Workin' My Way Back Home

So it was with something far from eagerness, and even a wistful glance over at the first day of full NFL action, that I build my first day of vacation around the FIBA gold medal game.

I'm more than finished with the "Durant saves the globe" narrative. Woj took the moral high ground and flushed it down the toilet last night, which is sort of like when an infinitely dense point in space collapses on itself and creates a black hole of meaning. The doomsday scenario of a non-NBA qualifying team (discussed in the "Averting Disaster" section of this Works) is less frightening, and more colorful, than anyone else has bothered to notice. What's more, while America's best and brightest languish on the couch, it's not as if every international of note is risking life and limb to martyr his summer off. For all the parroting of the "more important than the Olympics to everyone else" line, we're not seeing it in the teams other countries have brought. Or maybe it's that, in those parts, individual is smaller than the collective—not ideologically, but in terms of their effect on outcome.

Really though, I just hate this team. Hate, hate, hate this team. Anyone who thinks Durant will walk unmolested into this same role next season, or on the 2012 team, is guilty of the kin of wishful thinking—or is it cynical—that's threatening to turn his name into an basketball adjective completely separate from on-court performance. The fact that Durant has taken on such a central role, from the second possession changes until someone—usually him—gets or denies the bucket, shows you what a headless, faceless, aberration of a team this is.

I've discussed this on the The Works previously, but Rose and Gay are two peas in a pod. I can think of a thousand Lamar Odoms I would rather see play center than this one. Forget innovation and revolution. This team is a grab-bag coasting on one superstar's limitless potential, amplified by his teammates' limitations and the lesser competition, and the ability of Rose and Gay to stay active. All those guards, including shooters like Curry and Gordon? They might as well be Kevin Love—the logical choice to get most of the minutes down low, but someone who has nonetheless had to make due with being a "sleeper". This team will win, but they wouldn't be such an abomination if they went with a point guard who could think, vital shooters, more versatility (other than then "sure, I can do whatever" variety), and a real big man. Does Curry, Iguodala, Granger, Durant, and Love sound so bad?

Other than Durant, Andre Iguodala is the only player coming out of this looking like he's earned some new acclaim, and that's largely because he looks far more natural in this role (stopper, skilled scavenger, feel for the game that suppresses his athlete's need to make big plays at all times) than he has at any time on the Sixers. He would be the perfect complementary piece to find his way onto the 2012 Olympics.

I frankly don't understand what Coach K is doing, especially without D'Antoni to whisper in his ear and slip him peyote, or a strong player cabal to lay down the law. There's a team buried in this morass that doesn't defy logic, nor require all sorts of new-fangled explanations to come to its defense. Nor one where we can only feel good about it relative to its performance in the tournament, which when we know that America always expects nothing less than supremacy, and Team USA has had very few close calls so far, makes the "see, they did it!" moot. I'll watch today because my wife likes Turkey, and there's the off-chance that something unexpected will happen. It sure has in all these other countries' games, which I wish I could get into—I somehow blame college basketball. Ultimately, though, today will be a day like any other: I'll hold my nose, watch Durant drop 40 and Team USA dunk the ball, and then wonder exactly what it means if anyone bothers to say "see, I told you so!"

P.S. Hey, who want to read and see the new, revamped, classic Z-graph?

Profound, True, and Obvious

Some scattered Olympics thoughts. I know the game was earlier here, but now it's 3AM, so bear that in mind:

-Congrats, D-Wade, you are officially on my unmitigated list of unmitigated love. I know, you were always deft and hell-raising, but in these Games you played like you wanted to scare people on the way to getting results, and occasionally bask in the terrific afterglow of your own menace. You were pissed that the NBA had forgotten you, pissed about the USA's need to prove itself, and no longer shackled by domestic partnership. I don't want to say that your 2006 ring didn't have a sense of purpose to it, but there's a huge difference between numb teleology and delighting in each step of the journey.

-Now that we've won gold, I'll go back to believing that the USA's participation in international competition is really stupid. Basketball players are a natural resource here. It's like if Colombia entered a contest to see who kept the most coke in their apartment.

-Medal ceremony: I watched, and it was Kobe, Dwight Howard, and Wade singing, or at least mouthing, the national anthem. Michael Redd was talking to himself, LeBron was working on the anthem for his own country, which is already in the works. The country and the anthem, I mean. Please, try and tell me that's implausible. You know how when you really burn your hand, or feel extreme cold, you can't tell which one it is? That was the vibe I got from Kobe's gigantic grin and trance-like swaying toward the end—at once utter, "uncool" sincerity and PR-madness.

-Spain is my favorite non-USA team because they're weird. And that's how all national iterations of basketball should seem to outsiders. You would never expect any other team to play like America, and so it should be with style and other nations. Note: It doesn't count when they play a more "pure," or boring, or rudimentary, version. Let's see some national character! Pass around that DuBois essay where he takes Hegelian racism and turns it into a reason why we've all just got to be ourselves: Each country has a unique role to play in the destiny of the game. Or, if that's too domineering for you, national athletic identity is nothing if it makes such hardy reference to the game itself, rather than the people playing it.



-More medal ceremony: How awkward did everyone look? I know they were happy and had their guard down, and among other stars, no one really has to serve as pillar, lightning rod, and monolith. But if you'd told me that, in their moment of triumph, Bosh,Howard and Kobe would have the body language of 14 year-olds just adjusting to life with braces and a growth spurt, I'd have called you mad.

-I have no idea why Argentina thought jeans, jerseys and medals were a good look. Though you can tell a lot about a man from his choice in Olympic telecast denim.

-Was that the NBA game beating all, the NBA game adapted to FIBA, or evidence that there's no such thing as a prescribed NBA game anymore? I'm inclined to call this a win for the most lofty principles of style and fluidity, which left their stamp on these wins even with Coach K supposedly getting all West Point about defense and zone-busting, or something.

-What I really took away from this Olympics: Berni. Ziller says he spent a lot of the first Spain/USA game trying to determine if that was a first or last name. More importantly, Berni recently organized a summer course at the University of Malaga called "Basketball: A Social Phenomenon." His description: "Not a lot of people know how we live and only pay attention at what we do on court. This was a chance to see everything surrounding professional basketball and it was a fun, interesting thing to do."

-While we were toughing out that completely unprovoked Phelps flashback, my girl and I started thinking of colognes for various Olympic basketball participants. Berni's smells like a shuttle bus. Scola's, some sort of burnt cooking. Email me for more details or patents.

-Had to write this now so I could justify getting political tomorrow.

Made Flesh

Frank Deford was on NPR this morning talking about how stupid it was to try to compare Michael Phelps to competitors from other sports, and while he obviously has a legitimate point, I can't help but think of Amare Stoudemire when I watch Usain Bolt. It's the irrepressible swagger in the starting blocks, the preternatural cool under pressure, and more than anything, the sheer physical dominance over his opponents. Like Amare, Bolt manages to look like a man among boys, while at the same time seeming himself to still be a child. It's this rawness that prompted NBC announcer Ato Bolden to proclaim that, although he had just pulled off a astonishingly commanding victory in the 100 meters, Bolt had horrible technique. Or to lament to millions of viewers before the 200 final that Bolt was "still clownin."

For anyone who thinks I'm insulting Bolt--already one of the greatest sprinters of all time--by comparing him to a mere three-time All-Star who's never advanced past the Western Conference Finals, remember back to the 2005 playoffs. At the age of 22 (the age Bolt turns tomorrow), Amare was clearly the best player in a Suns-Spurs series that featured two former MVPs still in their prime. Bolt is that Amare Stoudemire, the pre-injury Amare for whom the sky was literally the limit. He put together STAT lines like 42 points, 16 rebounds, and 4 blocks, and seemed like he was only scratching the surface of what he could be. Even Lebron has failed to exhibit that kind of almost casual supremacy, and despite his youth, King James has always seemed much older and wiser than his years (see Wednesday's tie picture).



And don't even think about mentioning the name Jordan. For today's sports fan, Michael Jordan is the standard to which we hold all other athletes. Tiger Woods is the "Michael Jordan of golf" or Roger Federer is the "Michael Jordan of tennis." It's gotten ridiculous. Deford is tearing his hair out. And, anyway, the "Michael Jordan of track" is clearly Carl Lewis: the greatest of his generation, transcendent all-around talent, loved by all, but who hung around a little too long. While he may yet scale the same heights as Jordan, Usain Bolt is something different.

Bolt, like Amare before the microfracture, has the kind of talent and presence that make a non-believer like me want to get religion. I'm reluctant to suggest in any way that Bolt doesn't train as hard as Phelps or anyone else, but there is something about him that makes me want to use words like "blessed" or "predestined." Or, better still, Bolt is beatific.

FD Guest Lecture: We Holds These Dunks to Be Self-Evident

Ladies and gentlemen, Joey Litman.

A cynic might suggest that to be an effective basketball commissioner, one merely must pray for good fortune and possess only a basic professional competency. After all, how hard could it have been to preside over Basketball’s prosperity during a time when a player like Michael Jordan flourished on the court and a marketing machine led by multinational companies, such as Nike, extended the domain of the hero and his sport? That, surely, required little advanced training or extraordinary ability; Michael Jordan received no help from National Basketball Association Commissioner David Stern while performing those signature dunks or fade-away jump shots. And it was not Stern whose artistic creativity was manifest in the exhortation for everyone to “Be Like Mike.” Being commissioner does not seem so difficult, it could be argued.

This thesis is a simple one, of course. It neglects the myriad complications that could otherwise impede the growth of a sport and its icons were an able commissioner failing to execute his responsibilities. Upon consideration of what is required to preside over a sports league, most serious observers likely would be quick to point out this flaw. But in committing such an egregious error of omission, the theory paradoxically offers a strong case for a commissioner needing to apply a rigorous, robust education to the complicated legal and business challenges that confront an organization such as the NBA. Given the substance of the NBA commissioner’s job—issues ranging from labor law to international commercial transactions to intellectual property and so much more—ceding the spotlight to the sport and its athletes while keeping the mechanics of league operation beyond the public’s view is perhaps ultimate affirmation of an exemplary executive.

I begin law school next week with the goal of applying my legal education precisely in this capacity. I am gunning for that number-one spot. Bring on the complicated insurance issues, the arduous collective-bargaining process, the troubling bouts of player misbehavior. I’ve seen my future, and it looks a lot like David Stern.



For five post-college years, I worked at jobs that were stimulating, that taught me a great deal, and that brought me into contact with wonderful people who have irrevocably changed me for the better. And during all of that time, despite those many strengths, I never once went home knowing that I was pursuing my passion. I liked my work. I respected my work. But I never loved it.

What I love is the NBA. I grew up in a household where basketball was the religion practiced most regularly; where Julius (Erving) was next to godliness; where the maxims of my early childhood were to work hard in school, read more books, save money by eating at home, and develop a good left. The NBA has always been the arena in which interests that forever drive my enthusiasm and occupy my mind—race, the American socioeconomic system, hip-hop, sneaker culture—have played out. It is inextricably linked to my experience, my identity.

Another way I think about it: life is largely organized by institutions that also give individuals identities. As a child, your family is the organizing institution that provides purpose and a sense of self. Your rules, your restrictions, your education, your time, your values, your ideas are all dictated by family. It’s a constant, though it ultimately gives way to school, which by adolescence becomes the institution that so many people use to augment an identity and find direction. Your friends, your allocation of time, your responsibilities, your activities, your social education, your cultural understanding, your mores—all driven by school, with your family serving as a second institutional influence. This persists through college. You come out of it as many things. Among my identities, I am a New Yorker, a liberal, a Michigan Wolverine, a hip-hop fan, and so forth. As an adult, your job, your marriage, and some other experiences play a similar role in helping to construct identity.



“NBA Lover” is an inalienable part of my identity. As I just described, the Lig is an institution that has given my life shape, has given my person contour. It has influenced my values and my perception of the world. For this, and for the NBA entertainment that has been a catalyst for all forms of relationships in my life, I am forever indebted and deeply invested. I wrote last week that I consider myself to be a citizen of the Lig above anything else.

I was only being a little sarcastic.

Citizenship implies ownership and endorsement. To be a citizen is to participate in a society while espousing its values and acknowledging that you are of those people. At least, to some basic, shared extent. Citizenship can become a challenging concept when the institution to which you are tethered has violated your compact in a way such that you are no longer comfortable countenancing its values and practices. On the U.S.’s citizenship exam, for example, applicants are asked which of the rights ensured in the United States is the most important. The answer is the right to vote, something that seems appropriate for a country that was born amidst concerns about tyranny and government that did not reflect the will of the people. In effect, to be a U.S. citizen is to adopt this perspective, and to disagree with it would likely encourage disaffection.

Devoid of a constitution or foundational documents that articulate not just rights but ideology and common values, the NBA may be an institution whose citizens cannot as easily identify the shared tenets that unite them. I’d imagine that appreciating the Lig’s prevailing styles of basketball and the attendant culture—the celebrity, the cultural overlap with music and fashion, etc.— that accompanies the NBA in America and abroad would be fairly basic requirements. However, I am wary of writing anything too rigid because there is a certain attitude that is ineffable but very much apparent among seemingly everyone who would describe themselves as NBA citizens.



The notion of citizenship has been particularly salient as I’ve watched the current Olympics, an event that has provided a theater for my own national angst. A vocal polemicist during these last eight Bush Administration years, I do not fit the profile of your stereotypical American patriot. And beyond partisan politics and this particular regime, I find America’s persistent racial and economic divisions, and the ever more blissfully ignorant mainstream culture, to be so distressing that they often make me resent the United States even while I remain keenly thankful for the constitutional rights that come with living here. There are few days when I’d quickly answer in the affirmative when asked if I loved the United States of America.

Thus, you would think that I’d happily watch the Alicia Sacramones of the world fall on their asses, some kind of karmic punishment for America’s wayward policies. But my disappointment and indignation have recently run into even stronger feelings: fear and powerlessness. The ongoing economic downturn, the changing global power dynamics, and the macroeconomic factors that argue for America’s continued slide have aroused a certain kind of petulance and frustration that has led me to vocally cheer for athletes like Jason Lezak and Lauryn Williams. Further, and uglier, I’ve found myself indulging my worst xenophobia and resenting the success of the others from foreign nations, such as China, that suddenly appear to be challenging the United States’ well-being (even if we have done a lot of this to ourselves). Rising global prosperity may not have to sum out at zero, but it has certainly felt that way as news is now dominated by concerns over resource availability and the sluggish American economy. Almost out of desperation, I have been cheering loudly for the American athletes. It’s taken on a symbolic significance, as it is both cathartic and, when considering the large-scale factors, hopeful.

I’ve reveled in no success as I’ve reveled in Team USA’s (or “the Redeem Team” if you’re into that. I’m not.) However, my emerging anxiety over the health of America and my subsequent Olympic rooting interest are wholly distinct from the excitement I’ve experienced while watching basketball. This is something different.

Seeing Dwyane Wade throw off-balance alley-oops to Kobe, or watching LeBron conquer a gauntlet of defenders for a layup, or looking on as Chris Paul has made it impossible to put the ball on the floor near him has exclusively appealed to my pride as an NBA citizen. Unlike my national ambivalence, I experience no pangs of loathing or deep resentment when I consider the NBA. Instead, I have affectionately looked on as the only team comprised solely of NBA personnel has dominated by playing the NBA brand of basketball, our brand. For a league that has often endured reputational punishments that exceed the severity of its crimes—with international basketball often serving as a catalyst for the excessive consternation—this has, thus far, been sweet vindication.

To be an NBA citizen and watch this team is to share in the swelling joy. Team USA’s run has validated a deep-seeded part of my identity, as riding with the NBA again seems cool and worthwhile, just as it would be personally fulfilling for the United States to use its defining characteristics in a manner that bred success. In that regard, having committed to the Lig and having been counted among its citizens for some time, Team USA’s success is directly connected to my own happiness and pride. It legitimizes all the hours spent watching the games, defending the Association, championing its code and culture. It has uplifted its citizens.

Olympic Fever-Induced Camping Trip

Bethlehem Shoals: USA MEN'S GYMNASTICS RULES. I stayed up late watching that shit on Monday.

Carter Blanchard: Ya, that was sweet, although the scoring makes absolutely no sense to me. How the fuck is it out of 18?

BS: The 18 thing makes perfect sense to me. Degree of difficulty is no longer an undefined variable.

CB: Fuck that, this is America, and in America we can rank our movies, dunks, and women all on the same convenient scale. Gymnastics shouldn't be any different.

Also, not that it would have mattered really, but I feel like we were robbed on the high bar. The scrawny blond dude killed it but ended up with practically the same score as the Chinese dudes who were on cruise control at the end.

BS: The Chinese have a funny way of looking like they're on cruise control, then they do the replay and I'm like !!!!!! The Americans are more conventionally "sick." They make it look hard when they do something hard, the Chinese make it look easy.

CB: Unless you pump your fists triumphantly after sticking the landing perfectly, I have no reasonable way of telling if you did well or not. Kind of like judging dives exclusively on the size of the splash.



Ty Keenan: Gymnastics freaks me out.

CB: It is a little terrifying, but the combination of purely aesthetic displays, freak athleticism, and complete absence of reasonable goals or purpose has to tug at the FD heart strings just a little, doesn't it?

BS: You know how in a dunk contest, the actions are meaningless except for the fact that they COULD be used to score a basket in a game? I feel that way about gymnastics and street fighting, which makes about as much sense as breaking out THE BIRTHDAY CAKE in a game. There really is nothing more FD than that weird Indian kid from Houston who failed a lot despite being expected to succeed, then took time off to read philosophy and learn yoga (you're Indian, isn't it laying around the kitchen or something?), and then from that inner searching decided to become more competitive than ever. Also he is a total nerd but his upper body is like all of Dwight Howard squeezed into two limbs.

TK: We're perilously close to someone making a Simmons Gymkata joke.

The difference for me is that gymnastics requires such specialized training that the indirectness of usefulness that you talk about here confuses the hell out of me. The idea that someone would train to do leg spins (for the love of Strugg, I hope there's a technical term for these) around a block with hand-holds for a good minute or so, and then pin the outcome of all that training on arbitrary judging that's accepted as corrupt makes no sense to me.

The obvious response to this is that the NBA has arbitrary rules and some corruption in its ranks (donaghy lolz!), so maybe we just accept that ridiculousness because the athletes get paid a lot and enough people watch the games to make it less of an outsider activity. But, really, I think the particulars of a sport like basketball (or baseball, or most of all football) are so ridiculously defined (seriously, I had to explain an onside kick to British people at a Niners game last year and they just laughed at me) that they actually seem more acceptable to us as viewers. So many arbitrary things happen in a basketball play with regards to players respecting and disrespecting rules, aiming for the goals defined by the rules, etc that we can only make sense of it by submitting fully to its skewed logic.

There's a huge difference in something like gymnastics -- at least for a relatively ignorant fan like me -- in that the movements seem more like bizarre revelations of ability rather than a submission to another plane of logic. Like, when I watch the best basketball players, I think "they're good at basketball" -- when I watch the best gymnasts, I think "these dudes are rocks -- why are they jumping on mats and not working as freelance ninjas?" Basically, I think gymnastics rests in this uncanny valley on the graph of sports ridiculousness right between "so basic that it works" (e.g. track and field) and "so complicated that it works."

That and the concept of talking boulders scares me.



BS: I think the new scoring makes it more arbitrary in the sports-y way you describe. It's not just a mysterious number that somehow encompasses everything and nothing, but two things measured: Difficulty and execution. To score well, you have to conceive of something difficult and then pull it off. Exactly how hard, or how well it's done, are subjective judgments more in line with "was he fouled" than "assign a score to this." Case in point: I don't know how you complain about a score before this, because it's hard to tell exactly what's going on and why. This, on the other hand, is probably at about the same place as a technical called, but coming from the opposite direction, where one's tightening up interpretation inside of negotiating guidelines that can't be literal.

You would feel better about all this if you watched gymnastics as if it had some point of reference. Like, I don't care if someone gets robbed in the dunk contest because it would still be sick in a game. So I imagine how impressed I'd be if one of these kids were fighting the Predator or something.

TK: I'll admit that I don't know much about the scoring, and I think what you say on that makes sense. I think my point is more interesting in the context of what constitutes an action in each sport. For instance, a dribble is obviously a physical act, but it's defined so strictly by the rules as the only way to move with the ball on the basketball court that I think it's different than whatever way gymnasts are supposed to run towards the vault. Then again, you can push off the vault in different ways just like you can shoot in different ways, and you're reaching the same goal either way, so you're probably right that they're more structurally similar than I'm making them out to be.

Also, the issue of compartmentalized physical action ties into the weirdness of the difference between floor exercises for the men and women. It would be really cool to hear from a gymnast about the thinking behind the routines, because my novice eyes see a routine as a series of difficult moves rather than a theoretically and thematically grounded piece of shockingly athletic dance. The female floor exercise really bugs me because they almost always set it to classical music -- it would make much more sense to me if they used something more avant-garde, or maybe the kind of math rock that's more interesting to read about than to listen to.

BS: Would all of you feel better if they did gymnastics against each other? Like a battle or something? I mean, dunk contests aren't like that, but again, there's an implied point of reference. If they did the flips facing each other, it would introduce that.

TK: It would be like a breakdancing battle that's always on the brink of turning into a fight. I see no downside.



BS: Am I a rank sexist for thinking none of this applies to women's gymnastics? I still find myself thinking "this is some of the most ridiculously athletic activity possible, and it only matters to most people a few weeks, every four years." But—and maybe this is just because I've seen more of it, or it doesn't have that bizarre combination of masculinity, aggression, and utter frivolity going for it—you really see it as an irrational exercise that grows out of an entire little world of irrationality. That's why men's gymnastics is so confusing. It almost feels like a real sport, not a subcultural spectacle. Except for the fact that it makes no sense.

I guess there's this very fundamental "you guys rock! Why aren't you doing something else in the Olympics?"

Brown Recluse, Esq: I don't think it means you're a rank sexist, but that sexism has shaped the evolution of the sport. Women's gymnastics has these forced elements of dance that highlight the gracefulness of some performers (like Nastia, who looked like a ballerina) and seem like a ridiculous burden for others (like Sacramone, who looked like she was engaged in some sort of intricate flailing). By contrast, the men are all about flexing their power and control.

CB: The random dance gestures are completely bizarre. Their half-hearted attempts at musicality make zero sense. I could have sworn one of the 12-year-old Chinese girls was attempting a booty shake.



BS: The question is: Does men's gymnastics lack the dance/music component because it's so overwhelmingly physical, or do the ladies get it because they're lacking something? I also think it's worth noting that I'm capable of compartmentalizing women's gymnastics as this weird kind of aesthetic exercise that, almost smugly, includes all sorts of physical exertion. But there's very little pretense in men's gymnastics, which is why it both seems to lack meaning and seems like it's always on the verge of expressing something other than itself (i.e. a dunk contest).

TK: I think it has something to do with the age and gender assumptions of it. Male gymnasts are short, but they still operate within the ideal of men in their physical primes with incredible strength. Female gymnasts are still in sexual development if we go by their ages, but that process has been retarded by the fact that they're made to become these tiny, powerful, flexible people who are still presented as developing women with bows in their hair, shiny outfits, and awkward dance moves. And in America, the most prominent figure looking over these people for twenty years has been an Eastern European dude who still looks like 1976, so there's also a touch of Humbert to it all, which somehow makes us fear for the girls' safety even though any one of them could kick his ass with no problem. The weirdest thing about this situation is that the female gymnasts usually revert to standard physical development for their age once they stop competing (i.e. they look 22 at 22), as if their entire athletic careers took place in a Judith Butler fantasy world.

BS: Can we pause and acknowledge how brilliant it was when they superimposed Bela watching the gymnastics over the footage that was happening? WOW.

It Was So Familiar Then

First of all, if you haven't been reading the comments section of my "post" on the Darfur/China/Olympics situation, you simply must. T., our man in China and one of the site's longest-tenured community readers, is absolutely killing it with perspective from inside that country, right now.

One thing he raised that stuck with me: No country likes being criticized by foreigners, especially not a budding superpower that's defensive about its place on the world stage. My whole argument hinged on both the complexity (read: elusiveness) of China's hand in the genocide, as well as how little it had to do with the NBA players expected to speak out against it. I guess in a perfect world they would've anyway, but we would've been holding them to a ridiculously high standard. One that, were there not a moral absolute like mass slaughters somewhere in the equation, might be viewed as meddling.

Just writing that makes me feel like a heartless relativist, but there's also a streak of pragmatism to it. Yes, in the eyes of idealism, pragmatism always seems like a form of resignation or compromise. Especially when Jerry Colangelo could be the mastermind behind it. And yet there's also a back-handed etiquette at play there, one that defers to others in a better position, or with a greater responsibility, to speak.

All of which brings me to T.'s point that, if anyone's in an ideal position to speak out, it's Yao. It's not ideal in that China still controls much of him, and his purse strings. He would do so at great risk. But "ideal" doesn't mean convenient, it means "perfect." And isn't the point of speaking out to do so with some leverage, to create a critical mass of tension and unavoidability?



I know that America is a beacon of freedom for all the rest of the world, and it's on our athletes to spread that particular gospel. That's another form of idealism, one that makes for good narrative but almost always collides awkwardly with the real world. If we were going to be honest with ourselves about who should be talking about Darfur, we have to not only admit that Yao's closer to the issue. He may not be among the persecuted, but at least his relationship with China is based on more than a web of international commerce. We also need to recognize that, while condemning genocide is easy and universal, Team USA has zero idea how to go about discussing the issue in terms that might make sense to the Chinese people—which, as guests of China, they would for all intents and purposes be doing.

Of course, all of us feel strange insistng Yao do such and such, precisely because it would be painful for him, while our Olympians would just find themselves in awkard situation after awkward situation. And that's exactly how meaningful change should feel, since it involves more than just semi-informed twenty-somethings saying that raping and burning is wrong. Yes, LeBron said he would, Kobe did a PSA, and Tracy McGrady and Ira Newble have made Darfur into the rare international issue that draws the interest of the NBA community. They are the most famous athletes in the Games, and by far the wealthiest. That and their basketball crusade has been from the beginning bound up in national pride, which brings with it all sorts of well-meaning, deeply-felt, and possibly empty platitudes—that bad kind of idealism again.

Or, on some level, did we all not look at these Redeem Teamers as the sons of Jesse Owens, John Carlos, and Tommie Smith? There's that superficial, perhaps sentimental, identification, as well as the persistent hope that the NBA—because its denizens are for the most part black, visible on the field, and play a game that has long been interpreted in terms of race—would develop a political consciousness. And hey, it just so happens that the people suffering in Darfur are dark-skinned—though calling for some kind of solution there seems like basic human decency, and Sudan about as far from anywhere in the USA as you could imagine.

And, as much as I hate to say it, there's the fantasy that that the bad-ass black dude will take a stand, with a presence that a big 'ol Asian could only dream of mustering. They are strong, and outlaws, and rebels, and Other, and always in the struggle, and should do the work that real power brokers are afraid to. Oh, and do so with style. Maybe that's racist, maybe it's laudatory, maybe some of both. Let's leave it at this: I'm not comfortable making Team USA the locus of Olympic activism if doing so is just an extension of domestic baggage.

We'll Always Have Smoke

Sorry it's taken me all day to get to the USA Basketball political clam-up. Ziller's post has the clip, and some relevant links. I'm not making excuses for anyone here, just reminding people what it's taken to prompt Olympic activism in the past. Sure, there's money, and shadows, and pressure, but in these times, it's awfully easy to back down, slink away, or leave others wondering why they'd expected anything more in the first place.

1936:







1968:







2008:



















Honestly, I'm just not that surprised that this fell by the wayside. There's a big difference between a "genocide is bad" PSA and this:



I come not to excuse Team USA, or damn them. Merely to ask, what the fuck did you expect? For them to go above and beyond past precedent? For something that's only barely related to them? Regardless of whether not today's superstars can be bought or sold, Darfur is exactly the kind of thing that actual politicians and people of influence hedge on all the time. Whether or not the world's biggest NBA market is at stake.

Aim for the Body Rare

The US Olympic team infuses me with a level of glee mostly incommensurate to the amount I care about the competition itself. On a basic level, the sight of Kidd throwing full-court outlets and Kobe molesting Euroleaguers taps into a fantasy for games to become extended YouTube clips, as if these games existed solely so we could imagine alternate universes in which LeBron has four all-star teammates and hamburgers eat people.

Yet, for as much as these games hold my interest, I struggle to make any legitimate observations about them that trumpet the importance of Olympic basketball. Because these games are so thrilling as showcases for our glorious nation’s best talent in a competitive atmosphere, I try to think up ways to make players approach the All-Star Game more like this, without the overbearing need to “put on a show” that turns many mid-winter classics into collections of the greatest turnovers in history. Likewise, when a foreign team beats the Americans, I try to imagine how aspects of those teams’ games can be applied to the NBA.

When I mentioned these issues to Shoals earlier this week, he accused me of practicing a subtle form of Amerocentrism. Frankly, he’s right: there’s no reason to deny the fact that the United States’ recent international losses are just as important as victories for Greece, Spain, et al. But this Amerocentrism seems at least somewhat indirect. After all, my interest would only increase if Dirk replaced Michael Redd on the roster without the aid of reverse-Kaman shenanigans. This interest isn’t about jingoistic fervor – it’s about a belief that the NBA features basketball far more relevant than anything the Olympics can produce. And, if this opinion can be held by hardcore basketball fans in the country in which the sport is most popular, then what importance does international success really hold for developing national basketball scenes? Do Argentinians secretly pine for the day when Walter Hermann decides to skip the Olympics to pursue his erotic dreams?



To be sure, the short-term national pride that follows a medal plays a huge role here, particularly for those countries that lack a long history of athletic success. But big victories every two or four years can’t substitute for the evergreen international relevance of having an insanely popular league operating on your soil. On some level, an internationally legitimate pro league must be a basketball culture’s ultimate goal, if only because the constant attention afforded to it presents basketball as a worthy alternative to more traditional sports in those nations. As important as Greece’s FIBA win over the United States was for the Greek game, the Childress deal (and any future continent-jumpers) is a more telling sign of that country’s basketballular development. On-court and financial milestones certainly operate in a feedback loop, but year-long financial competition will eventually provide the biggest challenge to the NBA monopoly on talent.

If you’re like Ugly American Me, it’s very hard even to try to see the world through the eyes of someone who talks funny and lives in a far-off land, so let’s look at a similar example of something a little closer to home: American soccer. For the majority of high-level European club teams, Olympic soccer is a two-week nuisance of a tournament that only serves to injure players in meaningless games. Simply put, the leagues don’t need it to succeed in the marketplace, with one league, the German Bundesliga, initially refusing to release its players and only acquiescing after a FIFA-issued mandate. The NBA’s global ambition lends Olympic basketball more importance than soccer clubs give to their tournament, but all these leagues, at their core, would still dominate without the Olympics. Now, soccer has the World Cup and various continental tournaments to serve that global role, but the general idea is the same: club teams take the lead, and international tournaments serve mainly to drive interest in the players who perform year-round for their clubs.



The US Men’s National Team has featured few, if any European stars outside of goalkeepers, which puts them in a position roughly analogous to that of the Greek basketball team that defeated the Americans two years ago. If US Soccer were to defeat, say, the Brazil or Argentina in Beijing, it would be an upset on the same level as that of the Greeks. Even if such an event was talked about in terms of national pride at the time, the overriding national sentiment would be that these soccer players are legitimate and deserve to be seen more than once every two years. The MLS Cup wouldn’t shoot to the top of the Nielsens for the month, but Olympic success would undoubtedly help drive some interest in the league. From a strategic standpoint, Olympic success is the means by which less successful national soccer organizations reach a critical mass within their own countries. It follows that American and African national teams typically put much more stock in Olympic success than other countries, if only because international tournament stand as rare chances to ignite national interest around pride and build stronger soccer infrastructures within their countries. On some level, the English federations no longer need the Olympics – the World Cup is enough.

Except that, even though the Premiership dominates the international marketplace, clubs like Liverpool release for participation key players who they could legally block from participating in the Olympics. Moves like these show exactly why this league is seen as the best in the world even though it arguably features an inferior product: they understand direct marketing to parts of the world where people cannot easily view these players. Not surprisingly, the Bundesliga is slowly losing popularity in every country outside of Germany, which suggests that their refusal to release stars like Brazil’s Diego is a sign of a larger problem.



Let’s return to basketball before I start referring to alley-oops as volleys. When we look at Olympic basketball through the prism of soccer, we can see that things like China’s steadfast decision to make Yao Ming play a full national-team schedule every summer is understandable, as it is the best way for them to increase their national – and therefore international – hold on popular athletics. Without sustained success in international competitions, these countries are doomed to occupy a middling spot in basketball culture for the foreseeable future.

But, even if the Americans lose this tournament, it’s hard to imagine David Stern and the NBA not coming out of this tournament as the biggest winners. The fact remains that the league and, lest we forget, Nike are exposing themselves to the largest untapped marketplace in the world, and my fantasies of All-Star Game perfection are exuberance is exactly the kind of reaction that Stern seeks to provoke from more than a billion people. This is a Dream Team in the truest sense of the name: they’re in Beijing to make minds race about the possibilities of the league, a place where Kidd hits Melo in stride from 90 feet away and CP3 and Deron one-up each other even as they reach for the same goals.

The Lab Is Inside You

Back from Chicago, and instead of feeling refreshed and renewed, I'm pissed that we're being denied an off-season. Long playoffs, suspenseful draft, free agency intrigue galore, global tremors, the Olympics. . . it makes me wish for those summer days that were like a wasteland, with nothing but MLB and starved, raving NFL fans in sight. Or perhaps I am ungrateful, or God is testing me, or this is a "be careful what you wish for" scenario.

I'm still trying to work out this notion of redundancy which, ironically, the Recluse claims is a staple of the college game. I guess the difference is that I'm imagining it in terms of positions ordinarily expected to off-set, or complete, each other. Not whole teams preaching one single trait—that's just a more refined, or simplistic, or disciplined version of a running team. It seems like the issue here is something apart from all matters of the positional revolution, which re-define the team's entire system, or system of relationships. The redundancy principle wouldn't necessarily mean "get a team of shooting guards"—though, SML, there was that quote about D'Antoni's ideal being five 6'8" guys who could pass. This is more about isolating the backcourt, or 3/4, or 4/5. The rise of the swingman would seem to indicate that, beyond individual cases, there is some use for this in NBA play.

Those two other theories (apositional nirvana, new roles) would still at least make some passing attempt to get the traditional responsibilities taken care of. They might emerge piecemeal, or spontaneously, and not even work—decentralized rebounding makes me laugh out loud, which is why I don't resent Brand on the Sixers—but that's why Marion's burden, however tragi-comic, was key to understanding the various incarnations of the Suns. And why we need to give the Warriors swarming defense its propers, and why the Two Joshes weren't about to be low-balled.

The redundancy theory is a lot more local, and even more counter-intuitive. Why did Hughes/Arenas sort of work? They couldn't man up to save their lives, but they created a ton of turnovers by playing off each in passing lanes. Something that, incidentally, neither has matched since 2004-05. Now, it's not like they were the same player: Hughes is a better rebounder and has a mid-range game, Arenas is deadlier off the dribble and bombs from anywhere. But the point is, their differences were incidental. What allowed them to work together well was their similarities. That's the same kind of vibe I get from a possible Roy/Bayless tandem. No one would ever get them confused, style-wise, but on paper, they do similar things. It probably doesn't really matter that Wright and Randolph are different, because the team's not looking to make up for one with the other. What's important is the surfeit of springy skill.



But in at least one area, instead of combining players to address negatives, weaknesses, and potential holes, there principle of excess triumphs. Thus, an overload that creates mismatches, dominates the discussion, and disrupts the usual chess match. It's a gamble, to be sure, but who's to say that being twice as good at one thing and lacking at another can't pay off? Yes, I know, that's the philosophy behind teams that just plain try to outscore their opponents, which never works. That's why I'm proposing this only in diads whose units have come to mirror each other in conventional basketball thinking. Perhaps this is meant to—apologies in advance—complement a complementary system. The two players become one unit, whose overall identity has to be taken into account when planning out the rest of the team.

Open question: Would this describe Beasley/Marion, or does it all depend on how much Marion has to completely cover for Beasley on defense? That would render their similarities incidental, wouldn't it?

More interesting:

We'll have some more USA Basketball stuff later this week, but for now, one thought. You've probably heard that LeBron's giving lots of money to Obama, this from a player whose silence on Darfur was taken as evidence of corporate drone-dom. I know, one is genocide overseas, the other a Presidential election. Ball players aren't supposed to be activists, while they often contribute to campaigns. But does anyone remember last summer's series of photos with James and company in fatigued and saluting? And how they got pep talks from wounded soldiers? Or how about a brief rundown the USA Basketball head and coach's political affiliations? Look, I'm all for supporting the troops, but that whole thing reeked of reinforced symbolism and connecting basketball with war.

There's no way that LeBron gets benched, or anything ridiculous like that. But if James is a very public, very generous supporter of Obama, and the face of USA team. . . you have to wonder if this doesn't hurt the Republicans just a little, including those who attempted to use USA ball last year for their own agenda.

The Difference Between Cults and Cliques

There's already a little grumbling about Kidd's inclusion on Team USA, that he'll crowd out what should rightfully be the Chris Paul/Deron Williams show, that there's nothing he can do that those two can't do better, and that we should hurry up and get the torch-passing over with (as if it hasn't been passed already). I completely understand the desire to see Paul and Williams take center stage, but feel compelled to say that Jason Kidd is the absolute perfect fit for this incarnation of Team USA.

This might seem like an unusual stance to take given that I typically am fully in favor of embracing the future and burning the past, and there's no question that Kidd has been fully eclipsed at this point by those two. Paul and Deron don't have any dues left to pay or any lessons to learn by sitting behind Kidd. Similarly, this isn't about Kidd's years of service, the wisdom gained from them, or the locker room hierarchy that will supposedly help him manage the egos. Deference to our elders means little to me and I have no use for symbolic positions meant to honor past glories. Kidd was pretty underwhelming this year both during his disappointing Mavs reunion and certainly while sleepwalking with the Nets. I fully acknowledge that Paul can run circles around him at this point and that Deron actually has a jumpshot. But none of that changes the fact that the U.S.'s demolition of last summer's FIBA Americas Championship was a thrilling display of basketball, largely because of Kidd's role. Carmelo put up the stats, LeBron got the highlights, and Kobe basked in the defensive glory, but it was the aging Kidd who set the tone for the entire run in a way that Paul or Deron couldn't replicate.



As ecstatic as I get over the Paul-to-Chandler oop, it's almost entirely about Chris Paul's wizardry. Kidd's passes, on the other hand, are complete deferrals to the power and majesty of his finishers, which is exactly what this crowd needs. When Paul's at his finest, the players around him almost feel like props that are out there for his pleasure. LeBron James and Dwight Howard are anything but props. With those two, in addition to Kobe and Melo, this year should still be primarily about them and the terror they can inflict. They shouldn't be out there headless though, which makes the deteriorated Kidd the perfect compromise to set them up without taking any of their spotlight; to put the ball in the perfect place every time, while still allowing the finishers to lead.

If you didn't see or don't remember Kidd's FIBA performance, it was absolutely flawless, and something I can't wait to see recreated on an even bigger stage. The statline he ended up with doesn't appear striking (1.8 ppg, 3.3 rpg, and 4.6 apg in 15.9 mpg), but his two most important numbers were the just 10 shot attempts and 5 turnovers over the course of the 10 games. That second stat is especially staggering when one thinks back to the ridiculous array of passes he attempted. In particular, two of his botched passes stick out to me more than all of his successes: at one point he attempted a full-court bounce pass that weaved between three defenders, barely beating his streaking target to the spot. Even more impressive was the highlight of the entire tournament: the failed off-balance, off-the-backboard alley oop to LeBron from the 3-point line. Had LeBron connected (and he arguably should have), it would have gone down as the greatest pass I've ever seen.




Despite all the absurd pass attempts, he still ended up with a tournament-leading 9.2 ast/to ratio. That number is off the charts in a regular season, but in an intensified series of All-Star games, it just doesn't seem rational. But when you have LeBron and Dwight on the other end of your lobs and they're actually trying, you can usually get away with things you couldn't imagine anywhere else. Chris and Deron are definitely going to have their share of inspired plays, both by themselves and using their teammates, but with those two their highlights are manifestly of their creation, with their stamp always firmly affixed. In the NBA, this makes their play hugely preferable to Kidd's diminished game. Surrounded by other future HOFers though, I'll take Kidd's seemingly-less-authored genius every time.

At least as important as his awe-inspiring lobs was Kidd's unique approach to moving the ball that summer. He came into the tournament absolutely determined to never dribble the basketball, opting instead for full-court outlet passes after both makes and misses. He may have dribbled the ball 6 or 7 times over the entire week and a half, never holding the ball for more than a second or two. The "hot potato" style completely took over, as though the entire team collectively decided, "fuck dribbling," which translated to incredibly gorgeous basketball. Somehow a team starring Carmelo, Kobe, and LeBron managed to use hardly any isos at all, save for an occasional reassertion of Kobe's alpha status. On a team loaded with scorers, a point guard that needs to dominate the ball has the potential to disrupt the awesome flow that this group established last summer. With Kidd at the reigns, I feel confident we'll be treated once again to the steady stream of flawless touch passes we saw last August.



Chris Paul and Deron Williams are absolute virtuosos on the court. They'll be spectacular both this summer off the bench and as they lead us to the next 3 or 4 gold medals. But for this year, it's still all about Kidd setting the table without ever claiming the foreground. Not as a nostalgic tribute to what's come before, but because his current style is what will make for the most exciting and dominating basketball right now.