Will Sell Myself for Tickets
I managed to work myself into a tizzy discussing the demerits of Anderson Varejao over at McSweeney's today. In sum, I guess it all just amounts to using AV as an outlet for a lot of my anger over the current state of The Association. In the second round, I am simply having a serious amount of difficulty choosing one team that I unabashedly like. I'll always have a soft spot in my heart for Cassell, but I hated his complete refusal to play defense during his last season with the Wolves. I am philosophically against the Spurs, but I can sympathize with Shoals, who said regarding last night's game, "That was the least Duncan ever annoyed me. He went for his." Cuban, I have a love-hate relationship with. The Suns without Amare give me that same uneasy feeling I had when Death Row started focusing on Tupac rather than Snoop/Dre. Like, don't forget who got you to this point.
Perhaps this is the exact complexity of emotion I was always yammering for. No clear favorites and no clear villains or heros. I guess this is how things go when you're hometown team fails to make the playoffs, and your second favorite team (the Bulls) get yoked in the first round.
As noted a couple times on this blog, I have my worries about Flip Saunders in the playoffs. I had no idea, however, that I should be THIS worried about the "offensive mastermind's" inability to grow a pair and send LeBron sprawling to the floor. I'm not Bron-bashing here. I'm referring to the fact that he has that MJ quality to him where guys on both teams are seriously just watching him, in awe, out of respect, waiting to see what he does next...and these momentary lapses from defenders contribute to his domination. Lebron aside, though...Flip: Get that monkey off your back. Get that tie out of your throat. Stop making Kevin McHale look good. You were given a starting five fastened from the divine credence of Krishna himself. You are in danger of becoming legendary for all the wrong reasons.