Danny Doesn't Want Your Sandwich
In case you've chosen to go totally limp this weekend and ignore the NBA, Billups has some startling news from the front you should hear.
First off, I've got to send a big FUCK YOU out to Billups, who rewired my cable box so I had to watch Memphis until the most important game of my life was almost over. Or maybe it was the state of Texas, which like the Recluse and his Aggies are hopelesly invested in anything having to do with this crappy state.
I'm sad and everything, but mostly I'm just glad I got to see my dudez play. Shit was proper. They're like the Hawks if the Hawks were bad. They have this offense where someone misses a shot, then they bobble the rock between the five of them until someone raises up and dunks. Crittendon is astoundingly nice, especially when he's throwing a no-look, over-the-shoulder, one-handed pass on a spin move. I only saw Thaddeus Young do one thing, but he didn't disappoint—drove the lane dribbling so slow that I had no idea if he crossed over or not. My brain does not move at that speed. Then, in the time it took him to reach the apex of his leap, the entire UNLV team set up to. . . I don't know, probably block him. I'd nodded off by then. Though I've got to say, when someone takes forever to sky up, you really appreciate the tremendous human achievement involved. It's like a perfect version of college basketball, where fans admit that they just aren't advanced enough to keep up with the pros.
And this is why I am indeed overjoyed today. Because the college game is bullshit. The announcers spent half the time talking about how just it was that some scrawny white person got a year of eligibility back to play under his father. That is totally mocking people who don't have fathers. A thirty-five second shot clock is about the dumbest thing I've ever seen. George Karl once told me that the shooting percentage of an offense decreases with every tick of the shot clock—unless there's a post player who they're trying to get in position. Those guys no longer exist at any level, so basically the 35 SECOND clock is an invitation to take the lowest percentage shot known to mankind. The NCAA has doctored the game to make it beyond incompetent. As we speak, I am busy breaking my child's legs so he subsequently understand better how much I love him.
Don't get too used to comprehending my image selection, these tranquilizers will wear off by tomorrow.
But the real source of my chagrin is the "closely guarded rule," which I hadn't heard of until this afternoon. It works like this: if you dribble for too long with someone guarding you, the ball's turned over. I don't know if this is in the Bible or something, but it doesn't make any sense to me. I want to pipe up here and congratulate Crittingtdon for staunchly refusing to buckle under oppression. That dude is never, ever going to acknowledge the legitimacy of that rule, and I praise him for it. I guess he is paying the price for being able to break open a defense on his own. That's alright J., we'll be waiting for you up here in the big leagues.
So basically it is a good day to be a Georgia Tech fan, because we know that we are too might for this cold, drab world. Like that guy who wanted to blow up buildings because of the education he received at my fake alma mater, this is a team whose transcendence appears in this world like the ravings of misguided scum. Talk to me in three years, when everyone on UNLV is a graduate assistant on that squad and Crittendon, Young, and some other tall-ish guy with ups are the toast of the real Atlanta basketball.
IF YOU FALL/WE WILL WATCH YOU/WE'LL BE WAITING. :)