an island's worth of growing to go, like they're projects being assessed for Draft Night.

(Best believe there is a difference between killing it in limited opprtunities, like Michael Redd once did, and gambling that a player can go from incomplete to monstrous solely on the strength of being given the opportunity to start.)

If anyone thinks I am basing this discussion solely on the current Duns and 'Ne situations, you're right. I am not sure if this applies in any other case, yet, and I have not the time nor the energy to find out such blushful answers. But look, these two represent what I think of as a "ready-to-play" draft archetypes: a talented but seasoned underclassman, and an athletic, gutsy low post Euro. Apart from elderly overseasmen and four-year starters, there are no draft entrants more expected to make things happen, soon, than the two categories of reason represented by Dunleavy and Nene. Thusly, pretending they're still speculative properties goes against the last five years or so of Drafterly logic.

Besides, even the 2001 high school class had to show something before they could make some noise as free agents. And yes, I count the early going of Jordan, Year 2, as Kwame's showing you something. The only time this attitude toward a still-raw, as-of-yet-unproven former first-rounder made some sense was when the Bobcats jumped on



but in the context of the Kings, he might as well have been a high schooler being brought along purposefully slow, and most people knew that "Gerald Wallace" and "polished offensive game" are an oxymoronic pair if ever there was one.

As compared with "polished offensive game" and



which are merely paradoxical and thus endlessly exciting.

(Just in case no one's picked up on this, what little actual fact I do make use of comes to us via Inside Hoops or YAYbasketball!. Thanks for keeping a blogger all fuelled up, all the time.)

P.S. That T-Mac cameo in the new Mike Jones video never happened.

Freedarko Season Preview AKA FREEDARKO IS DEAD

First order of bizness, the god, Chauncey Billups, has returned. The 'nets couldn't wait any longer!!!

Now...moving on to in-house matters...


Plagued by academic obligation, romantic entanglement(s), illness, and impending international travel plans, some of the "minds" at Freedarko attempted to "chat up" a 2005-06 League Preview last night. It was our initial thought that we would go with categories such as "key euro," "theme song," and "style" for each team. Realizations were made, however, that predictably threw a wrench in our plans. The Tibetan Book of the Crunk is the new Bedford Handbook, Turkey is the new Hungary, and fundamentals is the new style. That's right, style is dead. All that remains is the following:


Bethlehem Shoals: okay, let's just go with each team
Brown Recluse, esq.: HAWKS
BR: euro: zaza
BR: theme song: asap by ti
BR: style: all swingmen
BS: nah. that girlfight song
BS: clippers
TrentonHasslesCarmelo: i'm trying to rent a car in italy
BR: that's the clippers style: trying to rent a car in italy
BR: euro: korolev
BS: and give me three good reasons why the hawks' song isn't "LAFFY TAFFY"

BS: i want to see the hawks starting lineup go on top model
BS: i mean as contestants, not like clinton portis did
BR: wasn't that warrick dunn?
BS: zaza is forever tainted
BS: he'll make the all-star team in the shadow of death
BS: that laffy taffy song is amazing
BR: it is
BS: that is totally the heart and soul of this year's hawks
BR: the laffy taffy song?

BS: let's just talk about the hawks
BR: the preview is us talking about the preview
BR: it's like waiting for godot
THC: awesome
BS: okay hawks
BS: style
BS: two words or less
BS: i mean four words or less
BR: six eight
BR: shouldn't the hawks play a "trapping defense?"
BR: har har har
THC: talon-ted
BR: trap or die
BS: as in "trap muzik?"
THC: oh
THC: ok
THC: boo

BS: let's start over
THC: ok...NOW
BS: okay, let's do this
BS: hawks first or only?
BS: i really don't see any reason to talk about anyone else
BS: all season
BS: i want to boycott the heat
BR: you see that trade for magloire?
BS: how many centers do they need?
BR: bogut and magloire are the ebony and ivory twin towers
THC: gadzuric looks mixed
BS: and gadzuric is in between
THC: and plays mixed
BR: exactly
THC: now we're getting somewhere
BR: i think he is mixed. he's like african and dutch, isn't he?
THC: like andruw jones

BR: lakers?
THC: von wafer
BS: is he dutch?
BR: no, but it sounds dutch



BS: maybe we should boycott style
THC: the mavs have so little style
THC: surprisingly
BS: wizards no longer, alas
BS: knicks are too corporate
BS: suns are dead
THC: kings have no soul
THC: what an ugly team
BS: clippers are missing somehting with cassell and mobley in the backcourt
BS: this season sucks
BS: hold on i am being force fed miso
BS: not moiso
THC: i think i'm sort of feeling anti-nba right now, which isnt
helping the chat
BS: is this chat subtitled "freedarko is dead?"
THC: the death of style
THC: we should talk about everything we're UN excited about
THC: the rise of the nuggets is incredibly disappointing
BR: we're unexcited about meeting brian scalabrine
THC: all personal feelings aside
THC: we're unexcited about the new heat
BS: i am unexcited about josh smith
THC: the big name heat
THC: josh smith
THC: the rise of darko
BS: low post rationality
BS: point guards
THC: kurt thomas/brian grant
BS: vince and t-mac crapping out again
THC: THE KINGS
BR: the kings were totally freedarko in like 1999
THC: exactly
BS: i am not excited about realizing that the league is too talented for its own good
BS: like the hawks, for instance
BS: the knicks:
BS: jamal crawford and Q both lose out big time
BS: both are among my favorite when they're allowed to shine, but disgust me when they're forced to force it or reach for opportunities
THC: russ granik
BS: i am not excited about seeing odom, kwame, and kobe wasted
BS: why can't the hawks theme be "laffy taffy"
BR: it can
THC: not excited about out of shape free agents
THC: (chandler, bobby simmons et al)

THC: who is the one white player respected by all black players?
THC: "mike miller?"
BS: j-will
THC: you think?
BR: j-will tries too hard
BR: he alienates middle class black guys
BS: dude, what black person doesn't respect j-will
BR: grant hill
BR: shane battier
THC: brent barry?
THC: is that the guy?
BR: steve nash
THC: yes
BR: you gotta keep shit real
BR: steve nash keeps it real
BS: are euros white?
THC: no


THC: eddie griffin thinks he's steve kerr
BS: i think i'm eddie griffin
THC: i bet eddie g has taken pcp
BR: eddie griffin thinks he's raef lafrentz
BS: i bet kandiman has
BR: kandiman is a dandy
BS: does raef get laid a lot
BR: no
THC: no
BR: scalabrine?
BR: yes
BR: he tells them he's mark rappaport
BS: we should do a post on basketball dandies
BS: didn't i say chandler was a dandy?
THC: fine line between dandy and fbp
THC: chandler
THC: olowokandi
THC: theres something about big men
THC: dampier is sort of a dandy
BR: oooh, is cat mobley a dandy?
BR: he seems to fit the part, but dandy is pejorative
BR: and i like cat mobley
THC: cat dandy

BS: i think you meant michael rappaport
THC: michael rappaport used to be the man
BR: yes
THC: rappaport was the one guy respected by woody allen AND spike lee
BR: mark rappaport is like an indie film director, right?
BR: i used to think it was the same guy, which kind of blew my dome
THC: we should do a post on michael rappaport
BS: i thought he was in red house painters

Mark Blount Underworld Vol. 2

I'm sure many of you have been left reeling by the stunning news that everyone's favorite under-achieving center (and that's saying something) has ties to Albanian gangland. For those of your relatively ignorant of the finer points of Albania, let me break it down like this: it's a Balkan state that shares a border with Italy and has been known to produce Islamic extremists, meaning it's kind of like the Sebastian Telfair of mob, if Bassie were a power forward with the sweetest signature shoe ever. Given the brief overview of the Blount affair and its major players offered yesterday by the Recluse, I have consulted some people in the Bureau of Licorice Complaintants and concluded that Blount's erstwhile guardian probably is closer in aspect to an Albanian boss like



than he is a member of the so-called Albanian Crips that have recently taken to menacing parts of Detroit.



The bottom line is that these cruel people are among the most up-and-coming crime-doers on the face of the globe, proficient in everything from baby vending and pimping to poppy trafficking and counterfeit Burberry. They cannot be stopped and, if ever a Boston fan wished Blount's countract could disappear like so many plumes of ashen smoke, just hope he keeps making news with these connections.

That's right, I'm threatening that someone else might dead Mark Blount, solely on the basis of their ethnic affiliation. Or would you rather I remind you that Joey Johnson is not a true point guard, and that there may not be enough shots to go around in Miami?

Oh, and one thought about Cheryl Swoopes: I'm too sick in bed to bother with finding quotes, but I think ESPN quoted her as having said, roughly, "people are so hung up on there being lesbians in the WNBA. There are just as many straight woman as gay ones in the league." I'd still say that a 50/50 split is pretty remarkable.

And at the risk of raining on liberation's parade, which WNBA players are or are not lesbians is kind of a moot point. This stuff is as much about gender roles as it is bedroom praxis, and for most Americans, most women playing ball already, in one way or another, have managed to locate themselves somewhere outside of the heterosexual norm. It's like, if the gay rapper turned out to be someone universally respected for their sheer realness and masculine power, or a professional athlete came out who routinely killed competitors on the field of battle, would it really make that much of a difference?

Case in point:



Though with an athlete whose success depends on their leadership and intangibles, like, say, a quarterback, things might get more complicated. Same for a coach.

Acronyms, Albanian Gangs, Africanizing Mormons, and More!

The Akron Beacon Journal reports that Damon Jones, Larry Hughes, and Lebron James have formed a little club with some sort of secret handshake that involves two low-fives, then a wave, then posing with their arms crossed in a b-boy stance. Upon being asked for an explanation, Jones said, "We're F.F.B.T., and I'm not going to tell you what it stands for and never will. All I can tell you is that the 'T' stands for team." That Damon Jones sure knows how to ingratiate himself with NBA superstars, doesn't he? Do you think he even tried to pull that sort of shit in Milwaukee, or did he just decide there weren't any stars big enough to suck up to? Anyway, we here at Freedarko love guessing the meaning of acronyms, and we have come up with the following attempts at deciphering the F.F.B.T. code. Feel free to add yours in the comments!

Famous Fur Bearers Team
Five-year, Fifty-million, Bron's Team
Flight For Bonus Team
Fall Fan Boy Team
Friends Forever Buddy Team
Fuck Fine Bitches Team
Fatal Flu Barrier Team
Friendster Facebook Blackplanet Team
Final Fantasy's Boring Team
Full Frontal Beaver Team
Free Form Ballet Team
Fresh Fly Ballers Team
Fake Fugazy Boxing Team
Final Four Bwahaha Team
Freedarko's Fucking Badass Team

Another recent news item that caught our attention was Sunday's New York Daily News calling Mark Blount's former legal guardian Maurizio Sanginiti "a pug-nosed convicted kidnapper, extortionist and mob enforcer" and claiming that he is the government's lead witness in "a racketeering conspiracy case involving an Albanian-led gang accused of wresting control of Bronx and Queens social clubs from Italian crime families." Albanian-led gangs? Bronx and Queens social clubs? What the fuck?

One final story stolen from a newspaper is the Pioneer Press account of how Shaq, offended by the Mad Dog's slovenliness, once bought Mark Madsen some sweaters when the two played together in LA. The colors of those sweaters: red, black, and green. THC opined that perhaps Shaq and Samaki Walker were attempting to Africanize the Mormon baller. I can just hear Shaq, 90's East Coast rap aficionado that he is, doing his best Professor X impression: "Here are some sweaters, representing the red, the black, and the green, with a key....YOU SISSSSSSAAAYYYY!"

Vanglorious!

Best boxscore of the preseason

You may have noticed that we have pretty much ignored the preseason thus far. Even more than usual, the games have told us very little about what to expect from the upcoming season. The only rookies with eyebrows who have really dropped gaudy stats were Danny Granger (who won't play major minutes) and Chris Paul (who will). But, last night's Clippers/Warriors tilt revealed many magnificent things, which I will now enumerate:

• Yuta Tabuse started for the Clippers and had 8 points, 6 assists, 4 boards, 3 steals, AND A BLOCK! He's like 5-8, how did he get a block? He also got his points on 100% shooting from the field. I hope he makes the regular season roster, but he probably won't.
• Boniface Ndong--my vote for greatest NBA name--recorded a near double-double with 16 points and 9 boards, while shooting 6-8 from the field.
• Zarko Cabarkapa--my vote for second greatest NBA name--started for the Warriors and also came close to a double-double with 8 points and 9 rebounds.
• It appears that the Clippers started four players 6-4 and under (Tabuse, Daniel Ewing, Anthony Goldwire, and Cat Mobley) along with forward Walter McCarty.
• The game was played in Missoula, Montana, in front of 3,218 people.

I love this game!

[edited by Brown Recluse, esq.]

Free Dresscodo Pt. 3367: Benefactor vs. Zenmaster

(Another installment in our ongoing coverage of the NBA Dress Code fallout).

By now we've all heard his take:


"The players have been dressing in prison garb for the last five or six years," Laker Coach Phil Jackson said. "All the stuff that goes on, it's like gangsta, thuggery stuff. It's time. It's a good time to do that."

And although perhaps this quote cuts at everything we stand for, not to mention is a tad offensive, I refuse to place it in a good/bad, square/james dean, balla-balla/not-at-alla-balla dichotomy and participate in the standard narrative that is unraveling. To be redundant, let me say that sports commentary is painfully predictable, which to get slightly off topic, is why Stephen A. offers so much hope. He had Bill Buckner on his show yesterday, and just asked him what we all wanted to know. And Buckner's answers were suprising and spontaneous. He hadn't totally made peace with the error, everytime he sees the video, he thinks "Maybe I'll catch it this time," the Red Sox finally winning in 2004 didn't relieve him of any demons...he seems like a disgruntled broken man, who in what he calls "the greatest achievement of my career" worked his ass off to return to the Red Sox in 1990, in attempts to redeem himself. That was real. 99% of everything else on ESPN isn't. I consider it a dark age, when one of the most redeeming factors of Sportscenter (at least for me) has become THE WITTICISM OF THE ANCHORS. Their player interviews and soundbites consist of a string of meaningless words that are somehow meant to constitute the player's necessary personality...such that even Chad Johnson's hilarious lockerroom bits have been reduced to, "Hi, I'm the flashy wide receiver."

And so, we shall not let the Dress Code saga continue to play out into such a scripted drama. So far, everyone has played their role. Allen Iverson spazzes, Grant Hill complies, Ron Artest says something crazy, an old white guy uses the terms "gangsta" and "thuggery." Do I think PJax's remark was racist? No. Hell, in a weird way, I sympathize...And the recent Tony Allen situation is about the only good argument I have seen for an age limit. Does thuggery have anything to do with clothing an image? HELL NO. Which is why I was surprised that the most level-headed and ACCURATE argument against the Dress Code and explanation for PJax's comments and Stern's initial decision came from:


A few days ago on PTI, and brilliantly echoed on his blog, Mark Cuban made the very poignant point that this is not so much an issue of race as it is an issue of AGE. Young people do what young people do (by the way, I am resisting the tendency to paraphrase Cuban's entire post...you should really just read it). Cuban's best point is as follows:

"On an individual level. If you think NBA players, or any professional athlete that you never have had any interaction with is a thug. Then the problem is yours. You are an idiot."

Cube's remarks on Phil's remarks, suggest that, if anything, he is simply INCREDIBLY OUT OF TOUCH with the newer generation of ballers. Sure, he "knows" his players, but in his comments, you see a striking difference between the way of the Zenmaster and oh, say Larry Brown's hands-on "I love you guys" schtick. Phil's generalizing makes him sound like a demented grandparent figure, one who the kids sometimes visit in the old folks home. Not so different from:

(Ironically, it was Phil's suggestion for Shaq to quit rapping that made Diesel into the focused 3-time world champion he is today...)

Cuban's even more striking point, not that I necessarily agree with it, is that you dont have a dress code in the much more scandal-filled NFL, because the focus of the NFL is on the team and not the individual. Commentators in the NFL talk about plays, whereas NBA guys fill us up on cliches about players "having heart" and "being winners" and "being projects" and "being soft." (back to ESPN)...the NBA shootaround gang is absolutely horrible if you're looking for analysis. If I didn't know them, I would think that Legler and Anthony never played a game in their lives. I want to know who has trouble going left and who has developed a hookshot to go along with his baseline game. I want to know when a team likes to press, and which teams have trouble rebounding because of zone defense. I understand there's a compromise between player-hailing and serious bball discussion, but what we are getting by and large is straight CLICHES. By the way (and Cuban recognizes this as well), Barkley exists completely outside this realm, and in the coming days I shall devote an entire post to the Chuckster...but back to the topic, the focus on the individual in the NBA is basically a product of commentators/announcers (a) not telling us shit about the game itself (b) not having time to tell us during the game (c) roster sizes are smaller (d) the fact that unlike in the NFL/MLB/NHL, the players dont have such extensive uniforms. We see them as individuals because we can actually see their faces...


So why not just accept that the best thing about the NBA is that it is a LEAGUE OF INDIVIDUALS that emphasizes uniqueness and INDIVIDUAL STYLE. Everybody knows who Joel Przybilla is just like they know who Paul Pierce is. The dress code seems to be taking a lot of that independence away... but who knows, maybe Ostertag will rock a possum-skin jacket and Artest will get velvet with it...the important thing is that...THIS IS NOT OVER.

Stabs at design

So we've got some other shit in the works, and don't think you've heard the last from us on the dress code. Some folks think the topic's run its course, but between I and I, it's the lens through which the entire upcoming season must be viewed. Even if the controversy itself dies down, I'm all for believing that its repercussions will shape 2005-2006 in ways both drastic and miniscule. If nothing else, it probably leaves a lot more room for style-related considerations than The Big Redemption, which had been my front-runner for meta-storyline of the year (one that, the more I think about it, almost has to resort to those objective standards that we so so loathe).



But much in the way that I tried to get the world to help me unravel out my jersey problem, I now face the grueling task of figuring out just how to (or rather, how much to) base my coming year around the NBA. In the past, I was in the enviable position of being a semi-employed freelancer, with a part-time university job and a lot of time typing at home. Somehow, I also managed to convince those putatively special someones that I had to catch a certain number of games per week. As my fall, winter and spring begin to lurch into shape, however, it's becoming abundantly clear to me that I am only going to be able to pick one, maybe two, days to consistently have run of the mill with the league of my choosing. To make things even more difficult, Sundays have become somewhat problematic, blotching up the NFL and, later, most of the triple-header.

As I head into registration, with an eye toward next semester's job schedule and my future personal doings, I'm thinking about just locking down Thursdays. Two TNT games, usually somewhat weird, with enough to keep me going through the rest of the week. I have a standing, semi-regular hang at a sports bar on Wed., and figure that's probably also good for about a game and a half every other week. Factor in whatever I can catch of Sunday, and I should be able to keep my cred intact. And of course, all bets are off come playoff time.



On the other hand, I could just spring for League Pass and be at the mercy of only myself (THC's steez, as I understand it). Though that brings back some chilling memories of shoefly and myself trying with all our collective might to enjoy a Hawks/Pistons affair at 6PM on a Sunday some two years ago.

Look, I know we're all supposed to spend every second of our lives glued to Kenny Smith, but as the Recluse can attest, sometimes that's just not an option. I am trying to preserve that inner flame I call the Association while still taking part in those other, human activities like work, finishing this fucking master's, and tending to things that, dare I say, might be even more important in life than Gerald Green.

Free Dresscodo, Pt. 2148: WWFBPD?

Yeah, it's another dress code post. If you don't like it, you can look at this.

THC has already broken down a lot of players' responses to the dress code, but the question remains: WWFBPD? In order to answer this question, we need to first look at what makes a player an FBP candidate in the first place. There's the middle class background, the generally classy demeanor, the charity work, the art collection, and so on. But, we're talking about the First Black President here, so surely politics must come into play? Or, in this post-Jordan world, is one more likely to gain potential FBP status by not taking a stand on divisive issues? After all, pundits were discussing Colin Powell as a legitimate, real-life FBP, and no one knows where he stands on anything.

There is also the question of whether the FBP is one who transcends race, is a spokesperson for the race, or skillfully navigates the area between the two. In the wake of Katrina, Shoals suggested that Kanye was entering into FBP territory after making his comments about Bush and his lack of feeling toward black folks. So, if a carefully played race card is somehow indicative of FBP status, should we be singing the praises of Allen Iverson and Stephen Jackson for defending the culture from attacks by The Man?

It's helpful, but still really confusing, to look at where some of the key players in the NBA's culture wars have come out on this issue. Ricky Davis, who has the weirdest facial hair this side of Scott Pollard and who once intentionally shot on his own basket during a game, has said that the dress code is "no biggie," and that he's cool with it. Likewise, the Big Poet, Etan Thomas, who has repeatedly attacked the Bush Administration over the war in Iraq and its slow and inadequate response to Katrina, says: "It's not as bad as it could've been."

On the other side, we have such clean-cut, throwback players as Wally Szczerbiak and Tim Duncan saying the dress code is "way too strict" and "bascially retarded," respectively. What's an FBP to do?

Ultimately, a player with the wisdom of the FBP would realize this isn't the battle that will define his legacy in the Association. We're not talking about life and death, we're talking about clothes. Certainly, Iverson, Jackson, and others have valid points about the importance of fashion and self-expression, but there are bigger fish to fry. Even Iverson has backed down some from his earlier stance.

So, what would the FBP do? We need look no further than the man who inspired the term in the first place--Ray Allen. Allen has stayed the middle course, acknowledging the necessity of the dress code, while also criticizing its overreaching, and never using the "R" word: "I think the dress code should strictly [enforce] what guys wear on the bench when they are not playing. That is when guys are most visible. But when we are on the plane, that is when we are most leisurely. I don't think that should matter." He hath spoken.

Note: Did anyone else notice Rip's NBA toiletry bag? Do you think they give those out for free, or did he have to buy it at the NBA store?

Fuck, am I writing like Carrie Bradshaw now?

A roster of style

Early this morning, we finally finished our gruelling nine day fantasy basketball draft in Nels' league of doom. I think we acheived our goals of building a team to reflect all that is Freedarko: players with style to spare, a 7-foot Haitian, a handful of tall Europeans, and our hero and namesake himself. Also, our two white boys are without question among the baddest in the league. Behold our spoils:

Tracy McGrady
Ron Artest
Joe Johnson
Lamar Odom
Andre Iguodala
Samuel Dalembert
Stromile Swift
Rafer Alston
Joel Pryzbilla
Gerald Wallace
Nenad Krstic
Travis Outlaw
Marquis Daniels
Chris Andersen
Darko Milicic
Andris Biedrins

180 degrees of knowledge

Or, better late than never.

After outrageously attempting below to rationalize the dress code, I finally got around to reading the thing. And then, like a flash of madness, I realized that I'd been in denial: this is the worst thing that could happen to the association, especially from the FreeDarko perspective. I'm not so concerned about Iverson being able to stay real on the bench, or S-Jax's constitutional right to floss. It's those episodes in which dress actually transforms your view of someone, making you realize how much more there was to them than you'd ever imagined or suddenly unifies your disparate, ambiguous impressions of them. It may be a league based on style, but sometimes it takes an incredibly explicit cue or gesture to actually bring it all together/out for one single, individualized player; more often than not, and certainly more often than the spoken utterance, this happens in dress.

The minute I starting seeing the phrase "press conference" all up in the official wording, I immediately though of a crystalline moment in NBA Playoff history, that, while not readily available in photographic form on the internet, is at least somewhat well approximated below (minus the suit, of course):



If style is golden, then in these cases dress is that that first nugget found, usually by an unsuspecting pauper, in a Klondike stream.

HOWEVER: I could make a wholly similar argument for Draft Night suits, which perform this same function, more formally, for cats we're all bound to know all too well after their first few months in the league. And continue to stick in our collective craw like that, well after their initial usefulness should have receded.



I guess that's the real challenge here: can the players (and us fans) make every night Draft Night, style-wise? And even if anyone were up to it, would something be lost in the process--or a whole new world of exaggerated meaning unveiled?

P.S. This is Vlad's time to shine!!!!!!

Free Dresscodo Pt. III

"You can put a murderer in a suit and he's still a murderer"
--Allen Iverson
Also, Zenmaster disses thuggery and da five elementz, while S-Jax speaks on race: "I think it's a racist statement because a lot of the guys who are wearing chains are my age and are black. I wore all my jewelry today to let it be known that I'm upset with it."

This is not over.









And not that we really care, but you can download Darko's posterization of Diop here
(link fixed 9/20/05)

DerMarr vs. DeShawn: A Guide for the Confused and Obsessed

In discussing our upcoming pick in Nels' fantasy basketball league for bloggers, Shoals revealed to me that he has always confused DerMarr Johnson and DeShawn Stevenson. On one level, the confusion is understandable, as the two players share many qualities. Both were McDonald's All-Americans in high school, were members of the same draft class, and they both inexplicably have a capital letter in the middle of their first names. Also, since they spent a combined one year in college and have yet to convincingly claim a starting position in the Association, they aren't on the radars of most casual fans. However, Shoals, with his obsessive devotion to the NBA, is no casual fan, and his ignorance in this matter is inexcusable. To help him overcome this problem, I have assembled the following guide.


DerMarr Johnson

Measurements: 6-9, 201 lbs.
Birthdate: May 5, 1980
Drafted: 6th overall, 2000
Career averages: 6.7 ppg, 2.5 rpg
Current NBA team: Denver Nuggets
Notable off-court incident: Was in near-fatal car accident in 2002, in which he suffered four cracked vertebrae in his neck


DeShawn Stevenson

Measurements: 6-5, 210 lbs.
Birthdate: April 3, 1981
Drafted: 23rd overall, 2000
Career averages: 6.7 ppg, 2.1 rpg
Current NBA team: Orlando Magic
Notable off-court incident: Charged with statutory rape after having sex with a 14-year old girl in 2001, the summer after his rookie year

Hopefully, this won't further confuse things, but here is the same information for DoNtonio Wingfield, who also has a capital letter in the middle of his first name and who, like DerMarr Johnson, spent one year at Cincinnati before declaring for the NBA Draft.


DoNtonio Wingfield
(I was unable to find a suitable picture of DoNtonio Wingfield, so here is a picture of gay folk singer Harry Wingfield.)

Measurements: 6-8, 256 lbs.
Birthdate: June 23, 1974
Drafted: 37th overall, 1994
Career averages: 3.7 ppg, 2.4 rpg
Current NBA team: No longer in league
Notable off-court incident: Spent one year in prison, after being convicted of assaulting two police officers, resisting arrest, and domestic violence in 1998, the year he was released by the Blazers

Note: If you have come here searching for information about the late Yinka Dare, please leave a comment explaining yourself. From the looks of things, that's how a lot of y'all found the site, and frankly, we don't really get it.

"I could never be a thug. . ."

I'm sticking with this fuck the pre-season stance, even though I've heard Darko is making some serious, sweet Slavic noise. And, as sentimental and wussy as it sounds, I'm still so upset over Amare's injury that the thought of the real thing starting up is more than a little bittersweet.

(Uttered on the phone earlier tonight: LeBron, Kobe, T-Mac, and Wade are unquestionably great, all possibly HOF'ers. But that's exactly what makes their individual prowess so muddled, so interchangable from day-to-day in the "I Love This Game" meter reading. Amare was one of a kind, doing bad things on an utterly historic scale. By the playoffs last year, I honestly felt like I was witnessing something I'd never seen before and might never again; if Wade and Kobe both fell from this earth tomorrow, T-Mac and LeBron would still be there to keep me wowed. What has me so supernaturally nervous about Amare is that, if this is it, we're seeing a entire fifth dimension of basketball sealed up before our very eyes. Ask anyone who saw Gayle Sayers about that.)



But on the heels of Free DressCode-O, there's some serious fashion business to be dealt with before the season's underway. You see, some of us in the FreeDarko cabal have recently made some cash off of FD-affiliated activities, and naturally, are looking to do something inspired, communal, and hoops-related with the windfall. Provided we get that check from beyond the mountains, we're planning to each purchase a jersey that will make us who we already, thus completing the circle of style set into motion by this blog's inception in time for our gigantic one year anniversary.

The problem is, I don't know how to rock a jersey. I could never go for the costumed fan approach since, as I've probably let on more than I should've, fandom makes me sick. And since I'm not about oversized denim and baseball hats, the XL look ain't working for me, either. Like many of us, I was born under the dueling style signs of hip-hop and indie rock, meaning I'd be into owning a closet full of throwbacks but those joints just don't look right in smaller sizes. I tried it once as an experiement—cheap Darius Miles in red (over tee) with brown, seventies Gap jeans that I got from Silverbird's pops—and it only took one pass by the summer program kids at Temple to realize I'd made a horrible mistake. Lately I've been fucking with those t-shirt-style jerseys the NFL made a while back (copped a Winslow, Sr. last year, just sprung for an Earl Campbell on Ebay) but those are football, which is only so interesting, going up in price every day and, let's face it, border on some Old Navy by way of middle-American emo inanity.



Then there's the delicate issue of whose jersey you can get away with. One of the few remotely intelligent things I heard on WIP the whole time I lived in Philly came from the mouth of Anthony Gargano, who could generally be relied on to be the one who said those things. He set in stone that you couldn't wear the jersey of anyone younger than you; not only was the tight D-Miles jersey an insult to the cosmos, it caught me identifying with someone who a friend of mine who knew him (Miles played AAU ball with her sister's boyfriend) had described as "a big, shy kid who always stood in the corner, mumbling politely in an incoherent accent and stuffing whatever potato chips were around into his mouth."



This holds firmly for fans who own one or two, less so for students of the game (jersey and athletic) who can take a more broader, distanced approach to showing love. If you're only going to own one, though, and it's not your "get ready for battle at the sports bar" uniform, you're saying something about your personal, unmediated by institutions, relationship with a player. This has got to be a player you want to be identified with, since you're saying as much about yourself as you are the player's worthiness or your affinity for the team. I guess it's cool if they're younger than you, but they've got to be wise beyond their years, or worthy of being paid history-before-their-time respect (e.g. LeBron or Wade, never Melo). Otherwise, you turn the whole thing into a joke.

But before I figure out who I want to claim, there's that question of if I could ever wear it in the first place. I hardly think I'm alone in knowing exactly why I would want to sport one, but not quite sure what that would look like (conceptually and in the physical) or what set of rules that would force me to play by.



Sidenote, but still on topic: The other night my friend got hit on by a dude whose mouth seriously deserves a Nobel Prize: diamond and platinum grill with braces on top, then a second layers of diamonds in the braces. He answered that Paul Wall had hooked it up, but most people I've mentioned this to suspect that if you ask, Paul Wall's responsible for any and every grill in the Lone Star state. Plus I found a quote from a New York Daily News article where Wall claims that "We're still trying to figure out ways to put diamonds on the braces but, as of right now, we haven't really found a way so the braces are still effective and on par hygienically," says Wall. "We definitely don't want to bump heads with the [American] Dental Association." This came up in the otherwise lamely basic "look what those crazy blacks in the Southland are doing to their teeth!" exposee when the reporter wonders if grills give confidence to kids with braces, which lead to the presumably humorous question of whether you could combine the two.

To which THC said: "dude, you really do live in Texas, don't you?" For the Recluse's sake, I'll refrain from repeating my line about this guy being the Wolverine of grills.

(And by the way, if anyone knows how I get a job working for the Rockets, holler at the gmail account.)

Artestifyin', Vol. 1

Here at FreeDarko, we are more or less incapable of business as usual. You could also say that 1) with us, it's always personal or 2) the business-ical is personal. So while I had planned to start typing in hopes of unraveling the riddle that is Artest 05-06, I can't cast off the veil of sadness that is Amare, the Fallen. I'm glad to see that throughout the basketball-related media, the loss is registering nearly as profoundly as it has with me; it allows me to come off as excessive, but respectably and piously so, as opposed to just comical. But look, for all the talk about the return of scoring, or the new generation of stars, last season belonged to the Suns. And although Nash made off with the hardware, Amare's what made that team something altogether tougher, more soulful, and more transcendent than the Kings or Mavs that preceded them as moss did man.



Months without Stoudemire, perhaps even a full year before we get to see him resume in earnest what should be a career for the ages, marks a clean break with the freewheeling, gunslinging ethos of 04-05. It's a new season and with it, a new reason to live, and thus feels totally cold and foreign until I see it on the court. And while we await that blessed day, I expect to be visited on a regular basis by the ghastly ghost hounds of regret, fear, and shame, which have for me so far marked the ultimate collision of microfracture surgery and one man's will to survive. I, for one, feel a part of me die each time I imagine the slighest waning of Amare's powers, or question his ability to overcome the impossible. A leap of faith is in order to see the tower-sized bluebirds at the end of these dark days, but it is also getting more and more difficult to believe that Amare happened in the first place.

(If we have any readers in the medical profession, especially of the surgical variety that inserts tubes and lasers into famous knees, please get at me and tell me everything's going to be fine, lest I let disappointment rule my season, sink the rest of FreeDarko 05-06, and build up such an apocalyptically grand version of Amare that even a full return to form will be a letdown. As soon as the Kobe case began to take shape, I called the Recluse and demanded professional reassurance that the evidence was flawed and the case was made to get beat. If anything, the stakes are higher here; I'd rather see Kobe locked up than suffer through Amare never being the same again on the court.)



But if this blog is to soldier on and recognize this upcoming Amare-less season as of inherent worth, it's about time we take a good, long look at what's brewing in Artest country. Based on InsideHoops' scoop-tastic (as in "great story," not "in the style of Scoop Jackson") interview, some guy I work with who worships at the alter of Pacer-dom, and other stuff I may or may not have made up, this much we know is true so far of Artest's attempt to redeem his, umm, well-known name.

(I've always thought that "All Eyez on Me" was one of the most misused phrases in the world, since Pac didn't just hold people in suspense or make them want more at that point in his career—people had so little idea what to expect of him that they were forced to reserve judgment. This, my friends, is the juncture at which Ron Ron so heroically stands.)

What we know:

-he will play like an uncaged animal and let the refs sort it out
-he is up to 260 and wants to make 280
-he will play some center
-the bulk won't affect his defense, so he claims
-he might come off the bench
-because of Indiana's help D and interior might, he might not be needed as a forty minute "stopper" on Kobe, Wade, etc.
-Carlisle thinks he's not playing within the offense
-he's the Pacers' most versatile offensive player
-his J is wetter than ever
-his game is purely mental

The incoherence is staggering. He should be their franchise, but instead is being pushed out to the margins; he's a recent Defensive Player of the Year, but might be used primarily for his offense; instead of taking his skill set as license to step up and run shit, he's being turned into a jack-of-all-trades role player who would get by on a vastly dilluted, lamely versatile shadow of himself. The kookiest thing, though, is that Artest's devotion to the Pacers now borders on pathological, as he's willing to sacrfice himself for the team that may or may not be willing to do the same for him. Yet as compliant as he seems to be, he's still claiming ghetto as fuck, saying he won't back down, and generally exuding that kind of QB Werewolf steez that makes Carlisle, Bird, Stern, and the entire fucking NBA fanbase uneasy. It's like he's going through the motions of being a good solider so as to stick with the contendor he helped build, but missed the memo that explained that "soldiering" for a professional sports franchise was 1) a metaphor and b) seriously different from the metaphor of holding down a project tower (word to KG, who understands exactly where and when these things converge, and who's earned the right to cross these boundaries without catching hell and being denied his right to insight). He's practically forcing the Pacers to think that life might easier without him, but isn't showcasing his strengths enough to allow them to get a deal they'd jump on.



Really though, Artest boggles the mind only because he's such an anomaly these days. All he wants to do is win. Don't care about stats, his career, making the All-Star team. He's a super nova of a competitor, and a year away has just exaggerated what his game was all about to begin with. More unabashedly nuts than ever, because for him, that's part and parcel with the motivation to do anything and everything to win. What makes Artest so amazing is that, like do-it-all stunners LeBron, T-Mac or Wade, he's not a guard, a scorer, a finisher—he's just a basketball player. But while the post-Magic paradigm involves packaging every skill under the sun together into a seamless, dynamic whole, Artest is from the days of grimy yore, when a player's verastility was measured by his rising to the contextual occasion. We're talking Magic at center in the Finals not because he could do the job, but because he had to; committing to the moment, not just effortlessly, off-handedly satisfying the requirement. If it seems especailly jagged, disjointed, or counter-productive when Artest does so today, maybe it's because the beholder has changed his tune.

Amare, for all his provident might, is the anti-Artest. He exists to subvert the game, to overwhelm it into accomodating him, to avoid the role of center because of the baggage that comes with technicality. While Artest claims that his game is all mind, Amare dares you to try to outthink him; Amare, for all intents and purposes, is a system player gone berserk, while Artest's cunning is deceptively respectful of the flow of a game. And Amare's lost season is looked upon as a national tragedy, while Artest is being pushed out the door from the minute he tries to begin what should barely be labeled a comeback.



Part of me would like nothing more than eight months of unrelenting, engimatic Artest sturm und drung. But in the spirit of this Day of Atonement, I have to admit that my fascination is misplaced and totally self-serving. Ron Artest may be hung up on life in the projects, bad with the media, emotionally damaged, and a moral liability to the Association. But on a more basic level, he is basketball itself, basketball of a pre-style era, the kind that college football coaches gnash their teeth in rhythm to. Put it this way: basketball is just not man enough, not fight enough, anymore to welcome Ron Artest and what he stands for historically. He knows it, they know it, and the danger is that all of us realize it, since it's not a matter of respect for one man—it's a matter of the game's respect for itself. All these people yelling about fundamentals and team play: your words are empty unless you can admit that your pure game needs Ron Artest just as badly.



(I respectfully dedicate to this post to the sin that I have committed by having nothing to say about Darko's arrest.)

Where It Counts

With preseason play underway and the reg season right around the corner, we've got one thing on our minds: NBA DRESS CODE. In the wake of the near-season lockout, Ron Artest, and a bevy of offseason spousal abuse accusations around The Association, David Stern must have been thinking what verbally-able Timberwolves forward, Gary Trent, famously told a referee during one particularly physical game:

"If you don't clean it up, I will."

What was one of the most mundane storylines of the offseason has now turned "hot," with scores of players upset and speaking their piece on the situation. It is too early to tell whether the dress code, essentially requiring the players to wear at least a sportcoat and slacks, will enhance or completely depress the STYLE of the Association that we hold so near and dear to our hearts. I don't think Stern is trying to massa the players all into looking like one of the "50 MOST BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE" like my man:





But he is clearly trying to distance his sport from the contract-groan-heavy NFL and the steroid-tainted MLB. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you always gotta trust The Original Elder of Zion. The man brought the playoffs to LIVE TV, survived the bleak post-MJ era, keeps the consistent spotlight on LeBron, takes the game global through making guys like Ginobili more visible, and he brought scoring back last season with the emphasis on handchecking. I just gotta think that Stern knows what he's doing.


Also, I, personally, could care less about Iverson's throwbacks and fitteds. His jerseys never really impressed me. Any dude on the block could own the joints he has, and it really did piss me off that he would wear non-Phila shit to a game. I'm much more intrigued by the grey area in between "streetwear" and straight suits: the failure of KG to pull off blingin earrings and pointdexter sweaters in one ensemble, assorted jumpsuits of all ugly types, the silk matching slacks/shirts cholo type outfits that Karl Malone sometimes rocked.




And the backlash has never been more hilarious. Clearly The Association just doesn't want to be told what to do. I like the guys who are trying to make a rational argument, like this is actually going to be a detrimental thing. As opposed to just saying "We don't like it:"


"I don't see it happening unless every NBA player is given a stipend to buy clothes," Nuggets center Marcus Camby said. "Guys who haven't been wearing suits and don't own suits, it will be really hard to get them in time for the season (needing to be specially made for tall players).


A STIPEND? It sounds like Camby been hanging with his boy Sprewell too much lately. Also, hard to get them in time for the season? Listen, I've never been 7 feet tall, but I'm pretty sure you can holler at your boy for the big&tall joints, and dude will probably throw in a complimentary tricking out of your son's entire Bar Mitzvah (I'm TALKING TO YOU DERRICK ZIMMERMAN).




And then there's AI, trying to mindfuck the Commish, with some reverse psychology:


"It sends a bad message to kids," Iverson told The Philadelphia Inquirer. "If you don't have a suit when you go to school, is your teacher going to think you're a bad kid because you don't have a suit on?"

I think what he was trying to say was:




And then, in bold continuation of Spurs players completely redeeming their "cool points" this summer, Duncan (the now Island-afroed Duncan I should add) gets all righteous:


"I think it will be very disappointing," Duncan said. "Nobody has asked me anything about it, but I think everybody knows my opinion....adding, "No," he said. "I don't wear shirts and ties."


RESPECT. He's all "Nobody has asked me," like you know who I am. Two-time MVP, Three-time Finals MVP. You better ask the champ before you start throwing rules up in here. We don't play like that in the Islands. We leave the shirts and ties for the tourist cats who dress like this on the weekends:



And oh the comedy. As a poet-humorist, Jalen Rose is perhaps the closest thing we've had to an underground Barkley of the post-MJ era. He is a guaranteed 5-quotables per interview. Always disgruntled, never really taking it out on anybody. And Tony Delk KILLS it, but isn't he really just referring to Reggie Miller trying to break shit up and Chuck Person shielding Ron Ron's head from debris?

Jalen Rose says under the NBA's proposed new dress code, he may have to patent his style. ''Because a lot of people will be copying my look,'' the Raptors veteran said at training camp Thursday.

As Tony Delk of the Hawks pointed out in an interview with the Atlanta Journal Constitution: ''They were fighting in suits last year in Detroit, weren't they?''

And then, in an ironic almost anti-fashion statement of fashion, a disproportionate amount of white guys have been putting in their two cents:


"I don't mind if they clean it up a little bit," Ostertag said. "But . . . they can go without them (expletive deleted) sport coats." If coats are required, Ostertag added, "They're going to get the worst-looking one they've ever seen on me. . . . I'll go buy one off a guy on the street."

Tag killing it as well. Using "them" as a modifier and following it with an expletive isn't even country or street talking. That's straight Tag-bonics. Plus, dude probably actually would rock a homeless sportcoat. Did anyone see him when he wore spandex to some Sac Kings fundraiser last year looking like:

"That better not happen," Rockets guard Jon Barry said. "I'll be fighting that one to the end. I agree if you're on the floor, if you're injured or inactive, absolutely, no jeans is fine. You should look businesslike. Whatever. But when we play in L.A. and get on a flight at 1 o'clock in the morning, fly home, get in our car at the private terminal where no one sees you, I don't think we should have to be in business attire."

[Wally] Szczerbiak said NBA players, like actors and entertainers, are part of pop culture, which doesn't fit with buttoned-down attire. "Jeans are a big part of
American culture, and they're trying to nix jeans."

I wonder what Wally's inflexion sounded like when he said that. Was it all stately? Was he trying to be patriotic? Is their a more jeans-centric player in the NBA than Wally World? Like, if there was one player you would not be surprised to see rocking a fresh pair of these (COMPLETE WITH RAPE PROTECTOR), who would it be?

I ask rhetorically, but I think you know the answer.