Stop and Hold the Catapault

Jason Johnson is, by his own admission, not particularly stylish or athletic. He does however hold the distinction of being the world's tallest sports/style blogger. He can most often be found at clydefrazierapproves.com.

It was the fall 1998. The Jordan era had come to an end, again and even the lockout couldn’t hide the fact that the league was suffering through an identity crisis. Eastern and Central European players had begun to make their mark, but they were still tainted by an air of otherness. There was something unsavory about them. There were reports of players smoking cigarettes at half-time. Accounts of questionable hygiene. They didn’t attack the basket, bang in the post or play defense. In short, they were soft. That’s what I saw from the likes of Vlade Divac, Toni Kukoc. That’s what the announcers told me. For a tragically brief period Drazen Petrovic was an outlier, the exception that proved the rule, but like Big Pun, he just didn’t leave behind a large enough body of work to be adequately judged ..

At the time, I was living in a shipping container in the Balkans.The kind that got lost in the stacks, or served as a trans-Atlantic holding cell for smuggled human cargo, on Season Two of The Wire. I, along with another US soldier shared 20 x 8 box of corrugated steel for the better part of six months. We, a U.S. contingent of 9 were assigned to the makeshift Turkish Army Base on the grounds of an abandoned steel mill in Zenica, Bosnia and Herzegovina. For six days and twenty hours of each week, our world consisted of nine shipping containers; five bedrooms, kitchen, bath, office and weight room. The grounds of the base were sprawling, but most of the facility belonged to the Turks. They controlled the six-story office building along with all of the permanent outbuildings and warehouses.

About halfway between the U.S. Hooverville and the Turk Majal, at the bottom of the hill lay a basketball court. Originally put there so that the steelworkers could let off a little steam it had fallen into what could generously be called a state of disrepair. The concrete had cracked, and had begun to crumble in places and the metal backboard was speckled with rust. By the time we arrived, it had become home to a pack of mangy, stray dogs. We had to be armed at all times when leaving base, which meant no going into town to play ball. For us, the condition of the court was something of a minor tragedy.

With no court, and no NBA, we got our hoops fix via Playstation. My chief NBA Live partner was a local kid we hired as an interpreter. I don’t think I ever learned his real name, but everyone called him OJ. OJ seemed like your typical 25 year old slacker, with one difference: he was eighteen. “War ages you quickly,” he explained once. He was a healthy, good-looking ethnic Bosniak, and non-observant Muslim. He hadn’t grown up in the area, but like so many other Bosniaks, moved there after his hometown became less hospitable.

Reliably absent when actual translation services were needed, OJ would breeze through to play video games, drink slivovitz and talk hoops when we had down-time. I, a Knicks fan, was telling anyone who would listen at the time, that Allen Houston was the best shooting guard in the league (I know it seems ridiculous now, but Mike was gone, and Kobe hadn’t become Kobe and I could convince myself that AI was a point-guard). OJ insisted that some guy with a bunch of Ks, Vs and Zs in his name was better, but would never get the chance to show it, because NBA coaches were prejudiced. He claimed that American players lacked fundamental skills and would soon be exposed. It was easy to dismiss his claims as jingoistic nonsense, since American players were clearly superior as evidenced by the middling accomplishments of European players in the league. I don’t remember who he played with, but I do recall him running a penetrate-and-kick offense.



One fateful day, he challenged three of us to a half court game. Two of his friends had been hired as translators and now had NATO ID cards, which, with our permission, would get them on the base. Initially we protested that the court wasn’t safe but OJ insisted that only children need fear the dogs. I don’t know if I completely bought into that, but we weren’t exactly in a position where we could afford to look scared, so it was game on. My teammates were a 23-year-old kid from Minnesota, and a 30 year old from Iowa who probably hadn’t touched a basketball since high school. I figured that even if they couldn’t play, I could blow by or elevate over my man consistently enough to carry us.

The day came, and we found ourselves matched up against three college aged kids, who at 6’2” to 6’7” could all handle the rock and shoot the three. In the post, they possessed that wiry strength that, despite what we say, we don’t really believe exists. Every rebound was a struggle. They fought for the ball like it was something precious. None of them seemed to be able to dunk, yet all of them could jump high enough to block my attempts ... on the rare occasions that they actually let me get into the lane. Their physical interior defense made low-post play seem like an inefficient use of energy and forced us to rely on out nonexistent outside shooting. For three games we were thoroughly outclassed, as the beatings got progressively worse. I had lost my share of basketball games in the past, but never had I left a court so defeated. Other losses had been disheartening and even humiliating, but none had ever shaken my beliefs.

It doesn’t exactly take a genius to realize that war hardens people, so it is absurd to assume that these guys would be soft. Yet that’s just what we did. The stereotype of the soft, effete Euro isn’t as prevalent in today’s NBA as it was in 1998, but it still persists to a degree. It can be seen in the media’s coverage of Nenad Krstic’s chair flinging at this past summer’s friendly against Greece. We were treated to footage of an unhinged seven-footer throwing a chair in a brawl. Do you have any idea how terrifying that has to be in real life? I’d venture it’s a hell of a lot scarier than AI (allegedly) throwing a chair, and yet it carried very little of the sport’s media’s righteous indignation. In fact, it almost seemed to be played for laughs, and forgotten as soon as the World Championships began in earnest. Darko had a largely forgotten tirade where he threatened to rape a referee’s children. Neither of these players has been slapped with the “thug” tag yet.

It would be easy and lazy to pull the race card here, but I don’t think Kevin Love could have gotten away with that behavior either. Race is definitely a consideration, but it’s not the crucial component used in stereotyping foreign-born players. We, as American basketball fans are quick to stereotype our homegrown players as products of their environment. For so many European players, that environment is just…foreign. It’s our ignorance of their circumstance that leads to a fundamental misunderstanding of their personalities and temperments. You just can’t take those Euros too seriously when they try to act tough. It’s just too cute. Daily Thunder ran a piece called “Nenad Kristic Fights Like a Little Brother". It’s unfathomable how much more easily we dismiss the aggression of young men raised in literal war zones than those born in figurative war zones.

Frank Harrison!

In case you don't own Twitter or read any other basketball blogs. Via ProBasketball Talk and Talk Hoops

I like how everyone's just silent after the last dunk. Also, this still doesn't beat THE BIRTHDAY CAKE, which might be my favorite NBA moment EVER. Also, J.R. Smith needs a deal because this is his music.

Planned Parenthood

Sometimes, I meet stray pets on the street, and they want to know all about the origins of this site. After I ask for money and comb my hair with a motor, it all comes down to one thing: Skitatime. That's what I wanted to call it; that's who, from that vintage of Euros, I found most hilarious. And it's great when chanted to the tune of Joe McPhee's Nation Time, which reminds me that I always confuse him with John McPhee, which would make Skita the Bill Bradley of the alternate universe in which there are too many Green Lanterns. In short, I miss you, and basketball has made me fat.

But yo, everything just popped back into place. While innocently scanning HoopsHype, I discovered a site that many of you already probably know of: The Hoop. If only blogspot names were worth something like domains are. This place is great as can be, consisting—as far as I can tell—only of updates on the stormy overseas careers enjoyed by Skita (nee Nikoloz Tskitishvili) and, as seen in this actual post, the Greek Shaq, Sofoklis Schortsanitis. The plot has thickened for both of them several times over; they have left teams, come back, helped, hurt, loved, and at least in the case of Sof-Schort, caught some NBA interet. Rooftop like we bringing 2002 back!

If I had a dream, it would be for these players to exist in America, and be as chimeric, unknown, and yet impermeable as the greatest J.R. Riders. I wish, I really do, that we had gotten to see genuine Euro enigmas, or assholes (Darko doesn't count, he's no character) make a mess of the NBA like the blacks have. Instead they were all shuttled quickly out of the league, or thrown onto the bench, if they didn't reinforce the narrative of international salvation. Good thing I can see that Skita and Greek Shaq are alive and well and confusing the rest of the known basketball universe. I challenge all of us to be a little richer for it.

That blog is also very useful if you want to know what Taequan Dean has planned for next. Another wish: Could I get Extra! to deliver all this news? Same hosts, tone, lighting, and all that? Maybe there's a computer program that allows simulation of this? See, look what happens when old friends roost in a far-off land where somehow, they manage to make us feel oh-so at home—even as they drive themselves away and back into the sea.

Swim for it, guys. It's all we've got.

Remorse Isn't Picky

Okay, so I didn't get around to getting anything longer about Jennings near finished. Partly because it was drawing parallels between that and Manny's performance, which is stupid unless you attach a bunch of qualifiers to it. Or are drunk. Luckily, my argument is primarily about spectatorship and aesthetics, as you'll see tomorrow. But still, I felt I needed a little more distance, as I don't want anyone to kill me. I don't know, what do you think?

Instead, some Jennings odds and ends, to go with the "what do you think":

-My Baseline piece on what 55 really means for Jennings as a player.

-Ty Keenan proposes another read participation acitivity: Who can come up with the best Jennings/Minutemen joke?

-Toward the "what exactly happened in Italy?" question, Sixers4guidos translates and sends along part of a column published today in the Italian daily Il Messaggero. Title: "Jennings, From Bust to Scoring Star."

"We talk again about Jennings, considered a spoiled and insecure kid here in Rome... now a star in the NBA....he shocked the League with a stunning show... he did well also in preseason now he got attention from mainstream media and gained trust from many... but in Rome he was little considered... they never had faith in him, (giving him) few minutes on the court (and he produced) obviously few points... to be honest, he never excited (people) in the few occasions he played, even shoving an attitude that could have been considered ornery/morose... sure, US bball is different from european, few defense and many chances to show (someone's) shooting ability... he was the first to jump from high school to Europe..."

He's saving some other choice excerpts for his own spot, so check back there later. Update: Here's the post.

-Why do I think that by watching Jennings again tonight, it'll sort of be like getting to see John Wall's debut?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?!?!?!!?!??!?

Where's the Christian in Christian Eyenga?

FreeDarko's European correspondent Julien (from 12 Stars) checks in with a report about recently drafted Euro Christian Eyenga and a dunk that may very well have upped the ante on Gerald Green's infamous "cupcake dunk."

Forget about Spike Lee, forget about Michael Mann and Paul Thomas. The future of film making lies in a Cleveland Cavaliers first round pick. On Saturday night Democratic Republic of Congo swingman Christian Eyenga turned the Spanish League (ACB) Slam-Dunk contest into a sixth grade movie contest. The DKV Joventut Badalona player (Ricky Rubio's former team) was battling with a Brit, a Lithuanian and a former Denver Nuggets second round pick whose second name consists of one 'u' and four 'l'. After going for a mighty windmill and a pretty wicked between the legs, Christian pushed things a little further.

The ACB Slam Dunk Contest has a history of producing errh...creative dunks. Former Piston Walter Herrmann dunked through a ring of fire and future Blazer Victor Claver is notorious for dunking on two baskets at the same time and putting a Sombrero on while slamming the ball. But this time Eyenga went big budget. Storyboard, supporting cast. Similar to a WWE exhibition or a Romanian porn. A cheerleader stormed on the court with a baby crying then showed Eyenga the baby burst into tears because his little teddy bear was somehow hanging on the rim. The baby did not look like this guapa. She could have been a kidnapper. You think the guy would have questioned his identity ? Instead he ran down the court with the ball, abused the rim and fetched the bear with his teeth. He then retrieved the puppet to the baby and gave a little tap that could have given the fake baby a cerebral commotion. The crowd and the jury of course loved it. And Eyenga was even given two 10.5. The 20-year old was rewarded 7.000 euros for his creativity.

What does it mean for the Cavs and the NBA? That Gilbert Arenas has some competition down the line. That Eyenga could be a retweet phenom for The Real Shaq. That there's nothing I'd like to see more than Eyenga directing future team-mate Delonte West.

Crossing the Rubiocon

Jelani the Elder is a young man living and writing in NYC. When he’s not writing, he’s busy plugging Epilogue Magazine. He's hoping FD will have him back soon, as he's already started on his magnum opus, "How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Clippers: The Blake Griffin story."

In the notebooks of scouts abroad and at home, Ricky Rubio has been, all at once, the future and a throwback. He’s been Drazen Petrovic, Pete Maravich, Magic Johnson, and Steve Nash. But, as aesthetically pleasant as all these player comps might be, the National Basketball Association is a business; if the league’s sole purpose was to promote civic pride and goodwill, they probably wouldn’t have sales reps calling you every day for the last two months trying to get you courtside for a team built around Nate Robinson. Ricky’s venerable mound of hype surely commands hundreds of minds devising how to best monetize it. Such is capitalism.

Ricky represents the dream for those in the merchandise business who stand to make a tidy killing off of the Legend of Ricky. He’s played high-level competition in Europe since his early teens, hundreds upon hundreds of games a year, so either he’s A) totally bereft of personality due to the lack of a normal or stable adolescence developing amongst his peers or B) one of the weirdest, most eccentric dudes to lace ‘em up in a long time. If it’s A, that’s terrific, blank slate, the creation of an image from day one without any real transgressions. If it’s B) hell, maybe even better. But let’s say it’s A. Let’s run through the Rubio-branding options.

The Foreigner:The most obvious direction. He’d join Rudy Fernandez, Jose Calderon, and the Gasol brothers as the league’s resident Spaniards, which is just lovely because they’ll all could potentially play for different teams, where any head-to-head matchup would generate at least mild buzz, or, at the very least, an all-the-tapas-you-can-eat watch party. Ricky even stands to surpass them all (my guess is all five will make an All-Star team at some point) as he strides toward defensive competency. But I’d like to think Nike—it’ll be Nike—plays this up. Rubio’s EuroLeague career and its application to the NBA is still swathed in mystery, and certainly a quality that the brightest merchandising minds can utilize and build around.



New York Rubio: Some of the buzz lately suggests that Rubio-to-NYC is something that just has to happen. The Knicks don’t have a true point guard, they play D’Antoni run and gun and Rubio is the neo-Nash, not to mention that the league could easily stand to gain from putting a future star (product placement) in the Big Apple. In a city with legions of fans to seduce, relocated persons such as yours truly who have never had an NBA team to call their own, and NYC just happens the world’s finest hype auger. Also, the city’s fashion arm would certainly slide Ricky into $15,000 suits, paste him on SoHo billboards with his eyes obscured by Wayfarers, and stock an initial run of 50,000 Rubio Knicks jerseys at Midtown’s NBA Store. Oh, and a prediction—if the Knicks got Rubio, they would immediately introduce a new “alternative” jersey (Black? Green? Spanish flag color scheme? It doesn’t matter) just so they could make even more money. You know they would.

Recession Rubio: If the emptiness of Nike’s NYC retail outlets are any indicator of corporate prosperity, then maybe Nike ain’t doin’ so hot. Why spend the cash on an unproven Rubio when all it will take is a couple tweaks to the Rafael Nadal brand image? Rafa has a lot of desirable characteristics as a pitchman—he’s young, he’s good, he’s strikingly polite, and he’s European (Spanish…same as Rubio! Oh my!). Plus, Nadal’s possibly out for Wimbledon and the rest of the summer, so they could easily utilize his temporarily dormant campaign for the media swirl around July’s NBA draft. And if we’re running with the idea that Ricky Rey (patent pending) has no personality, you could do a lot worse than being sold as basketball’s Nadal. I don’t think that lugging your uncle around as coach would fly in the League, but I guess that just depends on how much money you’re generating.

Rascal Rubio:Bad boy angle. Gotta have it: The trickster, the devil—it’s timeless. Why mess with archetype? After last summer’s incredibly offensive Spanish Olympic Team picture mocked the host nation in a not-so-subtle way, this idea has wheels. Pair Ricky with Andrew Dice Clay, his Mars Blackmon, and you’re set for a divisive yet highly publicized career. Also, Rubio hails from the Catalan region of Spain, and making loads of deliberate anti-Basque statements in post-game press conferences could create tension internationally. It’s offensive and galvanic in dozens of time zones and languages, something that you can’t quite capture with your average Charles Barkley rant.



Relocation Rubio: If Ricky Rey ends up in Memphis or Sacramento, two embattled teams perpetually pondering relocation options, brand imagining would transcend Rubio and maybe create a market. For those mathematically inclined in the audience, surely “present value” calculation of future Ricky Rubio-related profit has to be a pretty substantial figure, a number that would surely affect a franchise’s current valuation. Kansas City, amongst others, could swipe a team due to its tenantless but new Sprint Center, and the return of the Kansas City Kings would certainly gel with my “Ricky Rey” campaign, “Rey” of course being the Spanish translation for “king.” Surely you see what I’m on to here. This is selfish for many reasons, but you know, you gotta look out for #1.

And if it’s option B, B again representing a maladjusted eccentric that has no feel for the American press or the subtleties of a new language, just let the product sell itself, Mr. Knight.

I'm from Barcelona

And now, a look overseas, courtesy of Bricko. For some NBA, try my post on the Bulls and Celtics finding themselves.

There's a band composed of 29 musicians whose lead singer looks like a young Kurt Rambis minus the googles. They're « I'm from Barcelona » though they're actually from a small town in Sweden. Joan Mirò was from Barcelona, Scarlett Johansson kissed Penelope Cruz in Barcelona. Even Ricky Rubio is from Barcelona. His hometown stands 10 miles away from Plaça de Catalunya. By the time you read this, maybe more people will claim they're from Barcelona as the city continues to be synonymous with excellence. “I’m from Barcelona” as a post-modern “Ich bin ein Berliner” for sports. Today Barcelona's main artists do not paint cubic faces or melted watches, they play on a football pitch or a basketball court. For the first time in European sports history, one team could get a European crown in both football and basketball over the same season. Tomorrow night the football section will host Chelsea FC in the first leg of the UEFA Champions League semi finals. The basketball section? They will head to Berlin to play CSKA Moscow in the Euroleague Final Four on Friday.

We may have the same old VHS starring Marv Albert and Frank Layden. I remember them joking about how the Dream Teamers enjoyed the local specialities during the 1992 Olympics while showing footage of players entering a McDonald’s restaurant. Well maybe that’s the thing: Larry Bird peeing his large Sprite at the local McDo’s thus fertilizing the soil of Barcelona. Being responsible for an array of talent in the area 17 years later. But that of course would be an offense to people who know history and would come up with names like Johan Cruyff, Juan Antonio San Epifanio and Diego Maradona. Barcelona’s basketball team is no Dream Team. It took them all 5 games to overcome Spanish rivals Tau Vitoria in the Quarter Finals. They do not have this sense of perfection the football section has. Twice these last few weeks – Leo Messi, Xavi and Andres Iniesta put on a show in the UEFA Champions League – claiming 5-1 and 5-2 wins against Bayern Munich and Olympique Lyonnais. Those 2 nights, this team played close to perfection. It was like listening to Catalonia’s Isaac Albeniz.



For most experts FC Barcelona however plays the best basketball in Europe today. Like their pals from the football pitch, they emphasise ball movement and knocks down their outside shots. At 38%, Barça ranks third in Europe this season in 3 point percentage. With Italian sharpshooter Gianluca Basile netting over 50% of his long-range bombs. I remember running an interview with Basile back in the days and blaming my cell phone for bad connection. It took me 10 long minutes to understand he was a stammerer. And I found it so antinomic for a guy who can arm so quickly to face shot clock violation whenever he answers a question. While Basile is solid, Barcelona’s main asset is to be found on the other wing with Juan Carlos Navarro being back in business after an ambivalent year in Memphis (11 ppg though). “La Bomba” is arguably the most talented player heading to this Final Four with a skillset made of long with little rotation three points shots and floaters that he trademarked long before the TP9s and the CP3s. But Barcelona’s biggest strength might as well be its depth, especially down the lane. With 4 big men being starting 5 - worthy for any contender. All 4 were drafted. NBA geeks may be familiar with names like Fran Vasquez, Daniel Santiago, Ersan Ilyasova and David Andersen. The first two provide an intimidating force in the paint while the other two bring a deadly outside touch. A very deep team I said – strangely enough without any American contributor.

First hurdle on the road to the Euroleague title, a certain Ettore Messina. Who’s been heralded as the future first European head coach in the NBA forever. He did win the European trophy twice in 3 years with CSKA Moscow and forged a reputation as one of the biggest brains in the business. He did lose a couple of bets with his summer signings but can still rely on his vets including 2008 Euroleague MVP Ramunas Šiškauskas, who’s the closest thing to Brandon Roy this side of the ocean. Second hurdle will be the result of a Greek tragedy. Bitter enemies Panathinaikos and Olympiacos meet one more time and for once in a long long time, the latter have a shot at getting away with the win. Hence they even broke the record for the best winning percentage in the Greek League history (they only lost one game all season). Josh Childress’ fro might draw the attention though his… 9 ppg have been anything but spectacular – in the eye of the beholder (ask the defender on the poster).



FC Barcelona’s quest for a triumph in European sports starts tomorrow before 90,000 something Blaugrana fans against Chelsea FC, the 2008 UEFA Champions League runners up. The proud metropolis - home of close to 5,000,000 sports fans - is not even the capital of its own country yet it has a chance to become the center of Europe - at least on the sports map. And many could soon climb on the Barcelona bandwagon as the team looks like the last defense against British imperialism in European football and the Orthodox dominance in European basketball. With Leo Messi and Juan Carlos Navarro as the best ambassadors of a game where creativity wins games. So who's from Barcelona?

Gin For All Relatives

I don't think LeBron will go to Europe. Even after the $50 million. And even after the revelation that part ownership could be an option. But as Ballerblogger observes, "If the NBA's collective bargaining agreement allowed it, you can bet that James would negotiate an ownership percentage in the Cavs, or the soon-to-be Brooklyn Nets, or the New York Knicks."

Maybe the NBA would be willing to go without a superstar (or two) for a year (or two). It would be a rotating vacation plan, with players drawn overseas for a variety of reasons—in addition to the money of course. Kobe as the internationalist, Bron the businessman, Melo, in a bizarre version of staying real, going where his game fits best. What fascinates me, though, is that this could bring about a change in the CBA to make stars richer—and empower them—without destroying the salary cap system.

Step back for a second, factor in his invention of the three-year max deal, and all of a sudden LeBron not only the most supernatural figure since MJ, but one whose singificance involves an entirely different order of innovation. Because, let's be honest, "the next MJ" was only ever so much about on-court style. LeBron plays nothing like Jordan; the issue has been finding a player whose off-court stature didn't just seem like a reasonable facsimile of the man himself.



When I wrote about the eschatology of 2010, it was partly based on LeBron's aura on the court, but also how large he loomed in the league's economics. But I don't think I did enough to emphasize how intentional that economic impact was.

James may be messianic in that vague, "Basketball Jesus" sense (in retrospect, doesn't Ray Allen's acting job seem more about LeBron than anything Ray ever was?), or in the ways he alters the formal parameters of the game. Increasingly, though, I've begun to think of him as that kind of figure when it comes to the business of basketball. Hired his boys when everyone said it was stupid. The mini-max. And now Europe, which could be about money—or it could be about altering domestic revenue streams for athletes. Whose to say this couldn't become the model for many, or all, players, not just LeBron or Kobe? That's how Vitamin Water so easily recruited all those celebs; it's not unsustainable in the way that cap-less mayhem—here or abroad—is. And the best part is, it's at once uber-capitalistic and vaguely socialist.

It's funny that, as we're all busy trashing Bron for his lack of balls on the world stage, he's showing he's nothing less than a reformer when it comes to NBA labor practices. Thinking outside of the box and willing to go right at the CBA. That may be a rose-colored, overly generous version of things, but the potential's certainly there. And for LeBron to lead, all that has to happen is for others to follow.

This Dam Won't Break Itself

The minute I found out that Childress really is going Greek, my perspective on the entire situation shifted. We've spent the last few days prattling on about what this could mean, how it could change everything, and how exactly the trend would mount. But now that it's no longer purely academic, we're back at square one. Or at least back to baby steps. This is an experiment, one that's anything but a sure thing. And that's where Josh Childress enters the picture—as an individual, not a symbol.

One of my all-time favorite cliches is "If ________ hadn't been born, someone would have had to invent him." It looks really stupid without context, but that's kind of how I feel about Brandon Jennings. As a pioneer, he's generic: A highly-touted high school player and surefire lottery pick with few tough decisions to make in the short-term. Some international team would always have been willing to fork out dough for pre-frosh of his caliber, no matter what position he played. It was just a matter of time until someone took this bold step, which only proves how doomed the age limit is. The marriage is brief, everyone but Stern and Brand understands, and the skirmish over where that first season is played is nearly circumscribed.

Childress, though, is entering a far more complicated situation. He's certainly the best NBA player to spurn that league, and will touch down in Europe as a test case for all others who are victims of a shortage of cap space around the league, bound to a crappy franchise, held back by a roster full of similar players, or utterly devoid of national hype. I hesitate to call him a victim, beacuse the Hawks did offer him a ton of money. But while Jennings operates in the realm of the inevitable, Childress has chosen the great unknown over a prison of circumstance.

And yet there's no guarantee it will work out, that we'll ever get to see this become a viable option for pros, or find the globalization of the game hastened in ways that would've been unimaginable only a week ago. For all the rewards Childress looks to reap—the largest contract in Euroleague history, a strong Euro, and significantly less taxation are among them—he is entering uncharted territory. Childress has the opportunity to make or break this option for future generations. You decide whether it's too strong to call that a burden, or the less somber "responsibility" will suffice.



In my Sporting Blog post, I made the comparison to Garnett's going pro. Without a doubt, KG's handling of this historic transition contributes to his unassailable reputation among nearly everyone involved with the NBA. At the risk of blasphemy or poor taste, you could also bring in Branch Rickey's hand-picking of Jackie Robinson, or Obama's irresistible narrative.

I'm not party to every behind-the-scenes conversation everywhere, but I don't think it's a coincidence that Childress was tapped to play this role. While he's athletic as hell, he's also carved out a reputation for defense, hustle, and team play. He rarely chafed at being stuck behind any number of other Atlanta SFs. He's smart on the court, and yeah, smart off of it by the most stodgy metrics: Try a 3.5 GPA and 1100 on his SATs at a school not known for catering to athletes. He's solidly middle-class, went to Stanford. . . in short, a model citizen who carries very little NBA stigma. In fact, if you're conspiracy-minded, you can imagine Stern himself picking Childress to bridge the two basketball worlds.

I realize I've wandered into dangerous territory here: Implicitly comparing taking a ton of money to integration, and suggesting that J.R. Smith wouldn't be afforded the same opportunity. But I come not to denigrate other players, or suggest that bias is hindering true global basketball understanding. Just pointing out that, if we accept that things could go wrong here, and realize that offering Childress the keys to Europe's basketball kingdom as the international game is on the rise might be a touchy subject, this will be a test case, an experiment. Whether this makes you see Childress as a hero or a pawn is another issue altogether.

Downhill Moses

This Josh Childress thing is, above all else, absolutely fucking hilarious. It's an embarrassment to the NBA—after all, you've got a lottery pick whose has developed his talent despite an adverse situation, ready to take on the league, threatening out of sheer frustration to pack it up and take his game overseas.

Brandon Jennings wants to change the system. Foreigners can return to the FIBA environment. Plain and simple, Childress belongs in the NBA. He just doesn't think of the Hawks as a valid NBA team, so much so that he's willing to make all sorts of personal and professional adjustments if it means finding some sort of credible situation.

I don't want to get all quasi-political here, but a player like Childress belongs in the NBA. That's the real threat international leagues pose: Not as a bigger draw in these troubled economic times, or as a reactionary barrier against Stern's plans for a worldwide brand. Far more gravely, they can actually erode the NBA as we know it. Letting players do what we fans have always wanted to do—i.e., completely disrespect organizations—and from there, take away from the base we pretty much count on inhabiting the NBA. As much as Jennings will be the glamor story, if Childress goes, and performs well, and enjoys himself, all of a sudden we might have another NBA/ABA situation on our hands.

And if Stern is wise, which he is, that's the situation he'll look back to. Over here, we still regard non-American teams as second-tier; unlike the ABA, international play is seen as both inferior and superior, deficient in pure ability but more akin to some people's vision of pure basketball. At the very least, it's different, and in theory, the Euro invasion was supposed to bring some of its ethos into the decaying league. That didn't quite work out, and the fact that it preceded this opposition on horizon kind of fucks up the ABA parallel.



At this point, the only smart interpretation is that overseas player can augment the NBA's identity, not overtake it. The other option is that it eats away at the league's core, further compromising it without exactly exporting it intact. The solutions? The safe play would be for Stern to somehow intervene and stem this hypothetical flow of talent to overseas. Make sure the Hawks let Childress go and maybe reconsider that age limit (because not everyone who heads there out of high school will be Brandon Jennings). Then again, these could be the first steps, or falling dominoes, toward a unified international league.

Stern wants a worldwide NBA franchise brand, and we can quibble over whether a merger of sorts would be a contradiction or compromise. It partly goes back to this tricky notion of the NBA's "identity." No longer is it as simple as a too-black game needing some whitening and fundamentals. Unlike the ABA's showmanship and creativity, it's not clear at this point what the international game does to enhance the NBA.

Then again, if the NBA itself starts to dissipate, then combining the two might be an exercise in pragmatism, not archetypes and keywords.

More The Terrible Price of Freedom

I know we promised you the Recluse's Jennings reflections, but dude has a real job and was also intimidated by SML's comments.

So instead, here's my one worthwhile point: Let's not forget how many high school draft picks didn't actually know how to play basketball. And isn't Jennings exactly the kind of player who would never have gone straight to the pros? But who, apparently, has exactly the skill set, and game, to do things overseas. Remember, plenty of small-ish guards end up in Europe and make a decent living there. They may not play a Euro game, but they can play and make sense in a group dynamic.

One the other hand, imagine Josh Smith heading to Spain instead of college. Given international ball's hierarchies, premium placed on experience and some order, would he really have gotten the star treatment? Think how many raw international players get no minutes in their own league, but go first round and are developed in America.

In short, this a false hope. It allows guys who might eventually end up in Europe anyway to get there faster. But for a lot of the guys we most associate with THE JUMP, it's a non-starter, unless they want the experience of going thousands of miles away to be humbled—when at least in college, coaches know that one-and-done talents need to be gotten the most out of.

The real question is whether a J.R. Smith or Gerald Green could this route. Poor grasp of the organized game, but having a little bit of skill to go with the physical wows.

UPDATE: A very important message from the older FD generation.

Halcyon Barbarians

After watching the model UN last night that was the Lakers-Jazz game, I officially declare these playoffs RETURN OF THE EURO. Zaza, Hedo, Peja, Z-Ill, Vlad-Rad, Vujacic, Pau, AK-47, Memo, and even Dirk. Yes, Dirk, the only dude who gave his team a shot in the first round and intelligently stepped away from David West instead of copping a suspension. Euros have been absolutely critical to their teams' successes in these playoffs--hitting big shots, tussling with people, flopping like the dickens, and generally being confusing--and I could not be happier about this development.



It's all finally starting to make sense. We are at the dawn of a new epoch in the trajectory. As has been discussed millions of times on this blog, the rise of the Euro began post-Arvydas Sabonis, and ascended steadily until guys like Peja and Dirk were becoming all-star game staples. The NBA raked in the global cashflow to the point that Commissioner Stern is opening next season on the moon. The only question was, what did the Euros actually do? Sure, they gave us cool names and facial hair. And it was nice to watch a 7-foot man shoot 35-footers once in a while, but they weren't putting any of their teams over the top (Kukoc excluded).

Then came the "soft" tags, the claims that these third-world war-torn isolates in a foreign land didn't know how to man up with people who played across America's heartland. Dirk's monumental post-MVP playoff failure solidified this view, brought outrage over his MVP award selection, and ultimately got us back to what this game is all about: Kobe, LeBron, and Chris Paul.



You see what happened there? NBA basketball will never not be NBA basketball, an all-American celebration of Nike, slam-dunking, and Oak Hill Academy. Stephen A. Smith's BRILLIANT blurb yesterday (seriously, read it) reinforces all of that. And once players--Americos and Euros alike--started to realize that the NBA will always be the league of Jordan, Wilt, and Russell, the pressure was taken off of them to create new alien standards of greatness. (And people wonder what took so long for Turkoglu to turn the jets on). Peja Stojakovic went from third place MVP candidate in 2004 to forgotten man to the only Serbian in New Orleans, and you know what, he couldn't have been happier? Zydrunas Ilgauskas went from LeBron's Dick Cheney to potential contract deadweight, lost amidst the flurry of the Drew Gooden/Ben Wallace/Larry Hughes/Wally trade, and Z is perfectly fine with that. Dirk's MVP award gave Euros the token that they needed, to show they mattered, and now they can take an exhalation of deep relief, and go back to "doing them."



Doing them, of course means being Kukoc, Sabonis, or Smits--being that key guy in tough situations, but never having to be The Man....which IRONICALLY leads them to being The Man all over again, as Peja, Hedo, Pau, Okur, and Ilgauskas have been throughout these playoffs. This has led to the perfect alliance of Euros and AmeriStars, and the teams that have shown the most success this year (save for the Celtics and Pistons) have adhered to this formula.

Now of course the Spurs have long been tinkering with this formula, but Lamar, Kobe and Pau are the prototype for Comic Relief + ESTABLISHMENT FIGURE + EURO arrangement (think Peter Boyle + the Belush + Schwarznegger in Red Heat). Glance over these delightful trios:

CP3-West-Peja
Deron Williams-C-Booz-Memo
D-Ho-Rashard Lewis-Hedo
LeBron-Wally-Z-Ill


Just as Bill Gates promised a "robot in every home," by 2010, I promise a "key Euro on every starting lineup." No more giant stiffs or 3-ball experts just filling up roster space. This is a new age, and a new millenial science that is destined for success. What will be even more curious to watch will be how far the Lakers can succeed in their current configuration, with Kobe (a Euro at heart) surrounded by a sea of foreigners. If they indeed defeat either the Celtics or Pistons in the final, we might suggesting every selfish superstar with a band of people who neither understand nor question his every move.