Back to School

Cribbing off of FD's Days of NBA Lives series, Jay Caspian Kang presents College Basketball Tweets: Future Lotto Picks Edition. Read Jay’s latest work over at The Awl as he tries to answer the question: Who is the Greatest Diva of the Past Twenty-Five Years? Follow Jay at @maxpower51.

Kemba Walker UCONN: lol my teacher don't speak English lol

Kyle Singler DUKE: Anyone know what time the duke lacrosse team plays today?

John Henson UNC: oh lord she's drawing cards of peoples name in the class to answer the questions...lol.. I have a feeling my card is coming soon =|

Perry Jones BAYLOR: i see these new snacks at wal-mart, Mcdade cream pies lol

Josh Selby KANSAS: Done with class, that's was an exciting class. Happy to be at ku.

Kyrie Irving DUKE: RT: jhairston15 On The bus with @kyrieirving heading to the first class of the day...Intro to Acting! Should be fun...

It's a Liquid, It's a Fume

As usual, here I tell you to read The Works. It cooks and is evil fun. But, harkening back to the posts we used to do about the post we had just done for McSweeney's, here are some further thoughts on Kwame Brown, who figures prominently in today's column.

I took this unique opportunity to plumb the depths of Kwame Brown, mostly to determine why he was drafted number one. In the column, I compare him to a Euro, except with Darko, there was at least a cloud of mythos. Chandler and Curry were much better known, but then the lowly Kwame murdered Chandler before MJ in a workout, and the die was cast. Yes, back then it was assumed that Jordan knew something we didn't. But more interesting to me is the idea that workouts -- held up today as the ultimate form of wishful thinking -- were then the latest thing in empiricism. To see was to believe; reputation was propaganda and mistrust.

What makes the story even more serpentine is that this fairly insider-y moment at once decided the pick, and placed it sorely outside the reach of anyone who wasn't a total draft nerd. The draft was, during the workout era, rendering wholly inaccessible, because workouts sought to disprove everything we thought we knew, or make unknown players into late-risers. Darko, in that sense, is more like LeBron than he is Kwame; Pavel Podkolzin or Skita are his equivalent. It makes some sense: high school competition, no matter how camped-out, is still far from perfect. You can't put the player through the paces you want see. You don't push him to max. And yet there's a reason that, today, we speak scornfully of "workout wonders".

So Jordan had a reason, just not when that really resonated enough with the public -- at least not enough to be repeated ad infinitum until it grew into its own justification. To some extent, the Wizards knew that would have sounded crazy. With this realization, they -- and every other NBA team -- opened themselves up to ridicule. Scouting being hermetic because it knew better; it also recognized its own limits, its own specialization and micro-standards, and thus resigned itself to a public face of farce. In any year but 2003, Darko wouldn't have fallen so hard. With LeBron screaming through, it was just too late to try that crap. By the next year, Euros were receding, and high schooler players measured more on the kind of pro they would make. Not, to paraphrase a paleontologist I saw on NOVA last night, looking at funny bones and delighting in what they could be. That's not science, no matter how brilliant and inventive it feels, or how badly it wants to supersede the burden of what came before.

At the time, though, NBA teams thought they had hit on the magic method. It was just a different kind, a new method adapted to a low-info climate. There were glees and squeals over finding brand new types of players; hence the emphasis on all sorts of Next Kevin Garnetts, the ultimate position-buster. Let's not even try and catalog all the absurdities passed down from Europe -- which, ironically, were suggested in play and then fleshed out in workouts. The rumor was hypothesis, the workout the experiment. Sounds perfectly reasonable, no?

Except, as we know today, workouts are even more skewed than whatever players do in flashes abroad, or in the fatuous playpen of high school ball. For one, international leagues and preps play have both raised their levels. You can see a player, if not for who he could be, at least reasonably well for what he is. If that's a conservative backlash against the speculative dreaming of the workout days, when front offices sought to have their wildest wishes confirmed and conventional wisdom struck down, it's the current climate. Hyped players have it for a reason. Colleges works alongside pros to generate a reasonable facsimile of who prospects are.

Where they are headed, no one knows. But the present, en masse, gives rise to high expectations, that perilous thing we call hype. Certainly, this kind of hype is preferable, more rooted, and more realistic than what workouts produced. The new science has been proven fraud; its attack on common sense and accessibility the ultimate hermetic gag. Populist hype has gone from laughingstock to an important partner in the deep thinking of the draft. Perhaps it has been improved upon; perhaps these things just go in cycle. Regardless, today, we are all scouts. And the sport is probably the better off for it.

In case you don't have Twitter, here's the most FD video ever:



List your favorite moments below! Believe it or not, my favorite shit is DJ and Russell's "interview" about defending Bates. Oh, and I was nearly on the verge of seeing Bates's PBA sojourn not as squandered promise, but exactly the kind of magical ending this barely-real figure deserved.

Oh, and some get-shit-off-my-chest I haven't been able to do elsewhere: I don't claim to own the Positional Revolution, whatever any of that means. It's an idea we've toyed with for years, spurred by changes in the league. Like, since 2004. Certainly, I would never copyright it like I have Liberated Fandom, or Libated Fandom. But, at the risk of making everyone hate me, this latest round of Positional Revolution "discussion" strikes me as a little late in the game. It reminds me of how the advanced stats people must have felt when me, Ziller, Eric, Silverbird, and others engaged in a battle over PER years after the fact.

So, to address some points made by Rob Mahoney as he sums it all up ... I apologize in advance if you hate me after this:

1. Jesse Blanchard explains the futility of matching up players by similar positions. I don't see this as requiring a new set of terms, or even universalizing themes. Players switch up, or take unorthodox assignments, all the time. It's a matter of being able to cover the team's collective ass elsewhere. If Rondo takes a shooting guard, there had better be swingman or PG able to stick the opposing PG. This isn't just heuristic on a team-to-team basis -- i.e. who can guard what other positions -- but on team vs. team. Eric Freeman says that, if the other team is running out unorthodox players, it really makes no sense to label anyone. You look at the match-ups and devise a strategy for it. It's about a more heady gameplan, not a new theory of classification.

2. Matt Moore caught a quote from Kobe that suggested he would play anywhere, as a result of Euros (and his waning athleticism). Money shot, right! I hadn't heard that line before anyone else is, but I'll leave it up to you to determine how much of his totalizing has been handled in FD many times over the years.

3. One of the several times that Ziller and I addressed these posts, from a more dignified pulpit so I wouldn't flip out. But Rob, come on. I'm not "taking Moore's point and running with it." For one, it's just weird to say that I'm following Matt here. I'll leave that there. More to the point, though, I'm trying to contradict him to prove a point. Moore questions whether we need to label Tyreke Evans; I say that, if you look at the NBA today, point guards are rising at the same time as flexible teams. This means that, yes, the Kings still would like to know if Evans is a point guard, or something else. If he's a PG, capable of orchestrating the kind of complicated system the 21st century has developed, good for him. If not, he's still amazing. Height and power still matter, but as teams grow more fluid, it's more and more on the point guard to track this stuff and make sense of it. That's important; they make it possible. THAT's why I said point guards were the gateway.

4. I am pretty sure I agree with Kevin Arnovitz, namely, that discussing this in the abstract misses the point. You adapt, or re-determine, based on either need, want, or what resources you have at your disposal. Ideally, it's a team like the Thunder, building a weird squad around a weird player. The bootleg version of that are Rob's Mavs, who should have done the same thing with Dirk a long time ago. Now, they find themselves with enough unusual talent that they can devise these schemes on the fly, or maybe even in camp. Then there's also the most prosaic version of this, alluded to by Blanchard: in a game, you make adjustments. That's easier if players are versatile. Granted, that's only revolution on a micro-level, maybe even not at all -- since it's done already. I prefer to think that it means the future isn't as far off as we think.

/drops mic

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.

FreeDrafto #463462: Night Still Spoken

Here, it's me talking nonsense about the NBA Draft for 3,000 words. Unlike in the past when I've done this for Deadspin, I went back and cleaned it up, added stuff, etc. Somehow, most of the changes and fattening happened further down in the log. This is actually much like those old edited FD chats we'd run the next day. But it's just me. No, that wasn't an invitation to argue about the past.

My biggest draft night neurosis: My in ability to remember having seen Kevin Seraphin play. Apparently I saw him do stuff like this for twenty minutes. Go to 2:35 in for a taste.



I am chalking it up to a "thou shall have no gods but John Wall" weekend. That's Wall getting swatted by Seraphin, by the way.

Still trying to figure out the Wall narrative. He certainly has godhead potential, and indeed we all tried to bestow it upon him coming out of high school. But the Kentucky experience both loosened him up and hardened him in important ways. We also can't underestimate the effect that Eric Prisbell's WaPo piece had on the way he's seen. You've heard of a hijacked news cycle? This was mythology handed important texts at the deadline.

I think someone called him "Sir John" last night. That strikes me as strangely apt. Wouldn't instant divinity also mean arrested adolescence? Or, if there were maturity there, it wouldn't exactly feel earned. Wall may be working his way up to the otherworldly -- an odd thought, but in keeping with the humility and depth that, as much as the dunks, are becoming part of his star-making narrative.

Anyway, I am fairly dead, but wanted to make sure you didn't miss my draft commentary. Just for kicks, major FD potential for Wall (duh), Johnson (mixed on there), Cousins (as parable), Monroe (I expect some heady new discoveries), Aminu (just getting started), Paul George (be thine own wings), Patterson (that soccer quirk), Sanders (supreme FD), Whiteside (the ADD kid), Devin Ebanks (show 'em something!), Tiny Gallon (FD loves fat dudes), Willie Warren (for a year ago), Stanley Robinson (will MURDER in summer leagues). Factor in the positional flux of so many guys, and I think you see why I was so turned on by this draft. This wasn't the big man draft, some inverted sequel to 2009. No, as Ziller pointed out, this was an attempt death-knell for position.

His exact words: "Again, positions are stupid. You need some big dudes and some dudes who can handle the ball, and they all need to compliment each other based on what you're trying to do. Draft accordingly."

Time will tell if its repercussions turn out to be shock waves or mere inconveniences. And just maybe, it's a sign of what was already in the air.

OOPS: Left off Avery Bradley. A him and Rondo backcourt makes no common sense, but has space gargoyle potential that it breaks my teeth to even consider.

FreeDrafto Eats Bugs: 2010 Mock Drafting Position Paper

This one is all-human, all the time, but it's so much more necessary than the one with lizard birds. No one knows where this draft is headed. You heard Clinton say it this morning: When the war has left all peoples dirty and confused, it's time to look skyward. So we did, and this mock revealed itself. Participants: Eric Freeman (Ty Keenan), Brown Recluse, Esq., Tom Ziller, and myself (Shoals)....with a special cameo appearance from Joey!

1. Wizards- John Wall

It is not without reservations that the Wizards make this selection. The only other time two prospects as hugely-hyped as Wall and Strasburg showed up in the same market this close together? That would be Ewing and Gooden in New York. The last time our nation's capitol welcomed one? I'm thinking Barack Hussein Obama. The Wiz are getting either the NBA's answer to Doc Gooden or the sport's very own terrorist Jimmy Carter. Throw a returning Gilbert Arenas into the mix, and you can see how tragic downfall is practically in the cards here. Good thing Washington is also an Illuminati hot spot, and Wall (along with pal LeBron and Z.O.G.-ster Drake) a card-carrying member, so some conspiracy of other will make sure things go the right way. (BS)

2. Sixers - Derrick Favors

Here are Marreese Speights's stats for his last five games in 2010.

4 points, 2 rebounds, 0 blocks

4 points, 5 rebounds, 1 block

22 points, 5 rebounds, 1 block

4 points, 1 rebound, 0 blocks

23 points, 8 rebounds, 2 blocks

This is not what is typically considered consistent post play. Elton Brand may be fully healthy again, but he turns 32 during next season. Spencer Hawes is not the answer. With Idguodala and Thad Young on the wing, there's just not a huge need for Evan Turner. I know you don't draft for need at the #2 spot, but Favors is looking like one of the best young post players to come along in the past decade. Not even Doug Collins could screw this up. (BRE)

3. Nets - Evan Turner

Thorn figures that Devin Harris can vacillate between boring and All-Star from night to night, he needs a constant firebrand in the backcourt with him. When Harris is on, it's time for the Nets to milk him for the win. When Harris is asleep, let Turner try to make magic. It won't always work -- conflagrations are always one breeze away from out-of-control -- but it's a better chance than, say, Courtney Lee gave them. (TZ)

4. Timberwolves - Al-Farouq Aminu

Yes, I know, point guards, David Kahn, Ricky Rubio, insanity all around. But while last year's draft focused on a single position, Kahn's real m.o. has been to take supposedly nice guys and antagonize them to the point of hostility. Enter Aminu, an enigmatic scorer whose Twitter account depicts him as a misogynistic jerk whose idea of a confession involves telling people he likes to draw. He is difficult to handle both on and off the court, for friend and foe alike. He's the opposite of Minnesota Nice and the perfect expression of Kahn's id. (EF)

5. Kings - DeMarcus Cousins

With the trade for Samuel Dalembert and several other big men already in town, the Kings can take Cousins and let him ease into a starring role while not carrying the weight of a downtrodden franchise's expectations. But enough about basketball -- the real story here is off the court. Unbeknownst to most, Sean May, Donte Greene, and Jason Thompson have created the league's preeminent comedy trio, a basketball version of the Three Stooges where most of the jokes involving saying "pause" and making silly viral videos. Cousins isn't the funniest man around, but the Sacramento trio can teach him a few things about lightening up and taking things in stride. That might not seem like the best thing for someone with a reputation for not taking his conditioning seriously, but there's no proof that being silly in the locker room carries over to the hardwood. This light atmosphere could be just what Cousins needs. (EF)



6. Warriors - Latavious Williams

Kelenna Azubuike-Reggie Williams-Latavious Williams, the Holy D-League Trinity! Latavious has more pro experience than any rookie but the Kentucky products, and it'll show as Williams runs out to a brief lead in the R.O.Y. horse race. The real clincher is that last year, Larry Riley learned you can draft a player who is both productive and sane. While Latavious might be a slight stretch at No. 6, the Warriors can't be too sure about the other prospects on the board in terms of friendliness. There are no Corey Brewers left in 2010. (TZ)

7. Pistons - Avery Bradley

A 6'3" defensive minded combo guard who can score when he needs to? Sound like anyone we know? All players turned executives are narcissists, and that includes even the stoic Joe D. He will not be able to pass up the opportunity to draft a player who seems practically molded in his image, even though the Pistons do need a big man more than they need another guard. Pairing Bradley with Rodney Stuckey would give the Pistons a versatile backcourt with two players who can handle, pass, score, and play defense. It's really too bad they paid Ben Gordon all that money last year.... (BRE)

8. Clippers - Eric Bledsoe

Outside of Wall, this draft belongs to big men, or small forwards who play like big men, or big men who probably will end up small forwards, or centers we keep forgetting to call that. It's all just too weird. How about a good old-fashioned run on tweener guards to settle our collective stomach? Bledsoe came to Kentucky a point guard before Wall intervened, so it's not like he's coming for Eric Gordon's position. That dude was in last year's televised Dunk-In. He's as good as gold. If Bledsoe can revive his PG chops, then maybe Baron Davis's annual injury will come a little early this year, the Clips will be starting Bledsoe, Gordon, Outlaw, Griffin, and Kaman. They'll be printing up "Eric Squared: Mathematically Aware" shirts, become the new Warriors (with Baron transitioning to assistant coach), the new old Clippers, and best of all, enter the summer with room for eight max deals that will never happen. (BS)

9. Jazz - Patrick Patterson

I want someone to tell me why Patterson doesn't garner David West comparisons, or why I can't stop thinking that he, not Deval Patrick, is the son of a longtime Arkestra member. Sloan in his old age has taken to seeing double in the post, and before Pat Pat got his range on, he was more Millsap than Boozer. Now imagine twin Millsaps, just with one of them gone to finishing school, stretching the floor more than Carlos ever could, and having played babysitter already for a young O.J. Mayo and DeMarcus Cousins. Boozer and his back tattoo can burn in Miami like he never happened. Best of all, there's a great Nike web ad waiting to be made that brings in the other great Pat Pattersons: the legendary fast-bowler, the Canadian wrestler, some baseball player, and a duo of Southern pols. (BS)

10. Pacers - Gordon Hayward

The Pacers are on a quest to become a bizarro version of the '07 Hawks, with the same mix of versatile 6'9" guys, given a generous coat of whitewash. Throw Granger, Dunleavy, Jr., and Hayward out on the court together, and distinctions among positions melt away. Who's the small forward, who's the shooting guard? Who cares? We're playing basketball here, guys! It goes without saying that Hayward's a hometown hero straight out of Hoosiers, and he should have the opposite effect on Indy ticket sales than Stephen Jackson did. (BRE)

11. Hornets - Ryan Richards

It's little known that British Petroleum has taken over the Hornets front office to go with the rest of Gulf Coast, or is at least that team's best hope for financial solvency next season and thus has a seat at the table. The United Kingdom needs some rollicking good press to get a berth in the 2012 Olympic tournament in London, and Chris Paul is the ticket. Richards hails from Britain and could be the next springy forward to throw down a succession of CP3's alley-oops. Of course, 10 or 20 forwards and centers on the board could do it better than Richards, who is more a Channing Frye than a Tyson Chandler. But that's why BP took over! If you want something done in a very specific but wrong way, you've got to do it yourself. (TZ)

12. Grizzlies - Ekpe Udoh

Pity the Memphis frontcourt. Marc Gasol, in all his burly bearness, has become one of the most promising young centers in the league, but no one knows just how good he is because the Grizzlies often didn't even registered on League Pass this year. Zach Randolph made an All-Star team, and now all people can talk about is the fact that he's a major marijuana kingpin in Indianapolis, which is at least a better option in a dull city than meth. What they and the rest of the team need is a live wire, someone who can attract attention even as he doesn't necessarily steal minutes. Udoh, a shot-blocker extraordinaire with less-than-graceful offensive skills, can be exactly that. (EF)

13. Raptors - Ed Davis

It is commonly accepted these days that Chris Bosh will not play in Toronto next season. As such, the Raptors may feel the need to try to replace him in this draft, even though you can't find a player of this caliber at No. 13. Unfortunately for Toronto, Ed Davis has too much in common with Bosh for them to pass him up. He's tall, thin, and left-handed, all things that helped define Bosh. Of course, he was also a notorious underachiever at North Carolina who's almost all hype and possibly even less polished than Brandan Wright, the Tar Heels' last supposed Bosh clone. I don't expect a team to pass up on the spitting image of their last franchise player. So let Davis stand as a lesson to any team who is tempted by these similarities in the future. The past is no safe place to dwell. (EF)



14. Rockets - Luke Harangody

Harangody's stats are off the charts, and Houston's never been afraid of an undersized player. Big-school talisman has never been Morey's M.O., but you need to push back against the myth now and then just to keep the myth growing. Or in other words, if Morey always picked a guard like Aaron Brooks or an ironic athlete like Chase Budinger, observers would start expecting the GM to always look to cull players who have fallen too far. Harangody is the exact opposite. It's like reaching up into the clouds and coming down with a handful of quartz. (TZ)

15. Bucks - Luke Babbitt

If Luke Babbitt hasn't read the satirical Sinclair Lewis novel that bears his name, he better get started. Even though it was written almost a century ago, it'll give Young Luke a good idea of where he's headed in Milwaukee. Middle of America, middle of the Eastern Conference, middle of the first round of the draft. On the court, the Bucks badly need a scoring forward, and Babbitt's one of the best available. He would be a big upgrade on Carlos Delfino or Luc Mbah a Moute, and he's certainly a more dynamic scorer. Plus, it would give Luke Ridnour another guy named Luke to hang out with. (BRE)

16. Timberwolves - Xavier Henry

The Triangle needs shooters and post passers to live. Rambis refuses to acknowledge the existence of Kevin Love. No one else on the team fits either of these bills. Ergo, Henry is the new franchise player. (BS)

17. Bulls - Greg Monroe

Chicago would love to see Monroe fall this far, especially when he's projected to go as high as fifth. I like the nickname "Quiet Storm" for this guy, and he'll go well with Joakim "Act a Fool" Noah up front. And, since Rose can't move the ball for shit, it'll help tremendously to get a big man with Monroe's playmaking abilities. The best part, though, is that finally this "LeBron should go to Chicago, it's not a blank slate, there's talent there" argument isn't the stupidest thing in the world or dependent on blind faith in Taj Gibson. Did you hear that, writers, pundits, columnists who look weird with full bodies, website and billboard proprietors, and robots designed to do laundry? THE BULLS WILL HAVE A YOUNG NUCLEUS. Monroe must go to Chicago, so that these past ills will be repaired, and a large percentage of people into basketball can, at least to history, not have appeared to have been totally fucking stupid. (BS)

18. Heat - Wesley Johnson

The slide of the draft! Johnson immediately becomes a factor in the 2010 free agent wars, giving Wade his much-needed running mate on the wing, the Pippen to his Jordan. Game-wise, Johnson is probably closer to Shawn Marion than Pippen, with his superior athleticism and strong rebounding from the wing position. He's clearly one of the best all-around talents in the draft and with four years (including the redshirt year) of college ball under his belt, also one of the most experienced. Truth be told, that's probably why he slid this far. At almost 23 years of age, Johnson is more than a year older than Kevin Durant and Derrick Rose and four years older than Derrick Favors. (BRE)

19. Celtics - Hassan Whiteside

The word on Hassan is that he's not terribly bright. As soon as Ray Allen leaves in free agency, the remaining stars of the Celtics will have a similar stigma attached. You can be brilliant on the court but light in the pocket protector, and the success of Garnett, Perkins and Rondo speaks to that. Is that a reason for Danny Ainge to take a chance on Whiteside? If not, his disarming sartorial taste is. (TZ)

20. Spurs - Tibor Pleiss

The idea of the Spurs taking a foreign guy no one's heard of is a cliche at this point, but this time there's a purpose beyond getting a solid player. Anyone who watched the Spurs this year saw an old team getting by on the strength of their dwindling talent and good old-fashioned veteran know-how. The mystique is fading, and when that happens, sometimes you have to resort to smoke and mirrors. Pleiss is an odd prospect who probably shouldn't even be in the draft -- he's only been a contributor for about a year and is a strong rebounder still more renowned for his mobility and 7-0 height. But his on-court skills are honestly insignificant to this pick. When R.C. Buford picks Pleiss, he'll make it clear that these are the same Spurs up to their old tricks. If you refuse to acknowledge the decline, it does not exist. (EF)

21. Thunder - Larry Sanders

Behold, the man whose launched a thousand internet jokes. There's the HBO show of the same name, still the best comedy the channel has ever produced, and even Larry Saunders, obscure 70s soul singer. Sanders is sure to be a hit all over the blogs, so there's no better team for him to join than the favorite squad of everyone who ever bought a ticket for Blogs with Balls. It's a match made in heaven. Hey now! (EF)



22. Trailblazers - Sylven Landesburg

Kevin Pritchard needs one last chest-beating "conquest" on his way out, so he takes Landesburg, an American-born kid who played at Virginia but still can be a Euro stash for a year or two, thanks to an Israeli passort. You'd expect Pritchard, with a pretty full roster, to pick a cat like Kevin Seraphin. But Landesburg is more of a sleeper, and thus a victory for the legacy of the Pritchslap. (TZ)

23. Timberwolves - Devin Ebanks

The Lakers won a title with two enigmatic, frustrating, captivating heart-breakers from Queens, and that's the model Rambis is working off of. So naturally, he take Ebanks. (Joey)

24. Hawks - Paul George

His name isn't real. The man is barely real. You cannot find him with Google or telepathy. What kind of real human being grows up a Clippers fan, unless they're Andre Miller, who has spent his whole life auditioning for the role of animated sitcom? This is some Bourne Identity shit, and between now and the time you finish this sentence, George may very well have jumped up into the number two spot, impregnated the owner of that team's wife, and fallen back here for that. Oh, and he's long, athletic, multi-skilled, and either lazy, homey, laidback, or hard to read. He's in the fine tradition of Joe Johnson, whom he'll replace, and maybe even the rightful heir to T-Mac's "wolf in a rocking chair" fury of those first great Orlando years. But this too, might be a disguise. Paul George might be standing behind you as you read this, having needed just . . . one . . . more . . . sentence on here to load the dart gun and carry out his latest secret contract killing. Possible marketing campaign: Something Beatles-related that costs $75 million to license. (BS)

25. Grizzlies - Damion James

When I was at a UT game last season, I was stunned to find out that Damion Jones was still at Austin. No, I don't watch college ball, and I didn't stick around that university to finish my PhD. Fuck you, it's a touchy subject. This should have made me feel young, but instead, it made me feel really old. That's a good look for the Grizzlies. See, watch: This is going to be O.J. Mayo's third season in the league? Aren't you surprised? Don't you respect him more? Don't you feel worse about yourself, and thus less likely to trash the Grizz, more ready to give them their due? Jones is more than a big man. He's a talisman. (BS)

26. Thunder - Kevin Seraphin

In the Old Testament, a seraphim is an angel who protects the throne of God. Now, I'm not saying that Durant is God, but then again, I'm not saying he isn't. At any rate, he does need some protecting. As was painfully obvious during their series with the Lakers, the Thunder need more big bodies in the post. With Sanders at #21, they got length and with this pick they get bulk. At 6'9", 265 lbs, Seraphim is physically ready to get in an NBA game and bang some bodies right now. Oklahoma City might actually be the ideal place for Seraphin, since the team already has two French speakers of African descent in Thabo Sefolosha and Serge Ibaka. And I hear that Durant is a really friendly guy. (BRE)

27. Nets - Lance Stephenson

The Nets need a NYC-bred star on their roster before the move to Brooklyn, so the powers that be are willing to overlook that Stephenson is a walking ellipsis who may never start an NBA game, let alone an NBA All-Star Game. Whatever, at least Stephenson has a fellow (albeit vastly more skilled) traveller in Terrence Williams, and I have a suspicion Stephenson can chop it up with Yi Jianlian for days. Similar lives, Lance and Yi. (TZ)

28. Grizzlies - Elliot Williams

Williams is one of many prospects -- including No. 12 pick Ekpe Udoh -- to reject a workout offer in Memphis. I honestly have no idea why this is the case; they're not the most attractive team in the league, certainly, but prospects don't continually turn down invitations from the Clippers or Warriors. Williams was the oddest holdout considering that he's by no means a first-round lock and played his college ball for the Memphis Tigers. This is patently ridiculous, and he's the perfect target for the Grizzlies to take a stand, draft him, and show all future prospects that their pre-draft decisions are inconsequential. Take that, asshole. Now enjoy the end of the bench and your frequent guest spots on that Jason Lee cop show. (EF)

29. Magic - Cole Aldrich

Aldrich needs to go to Orlando for two reasons. First, he can act as the perfect straight man to Dwight Howard, who has had a difficult time playing off Marcin Gortat's arsenal of Polish jokes (he's reclaiming them!). Never fear with Aldrich, because his humor consists of pushing bagel dogs in and out of the bread and listening to old Jerky Boys cassettes. Oh, and he is also mute. Elsewhere, Aldrich will help fix the team's big man logjam by often being mistaken for Gortat. That way, whenever one of them enters the game, half the crowd will assume it's the other, creating a situation in which half the fanbase will think each gets regular minutes. It's a plan with the opportunity for zany misunderstandings and classic hijinx. It'll be the perfect inspiration for Dwight's first starring role in direct-to-DVD film. (EF)

30. Wizards - Daniel Orton

Wall would love to take Cousins to D.C. with him, but Orton will have to do. For the Wizards front office, it's just a rouse to make Andray Blatche look motivated by comparison. Little do they know it will backfire when Orton invokes the Myth of the Next DeAndre Jordan and dunks everything within six feet of the rim. (TZ)

FreeDeMarco, Vol. XL7: We'll Need More Yen

If you're like me, you spent Tuesday afternoon dancing in the rain to Young Jeezy records with DeMarcus Cousins. If you're not, then you didn't, and you missed something tender.

In he strode, a man seven feet if he was an inch. In, too, strode his mother, his handlers, some handlers of the handlers, some random white women who seemed to be daughters and other familial relations of the handlers, and a phalanx of press people trying to get a handle on who was to handle which handler. ESPN was there, too. Of course. Diddy was not. Diddy was late, and the Diddy handler got on the Diddy phone to find out where the Diddy was. He wasn't picking up. Just how important was this athlete event to Diddy if he couldn't be reached? Wait a minute--why was Diddy even involved with athletes in the first place? The consensus landed on "competes for the same women."

On an otherwise sunny day, this storm had gathered suddenly, and it quickly washed away anything that wasn't tied down or cordoned off. The Italian man escorted by his mother and his girlfriend anxiously looked on before running his hand across a linen button up and bolting. In that moment, his hand streaked across the neatly folded crease as his mind arrived at the conclusion that more shopping wouldn't be worth the discomfort. How was he going to get at those summer suits while the storm consumed the one corner where he needed to be? Which salesperson would even notice him? Surely not the Fonzworth-looking motherfucker in his striped pink shirt and paisley bow tie who had drafted in the storm's wake before emerging on the other side to start measuring and accessorizing. Neither would the store manager, her costume chains hanging from her neck as she hung onto the big man, never leaving his side. It was a minor maelstrom; don't be fooled by the soothing wood paneling or the oppressive gentility of acting all bourgie.

Like any volatile summer weather, the storm subsided as quickly as it had swelled. The big man disappeared behind a mirror, the handlers went with him, the white girls got comfortable on the couches, the Diddy to-do was laid to rest with a few key strokes, and suddenly, all that remained were press folks staring at each other, muted Diddy videos on the big screen, and a steady soundtrack of Jeezy, Wayne, and Gucci. The calm came after the storm.



There is a fine line between knowing humor and mocking insult. Almost anything worth joking about forces the distinction upon us, and the NBA Draft may be sport's Aristocrats. For years, the NBA cognescenti have annually celebrated the draft's earnest appeal while also reveling in its absurd pathologies. Forecasting the picks and mocking the fashion are pretty much neck and neck. In fact, Draft analysis has taken on its own, sadly meta form of this comedic duality: for as much fun as we have speculating about how the Timberwolves will be reconfigured, there is almost as much fun generating hysteria for its own sake. The cheering and jeering easily intermingle.

For at least one day, Tuesday was meant to tip the scales back in favor of the earnest. Tired of lame jokes about Chopper suits and sensing the opportunity to facilitate good, wholesome, old-fashioned American opulence, an events company had organized a proper suiting event at the Sean John store on Fifth Avenue in New York. The premise was simple: this year's top picks would come to the House of Diddy, where they would be fitted for a sensible, well-tailored suit to be worn on Draft night. After selecting their pinstripes and matching their ties, the players would then be led through a small flea market of luxury retailers. The players could learn about Hommage shaving kits, Maserati sports cars, Mohegan Sun gambling packages, and Steinway Lyngdorf entertainment systems. The companies participating in the event could hope to earn some new customers.

Now you know why there was an emphasis placed on the word "meant" in the preceding paragraph. Reclaiming the Draft's attendant culture from the comedians who never tire of the sometimes ugly class- and race-tinged humor is an admirable intention. Doing so by asking the players to buy Sean John suits and listen to pitches for $200,000 stereo equipment belies some miscalculation in execution. I have no doubt that Evan Turner may truly want a 105" plasma television on a yacht with hidden surround-sound speakers. However, the absurdity of the entire premise--look at these average Joes buying average suits...and fantastically unobtainable everything else--is inescapable for anyone who will never be transformed into a multimillionaire overnight. Without graduating from college. Before ever reporting to work. Or even turning twenty-one.



And yet, there was dancing.

Lost amid the imposing size of the seven-footer, one DeMarcus Cousins, and the island-nation population that follows him is the disarming realization that DeMarcus Cousins is only a nineteen-year-old. As his giant right hand swallows yours in a handshake; as his stoic expression makes you wonder if the not-so-quiet whisper campaign about his attitude has some merit; as his sheepish posture while ambling around the store suggests that he may not be ready for what awaits him, you realize that this still is a kid. Not even the most thoughtful, measured, detailed Draft analysis serves as an adequate substitute for meeting the players, for seeing them in person.

The mere nature of reading about a Cousins or a John Wall on a blog, to say nothing of The New York Times' website, removes a player from everyday experience and elevates him as a celebrity. In turn, he is dehumanized ever so slightly. They all are. The process is only exacerbated as Draft conversations steal these children from our everyday vocabulary and insert them into the nonce lexicon of the NBA. No one describes his friends as long, questions a coworker for his sticktoittiveness, or wishes that his dad were more coachable. And similarly, no one ever says that DeMarcus Cousins has an innocent smile or is incredibly polite.

He does, and he is, though. That, ultimately, was what stood out most in the Sean John store, and it redeemed an event that couldn't help itself. (The players arrived in courtesy Maseratis.) Had Cousins picked an eight-button suit, it wouldn't have made a difference. Especially not when he stole a moment to dance as the handlers were buzzing about. As so many people got worked up over who was on the door, whether the lighting was OK, and if there was another floor model of the blue-and-cream tie, "Put On" blared over the speakers and DeMarcus started dancing. So did I. I instantly recalled watching the man John Walling, and seeing him celebrate his impossible put-back against Mississippi State. The self-seriousness of adulthood that was captured by all those busybodies, the conspicuous consumption that seems to motivate the Sean John brand--it all stopped as Cousins had a truly earnest moment. The good outweighed the bad for a little bit.



For our continuing FreeDeMarco coverage, check out the serious work Shoals has been putting in over at the FanHouse.

The Spaniard's Bar Mitzvah

Ethan Sherwood Strauss is writer and editor at Salon.com. He's been sitting on this for a year now.

This was written one year ago, immediately after I got home from the 2009 NBA Draft. The NBA had assigned me as evening escort to the No. 5 pick, a strictly non-sexual job despite its euphemistic ring. My duty was to whisk Ricky Rubio from the draft couch and through the media gauntlet. I began this task immediately after the Timberwolves selected Johnny Flynn.

A possibly shaken Rubio greets me.

“Hi, nice to eh, meet you.”

We both have weak handshakes. I instruct him to follow me past a horde of Madison Square Garden hooligans.

The MSG crowd is hooting, throwing drunken energy at the Spaniard. They appear threatening but the shouting is complimentary. I had attended Steve Nash’s charity soccer game the day before. A beaming Chris Bosh got draped in ceaseless “Play for the Knicks!” entreaties. The chants carried a streak of desperation steeped in a sense of entitlement. We need you and it must happen because we want it and because we’re us.

“We NEED you, Ricky! Please, come to New York! You HAVE to play for the Knicks!”

(This is the most important moment of his life? It looks like a fucking zombie movie.)

I lead Rubio through the theater lobby as the creepy adoration follows. Ricky has been drafted by a non-Knicks team—and he’s getting away. Fans grope and grab like horny, depraved barflies. Young girls scream in Rubio’s face. All I can see are arms and faces. All I can hear is animalistic bleating. It could be projection but Ricky looks frightened and young. I’ve read a lot about how an 18-year-old LeBron looked beyond his years. Rubio makes me feel old, and I’m 23.

The security guards disintegrate upon our arrival in the media area. Rubio and I file into the secure bowels of the Garden, accompanied by his translator.There are cameras flashing and the space-to-person ratio is miniscule. There are no drunken shouters, but the effect is just as disorienting. It’s a bit like someone set up a strobe light in a cramped subway station. I shuttle el Rubio and el translator from media box to media box, leading to the “Live Shot area” clusterfuck. CBS, ABC, and NBC are the can’t-miss booths, but all are sort of mandatory. In between, anemic media entities try to beg their way into boothless peasant interviews. It’s a good day for human dignity

“They drafted ANOTHER point guard!” Rubio exclaims in disbelief. He speaks little English and rarely talks, even to his translator. But I hear this refrain throughout the night.

“They drafted ANOTHER point guard? Why?” Rubio’s grappling with where his life is heading as mics are shoved against his jaw. As I push Rubio through the Live Shot Area, his dissatisfaction becomes obvious. He looks tired, gaunt. Especially when you contrast his mood with that of Hasheem Thabeet, who bounds across the room and gives me a hug. Everyone’s getting a piece of Thabeet, even the nervous kid with the sweaty suit. I try to cheer Rubio up.

“I hear people in the Midwest are very nice!”

Another NBA worker chimes in.

“I’m from the Midwest…I’m nice!”

Rubio smiles shyly, but doesn’t seem convinced. His rebuttal trumps all.

“I hear eets, eh, very cold.”

Athletes by reputation, are not interesting people.There are obvious attributions for the blandness.Yes, they are hoisted on a conveyer belt during their formative years.Yes, they are taught sports in place of books. But interactions with the press condition athletes to be lame.The same fucking questions.The same fucking answers.What could be more numbing to the personality than engaging in thousands of ersatz conversations? It would be better if the athletes were supposed to volley questions, but we’ll never know.

And it's one thing to understand that a press junket process is repetitive, but it’s another to participate. My participation is peripheral, thank God. We’re at interview six and Rubio is wilting. He keeps prodding his translator to ask when the session will end. I keep apologetically forcing Ricky Rubio through more bullshit.

“Just a few more…just a few more, please.”

We slog forward, walking into a hallway. Johnny Flynn is seated, crying into his cell phone.

"We did it! We...did it!"

Flynn has reached an elated state that I can only dream of, or drug-induce. A dyspeptic Rubio walks right past his new teammate.



New Knick pick Jordan Hill arrives. Hill is alone for the moment, holding a Knicks jersey that’s been dragging along the floor all evening. Since I’m wearing a headset, and therefore must have psychic powers, Hill inquires about whom the Phoenix Suns drafted.

“Um, well, I don’t know.”

(Dude, you’re holding a Blackberry.)

I stare at his feet, and dumbly compliment Jordan’s fancy gator shoes.

“Those are…um, awesome shoes…man.”

My voice trembles and I forget to add “No homo,” as required for proper NYC colloquial complimentary parlance. Hill nervously smiles and laughs.

We trudge down to the “phone room.” This is not a booth, but an isolated, actual room, replete with catered food. There are a few tables with land line phones. Lottery picks are merrily calling their new teams. Griffin, Thabeet, Harden, every high pick is there to use Auerbach-era technology. The only other people in the spot are the exhausted looking escorts and some scattered NBA workers. And Rubio’s translator is there. And he’s getting royally pissed off.

I hadn’t properly explained the phone room’s purpose, perhaps because it made so little sense to me. Why is it perfunctory for players to call their teams on landlines in a controlled setting? I knew players use the room to call teams, but why is it mandatory? And why is Blake Griffin shaking everyone’s hand like he’s the union rep? These questions exist.

When the agitated translator announces that Ricky has to leave, I nervously bounce the idea off the czars of the room. They won’t have it.Translator fails to see why the poor kid can’t just exit and see his family. There’s cursing, threatening, pleading, demanding, and Ricky sits off in the corner, staring glumly. As I helplessly observe the crisis, a fellow escort swoops in. She’s pretty, self-assured, and, most importantly, she speaks soothing, flawless Spanish—and she knows the translator. This woman cuts the right wire on the ticking bomb, as I cover my face. Translator agrees to the phone call, the arbitrary goal will be reached.

Ricky picks a chocolate chip cookie off the catering table. He nibbles at it, and laughs when I notice. He offers me one, but I decline. There’s more waiting, as Ricky watches a TV screen tuned to the draft. Rubio jumps up as though startled.

“Omri!!”

Ricky looks forlorn. Is he depressed to see a fellow international headed to what was supposed to be his team? Is it envy? Or is Rubio wondering what his career in Sacramento would have been like with Casspi, another kid from across the Atlantic, there with him to restore the team to decency?

It’s time for Ricky to make the phone call. We all hunch over at the table as he dials. The timid kid looks in my general direction as the conversation unfolds. Rubio damns with feint praise.

“I hear Al Jay-fer-sohn es um…guuudeee…”

There are long pauses.

“My buyout? I don’t know…eet eez very compleecated.”

For the sake of propriety, Rubio is trying. His cadence betrays any attempt. He’s not a bullshit artist; he’s a teen unhappily coping with fate-altering forces. The kid can’t fake enthusiasm for the process any more than I could happily sell cars.The Wolves are likely using him as a trade chip, but I’m sure the other end of the phone call is shouted faux enthusiasm for the great mutual future on the horizon. American basketball executives can BS better than scared 18-year-old Spanish kids.

It’s human, which is jarring. I’m used to reading rumors about these kinds of conversations, often described as a series of “talks,” (As in “talks went badly”). I’m not used to an insulted kid politely asserting leverage. I’m not used to seeing NBA politics, practiced on the fly. Rubio’s incensed translator keeps repeating, “Why can’t his agent talk to the team?”

(Good question)

My adrenaline is wearing off. I lead him back to the draft stage for photo ops, where Rubio’s family swarms him. Given nothing to do, I make awkward small talk with Toronto’s newly minted swingman, DeMar DeRozan. DeMar wants to know about the Suns. I plead ignorance again.

“Sometimes, when you’re in the middle of it… it’s hard to understand anything.”

DeMar smiles at my profundity attempt.

"Yeah..."

I say my goodbyes to Ricky’s people and sneak off for phone room snacks. Other exhausted youngish NBA workers are in there munching away on stale deli food. The one incongruity is the presence of an amped-up Terrence Williams, the new Nets wing. Terrance has already built up a rep for weird. ESPN’s draft expert Chad Ford once wrote that, “Talking to Terrence Williams was like talking to a 12 year old.”

Through my headset, I hear Terrence had been AWOL much of the evening. Williams sets eyes on a TV replaying his selection. He suddenly dances around the room, eventually bouncing towards the table where I sit.

“Hi, I’m Terrence, what’s your name? Do you live in New York? Well I play for the NEW JERSEY NETS!”

He points to his Nets hat, and hops high in the air. Williams leaps away as though jumping is his primary mode of conveyance.

First Annual Memorial FreeDarko Dinosaur Draft

John Wall can go to hell. There are dinosaurs that want to play in this league, and while many of them have probably been extinct for millions of years, their memory lingers on. Shoals, Ziller, and Eric Freeman are proud to present the First Annual Memorial FD Dino Draft. We can only hope you learn as much as we had to. Oh, also, someone needs to start a boobs and draft site. It would do millions of eyes per day!

1. New Jersey - Velociraptor



The widely acknowledged best propsect in the draft does not come without serious concerns, notably that widely available "Jurassic Park" scouting tape shows him to be twice his real size and that he works best in packs with similar players. Still, it's hard to argue with the Swift Robber's tremendous speed, intelligence, and ability to jump passing lanes and create transition opportunities at the other end. Yes, Chris Paul's injury this season may scare some teams from taking a small guard, but the Nets need to go with the closest approximation of a sure thing we have in this draft. Plus, you know that first game against Toronto will have more familial intrigue than even the Lopez Civil Wars. (Eric Freeman)

2. Minnesota - Gallimimus



The unfortunately named "chicken imitator" represents a major jump forward not only in dinosaur evolution, but in scouting philosophy. For years, scientists have quasi-racist-ly wondered if Africans made better long-distance runners because of genes, or Africa, or something equally deterministic. The Nuggets have yet to draft a player from the Himalayas, and the hyberbaric chamber didn't stick as a training fad. But with Gallimimus—a fleet, active dinosaur even at almost ten feet tall—the body temperature of roughly 102 degrees Fahrenheit will no doubt come in handy in the wilds of Minnesota. Warming up may not literally mean "getting warm," but no question this beast will be ready to play faster than its human teammates, and be slowed less by the creaks, aches and pains that come with living in cold country. (Bethlehem Shoals)

3. Sacramento - Carcharodontosaurus



Strangely enough, size and toughness corresponded more tightly in the prehistoric world than in today's NBA. Carcharodontosaurus, one of the largest predators ever, combines tenacity and brawn like few prospects. It'd be considered a can't-miss prospect if not for perceived attitude problems. The Algerian big man has a killer instinct with the tools to implement pain, but it's a black hole who thinks pretty highly of itself and doesn't like to share the rock. (Or anything.) Carcharodontosaurus is also said to have a sticky buy-out option with its Italian club. Shades of Fran Vasquez? Sacramento has been able to pull international players (Peja Stojakovic, Hedo Turkoglu) in the past, and Carcharodontosaurus just fits too well to pass up at No. 3. (Tom Ziller)

4. Golden State - Amargasaurus



Hailing from the La Amarga region of Argentina, this is perhaps the most intriguing and confusing sauropod in this class. Off the court, expect him to turn Anthony Randolph onto the joys of club mosses and ferns, which should treat his stomach much better than the raw turtle meat Monta convinced him to try last season. Scouts can't agree whether Amargasaurus's spines support a sail, hump, or horny sheath -- each of which portends a different path for his career. Don Nelson hasn't seen a philosophical battle this stark since the early days of Dirk Nowitzki. Amargasaurus isn't versatile; he's a Rorschach test. And Nellie is absolutely sure that it's a 12-foot small forward, not a post guy. For a man who loves to prove his point with little regard for reptilian decency, there's no more desirable player. (EF)

5. Washington - Mononykus



Undersized, and with short arms and ridiculously long, powerful legs, Monoykus is certainly one of the most engimatic players in this draft. It prefer to play in the post, clearing out space (shades of Moses wit dat azz) and then meekly popping in a shot with expert touch. Such are the advantages of living life like a giant ant-eater when away from the court. Mononykus certainly fits in with the overall strangeness of the Wizards team, but most importantly, brings back some of the toughness lost when Caron Butler was traded. It also, in a way, replaces Antawn Jamison, as its unorthodox work in the paint both keeps teams on their toes and leaves room for Gilbert Arenas and Andray Blatche to operate. Better than Jamison, actually, since it not only makes space for itself, but has a Varejao-like knack for getting others players better looks. Also, it is already blue, which has to save DC some money somehow. (BS)

6. Philadelphia - Gojirasaurus



Ed Stefanski, a secret monster flick fanatic, can't pass up Gojirasaurus. The demonic theropod fits the Philadelphia mold, with incredible athleticism gilding over crummy fundamental skills. A tweener, like every other Sixer not named Sam Dalembert or Elton Brand, Gojirasaurus figures to study under Thaddeus Young and fill in in smallball lineups. Finding the right coach to get Gojirasaurus on the right path remains a priority for Philadelphia; like Young and Andre Iguodala, Gojirasaurus would have been a disaster under Eddie Jordan. If Philadelphia makes the playoffs, the rookie could have a Beauboisian impact. (TZ)

7. Detroit - Tyrannosaurus Rex:



You know the legend: few players have garnered so much hype while in college (even at the tiny University of Montana). He's the king of the predators, the hadrosaur to end all hadrosaurs. It's no surprise that a downtrodden franchise would go for a big-name player who can bring in fans, especially in a town where everyone is looking for excuses to hold on to their dollars. Unfortunately, noted draft expert Jack Horner thinks everyone has it wrong, and that T. Rex has been scavenging stats from harder-working players for years, taking the attendant acclaim when he really only showed up late and picked at the bones of the opposition. On the other hand, he trained with Eddie Franklin, one of the finest coaches of our era. And just imagine how much that intro music will work up the crowd! (EF)

8. L.A. Clippers - Stygimoloch



On the surface, a very Clippers pick. Ten feet long, four feet tall, you figure whoever their GM is got his numbers confused. But as is often the case with the Clip Show, there's something far more troubling afoot here. Stygimoloch, whose name means either "Demon from the River Styx", "Thorny Devil", or "Horned Devil from the River of Death," looks evil and crazy and owes its fearsome moniker to the legend of River Styx, which you cross to get to Hades, and Moloch, the devil in the Jewish faith. In fact, it's the only dinosaur with Hebrew on its jersey. So we have an ancient, revolting drone of Satan whose name directly refers to the Jews—a people who, as it so happens, are to forced to acknowledge Donald Sterling as one of their own. Sterling is reunited here with his henchman of eons ago, proving that he is, if not the devil, at least in league with him. (BS)

9. Utah - Caudipteryx



If Jameer Nelson is a crib midget, Caudipteryx is a ... midget crib midget. The Boykins-with-bite hails from China, where it developed ball skills and quickness chasing cockroaches and dandelion blossoms. Caudipteryx is a real showman, something Utah's royal Miller family embraces despite the conservative roster the Jazz employ. Thank goodness Caudipteryx waited until Hot Rod Hundley retired to make itself draft-eligible, though -- it would have given the old man a half-dozen strokes a year. Watching this oviraptor is bound to make the heart palpitate and stop at the same time. (TZ)

10. Indiana - Camarasaurus



Even after all these years, the Pacers can't shake the demons of The Brawl, maintaining their commitment to nice young boys with sharp haircuts even as they languish in the late stages of the lottery. Camarasaurus fits their franchise ethos perfectly. A world-traveled type who's already plied his trade in several continents, he was nice enough to provide diggers in squeaky-clean Utah with the most complete sauropod skeleton ever found in 1922. The bad news is that he has holes in his vertebrae and might not want to do much more than eat trees. But Roy Hibbert worked out pretty well, and you could have said the same things about him in 2008. (EF)

11. New Orleans - Prenocephale



Small, speedy, and with gigantic eyes that indicate its superior vision, Prenocephale is yet another prime point guard to call New Orleans home. Chris Paul is a crown jewel of today's NBA, and Darren Collison might have been the finest PG in last year's rookie class. The Hornets, who have so little to their name, really have choice but to try and play them together. Marcus Thornton brings some pure scoring fire power, but someone has to spell Paul and Collison if the team really does go with a "best available" approach to the starting line-up. Or, if one is traded, the team will need a back-up. Or, if things get really crazy, and someone recognizes that even a 4-foot tall dinosaur is still really fucking strong and athletic, maybe Preneocphale can become like a scaly cross between Tyson Chandler and Brad Miller. (BS)

12. Memphis - Chirostenotes



Chirostenotes may be Greek for "narrow handed," but don't think Memphis's point guard of the future has Kwame paws. Despite its regrettable height, Chirostenotes has a solid trunk and figures to be the rare guard with a post presence. Chirostenotes' vicious defensive energy should also help shore up the Grizzlies' weaknesses on that end, and like Kyle Lowry before him, Chirostenotes will keep Mike Conley looking like Matthew Lesko. Hasheem Thabeet + Chirostenotes = marketing gold. (TZ)

13. Toronto - Avimimus



Most prognosticators have assumed that the Raptors would take some variety of their namesake, but Bryan Colangelo has always had more imagination than that. With Chris Bosh likely leaving town in a few weeks, this is a franchise in transition, so what better way to literalize things than by taking a creature that has as much in common with a bird as a reptile. Avimimus, the Bird Mimic, looks like a prehistoric turkey and can even fly a short distance in a manner similar to that of a chicken. Sure, that might not sound like much, especially for a player this small, but this is all about baby steps. You can't learn to fly until you first hop with extreme awkwardness. Eventually, the Raptors will soar like eagles. (EF)

14. Houston - Ouranosaurus



No one has ever accused Daryl Morey of skewing obvious, but he's also not devious. Ouranosaurus, a relatively docile creature that's nevertheless earned the title "brave monitor lizard", is right up Morey's alley. It's 6'7", has a fin that serves as an invaluable offensive weapon (i.e. it can block everyone's line of sight), and is equal parts savage, noble monster and thoughtful, upright reptile-cow. Ouranosaurus likes efficient, high-percentage shots, and knows how to get them, just like how in nature it finds pine cones and leaves that it doesn't have to stretch to eat. Some see a prospect lacking in real size, or low on clear-cut plans of attack. But this dude is resourceful and capable of reading the situation to find his spot, a fitting replacement for the dearly departed Carl Landry. Get in and fit in. That's its motto, and it might as well be the credo for the Yao/Martin/Adelman Rox. (BS)

15. Milwaukee - Dromiceiomimus



The world again applauds John Hammond's good fortune. After Colangelo reached for a bird mimic at No. 13, the Bucks saw Dromiceiomimus, the emu mimic, slide to them at No. 15. Shades of DeRozan over Jennings. Dromiceiomimus slides right into Milwaukee's brilliant power forward rotation (Ersan Ilyasova, Luc Richard Mbah a Moute), offering less refined skills but tremendous speed in the open court. Luke Ridnour was born to hit Dromiceiomimus with bounce passes. There are some concerns as to whether Dromiceiomimus can co-exist with Andrew Bogut, given Bogut's stated hatred of bling and loud hip hop, two of Dromiceiomimus' fundamental loves. (TZ)

16. Charlotte - Nanotyrannus



All discerning NBA fans can agree that the Bobcats have embarrassing riches of viciousness in their frontcourt. Yet before the arrival of Stephen Jackson, their perimeter players have typically been style vacuums of the order of Raymond Felton and D.J. Augustin. Nanotyrannus, a 6'6" hadrosaur some analysts think may simply be a juvenile T. Rex, can help continue the trend that Captain Jack started. If other wings are smooth, Nanotyrannus is the kind who will dunk on your head and then eat your baby right after it hatches. Oh, plus he's the first dinosaur to be CAT-scanned and lived for a relatively short period of just one million years. In other words, he sounds exactly like a perimeter version of Gerald Wallace. (EF)

17. Chicago - Baryonyx



A huge, huge steal for Chicago. There have never been any questions about the skill, motivation, physical ability, or intelligence of Baryonyx (or "Heavy Claw" as it was nicknamed as the University of Niger). Heavy Claw is an inside-outside threat with highly-evolved passing skills, the kind of creator the Bulls badly need. It even scored a 1300 on the SATs. The concern was that, because of the incredible risk its talons pose to the basketball, the NBA would declare it ineligible for the league, as it did with Pteroactyl and other flying reptiles. Throughout high school and college, HC was outfitted with its very own protective glove, but the NBA felt this violated its Laws of Equipment. Luckily, when Leon Rose threatened to sue, the league relented. However, the situation remains tense, with both sides vowing to take this all the way up to the Supreme Court if it should go to trial. The Players Association has refrained from taking a side because it's still not sure if it can speak for the dinosaurs. (BS)

18. Miami - Euoplocephalus



If Pat Riley is really coming back, he needs to add a banger to help distract everyone from what Michael Beasley has become. Enter Euoplocephalus (aka "Well-Armored Head," the most literal streetball name ever). Euoplocephalus is Al Horford in Jeff Bower's body. Paul Millsap and Brandon Bass and, hell, even Glen Davis have continued to sing the tune of the rough-and-tumble undersized power forward. Euoplocephalus has short, stout legs, but weighs over two tons. It will be exceedingly difficult to ref Euoplocephalus, should the beast ever reach his potential and co-lead the Heat deep into the playoffs. (TZ)

19. Boston - Edmontonia



This postseason, the Celtics are proving that age and midseason lethargy don't necessarily consign a team to an early playoff exit. They're surviving in any way possible. Sixty-six million years ago, Edmontonia extolled the same ethos and became one of the last surviving dinosaurs through a combination of dogged resilience and determination. Plus, it's already green and white. No uniform necessary. (EF)

20. San Antonio - Maiasaura



You look at Malasaura and see an unremarkable, slow, medium-sized herbivore. That's why you don't work for the Spurs front office. They know that a Malasaura bone is the only fossil to thus far make the long journey into outer space, which is exactly the kind of detail that Popovich and Buford are looking for. Can I tell you for certain how it will be used, or what the implications of this fact are? No, but that's why I'm writing this dinosaur mock draft instead of working for the Spurs. (BS)

21. Oklahoma City - Einiosaurus



You want to know how comfortable Einiosaurus is in his own skills? It has a hooking bottle-opener nasal horn, two superorbital horns, and two frill spikes ... and Einiosaurus doesn't eat meat! Like Kevin Durant, Einiosaurus could gore you on every possession, but holds it back, waiting for the right opportunity. (Serge Ibaka and Russell Westbrook could learn something from Einiosaurus.) The "Buffalo Lizard" should study under Nick Collison in order to learn the ways of the rebound and the drawn charge, though the next time Einiosaurus hits the deck will be the first. (TZ)

22. Portland - Argentinosaurus



The Blazers are at a crossroads with Kevin Pritchard potentially heading out the door and Greg Oden seemingly becoming less a part of the team's future plans with each passing year. This next season needs to be a time to figure things out and decide which of their considerable young assets should be kept around and which should be dealt for needed pieces. In short, they don't need any more players around to make things even more complicated. That's why Argentinosaurus is the perfect pick -- even at 97 million years of age, he won't be ready for the NBA for at least another season. The fossil record on this beast is startingly incomplete, but at an estimated 24-feet-tall, the potential is certainly there. I even hear Paul Allen's already booked him a sail barge to Spain, where he's likely to replace Tiago Splitter in the Real Madrid lineup. (EF)

23. Minnesota - Troodon



You look at this pick and think, hey, even David Kahn takes days off. He probably just sprung for Troodon because it can run the floor and has vicious teeth, much like a Timberwolf. It's not even three-feet tall, which also represents an obvious scouting oversight. But wait, there's more. For reasons inexplicable to those of us not thoroughly immersed in the warm, murky baths of paleontological discourse, Troodon has been singled out as "Most Likely to Evolve Into Something Totally Weird" in the annal of dinosaur-dom. Here is a quote, drawn from said broth of knowledge: "In the early 1980s, paleontologist Dale Russell, curator of vertebrate fossils at the National Museums of Canada, in Ottowa, explore the notion 'What if Troodon had survived and continued to evolve and get brainier?'. The resulting "Dinosauroid" was a model of a large-brained, reptilian biped with enormous eyes, three-fingered hands, an absence of external genitalia (typical of reptiles), and a navel." The Corey Brewer experiment has spawned an imitator—or maybe Kahn just wants to leave behind the reptile son he never could have in life. (BS)

24. Atlanta - Sauropelta



Sauropelta has been very well-scouted, which explains why he dropped so far out of the lottery despite a solid defensive body of work in college. The Rocky Mountain product is a bit of a tweener (both SF-PF and Nodosauridae-Ankylosauridae), and it has no long-range consistency. To succeed in the league, Sauropelta will have to work harder than anyone else on the court, which, to be fair, it has shown the ability to do. Jay Bilas cannot believe Sauropelta fell this far, and is planning on torching a Ukrainian farmer's market as a result. (TZ)

25. Memphis - Supersaurus



Yes, it's another big man for the Grizzlies just a year after Hasheem Thabeet. But the difference in expectations renders it a solid pick nonetheless. At this late stage in the draft, you're drafting for role players rather than potential stars, and no one expects Supersaurus to be anything more than a space-filler and shot-blocker in the paint. You know that old saw about how you can't teach size? James A. Jensen coined it when he found the first bones of the species in 1985. (EF)

26. Oklahoma City - Iguanadon



Call it the Myth of the Dinosaur Jeff Green, or maybe Jeff Green with Dinosaur Qualities, which would make up for the shame Green amassed during the playoffs (and may yet never live down). Iguanadon is, as its name implies, part-iguana, part-dinosaur. Sometimes bipedal, sometimes galloping about on all fours, it's unassuming enough that no one would mistake it for a Garnett or Anthony Randolph-like impact-dinosaur. Nor, really, is it a useless dino-tweener. Green is one of the few players that warrants the description of "hybrid", in that he's neither here nor there, rather than subject to a variety of limitations. His formlessness is his freedom—not ground for his dismissal, nor his heroic burden. So it is with Iguanadon, just doing its thing and trying to make due with some of the best qualities of two distinct phases in reptile development. It is also ten feet tall, which will probably come in handy more than we currently anticipate. Myth of Gigantic Dinosaur Jeff Green Doubling as the Center OKC So Badly Needs? I think that's what I always wanted Alexis Ajinca to be, right down to the dino part. (BS)

27. New Jersey - Masiakasaurus



Mikhail Prokhorov makes his first political pick, having let Rod Thorn handle the lotto selection. Prokhorov has a deal on Madagascar which needs some ... lubrication, so the prime minister's bro's neighbor's nephew is now an NBA player. Congrats, Masiakasaurus, you tiny but vicious lizard. Rafer Alston ought to be relieved he fled Jersey when he could, and man, Corey Booker's going to have a lot of problems to sweep under the rug. The highlight of Masiakasaurus' career might be when Stu Scott calls him "the next T.J. Kidd" on draft night. (TZ)

28. Memphis - Segnosaurus



Every year, a player drops because of a bizarre measurement or medical tic that scares off many unimaginative general managers. This year, that player is Segnosaurus, an impressive player known for his omnivorous versatility. At the combine, though, he tested poorly in speed drills and has been recognized as the first therizinosaurid to be classified from more than just its arms. (There was also a smear campaign perpetrated in the Robert Bakker novel Raptor Red that he's a burrower, but no actual evidence has proven this behavior.) In other words, he's not prototypically "long." But while that classic draft adjective has application to real basketball, it's not necessarily a kiss of death, even for a now-extinct animal. Segnosaurus will enter the league with something to prove and could become one of this class's biggest surprises. (EF)

29. Orlando - Carnotaurus



Holy cow . . . literally. Carnotaurus, whose name means what you think—something about "meat" and "bull"—is a twelve-foot tall raw dynamo with a gigantic single horn on its head. Some messed-up scouting had him pegged as a color-changing weirdo, as seen in Jurassic Park. Amazing how much screwed-up dinosaur evaluation was in the early days (of dinosaur evaluation, not dinosaurs, which have always been old), right? This thing is perfect for Orlando. Carnotaurus could prematurely end the career of either Gortat or Brandon Bass, thus getting rid of one of those malcontents and solving the crowded frontcourt. It is also highly unlikely that its offense could be more rudimentary than Dwight Howard's, a challenge the young superstar would have to address. Carnotaurus will be an important practice player and, down the road, hard-bitten D-League legend that serves as the subject for a Bull Durham-like epic of dust. (BS)

30. Washington - Afrovenator



Some names just scream "NBA" -- Sleepy Floyd, Tiny Archibald, Julius Erving, J.R. Rider, Rafael Araujo, Afrovenator. This '90s throwback -- think Larry Johnson minus a finger and an opposable thumb -- likely doesn't have the speed to be a factor in uptempo games, but Flip Saunders is typically content to let his flex offense piddle around, so Afrovenator could play a key bench role behind Andray Blatche and JaVale McGee. The key here, however, comes off the court, where the good-nature Afrovenator promises to rekindle the mid-Oughts love of life the Wizards exuded. Gilbert Arenas has been too spoiled by controversy to crap in someone's sneaker. But Afrovenator can get away with it. (TZ)

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.