FD Power Rankings Week 1

The latest Outside the NBA/FD joint venture.

I can't promise we'll keep these up regularly, or that they will even change that much. But it seemed like an idea whose time had come, so Eric and I spent about twenty minutes putting this list together, straight from the gut. Leave your suggestions in the comments section!

1. Monta Ellis: Longtime FD favorite makes good, and how. All it took was Nellie's retirement for Monta to trust his teammates, play nice with Steph Curry, and mature into one of the league's prime offensive weapons without sacrificing a bit of his life force. If anything, grown-ass Monta -- in the preseason, he blamed his new outlook on marriage -- is a more sublime figure than before. His crossover is nearly effortless; the writhing drives and hopped-up floaters now look anything but forced. This is style, and other than Blake Griffin, there's no player in the NBA right now as regularly rewarding to watch. That it feels like it could end any day only makes the whole thing more beautiful.

2. Blake Griffin: At this point, the only surprise from Griffin is that he continues to amaze more and more every game. His all-out attack philosophy would grow stale if not for the fact that he plays with an insatiable need to devour the oppposition. If he doesn't sit at the top of this list, it's only because you know about him already.

3. Hating the Cavs: A few months ago, the Cavs were the world's most pitiable losers, shamed by their former star and ready to face the new season with moral superiority. But the actions of Dan Gilbert and his roving band of immature sign-carrying fans have turned the entire franchise into a group of sore losers who think anger alone can bring others to their side. They're the NBA's version of the Tea Party crowd, just with slightly fewer guns.

4. Timberwolves: As one Minny broadcaster put it, "we may not always be happy with the outcome, but the fans love to watch this team and they sure do give you a lot to get excited about." Kevin Love is simply phenomenal, and early returns suggest that Al Jefferson really did need to go. Michael Beasley can't quite flex his muscle like he did at K-State, but he's quicker and probably in better shape. Darko is a legit presence in the middle. Corey Brewer is really long. Wesley Johnson is a nice guy's J.R. Smith. If they're not getting blown out, the Wolves are definitely a team that will force a shoot-out and make you love every minute of it.

5. Black Swan: Darren Aronofsky's latest deals largely with an old FD standby -- the struggle between cool professionalism and messy romanticism -- but its best virtue is the director's ability to forget about what's respectable and engage in the kind of risky mindfuckery that's missing from too much art-house fare. The last 45 minutes of this movie piles craziness on top of craziness -- it will leave you either in a state of shock or cackling in a mixture of delight and terror.

6. Raymond Felton: Any son of UNC is a friend of this blog, but Felton -- who looked so good at Carolina, and was very briefly lumped in with Chris Paul and Deron Williams -- had the added burden of real promise. The Knicks looked sensible when they signed him over the summer; if Chris Duhon could put up numbers in D'Antoni's system, then certainly Felton could manage something. But little did we realize that, one month into the season, Felton might turn out to be the steal of the summer. His numbers are top-flight, and every game we watch him, he looks more and more in synch with Amar'e and Gallo. To wit: Stoudemire's own explosive week, which suggests that the "can he live without Nash?" question just might be moot.

7. Manu Ginobili: The Spurs have never been much of an NBA favorite, yet they have become a commendable lot in their increasingly successful dotage. With Duncan near the end of the line, Ginobili has become their on-court leader, molding the team's system in his eccentric image while maintaining the club's impressive attention to detail and regal air.

8. Larry Sanders: He has arrived. Well, actually, he's getting minutes because Gooden is dinged up. But Sanders is pretty much as advertised -- a shot-blocking demon who can pressure the ball and make athletic plays on offense. When Jennings tossed him a prime alley-oop against Miami, it was like watching a dating show where everything goes right and everyone ends up happy forever. Bonus point for the totally FD tandem he and Ersan Ilyasova make for.

9. Chris Paul is too nice to blame: No matter what happens with the Hornets, and what part Paul's plans (or lack thereof) play in the outcome, there's no way dude takes a LeBron-like hit. He's too good a guy, and has done too much for the city. Plus, he was a refugee from Katrina, too, exiled to OKC for two seasons and never once flinching in his commitment to return. It's simply unreasonable to expect him to agree to stick around just to make the franchise more sale-able -- and thus more likely to remain in New Orleans.

10. Shoals loves Derrick Rose, pass it on: Russell Westbrook is a monster. Yes, like the song. Unlike Monta, who streamlined his act, Westbrook somehow got even more unpredictable and incendiary -- and popped out on the other side a bonafide All-Star. Anecdotally, or spiritually, he turns the ball over at least 400 times a game, and still makes a play almost every time he decides he wants to. What prompted this transformation? He spent all summer working out with Derrick Rose, and in Istanbul, competed against him in practice. Now, their destinies are inextricably linked. Rose helped make Westbrook what he is this seasons, and vice-versa; they learned from each other, and on this very rock they started a mutant point guard tradition that may be carried on for decades. So yeah, I like Derrick Rose now. Sorry for the inconvenience.

We Can't Be Stopped

I meant to write this yesterday, but got overwhelmed by exactly the monster I had hoped to combat. Yesterday was truly awful. Miserable, boring, sad, ugly, voyeuristic, base, and nearly resistant to any kind of fine distinction. I know that not all of Cleveland felt that way, and yes, LeBron James did that city some wrong. But the story wasn't that nuance, at least until after the game, when some fans at the game admitted they just needed that catharsis, and James showed some vulnerability on the subject of this summer. Confidently, of course, and with one gaffe that everyone jumped on. Still, he was there, acknowledging that the night did matter to him. We watched, though, hoping for the worst, or at least something that would justify this night's marquee billing. I was back and forth between TNT and Michael Vick, and granted, I kind of had to tune in. And yet that wasn't an event: it was a set of conditions that we hoped would yield one. Nearly all the possibilities were bad. It was not what I love about the NBA, or any sports. Reggie Miller was in his element, though. Good for him.

Afterward, though, we got some vintage Monta Ellis -- albeit in a loss -- and a reminder that the Steve Nash is always worth watching. I even briefly appreciated Jason Richardson. On Wednesday, Blake Griffin had one of his most profound (and shocking) games to date, pure joy that, in the Twitter I inhabit, led to nearly as much chatter as Heat-Cavs. Eric Gordon, who has quietly grown into a scoring dynamo, with more power than you think, was in the building, and Baron Davis looked like the old Baron again. Shit, even during the Heat game, LeBron's third was a reminder not of what Cleveland's missing, but the real reason he matters to us in the NBA community. No one can put together that kind of quarter, one where the court shrinks, the basket lowers, and defenders are little more than apparitions, or cones in a ball-handling drill. What's past degree of difficulty? Playing like the game could use a few more impediments.

It's ironic that James is still the league's standard-bearer for ecstatic basketball (though Griffin is getting close), since last night, and the Heat in general, have overshadowed a season that's brought more FD Good News than any in recent memory. The Class of 2003 was supposed to take over the league, and instead, the principals have confused that narrative and, at best, put their ascent in dry-dock. Carmelo Anthony, too. Amar'e in New York isn't exactly a league-changing endeavor, and Gilbert Arenas, another slightly older fellow traveler, is trying to work his way back to being worthless -- not just pitiable. These were the figures that launched FreeDarko and all of them are suffering. Except the league as we see it is healthier than ever.

Every night on the highlights, you see Russell Westbrook doing something or other outrageous (Durant's around, too). Rajon Rondo has responded to this summer's sour USA Basketball experience by ascending into the point guard ether. Chris Paul is back, and he and Deron Williams have resumed battling each other until the end of time like something or other from Norse mythology. Michael Beasley has recovered the game that made him such a beast at Kansas State, and along with Kevin Love, has made the Timberwolves the league's most thrilling exercise in futility. Gordon and Ellis are among the league leaders in scoring; Monta's Warriors are not only intriguing, but also downright functional. I long ago stopped talking bad about Steph Curry, and now I'm about to do the same for David Lee. Dorell Wright is a revelation! John Wall is averaging 18 points, 9 assists, and nearly 3 steals, and we're still waiting for him to really announce himself. The Spurs are very nearly Manu's team, which is both unlikely and intoxicating. Lamar Odom is having his best season since Miami. Have you watched Jrue Holiday? It's hard, given that team, but worth it when he shows what he's capable of. No one remembers Tim Donaghy or looks at results as a function of sportsbook betting.

There are problems in the world today. The Kings have gone purely dysfunctional, with Tyreke Evans and DeMarcus Cousins at the heart of it. Blatche is fat. Brandon Jennings stopped taking that next step we had expected. Anthony Randolph is sphinx-like as ever, even to Mike D'Antoni. And obviously, the Heat were supposed to transform basketball theory and aesthetics. For the most part, though, I am in hog fucking heaven. Why do we need to turn our eyes toward LeBron in Cleveland when, more than ever, it's a fine, fine time to simply bet on the NBA writ large. I'm bad at giving thanks and making toasts, but apparently that's only because they put me on the spot. I am so happy right now.

Nothing But Quick

More shortly. For now, enjoy this Monta-Bill Withers highlight bonanza, commissioned by yours truly, realized by Outside the NBA. So happy they decided to make this happen.

Colin Cowherd said some shit yesterday, it made me sicker and sicker, so here's 2,000 words on FanHouse taking him to task line-by-line. What a punk.

The dudes at BwB/HHR have been kind enough to put together a booze-soaked afterparty in NYC, following FD's Strand reading on 11/30. More info here. You should sign up for headcount purposes, but it's free, and everyone's invited.

Wood Don't Bother Me

Here's a track, and accompanying fantasy-vid, from Wayman Tisdale's posthumous The Fonk Record. George Clinton and George Duke are involved. Thanks to Catchdubs for the tip.

I don't have the energy today for a real post, so instead, I'm going to read through the headlines and make a couple of jokes about each one. Also, I want to get back to reading Mark Jacobson's The Lampshade, which might be the best book I've ever read. You should buy it and leave me along for the weekend. Just don't bring it to the gym with the dust jacket on. It's kind of like a personal version of when a certain "history of an racial slur" book came out, and the country learned that you're never as alone as you think on the subway.

-Tony Parker is staying in San Antonio. Have they even played yet this season? It must have gone really, really well. $50 million for 4 years. Royce Young observes that Parker isn't as old as people think; is entering his prime; and might not be as injury-prone as we've come to believe. I don't even know what "injury-prone" means anymore. One appendage? A mental deficiency? Just a badly-made body that nevertheless, was high-test enough to make the NBA? God is weird. I'm just happy that we can stop talking about Parker to the Knicks. Call me crazy, but I believe more in Felton as a distributor, at least in an up-tempo team or off athletic bigs, than I do Parker. Part of my respect for Duncan, Manu, and yes, Hill, stems from the limitations of Tony Parker. His playmaking has always been wanting, although it's improved; he's got no range on his shot; and yeah, he plays off of guys with a far more intuitive grasp of the flow of a possession. How is he so much better than what Russell Westbrook was before he started to get his brains squashed into one single skull?

-From Ken Berger: When the Magic were eliminated by the Celtics last summer, Dwight Howard wrote up a list of perimeter creators he wanted and stuck it out there for all the world to see. What a great guy. This comes out (or back, I don't remember it) in a Berger piece about ... last night's drubbing. The question we're left with is, naturally, what's Howard thinking now? Vince Carter, who was supposed to be that perimeter threat last year, and presumably still now, called the loss to Miami "a wakeup call". The subtext here is whether or not it's fair to consider Vince relevant anymore, and with that, whether he's wiling to call himself irrelevant, take a back seat in anticipation of another scorer arriving. Players do that once the new kid's in town. But before? Ouch. Oh, and I initially thought ""It felt like the entire team landed on the back of my head" was about the pressure of the team's situation; it's really about his injury that everyone laughed at.

Note: I misread that first VC quote this morning -- both when it came, and what it referred. But that only mollifies the situation slightly. Thanks to Tray for pointing it out.

-The Sixers intrigue me. They have a critical mass of useful, encouraging, or RIGHT NOW pieces, at near-every position. But -- questions of rotation aside -- they inspire little confidence. It's not that the team is crowded and tense like steerage. I also have probably not adequately considered the Doug Collins Problem. But can it really be that things are so bad that Iggy wants out (no -- Broussard says everyone botched his original report)? Do they really badly need some sort of #1 to lead the way, be a little selfish, etc.? Can they be franchised by the Rockets management?

-The Warriors, unless Curry is dead this morning, somehow have more personality than in the Last Days of Nellie, while playing much more coherent ball. Guys like Biedrins and Wright seem to have spent the summer getting better just to make Nelson look bad. Monta is now one of the most totally kosher, and digestible, redemption narratives I've ever seen -- NO SACRIFICE. Talk to Eric Freeman sometime about his complicated feelings on Josh Hamilton, then I'll give you my really insensitive counterpoint. Anyway, to sum up the entire team with a tweet I delivered last night, WE ARE THE DORELL WRIGHT WE'VE BEEN WAITING FOR. Now if only my stupid fantasy league hadn't already snatched up the whole GSW roster in the draft.

-Blake Griffin mortal, Clippers demoted. I need to make some time to watch Cousins, once Evans is back. Evan Turner really surprised me against Miami.

Here is a song that is so perfect that it's perfect for any occasion. You could use it at a wedding or a funeral:



It's like every single thing I love about The Band, plus Memphis soul, and I never get tired of it. I wonder how many movies it's been in. It should showed up on This American Life, which probably happens more often than I think. Happy Halloween!

-Stray thought: After reading Kevin Blackistone's column on LeBron's ad, which connects that nagging final line with Muhammad Ali, I'm more confused than ever. Before I read that, I'd decided that "should I be what you want me to be" just didn't match up with every prospective response to "what should I do"? If it's a recasting of the question, then it's a punchline that negates much of the introspection, and willingness to put himself under the microscope, that came before. That Ali reference would seem to support that turn. But it's a Muhammad Ali quote. As KB points out, it's wholly inappropriate; if LBJ did change the world, it was only for very elite athletes.

The real effect, though, is just that of utter, icon-laden, obfuscation. A brilliant ad is ending, needs a flourish ... how about MUHAMMAD ALI!??!? You can't argue with that. Or fail to be moved by it, once you get it. Evoking (invoking?) Ali suspends all discourse. It's vague enough -- or more precisely, disjunctive enough -- that we're left with nothing there but FUCK YEAH SHIT IS DEEP LIKE ALI. Either it's a distinctly Nike-ish (think "Revolution") use of truly important cultural matter to signify, well, something important and deeply cultural by association, one that deflects any conclusion and leaves the ending vague and impressionistic. Or it's just crass. Either way, that last line drifts further and further away from the rest of the ad. They should just re-cut it without that final sentence. Just the shot of him gliding.

That was a lot of yelling. I'm going to read. I don't know why I waited so long to check out Lew Kirton, but here's a good song by him.

Breaking: FD Breaks News

DATELINE, me on the phone with Lou Williams — So last week, I'm interviewing Sixers guard Lou Williams for the revived Converse Yearbook. He's telling me that he didn't really feel like he could be an NBA player until he went to camp as a rookie and realized he could hang.

If you're like me, you have vivid memories of the 2005 draft, when Williams, Monta Ellis, and C.J. Miles all stayed in as undersized shooting guards. The thinking was, one of them would probably crack the first round (none did; did the glut hurt?), but three? It was like a game of chicken, one which, while it turned out okay for all of them, could have ruined their careers. If anything, I expected Williams to tell me he stayed in out of confidence, not something that was nearly the opposite.

Here's where we'll pick up the conversation:

Bethlehem Shoals: That’s interesting because you and a couple other young guys came out and everyone was confused why you did. And everyone assumed that you were super confident and could make it at the next level.

Lou Williams: Well, you know, just to have that opportunity and to even get mentioned and be able to go straight out of high school as a 6-1 point guard speaks volumes right there. I was like “okay, well if they think so, why wouldn’t I?” We had a meeting, like a big summit. We were all at USA Basketball. We all sat down, and I think Monta [Ellis] broke the ice and said “hey, I’m declaring, so we're all going." [laughs]

BS: Who was this?

LW: It was Monta Ellis, CJ Miles, Andrew Bynum, Gerald Green, and myself. We all sat in a room. Monta went first. It doesn't compare to LeBron and D-Wade and them all, but you know.

So there you have it. They all went pro not in spite of each other, but basically on a group dare. Solidarity when, quite obviously, they were each others' closest competition. I can't tell if this is really heartening or just absurd, but it's a pretty amazing bit of NBA draft arcana.

Invites for Frost

I don't like what I'm hearing. Not from LeBron, who has boldly asserted that he could win the scoring title every year, but from the rest of us. No, it's not the case that any other player could top LeBron if both gunned all-out, Gervin/Thompson-style, each day of the night. You know why? Because unlike Durant or Melo, James has way more at his disposal. He could work the post, or just run up the court and through all defenders on every possession. Yes, it was a matter-of-fact statement, calm and hardly with the lurch of a braggart. At the same time, LeBron is differentiating himself from his peers. Hey, everybody, he has untapped potential still. He knows it, and if he totally broke out of a team system to go for numbers—which, incidentally, he is less likely to do than anyone on this short-list—amazing thing would happen. We used to know it, and now he's slipping it in himself. Going after him for it seems a waste of time, but at the same time, there is something chilling about this off-hand press release. Forget at your own peril.

I am about to say two things involving NBC's Pro Basketball Talk, both of which involve folks I consider e-pals. So no one think this is a mix-tape war. Kurt lead the "is this news?" charge on the LeBron front; to him, I say yes and no. In what order, I'm not sure. No, in that we should knew, but yes, in that he reminds us? Or yes, in that it he reminds us (and himself) what's still buried inside him, and no, after that it's a no-brainer. Let's move on. Krolik, whom some of you may remember from his contributions to this site, took poor Monta Ellis to task the same day for calling himself the third-best player in the league. First, I would like to thank John for bringing to my attention Rolling Stone's embrace of Durant. Of course, it all makes sense—KD, and the Thunder in general, are the most indie rock-friendly team in the league. They even took that from the Sonics' storied past. El ouch. As for the meat of the story, look, shouldn't Ellis be ignored even more forcefully than James? Let him have his fun. If you think he's the problem with the Warriors, you must have an undue amount of faith in the D-League.

Ellis isn't perfect, and his career is at loggerheads. But if an obviously talented, frustrated, and aimless still-young guard on a team built out of nonsense brags to a generally indifferent media, is he really going to war? Not to neglect my role as a member of the media, but come on, let's give Ellis a break. At least until we're all convinced that he's being given a chance to screw up convincingly. Neither his non "right way" play (either caps or quotations all the time, I thought), nor his inflated ego are tethered to reality. I don't know, maybe I'm underestimating all these call-ups. But this is a man floating through trauma. Do we really want to hold him accountable in the same way—even less so, maybe—than the game's best player? Ellis may deserve more grief than James, and is certainly empirically wrong in a slew of ways, but it's only LeBron James whose words have any meaning past the narrow context of "punk spews crap" headline.

Oh, and Amare hates T-Mac. Pass it on.

A Place Fit for Standing

You don't even recognize my face. That's fine. Some stuff I wrote you might like:

-GM Swagger Power Rankings, with Ziller

-Unpacking "Change of Scenery"

-This Evans/Martin Break-Up Was Good for Martin, Really

A brief word about the last one: An earlier draft contained a reference to Martin's light skin, which I cited as another reason some people might be under the impression that he wasn't an aggressive player. But as Q McCall pointed out in a chat, in a context like AOL, it's hard to broach the concept of skin tone stereotypes without either:

1) Appearing to condone them
2) Having to exhaustively lay out the phenomenon
3) Giving a reader the opportunity to say "I don't think that way", thus weakening the argument
4) Meet with steep resistance to the very idea that such prejudice exists.

I finally decided that this point, and the meta-media question surrounding it, belonged here on FD—where, I think it's safe to assume, most of us have at least heard of this form of prejudice. But it was strange to realize how hard it was to write that sentence about Martin in a way that the general audience on FD would have found accessible, and would have had the desired effect.

Speaking of Martin and skin tone, I think we've seen something similar happen with Stephen Curry. Now that Curry's gotten comfortable, we're seeing what his game will look like at an NBA level, and it's pretty nasty. He penetrates, shakes defenders, crosses over at random, and doesn't fear disaster. In some ways, he's not that different than Monta. But since members of the media never watch the Warriors, they talk about him as a pure shooter with stellar basketball IQ and a airtight sense of right and wrong on the court. The Kevin Martin-syndrome, as much as anything else, explains the disconnect between the discourse surrounding Curry and the player you see on the floor.

FD Guest Lecture: Ode to Quiet Stars

A brief history of my basketball verse feud with author Sherman Alexie: First, Sherman wrote a poem for TrueHoop on his reluctance to see Iverson start in the All-Star Game. Then, I hit back with a pro-AI bucket of rhymes. Now, here's his response to my response. The Monta stuff hurts!

Let me sing for Saint Thomas Aquinas,
Who believed truth is found through faith
And reason. He would not have been afraid
Of the Adjusted Plus-Minus

Or any number that contradicts
What we see and what we think we know.
The numbers tell us Anderson Varejao
Is a quiet star, setting vicious picks

And destroying the offensive schemes
Of every team. I’d take that Brazilian
Maniac over a million
Vince Carters and Tracy McGradys.

The numbers tell us that Kobe is not
The most clutch at the end of games
(LeBron is Mr. Clutch’s real name,
Though you’d be okay with a Dirk jumpshot

Or just a simple pick-and-roll).
Some folks think that Monta Ellis
Is a star, but the numbers tell us
His team suffers when he’s got the ball.

Why do hoops fans believe what they see
When there’s no sense weaker than sight?
Why do hoops fans take such delight
In crossovers and dunks, those simple dreams,

But hardly ever reward those players
Like Joe Johnson or Shane Battier,
Who have complex and strange games---
Whose skills have layer upon layer?

I’m sick of it! I’m tired and pissed!
Well, no, I’m not mad. I’m just bored
By those fans who keep track of the score
But never realize what they’ve missed.

And why do we give these fans such power
When they choose All-Stars without reason?
Here’s the tragic truth: This season,
Iverson isn’t even better than Luke Ridnour.

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.

No Boulder Too Vague

Hey, it's me. I'm back again. The video above is how I feel when my sick comes back, like it just did after a morning of relative lucidity. I have seen every Jekyll & Hyde movie and this is my favorite. It also made it very hard for me to believe that Spencer Tracey was not in some way related to the Martin Sheen clan, at least when he turned into an id-fueled monster.

You probably wonder why I'm posting, given that I'm writing like a happy seminar on text messaging. It's because, as you probably all know, THE WARRIORS ARE FOR SALE. No, not the team, but for all intents and purposes, the team. If you want to trade for anyone on the Warriors, you can. It hurts to see Nellie go out like this, the limits of his imagination reinforced so gravely. He has no idea what to do with anyone tall, no matter how multi-faceted they are. We all have our limits, and I suppose blind spots are part of true vision, but his inability to make Randolph work is just dumb. At least D'Antoni can plead "system." However, it heartens me that Curry can be had, too. I was worried we'd have to wait till this summer, when they draft John Wall and have to bring him off the bench (thus precipitating a sit-in by every local broadcaster around the league).

It's strange and possibly emotional, but most of all—and speaking of D'Antoni—the stage is set for forever. Have you ever heard of the Braves/Celtics swap? Here's an ESPN article on it. Walter Brown bought the Braves after taking cash instead of that crazy St. Louis Spirit settlement, merger blah blah blah. He was governor of Kentucky at some point and had a friend who died when he parachuted out of an airplane with too much cocaine strapped around his waist. It was in front of the governor's mansion. The parachute malfunctioned. But enough about him. In 1978, Brown sold the Braves to the guy who owned the Celtics, and bought the Celtics from him. Also, they traded the core of each team across state lines.

The analogy doesn't work perfectly, but for the sake of the living, let this happen with Golden State and the Knicks. What I mean by this is, if the Warriors want to lose everyone and save money, and the Knicks (as we know) have no one good and aren't getting LeBron, why not send D'Antoni someone to love in the form of Ellis, Randolph, Curry, and Morrow? That's like the absolute primordial super factual D'Antoni team! Sure, there's no PG, but it can't be worse than what they've got now.

I am going to lie down again. Think it over and write some open letters!

Where Now, Endorser of Folly?

Hey all, neglect not my voluptuous team previews over at you-know-where.

All sort of crazy stuff coming down from the foggy hilltop lair of the Golden State Warriors. Down a bit in this Baseline post, you get Monta equivocating on just where he stands with the team, and whether or not he thinks Ellis/Curry could ever make that bank. Dude's got a point: Both are small, and while Ellis isn't say it, Curry's unproven, much less as a do-it-all weirdo that Nellie will demand if he's actually paying attention. For my three dolmas, I don't see why the team wouldn't go with Morrow, other than the fact that Curry's got just enough to keep everyone under his spell (or rather, to justify using him when his name is potentially big draw. At least NY felt that way.)

Morrow is a shooting machine, and while Ellis doesn't naturally play the 1, I fail to see exactly why the team wins by accommodating Curry, rather than trying to figure out how to best make the team work around Monta. Come on Nellie, you're letting down your foremost theoretial boosters! In fact, you could run out a line-up that's surprisingly conventional, albeit with a few wrinkles, and still learn a lot, teach others, and win some games. What's so bad about Ellis/Morrow/Jackson/Randolph/Biedrins, with Curry and Wright featured prominently off the bench?

But this ain't The Baseline, and you aren't here to watch me rattle off possible line-ups—however irrational, or ideologically-motivated, they might be. I come to speak to you of the current interactions of Jackson and Ellis with the press, respective. Jackson, in particularly, is somehow straddling the line between calm/cool and outlandish, saying, more or less, "I've seen everyone else go. The team I helped win is gone. The new formation is, if not looking for an identity, at least not that good yet. I proved myself with the Spurs, brought love to the Bay, and signed an offer I'd have been foolish to turn down here. Please trade me." Yes, there's a paradox there: WHY SIGN IF YOU WANTED TO LEAVE YOU SELFISH THUG FUCK!???!! But Nellie himself is talking a similarly rational game, along the lines of "we'll see what we can do, but it won't tear the team apart." In short, the two still seem to trust the other to exercise some form of reason—a funny sentence if ever there were one, but the way it is.



(By the way, I think most of my paraphrases are taken from this here San Francisco Chronicle story. For Monta, see Baseline link above.)

Ellis is a trickier proposition. He's being paid like the franchise, but is increasingly depicte as the odd man out. Why exactly has Ellis gone from one of the league's most coveted young players to disgruntled trade bait? Because he's not a true PG? Because his three-pointer has bad credit rating? This is a Don Nelson team we're talking about. For the same reason that we'd expect him to both respect Jackson's will to exit and forge ahead with him nonetheless, it's a total letdown that Ellis now poses such a quandry.Who exactly is Nelson waiting for when it comes to making this team fall into place? Is he suddenly appealing to the templates of convention? Yes, he loves Randolph. How are those two not a package deal? I guess there's some PR/business shit to sort out, but as for basketball, if ever there were a time for fearlessness on Nellie's part, today is that hour.

It's tempting to blame it all on Curry, and all that he stands for. But whatever, even his uneven skill set might end up best tucked away somewhere in a Ellis/Randolph superstructure. I don't get why, on the level of feelings and abstract coach-speak, Nelson seems so willing to break the mold as he plays reasonable with Jackson, but can't get a little restive or provocative when it comes to putting players on the floor.

Or perhaps the repartee with Jackson must be viewed alongside Nelson's threat to coach for free in 2011-12. The Positional Revolution has sapped him; now, he's smacking up and down the entire culture of labor and coach/team/player relations. That would be cool and all, but at this crucial time for the Dubs, when so much is possible and at the same time so much slipping away, now is the time for Nelson to get off his ass, slap some water on his face, and one more time ride into battle like the wind around him can drown out all but the sound of his own thoughts.

Dream Angels: Z The Return

Structure (debuted Monday) now revised to be more precise. Here is the starting line-up for the 2010 Golden State Warriors. (UPDATE: Jax fixed.)

An Unofficial Guide to Guides

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.