Wednesday's football flashback was only the beginning. Here you have the apex and the end of this phase in pre-Darko. Click on it to magnify and read. One time at a party in Philly, some guy told me he'd had this work blown up and framed for his living room. I had to rip this out of my only copy to scan it, thus possibly destroying my memorable essay on Their Satanic Majesties Request.
Major TSB grind today, includng an entertaining interview with Clyde Drexler and some Rookie/Sophomore thoughts. Stay tuned to there.
One of the reasons I hate our book now is that, as I've said several times already, it seems like this season has brought about a subtle-yet-dramatic shift in the NBA. Kobe suddenly became an elder statesman instead of a lightning rod; the 21st century draft classes now rule the roost; a number of younger players have taken their ever-improving games into the All-Star waiting area; and, as one commenter put it, "a generation of good-not-great players" has slipped into irrelevance, gracefully receded, or seen their stories wrapped up with little room for protest. I'm working on a revised table of contents for a (purely hypothetical) 2009-10 Almanac, and it pretty much involves a complete and total overhaul.
But underneath all this is another trend, one that while possibly accidental is certainly worth noting. When pressed to break up recent NBA history into epochs, I'd go with the 1980's/early 1990's Golden Age, then the post-Jordan era, which overlaps the beginning of the Iverson era and then lingers on through it like a ghost with tenure. I'd thought that the period FD has existed through was somehow post-Iverson, where style and identity co-existed with empirical results and make others feel safe. Like the equilibrium the dress code has settled into. In fact, that's the dualism that drives most of the book's profiles, the tension between swaggering inviduality and the need to fit into a viable, and marketable, version of basketball.
This season, it seems like we're entering a new era, one where the sky is patroled by utter professionals with a strong aversion to inner turmoil. We're not just seeing players with simple narratives take over; a lot of them seem way lacking in any kind of narrative, or personality-driven dynamism. In the book, Dr. LIC took Duncan's non-ness as the ultimate enigma; the Recluse found Joe Johnson compelling because he yielded so little that was distinct apart from his game, if even that. Compared to Johnson, Duncan—boring, mordant, mysterious, vacuous—might as well be Kobe Bryant. The new NBA is at peace, resolved, and if not muted, then certainly a place where the rhythms of craft tamp down man and his problems, instead of the latter animating the former. The game is becoming a Platonic ideal (you know I meant it if I make a fucking Plato reference), not a violent three-headed dialectic of self, world, and pastime.
Who are the names we recite this season? LeBron James, otherworldly but impenetrable; Dwyane Wade, a game possessed but a man forever at ease; Chris Paul, a nice guy with a mean streak in competition; Dwight Howard, the goofy big man whose excessive popularity has everything to do with him being one of the league's few fonts of personality, or personality/professionalism tension. Dirk and Chauncey, older dudes who have always been at odds with the NBA's culture of dissonance. Duncan, who in this context comes off as imperfect, and thus enthrailling, pre-history. The aforementioned Joe Johnson, the standard-beared for a new group that includes Brandon Roy, Danny Granger, Al Jefferson, Devin Harris, Jameer Nelson, and David Lee. Even the top rookies, Derrick Rose and O.J. Mayo, are in part being praised for their maturity and level-headedness. Professionalism may not have sublimated swagger, but it's certainly well on its way to sublimating it at the expense of—or perhaps in place of—the trials of the self.
There is perhaps no greater evidence of this unexpected shift than the rise of Kevin Durant. Durant's mild-mannered off the court, but on it has a phantasmic bloodlust that's equal parts sneaky, vicious, and just plain mysterious. He's also the best small forward the West and yes, I agree with Simmons that he's the league's most underrated player. Watch him over a couple days. Not only does he look every bit the force he was at UT; gone are those quarters of nebulousness or frustrated jump-shooting. Durant goes to the rim stronger, faster and more insistent than we'd thought possible, while retaining all the sleek, slippery qualities that define his movements on the court. He rebounds, sometimes with a force bordering on outrage, and sets up teammates with tough passes. And on defense, there's determination if not always results, and feats that use his length to its fullest. What's more, Durant's gaining power (figurative, dudes, so maybe it should be "powers") every day, such that the improvement over a couple weeks is noticeable.
He's also now better than Carmelo Anthony, who while he may be the most complete offensive player in the game, and a far more committed rebounder and defender this season, is always subject to his passions. What's more, our perception of Melo, and his life in public, are always a function of the complexities surrounding his person, or persona. Melo is the epitome of post-Iverson, a player undeniably hood but trying to synthesize that with good basketball. However, there's no separation there, much less sports overtaking the rest of the world. And while I hate to say it, Durant's partly a better player because he's less distracted, his development less loaded, and his style full of details that warrant purely aesthetic (or technical) critique, rather than the kind of all-encompassing blather this site specializes in.
I fully acknowledge that Durant has not turned out to be a force for utter change. But perhaps even the meta-discourse of revolution and renewal is moot, at least for a while. This is an age of reconciliation for the NBA, with itself and its audience. Now is not the time to thrust forth radicals or make us deal with the madness of others, but the period when we take stock of what came before, consolidate and digest it, and as I said the first time I got all worked up about this subject, appreciate it.
Way before FreeDarko was born, Big Baby and I used to do the occasionally sports-themed "column" for The Philadelphia Independent. In honor of the Super Bowl, here's one of them, about the NFL's best taking on a team of "inanimate objects." Click on it, it will grow, and then a magnifying glass will appear to aid your journey.
A few other items:
-FD now on Twitter. We don't quite know how to use it, I keep deleting things, and it's a lot less likely to sound right, but it's a nice distraction. And by all means, call us out for this stuff in the comments section right here.
-The Love of Sports interviews the double-oop team, and catches them in the act of another.
-I don't ordinarily recommend very young, very rough blogs that have nothing to do with sports, but anyone interested in politics should keep an eye on this one, by an old friend who also happens to be a true Movement OG. His first post may be about Obama and race, but there's new stuff there. Honest. I'm trying to help him clean up the look a little.
Your Move(s): A Guest Lecture from the Joint Field of Science and Sport
A guest lecture from science professional Craig Cone, which shall confuse and delight us all.
Science is many things; useful is rarely one of them. Graduate level quantum mechanics is never of any practical use, treated by its students as a trial by ordeal rather than preparation for a professional career. That ends here, when it meets this site's earlier, admittedly crude, analysis of the alley-oop.
First, a devolution into an overly brief and facile derivation. When I fire a gun through a doorway, the bullet passes directly through the void way every time (duh). But if I am very small (one tenth the size of a human hair, for starters), firing a gun through a door causes insane shit happens. As the bullet passes through the door, it diffracts, creating a wave-like pattern of probability. Even less intuitive is the idea that that while fractions of the bullet are creating interference fringes forward, some fraction is coming directly backward.
This phenomenon cannot be interpreted with any form of classical physics. It actually perplexed science as a community for quite some time. Then, in the middle of the twentieth century, a scientist by the name of Richard Feynman proposed an idea hinging on path integrals as a unifying theory of dynamics. The theory states that there is a minimum energy path from point A to B, and that any deviation from the classical path has a penalty related to the deviation from the classical path. It contends that not only it is possible to calculate the deviation of any possible path, but that every possible path is being explored simultaneously (think back to the bullet example). The direct path from A to B, as well as the path from A to B through Dallas, are all occurring in calculable and observable ways. Repeated addition over all space-time is accomplished using a series of path integrals that eventually came to bear Feynman's name. While Feynman was initially treated like an escaped mental patient, he eventually ends up with a Nobel Prize and a lifetime's worth of bragging rights.
This brings us to basketball, specifically the fast break (an extreme version of any motion-based offense). As every middle school coach can diagram, there is a correct way to run one, and any deviation is showboating, an error of the highest degree that will result in a solid dose of pine-riding. There is a classical path from A (ball in hand) to B (ball in net); by observation, there is an infinite number of ways to get there. But according to Feynman’s path integrals, we can calculate the energy (everything is energy) of every single permutation. When even the threat of high energy play is of extra value—after all, swagger/style has functional value—suddenly there's a strategic use for this theory. A minor deviation involves a pass through the legs of the defender or whipping the ball behind the back. A higher-energy path is a pull up three or ally-oop, extra high-energy is the McGrady self ally-oop through traffic. If those are high-energy paths, then the high school clip posted last week from the high school game verges on truly profligate, as near to actualization of the A to B through Timbuktu metaphor as physically possible.
The Paul/Chandler combo became intuitive because it is both lethal and functional. As long as Talent(calc) <= Talent(pos) any action makes logical sense. There is no violation of basketball Tao, only the separation of dreams and physical reality, the broken chaff left on the threshing room floor. This is not some attempt to draw back the curtain to expose the gears of sport, only to then claim that the emperor is without clothes. Instead, what has been added is a qualitative method to appreciate the swag required to get from A to B by way of where ever.
Comparisons of top shelf point guards in the league is both lazy and ineffective, largely because of this range of possibilties. The Kobe vs. LeBron (2009) debate has played out all across the internet. And yet it borders on incoherent. Kobe is the master of divining the classical path from the farthest reaches of the ethers, a quality that makes Kobe such an enigma. This personal vision quest has lead him to this height, now execute the pick and roll LIKE I DO. Whereas with King James, it is not clear that he is aware of the absurdity of the quantum mechanical trajectories he employs. All of his nicknames are some urban variant of the second coming because he has access to states through actions previously unimaginable except through god-like powers. Surely in retrospect, he knows what he does is unique. But at the heart of the matter the actions cannot be that absurd to LeBron, or why would he attempt them in front of the 20,000 people on a nightly basis?
The Paul/Williams comparison is equally fallacious. Deron Williams is the classically taught player, shredding defenses at their weakest point, turning their weakness into his strength on some kung-fu shit. Whereas Chris Paul's penetration and distribution are that bullet diffracting through the doorway, with all paths available for his perusal. Nash is the merging of the two, monitoring weakness-spotting knowledge of classical paths as a foundation, and then using unique skills of those around him to create the chaotic function that was his MVP hallmark.
The classical path, the path that requires the least energy is still the most probable way to execute A-B. But let us not mistake difraction for a sign of weakness. Consider how delicious the quantum mechanical meat is compared to the classical bone.
This video is amazing. It's everything I'd want to ask Melo, plus a bizarre disclosure about what college team he favors—presumably in addition to Syracuse. I think.
Exciting developments on the still-glowing FD book front: In conjunction with Blazer's Edge, I'll be making a Portland appearance next month. All will be one at Burnside Powell's on 2/9 at 7:30, with further festivities to follow. More info here. Also, I'll be in Texas for a week in March. Any interest in an Austin or Dallas "reading"?
Finally, be prepared for some more ads popping up on the site in the near future. It will interfere with the design as little as possible and make my life easier.
This began as a post about how awesome I was for making a point of watching Cavs/Warriors, and the difficulty of figuring out what to view on any given night. Then I realized that it didn't take a genius to pick that game, so instead I'm going to write about what I learned from Monta Ellis. But first, a few words about the Nuggets.
I always thought that Melo was the force that somehow legitimated Iverson, and all the other miscreants on that squad. That might have been wishful thinking, or aiming too low.
Reader Dave F. recently asked me whether it's possible for a team to made more FD by a decidedly un-FD player, a more traditional guy who serves as the organizing principle. He mentioned Yao, and it's true, under Adelman Yao has at times shown himself capable of both taking part in a more complex offense and holding down the paint. The real test case, though, is Billups. We all know Chauncey used to be a hoot when on Minnesota, and isn't exactly the purest point in the galaxy. But his sense of economy and control do have a conservative streak to them; Nash, Paul, Rose, or Baron are more creative and unpredictable, even if they're closer to the positional archetype. In fact, you could that the ideal PG is supposed to introduce an element of instability to throw off opponents, while themselves maintaining a new-found grasp of this discovery. It's a dualism that explains why today, the league's premier playmakers often find themselves on fast, inventive team—and why all my favorite teams have, or badly need, such a player.
Billups, then, is neither too much nor too little of a point guard, and as such is the perfect equilibrium for a Denver team made up of various forms of excess and lack. His job isn't to encourage K-Mart, J.R., and Nene, but in effect, manage them. Neither dashing "floor general" nor feckless "game manager," Billups is entrusted with turning craziness into a useful commodity, ordering and meting it out so that players are compartmentalized without being squelched. Maybe that makes him a lion-tamer, or the guy in charge of The Wild Bunch. Denver may not have the least conventional roster in the league, but it's certainly the most streaky and combustible. Billups can juggle these pieces (one of which is George Karl, natch) through a combination of equanimity and pragmatism. I will punch you if anyone makes an Obama analogy here.
This isn't as simple as saying "Chauncey Billups runs the offense." He's the star in the middle of the solar system that holds everything else in its stable orbit. And here, we stumble into quite the equivocation, since by conventional measure, Melo is the "star" of that team, and Billups's predecessor, AI, certainly had more star power. But taken literally, the primary function of a star is to provide gravity, cohesion. That can be in the form of leadership, or the more concrete work of Billups I've described. I would say that Iverson was always a bigger star league-wide during his time on Denver than he was on his own team. This might be where stardom ceases to be frivolous, and begins to overlap with terms like "value," and the debates everyone's been having about what makes an All-Star. I think it goes without saying, though, that Billups seems more impressive in this capacity, harnessing the forces of darkness, than at any point in his storied Detroit career. Denver needs him to make sense, but he needs Denver to exhibit just compatible, and essential, he can be to a team.
That's because the Pistons were, depending on how you look at it, starless—big planets all floating in a row—or a team of minor stars who didn't care for stragglers. I'm not offering a critique of how Detroit played, more that attitude that earned them so much praise, and yet some always hankering to see them add an uber-component. For instance, as much as I loved this year's Warriors as a scraggly band of freedom fighters hanging out in Oakland and giving other teams nightmares whose ultimate result was mere annoyance, they were most definitely starless, even if Jackson, Crawford and Maggette are prone to the kind of play (and numbers) associated with taking charge and holding things together. I've always found it admirable that Jackson, despite being the captain and arguably that team's Shawn Marion (wholly original piece that dictates the overall structure, even as the PG shapes it from second-to-second), never seemed particularly interested in stardom. Say what you will about S-Jax, but the man is smart about basketball, right down to the way he balances the ethic that made him beloved as a Spur with the inner crazy encouraged by Nellie ball.
And so we finally arrive at Monta's return. That the first game of the year for a player with one good season under his belt, who might be the best player on one of the league's worst teams, seemed like an event should tell you something about Ellis. Well, adjust that for my personal biases, but certainly Ellis has the capacity to captivate and punctuate like no one else on the Warriors. Basketball-wise, Monta's just adding another scorer whose can handle the ball a little. He's not that much better than Crawford. But when he's on the floor with the Warriors, that team suddenly has a sense of purpose. He's not hands-on like Billups, nor is he as vocal as Jackson. And yet all of a sudden, the Warriors have an identity. They're no longer a subversive mess, as likely to undo themselves as to irritate others. They're that same rag-tag people's army, but with a charismatic punch that allows them to believe in themselves. It's a swag-laden way of leading by example. Call it the reverse Ewing theory—a team lacking inner logic for whom a seemingly pointless star is the only way to justify themselves. It's also the best possible explanation for why the Wizards need Arenas, and maybe why the Warriors pursued him this off-season.
Rather than write an actual conclusion—no way it needs to get any more abstract and high-flown—I'd like to say a few words about the Oklahoma City Thunder. I know that as a resident of Seattle, I should hate this team. Then again, I refuse to hate David Stern, who is far more to blame than, say, Kevin Durant. But along with Denver, LeBron with a healthy team, and presumably now Golden State, they're one of the only squads I can now reliably count on to be entertaining. Yes, Durant's maturation, Westbrook's crash-and-burn progress, and Jeff Green Jeff Green-ing his way to Jeff Green-ness are all rad. However, it's the packaging, the location, and the irrepressible obscurity around them that makes them so compelling. This is an NBA team that, for all intents and purposes, might as well not exist. They play in a city that matters only to the people who live there. Their uniforms are unrelentingly generic, like the plain white can, black type BEER they sell some places. The name of the team seems like a placeholder, unless you bother to acquaint yourself with life in Oklahoma. I kind of admire Clay Bennett for crafting such an utterly blank brand, so strong is his faith in OKC's appetite for NBA ball, plain and simple.
The more this team grows, the more all this seems mysterious, sneaky, or hermetic, rather than simply laughable. When I sleep, I dream of makng a shirt that puts Durant on the cover of Everybody Knows This is Nowhere, and I even think the music serves as a decent soundtrack. By contrast, Hawks/Bobcats were red carpet regulars. This team is living in caves, stockpiling arms, camping out on the Big Love compound. I don't know what their purpose is, but the bare bones image and total lack of exposure makes them seem so much more severe, even unsettling, than if they had a cartoon horse on their unis. Durant's good enough now to reclaim that "assassin" epithet; on this team, it's as haunting as it should be. They may practice an hour's drive from any number of campy militias, but mark my words, the Thunder will be the first NBA team to catch on with Waziristan hobbyists.
[All part of my six-step program to get me back blogging regularly, Shoals joined me last night to chat up the Orlando-Boston game. As usual, heavy editing was done to make this sound somewhat interesting and to preserve our credibility]
Dr. Lawyer IndianChief: I want to talk about the Oscars at some point Bethlehem Shoals: Did you see Rondo break up an alley-oop earlier? That seemed especially germane, given yesterday's post. Dr. LIC: I give in, Rondo is good. He still kind of seems like a product of the environment, though BS: I don't think so. It's not like he's leading the league in assists, or they're always out in transition. Dr. LIC: I have a working theory that confidence is the only thing that distinguishes a great player from a good player. Tony Parker/Manu Ginobili were considered pedestrian before they got confidence. Now the same thing is going on with Rondo. Those guys never got better, they just got confident. Dr. LIC: Wait, this might be an incredibly stupid theory
BS: Parker got better. He was totally one-dimensional and had terrible judgment. Dr. LIC: What was his one dimension? BS: Effetely fast.
Dr. LIC: Did Doc Rivers just say "ass?" BS: Webber said "ass" earlier. "Ass day" is the new "Fan Night."
Dr. LIC: Have we discussed Bowen getting more votes than Melo, Dirk, Gasol, and Artest? BS: That is obscene, and makes me think that All-Star voting is really lame, if San Antonio is champs at it. Dr. LIC: That is some Obama in Iowa shit BS: I mean, that explains why Duncan is in every year, despite everyone not caring about him. BS: Oh one thing . .. the transition game Boston has is all because of Rondo's growth. Just wanted to get that out there.
BS: The Celtics bench is like a bad version of Animal House.
Dr. LIC: Orlando's achilles heel is their lack of home court advantage BS: Why are there people cheering for the Celtics? Because of Doc Rivers? Dr. LIC: Because of STARS?! BS: Dwight Howard is a bigger star than anyone on the Celtics. He got three million votes, and none of them were from San Antonio Dr. LIC: Probably from foreigners, though
Dr. LIC: What if Howard's dunk contest win changed him and the Magic forever? BS: It did. And what's weird is that the media points to that more often than the Olympics as his big breakthrough, even though they aren't explicit about what the nature of the breakthrough was. It's their grudging default. Dr. LIC: THE DUNK CONTEST IS BACK BS: It's back with that fucking Nelson/Howard commercial. NO PANTS ALLOWED.
Dr. LIC: I dont think I saw a single game of the Olympics. In my defsen, there is a psychology article about why people prefer watching live vs. taped sporting events, but I can't remember why BS: Which is why you're sleeping on Wade Dr. LIC: Wade would be so much iller if his name was pronounced Wah-day and he was Nigerian BS: You're getting him mixed up with Iguodala. Also, people prefer live events because they don't know the outcome. Dr. LIC: Right, but what if you still don't know the outcome? BS: Someone does, somewhere. And it gnaws at you Dr. LIC: Really? What about movies? Other people have seen them, they know the outcome. You don't care?
Dr. LIC: Turkoglu has sneaky length BS: I was trying to figure out Gasol's relationship with length. It's sort of the same thing. Dr. LIC: I thought he had a dwarf wingspan for his size BS: It's like his arms grow as he moves them Dr. LIC: His hair makes him an optical illusion BS: Actually, that might be it. You expect him to dunk, but he ends up laying it in at the rim. Which makes it look like his length came out of nowhere, when in fact, it shouldn't even have come down to one of those actions that screams "length." Dr. LIC: Yeah, but the alternative explanation is "he's just a Euro" BS: Like he's a wuss with the length? There's no elasticity or snap to it? Dr. LIC: I get the sense he has weak bones. No vitamin D. BS: Umm, Gasol's wingspan is 7'5". So you can cut everything we said about its magically growing. It is just that he's a Euro.
BS: Webber is absolutely killing it right now Dr. LIC: Webber has nothing to lose anymore BS: He's also like the anti-cliche machine. Has anyone else ever called out a GM in reference to all-star voting? And the pain is so real. . .
Dr. LIC: I just thought of something I found strange: I got an email from nba.com encouraging me to vote for All-Stars multiple times. They're basically begging people to screw up the system (To clarify: They want people to vote multiple times...i didn't get the message multiple times) BS: I will say this About amare, who I don't think deserves to start: I like thinking he set up that site and YouTube campaign just so Bowen wouldn't get in. That's noble and awesome. Dr. LIC: Amare is being bitchy this year BS: Amare needs a coach. Also, someone should call out Shaq for not keeping amare in line/making him get through the darkness. Dr. LIC: Kerr needs to cut his losses and fire Porter. Bring in ANYONE high profile. Or Cotton Fitzsimmons
Dr. LIC: People in San Antonio are likely unemployed => MORE VOTING BS: I wonder how All-Star voting correlates with unemployment Dr. LIC: The NBA city with the highest unemployment rate is Detroit BS: Yeah, of course, but Iverson would've gotten in anyway Dr. LIC: . . . followed by Sacramento. Damn, too bad i can't control for population with this data. BS: DID YOU HEAR THAT, ZILLER?!?! Even Salmons is more worthy than Bowen. Come on, get on this. BTW, this from Tom last night:
Anthony Randolph was born in East Germany (Wurzbach) in 1989, six months before the Wall fell.
Donté Greene was born in West Germany (Munich) in 1988.
(I have no clue why Randolph was born under a Soviet flag. His parents are military, he grew up in Pasadena. I don't see any U.S. military installations particularly close to Wurzbach, though the town is near the West-East border.)
Dr. LIC: By the way, LeBron was six years old when House Party came out BS: You're not allowing for sequels.
BS: Have you ever thought about how the All-Star game helped promote small ball/positional fluidity through its refusal to designate SF/PF or PG/SG? Actually, that's probably just a throwback to when guards were more skilled and there was more SF/PF overlap instead of SG/SF overlap. Dr. LIC: Something we always allude to but never say straight up: If you're a SF, you're basically screwed Dr. LIC: Beasley, Durant, Carmelo, Gay can never be a one man team BS: I can see that. The 2/3 "swingman" can handle, which is why they can be a one-man team, as in the iso era, which is why we're somehow still stuck with that overlap today. That's what's so throwback about Melo: He needs a point guard. BS: Actually, Durant can handle. Has handle, whatever. Dr. LIC: I remember a few years ago I was part of a focus group for Nike. They were asking us (a bunch of young folk) if there was any cool basketball slang we knew of that might be region-specific or whatever. I mentioned that it was popular for people in Minneapolis to say "poke" for "dunk." "Took your cookies" was the one that generated the most noise around the table. Dr. LIC: All of this meaning i have no idea how to express someone's "handle". BS: I think it's like having a head—you never really need to say it's there. You need to with "put the ball on the floor," but handle is self-evident, because it's expected that certain positions will have some handle or other. Dr. LIC: What is Lewis? BS: Lewis is a black Euro
BS: The Recluse used to always say that the SF was once a tweener slot. Not strong enough at shooting to be a guard, but not strong enough to play 4. Dr. LIC: Wait, what if the 2 AND 3 are completely just tweener positions? 2's can't pass/facilitate, but are too small to play traditional small forward. BS: Well yeah, but also the 2 and 3 get conflated. So basically everything that's not a 1 or Andrew Bynum is a mutt. Incidentally, LeBron really has no position anymore. Especially because West and Williams are both combo guards, and Big Z is shooting 3's.
Dr. LIC: Boston is going to make some insane deals at the deadline. BS: For whom? Marion? Dr. LIC: You're gonna see crazy people coming out of retirement. Webber. . . BS: SHAQ Dr. LIC: Marbury? BS: Marion is the new Marbury.
BS: One time some Celtics moron wrote a fake "retirement of Len Bias" post, that imagined he'd never been the greatest he was supposed to be, but still ended up being darn useful. Dr. LIC: I should do that for Malik Sealy BS: I left a comment that mentioned the fact that some people's hearts just don't deal well with coke, it's a total crapshoot when you die. And he deleted it! Dr. LIC: Well, IT LIVES NOW BS: I found some public access show once of Malik Sealy's family talking about what they learned from him and how they used it to succeed in life. Dr. LIC: Malik Sealy's family isn't doing too well last I heard. By the way, the driver who killed him has been arrested for like two DUI's since BS: Maybe it was an old show. Dr. LIC: I met this dude in SF a few years ago who said he ran a recording studio with Sealy in new york and it was like D&D level.
BS: Did you hear that? Rondo=confidence. BS: You know, i think with Rondo, as with Manu, the team just had to figure out what they had on their hands. Dr. LIC: I didn’t hear it. . . I muted it to watch this D&D All-Stars video on YouTube. BS: Um, I thought you'd typed "it was like a D&D level"
BS: Notice, Boston as a team looks much better this year=Rondo looks better. So he's not a product of the environment, he's an integral part of it. Dr. LIC: Nah, it's like a Moebius strip.
BS: Let me tell you why I don't like the Magic: They have the ultimate modern big man and a very effective meat and potatoes PG. And everyone else launches threes Dr. LIC: That is NBA moneyball, though BS: Not really, when Shard has a max deal Dr. LIC: Well, the NBA cap situation makes REAL moneyball somewhat irrelevant. But that's the formula. BS: 2005-06 suns are moneyball. Nash for cheap, Diaw for nothing, Marion, and a bunch of shooters.
BS: Doug Collins is now taking seriously Pierce's "i'm the best in the world" comment because he was MVP. of the finals and is underrated as one-on-one player. Pierce has become so overrated he's underrated. Plus he has self-esteem issues, which should be endearing but aren't. Dr. LIC: I'm just going to take this opportunity to say KG's allusion to superman w/r/t pierce was SO F--KING CORNY. BS: Superman's always corny, so it only works with corny players, i.e. big men. Otherwise, it's DOUBLE-CORNY.
BS: Wait, did Collins just intentionally imply that Reddick has problems figuring out which three-point line to shoot from? men's or womens??!?! Dr. LIC: You know that song "Patches" by Clarence Carter? I am trying to think of some 90s rap song where the rapper sang the chorus or a version of that chorus. Does that ring any bells? It's driving me insane. First Fugees album maybe? BS: This Turturro commercial is like the wop Love and Death. Dr. LIC We need to interview Turturro. He has played a Jew, an Arab, a Latino, an Italian with perfect cultural sensitivity.
Skeets and myself are both very busy men with a constant need to consume virgin blood and walk on ice. But when we aren't so busy, or need to take time out from said business to determine the future of basketball, the topic often turns to the alley-oop. It's often decried as the ultimate in showy, bombastic play—and not surprisingly, has been a hallmark of all the most FD teams ever. However, it's also money when executed by a pinpoint guard and masterful leaper. In fact, it can be so hard to stop, such an easy way to get points, that it sometimes feels like the new low post. That's one of those moments where I really understand why Hubie Brown constantly observes that the game is now above the rim, has an added dimension, and all that. Certainly, the likes of Paul and Chandler view it as a set play. And I can get bored by players who can only get points off of alley-oops, which certainly strengthens their case as something worthwhile.
If you accept the alley-oop as more like the pick-and-roll than the windmill, all sorts of perceptual doors begin to loosen. Remember McGrady's off-the-backboard self-oop? Why not use the backboard as a second floor, thus adding another (fourth?) dimension to the game. It sounds fancy and frivolous, but again, we're talking set plays, or at least shit that's been worked on in practice. Take a look at this Hedo/Howard connect, about 1:48 in.
Now, this might have been a botched shot. But the timing is so perfect, and the point of impact so high, it's hard to not see a glint of intentionality in there. And it was out of a timeout. If you buy that, then follow, and tell me it's not every bit as smart as a bounce pass into the lane. Plus, this is Hedo Freakin' Turkgolu, a player known to style a little, but hardly a hot dogger. Despite the sheer kookiness of the play, on the whole it feels a lot less trangressive than pretty much every possession of the 2006-07 Warriors.
What's the next step? Maybe this clip—granted, from high school, but introducing a totally volleyball element to the mix that echoes Wilt's never-ending devotion to that second sport.
When floating bodies become a passing surface, then all of a sudden I get dizzy and you're in the realm of basketball gadget plays. Exceptions, not a considerable planar extension of time and space. Still, this could work, people, and the more the NBA begins to see the 'oop as foundational, the more possible this kind of thing becomes. In effect, it becomes the new alley-oops.
Maybe we're putting the heads ahead of the other heads. But remember, the dunk itself was once thought of as useless tomfoolery. Now, most people would agree that relatively sane dunking is the easiest way to ensure the ball goes through the hoop. The paradox of progress is that imagination is always linked to style, and yet it also provides the seed for innovation that changes the face of function. Think about the way the Suns or Warriors use to alter the dimensions of the court (scrapped book idea: using advanced physics to prove this), all through a mode of play dripping with style. Is a team like the Magic or Hornets this close to another great, sustained breakthrough?
(Further, unrelated reading: Shoals Unlimited on losers and All-Star selection. Also, note all the questions posed herein. In one of the older chats I looked at to craft this post, Skeets and I decide that asking questions is the key to audience participation. What do you think?)
So I've figured out why my writing over here has slowed to a trickle. It isn't that, after five years, the well's run dry, or the league has passed us by. It's that what keeps me writing on a daily basis, and what has "FD-ness" constantly subject to re-examination and its own wicked permeability, is the shock of the new. The sense that, in no particular order, there are new faces cropping up in the league, bringing with them new ideas about how to play the game, no matter how micro they may be. This season, however, such jagged wonder is in short supply. LeBron's Cavs, and the unleashed James and Wade, are ironically among the few things that consistently grab and shake me like they demanded my attention. We can argue about exactly what NEW means, but I know it when I see it.
Everything else, I term "appreciation." That's not to say that Granger or Harris or boring or uninspired. Just that they don't call me to action in the same way. They're unique, but not original to the point of shifting those around them. They break with the Right Way mold, but don't revolutionize all by themselves. And perhaps most importantly, while better than we'd anticipated, they aren't surprises. These two, along with Durant, Roy, Jefferson and Rondo, are somewhere between NEW and old guard. They're the guard changing, in such a way that if we had to redo the book right now, I feel like only LeBron, Paul, Kobe, and maybe Amare (down year) would be in a revised edition. The next generation is settling in, hierarchies becoming clear, and while the league feels different than it did in 2007-08, a shift is not the same as blaring change.
I don't believe this is just fatigue on my part. I think Mayo has come the closest, even if his game isn't particularly radical. With all the hype surrounding PGs, Rose was supposed to be this good. Actually, I did feel something watching Webber on Inside the NBA on Monday. With all due respect to Barkley, fuck Barkley. Webber says shit like "prominence doesn't equal significance," engages Kenny is a discussion of personality vs. character, and seems like he's going to burst if he can't get some of this shit off of his chest. That personality/character distinction might be exactly the snare I've been hitting. Webber was claiming that no matter what LeBron's outward personality was, you could see his dead-serious character in his eyes on the court. Kenny wondered if the lack of a cutthroat manner was still a problem. Or something like that; I wish that clip would appear.
What I'm still not sure of is whether this season is rich with personality but low on character, character-rife but lacking personality, or proving that, at least for me, the two are inseparable. EDIT: To me, the question was whether one trumped the other, and whether one, the other, or both were absolute. I think that's applicable to my take on this season.
More importantly: If you want to own a piece of history, and live in the Pacific Northwest, hit me up and I'll tell you what store currently has Detlef Schrempf's record collection in its possesion. The collection is equal parts 1983-1987 R&B like Shalamar and Ray Parker, Jr., European pressings of Dylan and Neil Young, and some stuff that's literally, drably, Kraut rock, as in, campy rock by self-satirizing Germans. If Germans are in fact capable of such a thing intentionally. All the black stuff is still in the shrink. I will be charging a small finder's fee for each tip.
I've got supremely mixed feelings about this whole "basketball is the new America" meme, and all the articles written on how everyone in Obama's cabinet played ball, wondering what kind of offense they'll run, and if the President will be more like Phil Jackson or Jason Kidd. Excepted from that, of course, is Alexander Wolff's definitive treatment of the subject, largely because it's more interested in the nuances of one man's relationship with the game than taking an Obama presidency as some monolithic endorsement of BASKETBALL.
In fact, some of could border on uncomfortable, if not a little racist. Like, why do Senators need to ask Eric Holder about whether he could beat Obama one-on-one? Even when black dudes reach the highest peaks of civil service, they still get asked about their game? That's kind of fucked up, you might think. . . if not for the fact that it's Herb Kohl asking, a guy who refuses to sell a team as everyone screams for him to, someone with a sincere love of the sport who is probably as excited as any African-American to see it in the public eye.
But what really makes this video special, and why it's the first time I've weighed in on Obama/hoops since the election (and since the appointees made it into a far less nebulous notion) is Holder's earnest as fuck invocation of The City, Connie Hawkins, Kareem, and Tiny Archibald, that near-sacred list that any real hoops fan is used to revering—but probably never expected he'd hear intoned, with no small measure of seriousness, in a Senate confirmation hearing. There's laughter right away, as there should be, but for that moment I felt for the first time like the sport was being legitimated, if not vindicated, in the public eye.
I haven't done the knowledge, but I'm guessing that the FreeDarko Inner Circle is roughly split into two camps on Pavement's musical output, and I'm not even going to attempt to determine the percentages for his solo and Jicks output. I can only speak for myself, and I'm definitely a fan, and if given a few beers, will expound upon his underappreciated guitar-playing and wordsmithing. And, after reading this incredible interview, you cannot deny that the man knows his hoops and has what is arguably a FreeDarkoist take on the League. I present for your consideration the following excerpts, and you may begin the debate in the comments:
"Fact is there are mostly cool dudes in the NBA. Off the top of my head I'd skip Melo, Baron, Garnett, Artest, Yao, Kobe, Pau, Boozer, Vince Carter, Marion, Brad Miller, Zach Randolph and Jason Kidd if at all possible. Those cats are not my bag."
"I'm pulling for Tyrus though - I really want him to make it. "
"I didn't see it [Tyson Chandler's assault on Pryzbilla], but I'm pretty sure Matt Barnes is also capable of such actions. Or he just blows kisses at the Blazer bench. Barnes is the epitome of punk in today's NBA. No more Laimbeers."
"Gotta put bread on the table, within reason. It's like owning Kobe. Sometimes you gotta do it."
Also, if anyone can find a clip of Malkmus's interview on 120 Minutes from the summer of 1994, I will send you a free t-shirt. That is one of my favorite TV moments of all time. The way he said Lewis Largent's name with such contempt........oh man.
The more I watch LeBron this season, the more perplexed I am by Kobe Bryant. Last month, I said that LeBron + Kobe = MJ, which of course assumes that Jordan is monolithic, or that the various phases of his career (worth talking about) don't in some ways embody opposites, or at least contradictions, when placed side-by-side. In February, one of the great forgotten FD diagram orgies posited Bron and Bryant as opposites themselves, though complementary in the NBA universe. Now, as LeBron's dominance becomes at once more fluid and rational, I keep thinking of the autism scale, a metaphor that inevitably posits Tim Duncan. A performance like LeBron's thrashing of the Celtics last night was, at both ends of the floor, consummate. You couldn't hope for a better synthesis of form and function, style and substance, physical gifts and basketball acumen. It's that stretching of possibility we've always marvelled at in LeBron, except this year, this night, he not only reached those limits—he kept on extending them.
Diagram by Tom Ziller, 2009
Incidentally, Kobe himself happened to be putting up similar numbers against the unknown Pacers, except with a higher assists total. But as LeBron consolidates two worlds, Kobe seems, almost by contrast, cleaved in two. No doubt he's still the more fiery player, almost to a fault. And at the same time, his game has also grown more and more cooly technical, through hours of study, gym work, and a strangely competitive approach to the concept of the encyclopedic knowledge. He's one of those particles, nameless so as to avoid unnecessary pretension, who now stands on either side of James. Still not sure if he's growing apart from himself, James is cleaving him in two, or, building on the MVP and further toning down his play, Kobe himself is moving toward the same center as LeBron. One thing's for certain: As of right now, LeBron's play casts Kobe in an entirely new light. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that Kobe is mortal. He pushes himself, not the laws of what's possible. His vocabulary is all that basketball has to offer, not the possibility of total transcendence and reinvention of those parameters. Don't get me wrong, the Lakers' finest remains larger-than-life, but it's not the same as LeBron's ability to make us rethink what might happen on the court.
And here's where we return to Jordan. Was he mortal? If you look at his career arc, it seems to be that of a man who got more mortal as he matured into a champion. There's a possibly depressing parable for you, and one that bodes well for Kobe's continued relevence. However, I also wonder if James's genius might be that he's managed to buck that narrative. His ascent will require no such humility, or reining in of his messianic instinct (see also Dr. J, Black Jesus, for other examples of the usual trajectory). If anything, for LeBron James actualization only engenders more potential. At this point, as each game unfolds, they occur simultaneously. That's truly frightening, but it's also a message of hope. If just this once, a player can make changing the game and winning it absolutely inseparable pursuits. From a strategic standpoint, it's all too brilliant, and so seamless you might not even notice what a radical notion it is.
(Obvious, I know, but I'm willing to stake that cred on this occasion.)
With my own eyes...and it wasn't pretty, but whatever. It was cool. He's perfect on the Grizzlies.
Starting a tad late on my one New Year's Resolution (to blog more), and with no good reason. I admit that I've struggled quite a bit this NBA season, mainly as a result of breaking Free Darko's primary tenet of liberated fandom. I can't help it. I'm a Timberwolves fan. I hate when they lose, I love it when they win. I still struggle with KG's departure. I had to grit my teeth and simmer through those hotly contested weeks of the masses wondering whether KG is a punk. So, this has been a season of learning for me, learning to resolve cognitive dissonance, come to grips, and restructure formerly firmly held beliefs.
One of those beliefs was that I hated the Nuggets, both in an angry and pitying way. I hated them for the undeserved arrogance of Andre Miller, Marcus Camby, Kenyon Martin, young Melo, and an even younger Francisco Elson. That team is gone now and with little to show for itself. Then, I pitied them for being a capable group of players fatally subjected to the stubborn dead-end run-n-lose coaching style of George Karl. The personnel on paper was unstoppable, but they were helmed by a coached who preached none of the necessities for winning in the postseason (spoiler alert: they are headed for yet ANOTHER first round exit this year).
Then I came around on Melo and recognized him to be perhaps the most unstoppable player in the league--a fitting third head to the Kobe-Lebron-? triumverate (Christ I've been throwing that word around a lot lately). Melo after his stop-snitching/weed-carrying missteps became virtually unguardable in that early season before the pissy brawl in New York that netted him that ridiculous suspension. Before the suspension, Melo looked like Charles Barkley but with an actual winner's pedigree and the capacity to play defense when absolutely necessary. He came back, though, to an Iverson-ed team that put him in a terrible position. Alongside James, Melo is perhaps the one player who could be THE ONLY GUY on his team and lead them to glory... and with the addition of Chauncey Billups, it looked like the Nugs might finally have a shot.
And then the fracture. Sure, three weeks is only three weeks. But if you peer a little more closely, Melo is not-so-slowly becoming the NBA's next great tragic figure.
2008 was a year of victory and redemption for so many. KG, Ray Ray, and Allen got theirs. Kobe was redeemed (not to mention Pau). Vince Carter became (was forced to become) an alpha dog once again. T-Mac was absolved for his failure to make the postseason because everyone blamed the Yao's absence instead. Now it looks like even Marbury might get another shot if the Celtics pick him up.
This leaves Carmelo. I said it when I hated him, but now I think it might be true: Bosh could get a ring before Melo does. Carmelo still plays third fiddle to Wade even after Wade has proved fairly useless in the post-Shaq era (not an overstatement--as weak as the East is, you would expect a Wade-Matrix-Beasley trio to dominate). Carmelo has yet to be placed in an ideal situation, what with the ins and outs of Iverson, K-Mart, Camby, and Nene. Even with Billups as an ideal sidekick, Coach Karl will forever hold him back (not to mention that Billups is in likely his last viable year). Perhaps he is simply playing the role that the league so badly needs right now: the tragic figure.
And with Chris Webber's retirement officially in stone, we might be welcoming in an entire era of NEW TRAGICS: Carmelo, Amare? Oden? Baron Davis? Let 2009 be that grimacing mask next to 2008's wide smile.
[Also, in case heads forgot, Shoals writes A LOT. HERE]
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