Pinata Tied and Golden

I wrote a thing for FanHouse this week about the very, very serious man Ron Artest has become. You should read out, but here's the gist: Ron Ron was once taken seriously in a bad way, then became a harmless joke, and now, through his advocacy of mental health issues, has once again turned his persona into something that matters. Reading yesterday's Marc Spears column on Gilbert Arenas, these days, I had a similar thought.

I've been understanding this season's Arenas as sad, sunken epilogue. The quotes he gives are, for someone who had so much invested in his days of might, heart-rending. Even his description of himself as "controlled chaos" from the beginning of last season -- which at the time, seemed forced and unhappy, and soon thereafter, the worst kind of irony -- now makes me smile. That's what Gil did at his peak: he made us smile. When he describes himself as an entertainer, it's not in performative, WWE-sort of way. Rather, he was a play who, through basketball, could remind us of that part of brains that's there to be tickled and confounded. "Enigmas" in sports are troubling if the game is an equation to be solved. We know it's much more than that, though, and so the 2002-2007 Arenas can never be erased.

Wipe that tear away. We had a while with him, and while it would have been great for Gil to keep it up forever, at least he gave us (and got) that five-year joy ride. The more I read of him these days, the less I think he needs our pity. Sympathy, maybe, but we should take note not only of the fact that he's changed, but that -- unlike in other comebacks -- he's fairly comfortable in what he's become. Maybe it's resignation, and yet there's no question that Arenas has assumed a new role in the grand scheme of the league. Not necessarily wise, or entirely disinterested, he has the perspective that comes only with losing it all and then piecing yourself back together again. No question, ruminative Gil is a function of circumstance. But there's something Sheed-like about statements like:

“When a young guy is coming in, the older guy never wants to move over,” Arenas said. “But I know my time here is over [as the face of the franchise]. I messed up my legacy here"

“It’s still basketball. The rules don’t change for the bench players. I learned a lot from the whole Iverson experience. Not get a job because I can’t adapt to my environment? I’m sure I can adapt to any environment.

“In this league there is no such thing as long-term anymore. Players are getting shipped out and shipped out. I’m looking at the Kings like, when I first came [into the league], none of those players were here. The Lakers team, the only person that was there was Kobe [Bryant], and Derek Fisher came back."

Arenas is resigned to what he's become. In that, though, there's also resolve -- resolve to not only make sense of his situation and find a realistic path forward. More importantly, these are hard truths about the league, ones we could stand to here. They're certainly useful to have out there in public, probably even for younger players to hear.

Sports radio loves to talk about players who "get it". In that universe, Arenas never did "get it". Now, he "gets it", except "it" isn't about killer instinct or locker room chemistry. He never really did play by those rules -- he was "an assassin" to the point of absurdity, and we all know what his idea of a lively locker room led to. That doesn't mean, though, that others can't learn from him, whether or not they brought a Desert Eagle to the Verizon Center. Gilbert Arenas says these things not because he could give a fuck less, or in hopes of making us all weepy on his behalf. He does it because he doesn't have any choice. He's always been incapable of self-censoring, and perhaps was a bit too honest at times. The difference is, these days there's real substance to what he's selling.

The Year Glass Broke

Whopper of a Works today, in which I tackle Vick/Gil; Kevin Pelton and TZ tell you what teams are worth watching; and the Works continues its team previews. I learned that Donte Greene is a lost cause (despite what I had believed) and Francisco Garcia is about to blow up (which I had long ago given up on). Glad I could provide the springboard!

Bonus: An earlier FD post about Vick, from last week.

There Is No Scrap Impartial

Don't miss the Morning News roundtable on sports and writing, with Pasha Malla, Will Leitch, Katie Baker, Chad Harbach, Nic Brown, and me.

I think we finally have our Psychological Man. His name, much to my utter surprise and possible chagrin, is DeMarcus Cousins.

As long as this site's been live, we've harped on player psychology. Not "what is a point guard thinking in the clutch", but as best we can, tried to determine what makes these dudes tick. Especially when, as it so very not the case in other sports, uniform execution simply won't do, and the decisions players make—their respective styles, if you will—can't help but reveal something about them as people. It may be only a thin breach here and there, through which little light is admitted, or gaping blast of individuality, but either way there's humanity in them there ball players.

Somewhere out there, a unified theory of FreeDarko presents itself in the heavens. For now, I'd go so far as to say that style and personality are the strong and weak force of our NBA cosmology, which is why no amount of boring-ass critiques will make me lose interest in Kobe Bryant. It's also why Gilbert Arenas was for so very long our patron saint. His entire public existence depended on either riding or struggling against that interpretive undercurrent "quirk". With the locker room incident and FINGER GUNZ, it went so far as to suggest that, in fact, he had been (figuratively, duh) swept out to sea. At some point, the joke ceases to be on the rest of the world, and out-there behavior becomes either sad or self-destructive.

That's also what happened with Michael Beasley, whatever happened with Beasley. He entered the draft speaking with uncommon candor—which in retrospect, turned out to be a "don't let me do this" cry for someone to keep him in school. At the time, though, it really seemed as if teams were being forced to confront the possibility that players could be weird, and yet still thrive. Arenas was a high-wire act, someone who played up his shtick for commercial gains and then found himself seemingly fall victim to his own act. Beasley entered the league not playing pranks and committing absurd gestures, but simply refusing to make sense. Again, at the moment it's hard to say he was taking a stand for anything but his own immaturity. And I mean that in the most light, sympathetic way possible.

All of which brings us to DeMarcus Cousins. You all know the story by now. Cousins was, all the way back to his high school days, branded "a problem". He didn't have Arenas's charm or Beasley's enigmatic qualities. DeMarcus Cousins had, as they say, an attitude. He was not a high-character guy. Supposedly, he fought with coaches, loafed, and wouldn't stay in shape. Whatever had happened at Kentucky, where he proved so dominant that John Wall was often relegated to a supporting role, was fool's gold compared to the monster he would become as a pro. It didn't help that, in many ways, the most apt comparisons the pros offered were Zach Randolph, Eddy Curry, and reaching back a ways, Derrick Coleman (that one more than ever after Vegas, but I'm getting ahead here).

I was staunchly anti-Cousins, though mostly owing to the fact that I thought his college career was a mirage and his height not what it turned out to be. When the whole thing got all weird and paternalistic, I realized which side justice smiled upon. Cousins was trapped in a strange rhetorical bind best described as "worst available". He was the bad seed of the draft, the high-risk, high-reward guy who got all the ink, and of course. Not every draft class is so lucky as to have one. But once anyone can be stuck in the "bad kid" or "problem" category, they will catch hell up until they prove otherwise.



Beasley, incidentally, saw his stock of evil rise (fall?) as the draft approach. Draw your own cause and effect conclusions here, but Cousins loomed larger and larger as a talent and became more and more of a potential thug creature. Don't blame FreeDarko; we dispatched Joey Litman to meet Cousins and observe him acting like the kid he was. Beasley had said "I'm a kid", but for him that opened the door out onto all sorts of weirdness. Cousins really just came off as sweet, likable, and hardly the kind of ass who would warrant such premature nay-saying.

Fast forward to the Vegas league, where Cousins's debut was awaited almost as eagerly as Wall's. When he proved even more of a force (granted, Wall had very little to prove), and flashed skills and awareness that had once been mere fluff in the mouths of his biggest supporters, Cousins instantly became the second-biggest star among the rookies. That attitude we heard so much about? Damn right it's there. But it's fire, intensity, and the desire to flat-out destroy his opponent, especially other big men. It's exactly what so many other bigs are lacking, and why they end up a very different kind of bust. Cousins rages because he cares. It's that simple. To say that his personality can be rough or stubborn at times is to say that he's a gamer. Attitude on the court, if it's this kind of edge and determination, is the exact opposite of what off-court attitude will sow.

And it's not like Cousins is lacking in self-awareness, something we can debate all day about Arenas or Beasley. The Timberwolves, of course, tried to throw him off by antagonizing and harassing him, expecting him to crack and show the lunatic no one wanted to draft (including them). Except as soon as Cousins caught on, he disengaged himself and opened scoffed at the tactic. Does this sound like a wayward brat to you?

All of which brings us back to psychology. Cousins did, indeed, possess many of qualities NBA scouts feared in him. Except he possessed them in a way that manifested itself primarily on the court, where they were a decidedly good thing. Differentiating between on and off-court personality, as well as mapping out their intersection, has never been more important than now. What's more, the "good kid"/"problem" binary has revealed itself to be, if not a farce, at least utterly simplistic, the kind of clap-trap that no journalist—much less a scout—should bother to hang his hat on.

Cousins might seem to call into question whatever it is that Arenas and Beasley represented. On the contrary, in his contradictions, he make more urgent than ever the need to develop a more psychologically sophisticated approach to assessing prospects. Arenas asserted the right to be kooky, unpredictable, and obsessive; Beasley, incoherent, compelling and loud. That was a fair description of each at their best, and if their stories ended today, each would serve as a cautionary tale against this kind of player. Cousins, though, makes the case for the development of something new, something that might actually better equip a team for an Arenas or Beasley—that is, anyone other than an outright bust.

Earlier today, Ziller wrote about Rashad McCants. McCants, it seems, was Cousins before Cousins, and had the bad luck to not be born very tall. No one has yet been able to tell me exactly what it is that makes McCants so horrible and unemployable. Maybe he's not the best defender, and there have been some confounding incidents with scheduling and contracts (like TZ's post today). But McCants himself believes he had been blacklisted, and I'm inclined to believe he's not far off. McCants deserves a chance to succeed based on his abilities, not some shit-poor conception of what makes for good and bad soldiers in a mechanized world that never really existed in the first place.

Sprinkles

Three things of note:

-The above very interesting Dr. J. video. Get involved, get into it.

-I was a guest on The Dagger Report, where Mike Prada, Kyle from Truth About It, and myself let the Arenas anguish and confusion flow.

-Finally, I am happy to announce that tonight's meeting of the SSSBDA went fine, though I want to change it to SSSDBA, which stands for "Death by Arrival." Instead, I was convinced to change our name to "Basketball Death Association." However, I would also like to announce the official end of my fatwa against Stephen Curry. No, he's still no point guard, and the non-stop love for him must eventually expire. Tonight against the Cavs, though, he looked damn good: streaking to the basket with quickness and agility, beating defenders with the crossover, displaying real urgency when knocking down threes, and filling up the stat sheet. Curry can play on or off the ball, pile up points from all over, and move the ball around well enough, too. He's creative and exciting, and is at his best when his confidence guides him, but is also more than a little careless. In other words, he and Monta Ellis are turned out to be more like each other than we'd ever expected. Ty Keenan just called him "the white Monta."

Also worth noting: While Curry remains the darling of purists around the world, he's also an ideal Nellie guard (Ellis comes up short on that count). And only in that haywire system by the Bay could this golden boy actually thrive. That's a cruel irony, but one I can applaud all day, and maybe even makes me like the kid a little more. Not just grudgingly respect him.

Google Reader Will Outlive Us All

READ ME. Twilight of the gods, more Gil, some loose ends, and an x-ray of my face.

There's a Dark Hand Over My Heart

I am really not going to look back over everything I've written this past week and apologize, or tweak, according to the latest revelations. Head to TMZ if you really want to feel like the sky is falling. It pains the fuck out of me to acknowledge that, somehow, Vecsey did sort of have the story all along, perhaps the only real reporting of his career. How he got it pre-Gil/Critt cover-up will hopefully come to light soon, and I'm sure will make this ten times craziers. BECAUSE PETER VECSEY DOES NOT GET STORIES THE OLD-FASHIONED WAY. He doesn't know how to.

It's "Armageddnon Week" on the History Channel, and my listening for the day has moved onto this:



But this is really still about Gil. I said on Dan Levy's podcast last night that this was Gil at his most Gil ever. One friend said he's never been more proud of, or at least fascinated, by Arenas. However, Lang's got the most sobering angle on it: Arenas just doesn't seem to recognize that sometimes you can't plow through the world on sheer whim alone. You have to do shit you don't want to, follow orders, and go by the logic of something other than your own bonkers mental activity. Why would Gil have ever learned that lesson? He's a self-made superstar, defying the ban on combo guards, the expectations that he'd fail as a pro, and the post-Jordan belief that personality doesn't sell anymore. He wouldn't sit down and shut up, or play by the rules, not because he's a rebel, but because he's just completely out-there and independent.

He did his whole career his way. And he carried that over into a crisis that could very well end it. The Twitter, the FINGER GUNZ, they flew in the face of everything he was supposed to do—that Stern wanted him to do for the good of the league—to such an extent that it's hard to see this as, in the most grave way possible, Gil being Gil. To the bitter fucking end, I guess. Plus, that he is the lovable goofball works against him. At least a hardened thug-like dude has it expected of him, and is easy damage control for the league to run. In a way, Artest's history of violence allows him to get away with darn near anything now, even if he's at bottom just as fundamentally weird as Gil. Arenas, though, doesn't have that buffer. Nor does he have Delonte West's diagnosis. Gilbert Arenas is what he is, always has been, and he insists on being accepted for that. That's stubborn, arrogant, and misguided, but just as often refreshing, charming, and exhilarating. But here, Arenas knew the truth all along, and Stern's likely known for a minute. That Gil couldn't for once take a break from fighting for acceptance, or noticed that to survive you sometimes have to roll over and play possum, is everyone's loss.

Leo Durocher Sent Me

All I've ever really wanted to say all along about Gil, in column form: sports aren't morality. If you look to them for that, you're shallow and confused.

Now, go listen to the podcast.

Crank It Up, Feel the Health

I never thought I'd get a chance to experience Tiger Woods, or Brett Favre, but here I am. As best as I can tell, NBA blogging exists at this point to type, all drivel-like, about whatever someone told someone else in the last hour. Good thing I am busy with the book. However, one thing's clear: There's a lot of bullshit in the air, of the worst, inflammatory kind. And once that stuff is said, there's no going back. No correction ever really repairs things. The process by which a celebrity beats back initial false reports is almost as fascinating as it is sickening. And as I've said, some public figures simply lack the clout to move past it.

I come here not to blindly defend Arenas, or offer explanations as I did when Delonte rolled around strapped. I still don't know, any better than you or the constantly updated news stories do, what happened and how it interfaces with the law. But a lot of the reporting here, and blog dissemination of it, is straight out of last summer's campaign. I know, Sharpton's contrasting the arena Obama watches games at with steel in the locker room. And yet isn't this "where there's smoke, there's outrage" b/w "there's always next hour's web update to clean things up" approach to news exactly what allowed the right to get traction with stupid shit throughout the campaign?

But in a lot of ways, this is even worse. Dear everyone, do you remember who broke the John Woo-ready version of the story? Peter Vecsey. Along with Sam Smith, he's pretty much the one reporter whose rumors you might as well write the opposite of and go from there. Now in this case, he did have a kernel of truth in what he wrote. Yet he wrapped it up in every conceivable layer of sensationalism, and continues to even in the thrice-scrubbed-over version of the story that sits on the Post's site now.

(Lang reminded me that Gil pointed out that one of Vecsey's original sources was a street ball player. Appropriate, seeing as Vecsey's the And1 of NBA reportage.)

Vecsey unleashed a scene right out of the old cowboy Pacers, Yahoo! actually came first, but theirs was much more solidly on the back of previous reports about the investigation. And from there, all hell broke loose. We built this city on Peter Vecsey; Yahoo!'s far more responsible report inadvertently added fuel to the fire. It was a classic example of going for broke with the news micro-cycle—and, if anyone cares, setting up readers of print dailies to be completely misinformed for days on end.

Have I brought up Vecsey enough? Anyone remember when he claimed Josh Smith and Zaza were fightin' with fists in their locker room, and then had Smith attacking bouncers? These were major blows against a young player teetering between "future star" and "head case." Then, lo and behold, AJC beat writer supreme Sekou Smith—who was there—set the record straight. Read the whole link, but the gist: Peter Vecsey is a snake who makes shit up for tabloid reasons. Anyone who doesn't conduct themselves with this fact in mind is no better than him.



Now I'm just getting angry, which is when I'm at my least beautiful. Suffice it to say that I also find it odd how conveniently Gil's "moral turpitude" fits in with the Wizards long-term business interests. As was Monta's with the Warriors. So in conclusion, this would be a good moment for us all to learn to take a deep breath, not listen to false prophets, and realize that like it or not, sometimes these things take time. Otherwise, you might as well believe message boards. Those shits get updates like every five seconds!

Original Crooks, Original Heads

We already knew that J.A. Adande was pretty much the coolest sportswriter out, but were still moved by the mid-90's hip-hop knowledge he flashed in his latest ESPN chat, especially this nugget: "Enta da Stage is an underrated album." Really, though, the singles off that album are where it's at. He also makes a really good point about the double standard in how NBA fights are perceived compared to those in other major sports.

We're just about done gassing ourselves up about the book, but you know we had to link to Gil's blog, since it's not every day that happens. Also, Silverbird5000 wanted to follow up on Gil's comments about the "No Conscience" chart, featured on page 53 of the Almanac, which illustrates the peculiar relationship between the distance and accuracy of his 3pt shooting. Arenas writes:

There's a stat in there that the further I get from the basket, the higher my shooting percentage goes up. It's true, but it's one of those stats where I don't take a lot of shots from that far (I think they say I'm 20-for-46 from wayyyy downtown for my career or something) so it's not like I've taken 100 shots from there.

The data in question is actually from the 2006-2007 season - the last before his injury - but the point about the small sample size (just 46 shot attempts) is well taken. HOWEVER, when we expand our sample to include all four seasons before his injury (2003-2007), it remains the case that Arenas shoots a ridiculously high percentage from Way Down Town. In those four seasons, Arenas took 116 shot attempts from the 28ft-40 foot range and shot 35.34%. That's basically equal to his normal-distance 3pt%, and far more accurate than the other two players who took 100+ shots from that range - Kobe and T-Mac - who clocked in at just 30% and 25%, respectively. Indeed, among players with at least 40 shot attempts, Arenas ranked a impressive 3rd in FG% from 28ft+, with only Mike Miller and Baron Davis ahead of him.



The fact that Arenas has never even cracked the top 50 in overall 3pt% makes his performance from the outer galaxies all the more compelling. 2006-2007 may have been his long-ball high point, but Gil's swag has always been phenomenal.

FD Guest Lecture: Something About Robots

Ziller weighs on yet another urgent current event. But don't sleep on the Recluse's take on the Josh Howard situation. Really, don't. Or the ongoing, unspeakably awesome, Presidental 21 Tournament.

Gelf published a keen, damning piece on faux media-driven controversy in the ever-tiring baseball stats-vs-scouts war. ("Ever-tiring" because anyone who knows anything in that sport saw the light years ago. Those withholding belief have become a farce and their denials self-parody. Sort-of like everything about a particular presidential campaign.) In the Gelf post, Jake Rake notes the baseball war has basically moved to a cold phase, with mutual understanding overriding deep hatred despite the lasting media narrative. (I mean, damn, FJM's been dormant almost all fall.) That isn't the case in the NBA, of course, and it never will be. TIMELY NEWS HOOK: Gil.

Last year, no shortage of "scout" types basted Arenas because the Wizards had the audacity to play well without him. It's the fucking Ewing Theory gone mad: if a team is X units of good when player A is healthy, and X, X-1 or X+1 units of good when A is injured, A must be useless, overrated, not worth the currency he graces. Basketball, the most interdependent game in the whole universe ... and we'll leave out players B through E. NEVER MIND that one of the cornerstone pleas of the anti-stat basketball crowd is the nonlinearity and INTERDEPENDENCE of basketball. They argue that you can't measure a player's worth because there are too many variables. But when a player beloved by science doesn't get enough W's, it's all on that player's talent/production/performance. It's a completely two-faced argument.



Is it a secret that the formulas generally adore Gil? Dean Oliver rates Arenas highly. Same for Hollinger and the adjusted plus-minus set. (Berri hates scoring and thus is recused from the matter.) Almost all basketball seamheads consider Arenas an elite efficient scoring genius. So the opposing view from much of the anti-stats crowd -- elucidated so plainly in David Friedman's senseless assault on Gil last year -- is that all those points come at a cost to the team, as if Arenas scoring 30 a night on solid shooting dismisses the grit and effort and team play Washington trots out there when dude's off playing grab-ass with Beau Biden.

The argument aganst Gil from "basketball purists" (that term's loaded like a Kennedy) is that Gil gets his, but does not contribute to the team in any meaningful way. PROOF: the Wizards did well without him. The argument by the maths: Gil gets his, which helps the team. PROOF: the Wizards got good when Arenas came 'round, and basic arithmetic indicates Gil does many important basketball tasks (score, pass, draw fouls, shoot) extraordinarily well, which helps the team. There's no way to prove who's right, insomuch as there's no way to make irrational, anti-reality folk concede to fact when their heart's fixed on a narrative that feels good.

If someone isn't willing to believe Arenas is an amazing talent based on the proof which exists, you'll never change their mind. So really, the best this season of Gil could have provided to we of the pasty numberkind who have is an appendix of truth, a fuck-you synopsis of mathematical philosophy. All we lost was the chance to point at the scoreboard during a game without a mercy rule. So Gil's valiant ascent with Caron and 'Tawn to maybe first-round home-court has been dashed, and the thieved opportunity for a minor victory stings. But the war rages on. IN DIOGU WE TRUST.

Screw Carmelo Anthony, Praise Spencer Hawes

Accuse me of beating a dead horse, but this is still important and we still live in an age where Steve Nash wearing a "No War. Shoot for Peace" counts as a "political statement. Or in Shoals' words, "I like that Spencer Hawes is seen as 'political,' which is kind of like calling that guy in the Applebee's commercials a 'chef'"--this is a point to which I will return. Now, be quick to note that THIS IS NOT A POST ABOUT POLITICAL BASKETBALL PLAYERS but rather how low the friggin bar is set for these guys in terms of "being political" and how despite that, credit should be given to the few that actually say a damn thing about something as important as this year's election.

Henry already pointed to this great collection of Dr. J stories and noted the particular importance of this one, in which Dr. J promises to endorse a local political candidate in his hometown of Roosevelt provided that the politician promises to enact certain recreational programs. I'm seriously asking, not rhetorically, who is using their clout for this type of maneuvering these days?





















Now, the best advice any other sports writer/editor ever gave to me was to inform me before an interview session that athletes are extremely boring to talk to. Perhaps it's because they are so well-groomed with the media, perhaps it's because they have endorsements to protect, perhaps because they didn't go to/do anything in college, or perhaps they are simply way too focused on their athletic endeavor instead of anything else. As un-FD as it is for me to say this, ultimately I agree. Yet there is no reason for athletes' sheer boring-ness to translate into political apathy as well. It's like, just because you are dull, playin it safe, or whatever, doesn't mean you shouldn't eat your vegetables and take your vitamins.

The crux of what I'm talking about is Carmelo Anthony in this video below:





Ignore Hawes for a second and focus on Carmelo. I'm sure many of you aren't raising an eyebrow to Melo's ambivalence, but surely we can all agree that the worst worst worst most unforgiveable thing about this clip is Melo supplanting this ambivalence with a direct bite of Michael Jordan's famous "Republicans buy sneakers too." Sure, Melo was dealing with Elie S-bach. and perhaps wasn't really inclined to come up with something witty to say, but really guy, this is the best you can do? The same dude who has come under endless scrutiny for tossing his bronze medal into the Baltimore harbor (not to mention all the minor b.s.--DUIs, Stop Snitching, etc.). And you aren't gonna say ANYTHING?

The real issue here is not what Melo did, but what he didn't and what lots of NBA players DON'T do. That is, they don't do sh!t and they underestimate the power of doing sh!t. As Oprah can attest, the power of celebrity endorsement is collossal and the power of athlete celebrity endorsement is way larger than people (especially athletes). Now, I'm not sure what type of effect Carmelo, for example, would have by stating his political preference, but imagine the following:

Brett Favre endorsing John McCain in Wisconsin
Bear Bryant endorsing Barack Obama in Alabama


I would be willing to bet that the power of such seminal figures alone could flip these states on their head. I always thought Lance Armstrong made a huge mistake when, at the height of his popularity (and in the rough-and-tumble election year of 2004), he didn't stand up for John Kerry in Texas. If you aren't convinced, perhaps I can remind you of the Illinois Senate race of 2004 when, yes THIS HAPPENED, Mike Ditka was considering running on the republican ticket against Barack Obama. I am not kidding when I say that had Ditka run, this may have changed the course of history forever.



















So praise Spencer Hawes for giving a f*ck. I'm not calling the guy "political" by any means, but christ it is refreshing for an athlete to say *something*. Not to mention he gives pretty much the only practical reason (albeit a self-interested one) to vote for McCain: He's worried about his taxes, a point that Arenas has alluded to as well--except Arenas kind of undermined his point by also including a bunch of "echh" material about why voting doesn't matter. Now today, Baron Davis gives us something strong or at very least something really really actually definitively partisan to say, which yes--because the standard is so low for these guys--is darn impressive and something worth praising.

QUICK SUB-THOUGHT: I just had a thought about Carmelo's status as the perennial "bad son" from the famed 2003 draft class and the clear outcast of the Wade-LeBron- triumvirate. If 'Melo truly wanted to separate himself from King Lebjesus and the championship winner, Wade, he could completely reinvent himself as the Muhammad Ali of the NBA, willing to say what those bubble yum and gatorade- shilling stooges won't.

Boff-o

The Mavs traded Harris and Diop for J-Kidd. So, if you didn’t know, now you know.

Moving on. The basketblogosphere gets itself in a tizzy whenever Gilbert calls in a new blog post, and this latest one contains multitudes, including some discussion of the recent trades, more on his chemical burned nutsack, and how he got the nickname Puff the Magic Dragon for reasons unrelated to smoking herb. But, the real insights come when he muses on the nature of stardom. Most people have focused on the Calderon diss and Gil’s continued obsession with his past All-Star snubs, but over here at FreeDarko, our ears perked up when he started talking about sports stardom from a fan’s perspective, in particular the line: "I’m not a Patriots fan, I’m a Randy Moss fan. I’m a player fan." Does this sound suspiciously like liberated fandom to anyone else?

Granted, being an LA native, there’s no NFL team for Gil to be geographically bound to, and he was talking about the Super Bowl, when most fans use some arbitrary reason to pick which team to root for. But, viewed alongside Lebron’s brazen display of Yankee fandom in Cleveland last year, this seems like something worth keeping an eye on.