You Will Be Slaughtered

Words from the janitor: Read the Works today, which includes one of the best things I've written on LeBron. For those of you who asked where the feed went, try here.

Neither Eric Freeman nor myself attended any media days. That doesn’t mean, however, that we aren’t NBA writers. Or really lazy, which might explain why we didn’t go the nearest team media day with our pants on fire and our hi-tops on. As luck would have it, we discovered -- thanks to none of our older, more distinguished colleagues -- that media day is a clearinghouse for laziness, an ode to it, a gigantic, seaweed-powered factory churning out bits of storyline for the benefit of writer laziness. The point of media day is to feed story idea to the, well, the media. And why not? It saves us work; the season is long; puff pieces make the world go ‘round; and really, is there any better explanation for the photos that came out of this week’s festivities.

Taking a scant bit of initiative, Eric and I have endeavored to get the jump on our more grizzled peers, read between lines, and lay claim to the stories that land someone -- maybe the player, maybe some scruffy reporter, maybe the two holding hands in a stockcar -- on ESPN in January, or maybe even as part of an ABC halftime segment. You see visual nonsense; we see messages telegraphed straight from the public relations office, just in code, a code of symbols and expressionistic cues that only a real journalist can latch onto and suck all the blood out of, drawing sustenance and meaning from it like a lamprey stuck in a picnic basket. Put me in coach, I’m ready to play!



As far back as he can remember, Daniel Orton had trouble in school. The day he started the third-grade, Daniel lit an apple on fire, thinking it was a pencil. All he wanted to do was give it to his teach, old, blind Ms. Abernathy, to try and make her see again. That way, maybe this year would be easier. He struggled through high school, just barely qualifying for admission into Kentucky, and it was rumored, left after one sliver of a season off the bench because he was facing ineligibility.

However, Eric Bledsoe’s bum transcripts aren’t the only academic shocker to come to light in the House of Cal’s this summer. As it turns out, Orton tested at near-genius levels on all four major standardized tests, and learned that all along, he has been the victim not of poor schools, or an undiagnosed learning issue, but poor record-keeping. Vets like Rashard Lewis, who jumped straight from high school, have taken to calling Orton “The Wiz”; this offseason, he has started aggressively pursuing a degree at UCF, with an emphasis on science, math, and his favorite topic, physics. That apple? No longer a painful memory, this unassuming fruit is now a reminder of Sir Isaac Newton, also misunderstood as a child and very nearly burned at the stake before an apple set him free. Just don’t ask his more religious teammates in on the conversation, Orton jokes. (BS)



For the first five seasons of his career, Monta Ellis was an enigma, a talented scorer who often seemed uninterested in the rigors of defense and being his team’s leader. Now, a married man and NBA veteran, he has taken up the mantle and led his charges out of the wilderness. But few thought he would do so as the leader of a dystopic future world hell-bent on fighting off a coming alien invasion. At the bridge of his spaceship, he waits, ready to take on any extraterrestrials that look to penetrate our atmosphere. (EF)



As a player, Nick Van Exel was not someone you would have expected to take on a coaching role after his days on the court were over. Despite his penchant for late-game heroics, Van Exel was a bristly personality who often seemed disconnected from his teammates. With the Hawks, his methods have been far from conventional. But he has a secret weapon and conversation starter: the first pants ever to combine pleats and belt-loops. (EF)



Don Nelson is gone; long live Don Nelson. At least, coming into camp, that was the fear for some in the Golden State Warriors organization. After all, no man is as synonymous with the francise as the one they call Nellie; his up-tempo, experimental brand of ball, and eccentric behavior, are the closest it has ever come to a league-wide brand. But as with the couple in Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage (including the clay-mation miniseries streamed on Welsh PPV), even the most passionate, rocky, relationships must come to an end. Coming into camp, though, new head coach Keith Smart wonder, and worried, how he could get his men to work past the charismatic rush -- and some would say, the beaten-puppy trauma -- of life under Nellie. What did their insides look like? How did they understand the sport of basketball? How, from chaos, can you start to mine order?

The answer was easy: stacking. This centuries-old sport, favorted primarily by autistic kids (and Dutch people) and their weird dads, consists of piling up objects, in a set form, at a rapid pace. The demons of Don Nelson are exorcised, and youngsters like Stephen Curry learn that fast doesn’t necessarily mean chaotic, and that you can build yourself -- and your team -- back up without a return to plodding basics. Maybe it’s a sport for the wee ones, but as Curry put it, Nellie made us feel like kids in a bad way. This is the first step of the long journey home, to safety and security -- both on the court and in their minds. (BS)



In the 1998 film Patch Adams, Robin Williams heals sick people through the power of laughter. Fighting against an impersonal health-care system that treats human beings like cogs in a money-making machine, he turns an arsenal of funny voices and a giant vat of spaghetti into the best treatment this side of the MRI machine. For years, NBA defense has been defined by a similarly cold and angry calculus. But don’t tell that to the Clippers, whose regular team-wide hug sessions have brought a new sense of togetherness and the most surprisingly effective defensive rotations in the league. (EF)



Amar’e Stoudemire’s commitment to Jewish culture turned out to be short-lived. Once he learned what observing Shabbat actually meant and tasted gefilte fish for the first time, he realized that the world he saw in Israel was far different from that of his new home of New York City, where insecurity triumphs over strength. Yet all hope is not lost as Amar’e explores the world outside our borders. Impressed by Marion Cotillard’s performance in Inception, he attacked the world of French cinema with uncommon vigor this fall. Now, with the help of teammate Ronny Turiaf, he’s learning that French culture goes far beyond baguettes and brie. C’est la vie, indeed! (EF)



In the offseason, most NBA player return to the place that they really call home. It may be a small town in Missippi or Vermont where they were born, or a posh suburb of Atlanta where they have settled with their families. Maybe it’s rented Gulfstream, circling the globe, with occasional stops in Asia for sneaker promotion. For Miami Heat center Zydrunas Ilguaskas, better known as Big Z, that place is the mouth of hell, where he lives in the transplanted ruins of Count Dracula’s forbidden castle. The brotherhood of basketball is an enlightened one. It’s been years since Charles Barkley called Angola’s players “spear chuckers”. That, and the grueling journey endured by many pros from the former Eastern Bloc, explains why there haven’t been nearly enough Dracula jokes in this so-called global renaissance. I say, so what? Dracula was a great movie. If they’re going to talk that way, they should be ready for some good-natured ribbing. If you can dish it out, take it. If my daughter was a vampire, like in Let Me In (great flick!), I would probably send her to those parts to get in touch with her roots. But for now, come on. Vampires are the enemy. They take our blood. Don’t they deserve a little grief?

None of this matters to Ilguaskas. He arrived in the NBA abruptly because he turned into a bat and flew over to America. His early career injuries are largely attributable to a lack of healthy teammates that he could eat. With the Cavs, he siphoned off of the nutrient-rich bloodstream of LeBron James, and it kept him upright and effective. That, as much as any desire for a ring or friendship with LBJ, is why he followed him to Miami. Back home in hell, though, none of this matters to Ilguaskas. He can’t change who he is, nor does expect his teammates, or fans, to ever understand. But he’s sick, as they say, of living in the darkness. Big Z is ready to come into the light, and set the record straight on who he his, his past, and how you balance a castle already in shambles on exact point where one dimension ends and another begins (for obvious reasons, he can’t go all the way yet). Actually, given Ilguaskas’s unique set of concerns, maybe he wants us to come into the dark with him, since he likely wouldn’t want to be caught out in the light. Good luck convincing this reporter to chase down that lead! (BS)



On the court, fans know Steve Nash as one of the greatest distributors of his generation. He creates passing angles out of thing air with the skill of a well-trained wizard. But there’s a darker side to Nash that people rarely see. The man who seems all too willing on the court is much more selfish behind closed doors. To get a taste of his true personality, just watch him at the team’s post-game spread. And don’t look away, because that fruit plate might vanish before your eyes. (EF)



Robin Lopez has never struck anyone as a serious guy. With his Sideshow-Bob hair and love of comic books, he sometimes resembles a rowdy sixth-grader more than an adult. But behind that goofy exterior lies the mind of a scholar who, lest we forget, opted to spend two years at Stanford rather than a more typical basketball power like UCLA or Arizona. With the help of his twin brother Brook, Robin has created one of the hottest apps on the smart phone market. The next time you’re able to access your favorite childhood cartoons to pass the time on your morning commute, thank Phoenix’s shot-blocking center. (EF)



“Us .... us .... us ... us ... us ... and them .... them ... them ... them ... them ... them/But after all, we’re all just ordinary men” -- Pink Floyd, “Dark Side of the Moon”

(BREAKING CHARACTER: How fucking dumb is it that every single post-Syd Barrett Floyd record is, on some level, about Barrett, an idealized and romanticized version of Syd that at once celebrates and laments his descent into madness and the brilliance it wreaked along the way. But those assholes kicked him out! Blech. Okay, back to reporting.)

Growing up, Devin Harris always knew he was different. He didn’t get in trouble. He got good grades. His friends on his AAU team, the Wisconsin Blasters, had cousins in jail, problems getting admitted into school, and always got stopped by the cops. Devin just didn’t get it. He loved his Packers, tried to be a good son and better boyfriend, and went to the school of his dreams. He lived with two female friends, prompting rumors that he was a pimp, queer, soft, a mama’s boy, or indecisive. Devin laughed it off easily because to him, it all seemed so distant. Above all else, though, Devin knows the value of giving back to the community.

When the Nets moved to Newark, that responsibility took on an entirely different tenor than it had when they played ... in a swamp, and ministered to alligators, rens, shopping malls, the memory of dead mobsters, and area schools with at least one black kid for the photo op. Newark, though, is a very different, a world Harris has never known. Teammate Terrence Williams compared it to Seattle’s “BD”, though he probably meant “CD”, where all the non-serial murders in Seattle occur even though, at this point, only four blocks of it aren’t gentrified. This season, Devin plans to finally cross that line, to discover that world that has seemed so close, yet so far away, throughout his charmed life as a star athlete. That is, unless he gets traded first. (BS)



The Orlando Magic once had a depth problem. With so many highly-paid players on the roster, it was often hard for Stan Van Gundy to find enough minutes to go around. Brandon Bass and several others who came (or came back) to Orlando expecting to be a contributor to a championship contender, languished on the bench. This team needed leadership badly, and it came from an unlikely source: swingman Mickael Pietrus. A man who once seemed like a replaceable role player is now an irreplaceable part of the Magic attack. With the guidance of this Frenchman, this team is finally making beautiful music together. (EF)



The Celtics always knew that signing Shaquille O’Neal would be a risk. With his outsized personality and need for attention, Shaq can often serve as The Big Distraction, particularly for a team that’s been all business for the past three seasons. He can contribute on the court, but it might not always be worth it. For proof, just look at the building rift between O’Neal and dimunitive guard Nate Robinson. The man who once made everyone laugh with his “Shrek and Donkey” nickname now sees his joke turf being invaded by one of the biggest pranksters in the NBA. This locker room may not be big enough for the both of them. (EF)



By now, you know Ben Wallace’s story. How he grew up on a tiny farm in an impoverished Southern state, where he passed him time building his muscles. He smashed things for work and play, and sometimes just to pass the time. He broke up old furniture for firewood, then smashed an old barn so his ten siblings could build a new living room set. The stories spread far and wide of the kid from the dirt road, whose mailbox came and went with the hounds, and his astounding muscle. When he first met Charles Oakley, it was because Oakley -- no stranger to big arms and outlandish boasts -- wanted to challenge this backwoods phenom to a lumberjack contest. He took one look at Wallace, sledgehammer in hand, and politely changed his tune. Oakley offered, instead, to make Ben into an NBA player.

It worked, but only because Ben kept hammering. He’s been hammering ever since. And now, as his career enters its twilight phase, Wallace is going back to his roots, the way we become more and more like babies as we age (no Benjamin Button), or start going to church the day we learn we’re going to die. Sheed had the championship belt, the perfect summation of what pro sports had made him, and vice-versa. Wallace, hanging on till the end like ol’ John Henry battling that steam machine, is bringing back the hammer like never before. Sometimes, you’ll see it in the locker room. Sometimes, by the bench. It’s not if Big Ben has a hammer, but when. Let’s just hope Ron Artest isn’t in the building. (BS)



The Heat’s Big Three earned their fair share of criticism this summer for the way they came together in Miami. Beyond that arrogance, though, was a need to be loved verging on the pathological. With that in mind, they’ve made a concerted effort to reach out to the community and show they know how to take a little criticism. That’s why they held the league’s first team roast last night, where everyone from superfan Jimmy Buffett to teammate Carlos Arroyo got their digs in at Miami’s most popular trio. Don’t miss the broadcast on ESPN next Sunday, because Mario Chalmers does a Chris Bosh impression that you have to see to believe. (EF)



Once upon a time, the Mavericks had amenities unrivaled by any other team in the NBA. Of course, that was before Mark Cuban lost all his money by giving it away on poorly conceived reality shows. These days, the scene in Dallas is quite grim. The franchise’s army of trainers has now been whittled down to one guy with a bottle of Tylenol and some tape. Personal DVD players have been replaced by a communal TV with no cable and a few bootleg Entourage DVDs. And the team’s personal chef? Well, Dirk Nowitzki tries to make spaetzle, but it just comes out as a doughy mush. (EF)

(NF note: I thought this was Dirk at an all-white party with a bottle of Hypno until I zoomed in. What a story that would have made!)



You might think that Carlos Boozer -- born and raised in Alaska, then sent to preppy Duke to ball -- would lean to the right politically. He went to play in Utah, after all. However, now that he’s in the free and open environs of Chicago, we’re getting to see real Carlos Boozer, a arch political satirist who, in one image, shrewdly suggests the cultural intersection of the Tea Party and the Village People. Who better to tackle these topics than Alaska’s fifth-most famous public figure, and a power forward often accused of being “soft”? TROPES FOR DAYS. (BS)



Mike Dunleavy has been ridiculed for many things, among them, looking like he was twelve. That’s why, for the last few months, he has been living in a strange, reverse-biodome, that sucks the life out of its victim and causes him to age faster than usual, at least on a superficial level. Hence the new set of wrinkles, which give him some gravitas in a way that muscles never did, and a look of perpetual horror that no longer suggests an unspoilt childhood growing up with an NBA journeyman. You can judge a black vet by his tats. For the white race, all they have is the stories their faces tell. (BS)



BREAKING: Anthony Randolph straddles scorer’s table to down a box of NERDS between interviews. What flavor? (BS)

Fields of Garnish

Check out "Lamar Modem," my first foray—along with some help from my FanHouse comrades—into NBA video art. "Stop, Or LeBron Will Shoot" was going to be next, but after last night, who knows? Really though, I did say at the time, and forever, that Rondo was taking too little money.

Speaking of me writing else, this column on the Suns and the nature of revolution will appeal to readers here.

Sarver, Suns, Really Do Care

Bright Side of the Sun brought the news, as well as the really good photo below that's from a while ago and has nothing to do with the story, unless you want to speculate on what role the Suns players may have played in this. Here's my really rushed two cents, but by now, you know my feelings on this. This is an incredibly bold stand for a sports franchise to take, and it's a sign of just how important it is for this law to meet its maker.

Wonder how this looks if the Suns go Spanish, and the Spurs, who probably have the largest Latino fan base of any team, don't. Fuck the "offense vs. defense" cliche that really doesn't apply here anymore—this series just got really, really big.

UPDATE: From Bright Side's Seth, Twitter: "Nash and kerr making strong stmts against immigration bill. Bold move. Sarvers idea but players approved as did NBA and Spurs" Not to armchair here, and I'm way too excited to try and break this down, but my guess is that when he came to them, the floodgates opened for everyone to speak their mind. There's your new formula, I guess. Still wondering what the Spurs do now.

UPDATE 2: Seth, again, with the exact words of Nash, Gentry, Amar'e, etc. They are not playing at all here. Also, Eric Freeman wonders if this means fans in favor of the law will now find themselves cheering a jersey that is as much a symbol of protest as of the team.

Oh, and while this Photoshop job is old, too, I invite anyone on the wrong side of this issue to use it:

Bad Reporting

Okay, I misread that Twitter exchange because I wanted the world to be a better place. As Luis points out, Dudley asks "What would it mean to the city of PHX if we were able to beat the Spurs in this year playoffs?", King answers that it would unite the city in the wake of the immigration controversy, Hill and Nash concur. So basically, nothing. Absolutely nothing. Sports will make everyone set aside their differences. Typical bullshit.

So I don't know what to make of this exchange:

@irakoto: Phoenix players @the_real_nash @RealGranthill33 @loyaloneforlife @JaredDudley619 speaking out agst #immigration bill. Proud to be a fan

@loyaloneforlife: @lrakoto The Phoenix Suns are very socially conscious group of men. @Amareisreal,@RealGranthill33,@jrich23,@JaredDudley619,Nash, everyone!

Maybe I'm missing something, again, but saying you're aware of the city's strife ... does that make you socially conscious? Someone prove me wrong. Again.

Get Fuel

Watch all of this interview, it's worth it.

(I'm sorry I keep relentlessly invoking Bill Russell. Working on the book has convinced me that he's underrated. Calm down, everyone knows he's the greatest center ever and all. As a cultural figure, though, few athletes have as much to offer/did as much as he did. The tragedy is that no one listened.)

As of the moment, my definitive say on NBA/Arizona. There are a lot of holes, and no one seems to know if my final conclusion is cynical, overly idealistic, or both. Was accused by one friends of "double-Obama" maneuvers. Anyway, please read, and if you can't stand the comments there, talk here.

Can't wait for Treme tonight. And please, oh please, let us see the Hawks as they should be.

This cover is really weird:

We All Have Questions

This is a very important question that I think warranted discussion. However, first some news: FreeDarko's Undisputed Guide to Pro Basketball History now has a cover! Also, please be reading my Playoff Talking Points. Now, me and Eric Freeman look into Steve Nash and the sin of omission, or projection, or that which cannot be named.

Bethlehem Shoals: In the interest of full disclosure and total, awkward honesty, this email exchange is an attempt to recreate a phone conversation from the afternoon of Thursday, April 22, 2010. I telephoned Eric Freeman, outraged that Steve Nash—generally seen as one of the more politically active, or at least aware, Phoenix Suns—wasn't speaking out against the anti-brown person malarky being considered by the state of Arizona. Actually, I was outraged that no one was crying for him to speak out. Remember when LeBron James not taking a stand against Darfur made national news? Now, a player with a reputation for activism had nothing to say about a serious issue in his own state.

Eric Freeman: Maybe Nash just isn't as big or controversial an activist as we thought. If you look at his charitable contributions, they all involve your standard fare: green initiatives (the charity so uncontroversial that both NBC and the NBA devote an entire week to it), children's funds (which is essentially apolitical now), etc. Those are all worthwhile causes, of course, but not on the same level as a birtherist bill in his state of employment. I think he gets this attention as an activist simply because he looks like one: floppy hair, white, wears vaguely trendy clothing. He's easier to sell as a politically involved player because it requires less convincing on the part of the league -- they can trot him out there without much explanation. He's a useful presence for the causes the league wants to promote.

BS: Okay, after remembering the web research I did yesterday, I have to agree. Although he was against the war before it was considered okay, which has to count for something. I'm tempted to say that Amar'e, with his ongoing work in Sierra Leone, might be doing more—though then we get into the difference between service, activism, and how much either one is ever strictly "political". This still hasn't answered my question, though: If Nash has this identity projected onto him, and it contributes to his popularity (or at least his image), why doesn't it come into play here? It's almost like he gets the benefit of being viewed this way without being held accountable. Whereas when LeBron James and Kobe go to China, they're expected to become political. Nash gets a pass here . . . because he already is?



For the record, Steve Nash spoke out against Darfur in the spring of 2007; Ira Newble's petition was around the same time. Kobe and LeBron lent their names to the cause in spring 2008, then were mum during the Olympics. Not to editorialize, but Nash is the most popular athlete in Arizona. If ever there were a time when his voice really mattered like no other, and thus would really be taking a stand, this is it. But again, is that what athletes are obliged to do?

EF: The difference here, I think, is that speaking out would be a direct response to many of his fans. Granted, I'm sure a large number of Mavs fans were pro-war in 2003, but that's a broader argument not specific to the state in which he played. This issue is about Arizona, and he's the most popular basketball figure in the state. It'd be a break not just with a popular political position, but the legislature of the state he represents around the rest of the country.

BS: So athletes are expected to use their influence for good . . . except when it hits too close to home and could potentially alienate some of their fans? I'm not sure how that's so different from my argument that we shouldn't expect LeBron to be responsible for a chain of international affairs that leads from Oregon to Darfur. Not because he's incapable of it, but because at some point, there are limits to responsibility. Except here, the limit would be. . . when it really involves a serious confrontation with the people who look up to you? It's almost like Steve Nash has done enough to be given this pass (which to some degree, makes sense to me), but other athletes who don't do anything can have expectations thrown at them willy-nilly.

EF: But how often are athletes asked to take controversial stands? Even in the case of LeBron and Darfur, there wasn't significant uproar about his decision not to take a stand -- it's not as if liberal activists would turn down his involvement in any number of less controversial issues. It's almost as if the public wants action, but not necessarily anything that could undermine their status as basketball players. It sounds great to have another Muhammad Ali, but what if political circumstances hadn't allowed him to return to boxing? Is that a tradeoff we're willing to risk?

BS: It was too a big story. I think the first one—his refusal to sign Ira Newble's petition—may have been bigger than the Olympics silence. To be fair, the latter was a gag order imposed by Colangelo, so that would have required a higher order of un-American defiance. But that first time around, it was in the Wall Street Journal and stuff. Brought up the whole "no better than Jordan" conversation. He eventually did end up addressing it, along with Kobe and several others, and there was no fallout. Not during the Olympics, or in China afterward, but again, maybe those fall under the "asking too much" rubric. LeBron is really obligated to defy the Chinese government while he's on a publicity tour there?

Maybe it's a question of good politics, in the most cynical sense. There's idealism, and then there's realism. We should always assume that athletes are hampered by some degree of realism. The question is, in Nash's case, can we push that so far that he's totally let off the hook? You're right, he would be directly challenging his fans. Not just staking out a position in some vague geo-political system of affairs. That would be like LeBron protesting Darfur during the Olympics—it would go right up against what American told him to do. He would be defining America for himself. That's what Nash would be doing in this case.

Except, and maybe this is key, dude's Canadian. Oooops!

Better Now Than June

FreeDarko is where you come for the NBA news you can't get anywhere else, the opinions that threaten convention. How about this one: That Amar'e Stoudemire dunk on Tolliver really was something. Yes, I know, a play almost instantly enshrined as the best of the season (that would make him the real Dunk Champ, btw, since "In-Game Contest" is impossible to pull off). For whatever reason, it didn't really sink in with me at the time. Maybe I was traveling at the time. But as I saw it—numerous times, though mostly in slow-motion—the Tolliver dunk was mostly about force and demolishment. Great, and the kind of thing that will break the dunk news cycle wide-open (or get it going at all, if that makes more sense). I even bought the Dunk of the Year line; sure, it was dramatic and the quintessential soul-killing assault. That's what the D-League is for, I guess.

As much as I like what Amar'e has done to his game since that fateful injury—the day, you could say, that FD lost its innocence and started chipping away at its will to live—I've always wondered if that physical phenom would ever return. I've tried, extensively at times, to convince myself that it didn't matter, or that it happened but only made sense on the level of words and reason. Yet watching him dunk, I saw something admirable, booming, but just a little sad. That spark of the divine was lost forever, so I thought, left to the likes of Tyrus Thomas—who, let's face it, never knew how to control and enact it like Amar'e. Since the days of Kemp, no dunker has as infernally mixed up size, speed, strength, reflex, and yes, savagery like 2004-05 Amar'e Stoudemire. Young Shaq coming from the other side of the spectrum, and Howard, great as he is, is more like Amar'e last season than this.

(Note: Eric Freeman is responsible for designating this the official AMARE IS BACK dunk. I expanded on that theme. I do not cheat voluntarily.)

I am not merely overworked, or cynical, or intent on my own death. For whatever reason, though, it didn't occur to me that this might be a revelatory moment, that the buzz might be over something more than kickin' ass and spoilin' shorts. Then, at some point during yesterday's playoff vigil, I watched it again. At full-speed, over and over again. That's when I realized two things: Fiddling with the speed and angle of a dunk on a replay detracts from it. Show it quick and dirty like it happened, for only then can we truly gauge its magnitude. And, two, that was the Amar'e of old. Most of you probably knew this weeks ago, but he tore right through Tolliver and into the rim while barely touching the ground; generating immense power so quickly, so effortlessly, that "delicate" needs to be added in there somewhere.

So yeah, I'm suddenly really excited to watch the Suns today. Let's take one more look and listen.

Still Waters Run Shallow

A profound believer in liberated fandom, djturtleface loves the worst or most peculiar teams in the league. In third grade he listed Rasheed Wallace as his idol, and currently writes for TheGoodPoint.com. He just started SB Nation's Memphis Grizzlies blog Straight Outta Vancouver, which is an exercise in pain, misfortune, and hope for a better tomorrow.

Trevor hates sports more than, perhaps, anything else. In fact Trevor’s has irrational hate for everything that doesn’t pique his interest is the only thing that keeps me from definitively saying sports are the main target of his loathing. You see Trevor prefers to spend his days as an active citizen, devouring monographic texts on the complexities of nuclear deterrence theory. He fancies himself a thinker, an intellectual even, and resents that others are more interested in half-heartedly watching a second episode of Sportscenter instead of making sure to catch this week’s U.S.-Chinese Strategic Economic Dialogue on CSPAN.

So needless to say I was skeptical when Trevor sent me an article he described as “probably about basketball, you like that, don’t you?” I damn near closed the tab when I saw a goofy white dude with thick rimmed glasses and a weak ass ‘fro staring back at me, until I read the subtitle: “When underdogs break the rules.” Intriguing. Except horrible.

When I talked to Trevor later that day I told him how I thought the article was fucking stupid. I straight up murdered that shit. Guess what pal? No fourteen year old team is really all that talented, so it’s not like the metaphorical glass ceiling was too high for up and coming team to break shatter. Not to take anything away from the sport, but my high school’s girls team once scored under 20 points in a game—scratch that, a win.

Trevor, possessing a biting wit, responded, “Didn’t you just write like a page long feature about how bad-ass some team was cause they were so odd?” Oops, there goes gravity.



The team in question was the Golden State Warriors. And the short piece theorized that if we remember sports are ultimately an exchange of entertainment for pay, wherein wins and losses are just one function of entertainment, then the W’s are actually one of the most successful teams in the league. Their games are thrilling, they give 48 minutes of excitement, and the constant tension between Nellie and his riotous players fosters a compelling and dramatic narrative. While the team might not be win many games, both the Golden State Warriors and their fans are certainly winners.

But every time we boot up ESPN, watch Sir Charles rant on Inside the NBA, or listen to the B.S. Report we are reminded that championships and wins are the measure of the quality of sport. On top of that brainwashing we’re reminded that only certain types of teams win championships—teams that are about as unique as Simmons’ punch lines.

As a result of this propaganda most fans perceive unique teams like the Warriors as gadgets or tricksters, somehow perennially inferior to the real contenders. The Magic can’t win in a series—live by the three die by the three, bad luck will eventually hit. And my, oh my, look at that Rafer Alston’s street ball moves, aren’t they a neat distraction! The Nuggets don’t have any chance—up-tempo teams just don’t play enough defense to win big games. By the way, friends, please note that J.R. Smith has no basketball awareness. It must be because those tattoos cover his eyes too!



Of course in reality the curse of the three-pointer is a myth carried over from the NCAA’s one-and-done tournament format and streaky shooters. The Magic shot the three more consistently than any other team deep in the playoffs, which makes sense considering that the greater the sample the more likely you are to find the mean. As far as fast pace equaling a lack of defense, Denver was 6th in the league in defensive efficiency despite missing Kenyon Martin for much of the season, much better than even moribund grinders like the Spurs and Trailblazers. Anyone who watched the Denver’s playoff losses recognized they lost due to late game offensive blunders, not defense.

Considering how few teams played with a style asymmetrical to league trends last season, I count 8 (Knicks, 76ers, Magic, Pacers, Rockets [without Yao], Nuggets, Warriors, Suns), isn’t it modestly impressive that half made the playoffs, none were embarrassed, and two made the Conference Finals? If you play the percentages, teams who employ unique strategies to maximize their advantages actually tend to be competitors more often. Now remember that the Suns would probably still be in the Conference Finals picture too if it weren’t for their owner’s shameful identity crisis.

Perhaps it was fate that the Suns would be betrayed by their owner, since the only thing that had ever kept them from winning multiple champions was catching a couple breaks. Or, rather, they caught too many breaks. Joe Johnson broke his face, Amar’e broke his knees, Amar’e and Diaw broke the rules, and Nash broke his nose. But Steve Nash standing back up, defiant with his face bloodied, will be my image of a winner’s spirit forever. The pained determination in his eyes was enough to make you wonder if he had asked God why he had forsaken him. And yet since we all should be preaching “defense wins championships” so kids will learn to be winners for life at elementary school basketball camps, the story books will remember Nash and the seven-seconds-till-death Suns as nothing but an entertaining sideshow to the Spurs dynasty.



Yes, the haters are right that none of these eight teams have won a championship lately, and they’re right that recently the ranks on Larry O’Brien’s trophy are devoid of a team with a unique, non-traditional style. But consider the three greatest dynasties in the NBA’s history: the Bill Russell Celtics, the Showtime Lakers, and the Jordan Bulls. Believe it or not, Russel’s Celtics thrived off fast-breaks at a time when clothes-lining a streaking wing was considered a defensive fundamental. The Showtime Lakers overcame having stars named Ferdinand and Earvin to become flashy to a fault at times, they admittedly made no effort on defense, and the guy named Earvin could and would play all five positions. Of the three only the Jordan Bulls even vaguely resembles what we now know as the prototypical blueprint for success, whatever the fuck that even means, and that’s likely only because Jordan’s dominance shaped the model in our collective minds.

A week or two ago I was chatting with Trevor and we stumbled into a breezy conversation about Third World development and dependency theory. To explain my point I dropped a little round ball reference: the Lakers want the Kings to try to build around Kevin Martin like he’s Kobe, because they know the Kings will never grow into contenders that way. They want the Grizzlies’ young core to fail because they can rape their greatest resources for a pittance in return. And the fans are strung along the whole way, struggling to subsist while waiting for that true shooting guard or seven foot shot-blocking center they just know is the final piece.

I was pretty proud of the metaphor, and thought I might have smartly, meaningfully bridged the gap between disciplines.

But Trevor just told me it was fucking stupid.

Bucking Mines

Timely as ever, I'd like to weigh in on the Steve Nash contract extension, which is now centuries old news in internet time...

There are many theories on what exactly "ruined" the Suns that have so defined this millenium of pro basketball. I choose to blame D'Antoni's (fixable) failure to get tough on the team's rebounding woes, bad luck with the timing of Amare's injuries, the firing of D'Antoni, the replacement of D'Antoni with Terry Porter, the ill-timed acquisition of Shaquille O'Neal, and in general, Steve Kerr. I don't really buy into theories about Sarver's cheapness, trading all those draft picks, or not holding on to Joe Johnson/Q-Rich/Marcus Banks...etc.



















The Suns were always a team poised to win RIGHT NOW. There was no use for building toward the future with late first round picks. They never had a distinctly "old" team until the Hill/Nash/Shaq triumverate, and with Nash and Amare alone, they ALWAYS have a fighting chance.

And now they still do.

Despite Kerr's idiocy, Amare and Nash (miraculously) are still there. Nash might be on steroids for all I know (BLOGGER ALERT), but he isn't going to be demonstrably worse this year. And Amare might be better (?). May I present to you the possibility that this Nash extension gives the Suns one last glimmer of hope?

--Nash signing an extension says one of two things: (1) I believe I can win a championship with this franchise, or (2) This franchise gave me a new life and two MVP trophies. I owe it to them to re-sign, and PS, I'm satisfied. Either way, a happy Nash is good for at least 15 and 8.

--A summer and a half worth of ridiculous trade rumors may in fact inspire Amare Stoudemire to play tougher than he already does? I don't know. This might be a reach.

--A strong supporting cast of IF guys. IF J-Rich can knock down the open jumpers, IF Robin Lopez proves to be a serviceable back-up, IF Leandro Barbosa can regain form....the Suns have depth

--A host of players that can potentially solve the rebounding quandary (again, IF Robin Lopez is worth a damn...)

--Teams will no longer GET UP to play them. The Suns no longer boast that fear-inducing NBA championship squad on paper that causes TNT/ESPN/ABC to over-book them and teams to treat matches with them like Gladitorial arena battles. The Suns, for the first time in the Nash era, may actually be able to sneak up on teams...

Am I blindly grasping to hold on to an era that no longer exists? Potentially. But I am soberly not ready to admit that the Suns are over, merely because of what the Shaq trade appeared to signal (rebuilding). Nash's re-signing initially gave me feelings of emptiness, the thoughts of him and Amare roaming around in blank space, carrying the guilt of two 19th century Russian lit protagonist partners in crime. But then I reoriented: It signaled a last gasp of hope.

I am curious to see what the Suns do with desperation, which could be the last motivational tool they have.
























ADDENDUM:

The original version of this post (embarrassingly) included references to both Matt Barnes (the news of whose signing I totally missed) and Ben Wallace (inexcusable for falling off my radar). All I can say is that my NBA game has not been air tight this summer, and I'm getting back on track.

Also, I suppose I *should* reference the only things the Suns have actively done this season besides signing Nash: Grant Hill, Channing Frye, and Earl Clark. Truth is, these guys don't add much, except for providing even more of a blank canvas for Nash and Amare to operate on. Grant Hill keeps shit stable in the locker room. Channing Frye's young-journeyman tag should provide him with some inspiration to get back to rookie year form and to improve on his rebounding, and Earl Clark does absolutely nothing for me (I actually think getting a PG who could spell Nash (Jrue, Ty Lawson) would have been a better pick here).

The important thing is that, for the first time in a while, Phoenix is keeping shit simple. Contrast this with 2009 playoff alums Dallas, Utah, or even, say, Portland, who at this point have generated too high of expectations and are spinning squads of 'too many people who need to be kept happy.' Steve and the Suns made a mutual gesture of good faith, and this bump of positivity coupled with a sense of "nothing to lose" gives them some optimism for 09-10.

Baked Alaska

I usually hate the sun, in fact, it places undue pressure on me to love life and makes me that much more determined to hide in the shadows. But fuck it, it's been gorgeous here for three days, there's only so much basketball on, and no one's checking their email. So I'm suddenly filled with spring fever—more like compulsion—and have to get to the water and get my tan on.

Before I run out the door, though, I did want to say a few things about last night's game. Sorry for the lack of frilly language, these are more notes that grew out of post-game conversation:

-I recognize that this Cavs loss somewhat mutes my latest spasms of LeBron-mania.

-That said, it is kind of sad to watch Bron go straight at Howard like the DPOY doesn't have shit on him. You wonder if an angrier Dwight might help here.

-At some point, I began to wonder if the Magic could only win, or at least impress me with a win, if they made a comeback that was . . . ummm, magical?

-Based on conversations with my friend Nate, Kevin Pelton, and my own two eyes, it's become obvious to me: Howard is a monster on offense provided he's in motion. Give him the damn ball, just make sure he's cutting, leaping, or in a position to make one step and then dunk. That's why, even though he could stand to diversity his offense, it is on SVG and other players to see this gives them a tremendous weapon right now. See also Game 1 of this series.

-Someone needs to tell Howard that him stationary in the post is a total dead-end. Unless he's got a total mismatch. When Amare was a raw killing machine in 2004-05, the trick to his success was that he avoided this situation like the plague. Now, Howard will never be able to expand his range, or ability to put the ball on the floor, like Stoudemire has done—the main way he's overcome the obvious limitation of not playing in the post. So who knows what the long-term prognosis for Howard is. But Amare was never as imposing as Howard. There's no reason he can't be used creatively so that, in short, the post is always the terms set by Howard's lateral or upward motion.

-Not surprisingly, Kevin just realized he'd said something like this several years ago:

For years now, Howard has drawn comparisons to Phoenix's Amaré Stoudemire because of how both players have a prodigious combination of size, strength, and athleticism. The comparisons break down at some point, because Howard is a far better rebounder and defender than Stoudemire, but the Magic clearly learned from how the Suns accelerated Stoudemire's development by pairing him with Steve Nash and surrounding him with double-team neutralizing outside shooters.

And also. . .

We're trained to recognize that those kind of outside shooters help beat double-teaming of a post player, a style so popular in the NBA in the 1990s that was perfected by the Houston Rockets around Hakeem Olajuwon. However, the Suns of recent vintage have demonstrated that deep threats can be just as valuable when it comes to running pick-and-rolls. Even though Magic point guards Carlos Arroyo and Jameer Nelson are not on Nash's level, the Orlando pick-and-roll is still difficult to defend because teams can't leave the outside shooters to provide help and because Howard is so good at going up and getting the ball on lobs to the rim.

-KP adds: "The point now is they realized this a long time ago, and then seemed to forget it in these playoffs, either because Nelson/sorta Turkoglu were hurt or because of ORTHODOXY."

-Tangentially related, Rafer Alston is so weird. He's at his best as a straightforward guard. Nothing outside-of-the-box or too improvisational.

-So yeah, despite Joey's earlier critique of Howard, the Magic could be making a lot more of the current situation. And maybe Dwight could stop making me feel so damn bad for him, as LeBron plays like him with perimeter skills.

-It's true, I wrote something claiming that a big game from J.R. was more important to the Nuggets than Billups stepping it up. That probably would've made more sense around these parts. But I would still like to forget it happened.

-GO WONDER PETS!!!!!!!

SELF IS THE NEW STATS

Tune in elsewhere for Dr. LIC's Black/Jew essay and a truly epic Shoals Unlimited (BOTH UP NOW!).

I really don't like to go back and do an entire post on something from another post that I failed to clearly explain the first time around. It smacks of self-obsessed perfectionism, which is to say, it can obscure whether or not the material really matters that much. But like most of you, I am mortal, impatient, and occasionally busy, which means that my favorite part of yesterday's post got condensed—maybe compressed—into this impenetrable passage:

The challenge, then is to somehow quantify stupidity on both side. Wide-open lay-ups, drives into four defenders, cherry picks, full-court drives, gambling for the steal on every play. . . these are the markers of deviance, and big surprise, the ball I love. Remove them, and pace could truly be universalized. I wonder, though if there's not a slippery slope, or two of them, on either side of an equilibrium forever in question. Where you set it, what represents the mean, is strictly a matter of preference.

To review, the purpose of yesterday's post was to address "D'Antoni inflation," and determine if such a thing were truly statistically possible. Such an investigation would help us all better understand just how to view Kobe's 61-point game; like, if the numbers were completely inflated, then how much of a statement game could it have been? Ziller proved that adjusting for pace alone yielded no conclusive difference, so we delved into the possibility of a qualitative difference. The anecdotal evidence for this is rich, if a little perverse: Namely, players suck after leaving D'Antoni. This feeds into Simmons's claim that D'Antoni screws with the game's collective brain, the LSD of its sporting era, and some never quite recover. To actually "deflate" stats requires some standard by which we filter out "good" plays from "crazy" ones. Simmons suggests no such things, but unlike home runs in baseball, here we are talking about a difference in style—something that clearly manifests itself on the basketball court. One could conceivably draw distinctions, as opposed to estimating, via advance trigonometry, which balls wouldn't have gone the distance if struck by a non-roided up batter.

I was not, however, endorsing this sorting of play-by-play data, because applying the kind of criteria Simmons hints at is both totalitarian and self-defeating. For one, as you can guess, the line between stupid and inspired is preciously thin in the NBA, or at least the NBA as I prefer it to be. When you start to judge plays based on how rational they are, or whether they represent the most efficient form of execution, then you end up fast in Dave Berri territory. That's not to say that D'Antoni teams, or Nelson's Warriors, aren't at the far end of that spectrum. A normative basketball, though, would force you to pass judgemnent on individual basketball acts, regardless of context, overall flow of the game, or symbolic pay-off. Not exactly friendly soil for revelation or transcendence. This also raises the question of whether all basketball contains such imperfections, and thus the goal would be to adjust teams for their relative "stupidity", or punitively hold them all to a single standard.



The latter seems downright evil. You could end up with very, very strong teams punished for not being sufficiently perfect, or not pursuing a single-minded approach to the game. In an even yuckier version of things, the standard is not any particular team that season, but a nameless, faceless archetype, such that the players and teams that have come to define "smart" ball would still have to measure up to an ideal. It goes without saying that truth lies in creation-through-example, not a coach's imagination. The former brings up the question of where exactly you put that mean. Would it be based strictly on that year's numbers? Or is it inserted arbitrarily, a reflection of one's own stylistic preference? In both cases, deflation becomes an essentially political act.

To bring it back to reality, we are on some level talking about the primacy of identity-through-style. Is the game not defined by particular players and teams, the limits of the reasonable charted anew each night? If a man finds himself through "foolishness," well the, who plays the fool? There is only a "wrong way" or "bad plays" if they result from clear misapplication and lead to indisputable wreckage. So what if the Suns screw with people's heads, or there are clear-cut "D'Antoni players?" It's like acid casualties from the sixties. Are we really suggesting that era should've stayed clean, so it would be easier to compare with those that preceded it?

Oh, and only because it can never be said enough: The Suns didn't win any titles, but they have changed the definition of "stupid." Point guards now matter more than centers. Every team plays some small ball now, no one milks the clock. Phoenix itself ran away from the very low rumble of change that they set into motion. Perhaps the right thinking here is that D'Antoni's stats are ahead of their time, and those who emerge from his teams suffering from a permanent time-travel hangover. I've had those, and they suck. Maybe we should be looking at inflating former Suns' numbers so they accomodate a greater amount of "stupidity."

Note: Al Harrington is the Rosetta Stone of this shit.

Take Your Sunday

Now I am really fucking snowed in, and Lady Shoals has gone mute from illness. So here are some notes/thoughts of a basketball nature that came to me this morning. Consider them the survivalist version of yesterday's post.

-Have I ever said, somewhere, that the Suns did win in the end, at least in spirit? Every team in the world plays small and fast sometimes now. Does that mean that, had the 2004-05 team remained intact, they would've gotten a title, or were they the extremists who sparked mainstream change? Logic says no. Besides, the 2006-07 team was more moderate, better on paper, and could easily have ended up in the Finals had it not been for some serious bullshit. Yet for some reason, I feel like it's the 2004-05 squad that would've been the most dangerous in the climate they've now brought about.

-I'm really taking seriously the possibility that LeBron does sign this summer. Cavs look great, Williams and West are low-key Positional Revolution, a poor man's Arenas/Hughes (oh, the irony), and with Wally and Wallace expiriing, the team will have cap space to sign Bosh or Amare, both of whom will be looking to change teams for sure in 2010. Doesn't that spell multiple rings to you? Where exactly would Bron have a better shot at championships?

-Haven't quite figured this one out yet, but Josh Smith needs to stay in motion constantly. Which is sort of the same thing as saying he needs to just study Amare's game intensely. He's not a PF, can't post up conventionally, and especially with Horford so important, is just getting in the way/wasting his talents when he meanders around the paint trying to get position. Smith needs to always be on his way toward the hoop to be effective. That can involve taking a few dribbles himself, or being hit with a less-than-perfect pass. But what doesn't work is his starting from a stand-still up top or trying to get his bearings down low, with the ball.

-For better or worse, he's not the new Sheed.



-Still thinking about the scoring leaders. I guess I'm just surprised to see Harris, Granger, and Roy near the top, because I never considered them dominant scorers. Don't Paul or Howard seem a tier higher than them? I mean based on presence alone. It's not only a change, it's one we didn't see coming, and I think that FD favors prophecies that come true, not change trumping the narrative.

-Though maybe I need to look further down, spot Ben Gordon on there, and once and for all view this list worth a grain of salt.

-I can't decide if this Pistons thing—combined with the end in Denver—is badly fucking with Iverson's legacy, or has just made him irrelevant. And then, the walking dead or an OG everyone opens the door for? Yes, I'm writing this as they cut to him on the bench in the fourth.

You Sometimes Just Find Yourself

Read my TSB column, where I insist that the future is here (again), if only the Knicks would release Marbury, bench Curry and Randolph until they're traded, and Pat Riley would let this Heat team emulate the 2003-04 cult faves.

On a similar note, and related to Dr. LIC's "little things" spree: I love this quote from Posting and Toasting's coverage of Knicks camp:

Q's intensity is almost frightening. He's clearly feeling the heat of Wilson Chandler reaching for his starting 3 spot. Richardson was animated all night, screaming, spiking balls, and throwing towels after any miscues in the scrimmages. You can tell he sets the tone for the younger guys by taking practice so seriously.

I think we've all already bled enough over where Darius Miles has been, and what we all lost in the fire. Him and Garnett joining up is an oldies package tour, not destiny at last. And I can't say I'd be thrilled to see Miles vindicated in life by backing up Leon Powe on a championship team.

About Richardson, though: I only just realized today that Q and D'Antoni are being reunited. Is this a good or bad thing? Quentin's most consistent season came with Phoenix, but all he did was jack up threes. He probably went to the basket once all year, and overnight stopped being one of the league's better rebounding guards. With the Clippers, he often looked like an exciting young player trying to get steady, bring his skills into focus and define his role (like Miles, but not so grotesque an undertaking). The Suns were his undoing, since they asked him to turn long-range gunner and lose all perspective on the floor. And then abruptly, D'Antoni didn't need him and decided his triggermen had to be a little more steady, less outrageous. Whether D'Antoni ends up having much use for Richardson, and if so, what kind of game he expects of him, will tell us a lot about the evolution of the coach's thinking, as well as of those Suns teams. And if—when the Knicks give him acceptable raw material to work with—he'll move into a new phase, or pick up where he left off pre-Shaq.

I also wonder if Richardson ever thinks about the effect D'Antoni had on his career arc. And whether he's out to prove to his teammates, D'Antoni, or both that he counts among the enlightened in this new era.

Artless Self-Sabotage and Other Pragmatic Vows

It's the off-season, where we ignore people on the court and retreat into the realm of the theoretical. Except for when Anthony Randolph scores 30, which sends me scurrying to said theoretical realm with a newfound urgency.

We all know what Liberated Fandom is. Despite all the chaos prompted by this spring's high-stakes Lakers/Celtics series, it remains pretty simple: Fuck where you live, who raised you, what's on tv the most. Make an exhaustive survey of the league and cling onto what moves you, even if it's a lost cause. That can be individuals, a team, or a subset of individuals on a team.

Yes, there's a degree of aestheticism to it, but more importantly, it's about having the freedom to exercise taste in basketball. If that means only jocking winners, fine. If that means pursuing only teams doomed to fail, that's rosy as well. It doesn't even matter if there's little or no consistency to these allegiances, or if they're totally fleeting in nature. What's important is that you maximize your positive enjoyment of the league, in an era that offers far from perfect pro ball product.

This site's other great conceptual shibboleth is the notion of the Positional Revolution. Roughly, this means that traditional positions are cast aside, or deconstructed, in favor of something both new and effective. However, when you actually sit down with this idea, tangles become evident. For one, the Suns and Warriors have long been touted as the apogee of this movement, with the Hawks in this year's playoffs a sentimental entry on the ledger.



Conventional wisdom is that these teams pursued something resembling true apositionality, where roles and responsibilities were flexible from one moment to the next. Of course, the catch here is that Phoenix and Golden State relied on absolutely elite point guards; we can split hairs about the degree to which Nash produced that team's being at any given moment, vs. Baron's reliance on the collective playmaking ectoplasm. It seems, though, that we have no choice but to accept the point guard paradox, and perhaps state that its stability allows other responsibilities rise and fall organically.

However, this kind of extremism is, while very charismatic, unrealistic, infrequent, and, as the Warriors and Hawks prove, such a function of chemistry and circumstance that it may not even be real. If the Positional Revolution stands for player flexibility, or a redistribution of responsibilities, it's almost insane to expect this ever-shifting tapestry of style, in which each player becomes both an existential whir of uncertainty, and the team's sense of order thrives on something that skirts disorder. (Note: Ziller wonders if the ideal apositional team wouldn't be comprised entirely of Diaws and LeBrons, which is dangerously close to what we heard D'Antoni's dream was when he came to New York, which again raises the question of whether the pure PG is the source of this freedom or a compromise).

What I don't get, though, is why the Suns have been held up as a model for the rest of the league, when they represent near the lunatic fringe of positional fluidity. For one, why don't teams see Phoenix as an impractical ideal, but apply this philosophy of flexibility less radically. Instead of changing everything on an instantaneous level, why not just redistribute responsibilities more statically, or at least less dizzying in their iterations?



Does that sound hopelessly vague? All I'm asking is that teams show a little fucking imagination. This fixation on the Suns model, which makes apositionality the goal, is too literal. What the Suns teach us is that imagination can get somewhere. Imaginative coaching just might have a shot in this league. It's not about getting a team full of players who can do everything, but just about organizing what you've got in a creative manner. This can stem from having a franchise player whose singular talents demand this approach: That's the tragedy of Garnett in Minny, probably Iverson in Philly, LeBron right now, and quite possibly Durant for a while. I may not be the ultimate coach, but it's not so hard to imagine that, if the focal point of a team is a complex individual, the team's (relatively static) structure must follow suit.

Or, on the most basic level, what about simply creating some new roles that translate across teams? The Anthony Randolph postulate is thus: There clearly now exists a long, springy brand of forward whose offense consists mostly of reaching, floating, and dunking. Very little in the way of polished moves. They grab boards without really banging, block shots, and have the foot speed to stay with the likes of Richard Jefferson or Melo (the former model for "three by elimination"). Of course, the fact that Randolph got drafted by a team that specializes in ignoring positions, not re-defining them, might obscure or impede his particular case.

Why exactly couldn't this become a new type of SF, who would then be paired with a PF that has some outside shooting? Or be included on a team where the PG packs an offensive wallop? When I look at the Raptors this season—and yes, I am usually wrong about the Raptors—O'Neal's arrival seems like a chance for Bosh to once and for all stop trying to be a "big man," and instead embrace his legacy as the Next Garnett, in the sense that Young Garnett has only managed to make it as a "big man" because he is absolutely indomitable.



I also can't help but think toward the Bulls. Why exactly is it a problem to just fucking play Tyrus Thomas, and figure out a way to have Deng and Gooden pick up the slack he creates? Wasn't one of the fonding principles of Phoenix that Marion would cover everyone's ass? Not as glamorous as an offense that boggles the mind, but without those contingencies, that team would never have had a chance when it came to defense or rebounding.

And so I collapse. Not tired, or betrayed by the Revolution, but wondering if all the glare hasn't distracted us from seeing a more viable, if less orgiastic, road to the future.

When All Glare Fizzled

If you watched last night's Suns/Spurs welt-farm, you felt the omen. The Suns have not only died as an idea; they've even ceased to matter, vestigially, as the nut-case whose sober child grew into a prince. That team was just plain trounced and flummoxed, by a Spurs powerhouse that, were Phoenix the powerhouse they'd supposedly become, wouldn't have had it so glibly.

And now, D'Antoni's leaving town. We can argue for days about who defined the Suns, but it comes down to D'Antoni, Nash, and either Marion or Amare. There's probably some sort of father/son/ghost thing going on here, but if you had to pick the one essential element, it would no doubt be Coach. Before Phoenix, Nash was breezy and occasionally possessed; here, he flourished as the practical hand of D'Antoni's vision. Amare and Marion were symbolically important, and made the contours all the more fantastic. In the end, though, it was Mike's team.

So while we always heard that D'Antoni pushed for Shaq—a betrayal of self? bottom line over idealism? function over form?—he both pushed himself out of the picture and gave himself the high road for exit with that deal. The night they drove old Phoenix down might have shown that Nash was finally fading—where was his venom down the stretch? But that was no longer a team that needed an idiosyncratic vision or direction. Go ahead and buy Larry Brown from Charlotte. Big man, slowed PG, scoring machine, shooters.



It was only fitting that D'Antoni would exit now, since Kerr and Sarver have all but robbed that team of its original god-head. Now they can be the brains, having underestimated how far-reaching D'Antoni's influence was across that operation. It was coaching, and personnel, and making certain players, like Diaw, what they might otherwise never have been. You see dictator-ship, I see the old-style guru, or the kind of visionary to whom smart people defer and let run a little amuck.

What now for D'Antoni? Please don't let it be the Bulls. The Knicks would be no less painful. Remember, he inherited a young, inexpensive mess of a team, then got a chance to bring in Nash and let the gossamer empire rise. Both of these teams have clumps of intractable personnel who, frankly, will only ever give us a rough approximation of D'Antoni's idealism. And maybe, because he's only had this one big moment under the coaching sun, I like to think he's got that much integrity, or that irrepressible an ego.

I nominate Miami. Riles can't be bothered to buy the team toothbrushes anymore. Arm D'Antoni with old pal Marion, and what's left of Wade, and either Beasley or Rose. And oh yeah, that Wright guy could fit in well. Watch them instantly create a tiny temple in the East and then set their sights Westward?



But for now, let's admit it: An era has passed, and the team that created this site has ceased to matter. It's only fitting, then, that amidst all the "West is a letdown" chatter we're hearing a new generation definitively assert itself. Nash and Kidd are dead, long live Paul and Williams. Dwight Howard might be better than Shaq in his prime by the end of this summer. And while the odds are still against Atlanta marching on, they've got the kind of subversive, utterly flabbergasting vehemence that makes you think change might be in the air. Or at least rearing its bejeweled, strange, and confounded head when, with us all now adrift, it's so badly needed.

So stay still. Breathe deep. And remember, tonight is for everything. Everything we've lost, and everything that's still yet to hit us down the road.

Nothing Ages You So Fast As Refusing To Mature

Quickly: I truly and seriously am coming to hate the MVP award. Next year, I'll just find the player who best embodies the most positive cliches and fucking say he should win. Why bother with shit like how well they actually played during the season when you have data like "rebounding is about desire. Kobe wants it more, so he's a better rebounder than LeBron" at your fingertips? Kobe is becoming the NBA's answer to Juno for me-I really like him, but his supporters are so overwhelmingly fawning, pretentious, and obnoxious that I have begun to loathe his very concept. Also, I have become convinced that Jason Collins is the NBA's answer to Pi: he is an elaborate inside joke on the public by NBA literati, an experiment to see if people will believe something truly horrendous has value they are unable to see if they say it enough. (Shoals: You can cut that out if you want. It just felt really good to write.)

















So anyways, the best player who has no way been tarnished by MVP talk this season, other than to call his hopes for the award hubris, has been Amare Stoudemire, who is very quietly putting together one of the best scoring seasons in a long, long time.

STATISTICAL INTERLUDE:

Amare's rocking 25 a night on 65% "True Shooting" which is FG% with free throws and threes in there too, basically making it better. The only other players, as far as I can tell, to post a higher TS% than Amare and score over 20 points a game are Kevin McHale and Charles Barkley. And that's it. Ever. Even a little bit scarier: The one thing "True Shooting" doesn't account for is "And-1" baskets, and Amare leads the league with 94 And-1 buckets.

RETURNING TO THE REGULARLY SCHEDULED PONTIFICATION:

So Amare's got 25/9/1.5 with some baggage in regards to the defensive end, on the previously mentioned historically nuts shooting percentage. Dirk won the thing on 24/9/3.5 on 60% true shooting and a whole hell of a lot of baggage on the defensive end, while KG's candidacy is far more legit than Amare's with 19.5/9.5/3.5 on 58%, as is DH with 21.2/14.4/1.5 on 62%.; While KG is quite beastly on the defensive end, and DH more than holds his own, Amare being at 13th in the race reeks of bullshit.



























(From the "Shit that's funny in retrospect" file: One Oscar-Nominated film in 1995 contained multiple instances of the phrase "Jew Motherfucker." It was not the one made by Mel Gibson, which won best picture.)

In reality, what Amare has gone and done is hit the glass ceiling of not being the guy who makes it happen on his team. So long as Nash wears the orange and purple and produces prodigiously, Amare will never receive his proper due, as his play is seen, to a degree, as a function of what Nash makes. Shawn Marion chafed under this to the point where he had to be moved, leaving his legacy as a perfect cog behind for a future as a flawed but uninhibited paradigm.















Nash and Amare now lie as the prime example of symbiosis in this league; both are the absolute best at what they do in terms of running a pick-and-roll, with Nash's unreal outside shot, ball-handling, and passing on the one end and Amare's explosion, ability to finish, ability to draw contact and hit free throws, and newly acquired deadly mid-range J on the other. As such, their success is inexorable from each other's talents: Both were very good before they found each other, but have now ascended based on the ability of the other.

Amare is a victim of the NBA's version of the Peter Principle- he's producing like a superstar, but is seen as a role player because his success is aided by the system he plays in rather than the system requiring him to sacrifice in order to aid those around him. To be given his proper due as a superstar, he must attempt to take on additional responsibilities until he inevitably hits an Iguodala-like wall or Curry/Kemp level all-out collapse.

















There's definitely some Peter Principle-type shit happening with the Suns, the most rigidly hierarchical team in the league-Nash has the ball in his hands, Shaq creates space, Raja makes open threes, Hill picks up slack throughout the facility, and Amare fills the existing space with aplomb.

The Suns make sense to us because they follow the rigid structure of our everyday life, while the Warriors operate on a constantly shifting paradigm in which Ellis, Davis, S-Jax, or even Harrington or Azubuike is capable of centering the offense around him based on the circumstances of the situation. And the Nuggets operate on a completely arbitrary system, with the strong but opaque notion of attack driving the team to an urgency that none of them really understand but are eager to execute.














Everybody says that the definition of a superstar is somebody who makes marginal players better. However, Amare is a superstar-level talent who is clearly made far better by the system that employs him, and him and Nash thrive because they make life easier for each other instead of one relying inordinately on the other to make life easy for him-Amare doesn't only look for wide-open dunks when he's around Nash, and Nash doesn't throw the ball into Amare and wait at the three-point line for open jump shots-instead, they both work in harmony with each other to produce the perfect high pick-and-roll.

Right now the NBA Peter Principle seems to dictate that anybody who is associated with the words "Most Valuable" has a god-given responsibility to shoulder a gigantic burden, while role players' respective strengths should be nurtured to the best ability of the team.

It's wouldn't seem to be all that radical of an idea, getting guys who make life easier for your superstars, but it seems to be one completely lost on NBA teams, who instead seem to be hell-bent on milking their superstars for all they're worth.




















Two major trades related to this principle occurred this season-the Shaq trade originally caused no small level of distress here and made me wish that the Suns had just traded Amare to the Hawks and officially given up on the dream, but by getting a guy who can create space for a guy who excels with space given to him by Nash, they unleashed the beast within Amare and have found something radical and new in the context of the half-court offense.

The 76ers made the de facto swap of Kyle Korver, a lights-out shooter, for Thaddeus Young, a slasher on a team full of them. On the surface, this wouldn't make a whole lot of sense, but taking the burden off of 'Dres Miller and Iguodala has transformed the 6ers into a shifting and furious full-speed attack.

Of course, this logic would seem to suggest that the Kidd trade would have worked instead of completing the downward spiral of the Dynasty That Would Be. Well, Dirk actually is a lot better with Kidd on the team, and if you saw them against the Warriors it's clear that the Kidd-fueled Maverick attack is pretty fucking scary, although the Warriors can't guard anybody at all right now. If I ever dared to question Don Nelson, I would be worried that his Bataan death-march rotation and suicide-style of play has worn the Warriors down for their playoff push, but I am confident this is all part of Nellie's master plan. Also, Harris is a guy who creates a good deal more for himself and others than people realize-Kidd's actually been more of a catch-and-shoot guy for the Mavs than Harris was. And Harris is pretty clearly an upgrade over Kidd defensively at this point in their respective careers. (The moral of the story: when you trade a 24-year old making the rookie scale for a 35-year old guard making max money and throw in DeSagnia Diop, expiring contracts, and draft picks, you should probably be absolutely positive that the player you're getting is better than the player you gave up.)























(I'm pretty sure I found this picture on this site. Occasionally, we must make sure that some things are never forgotten.)

If you follow the Cavs, it's shocking how different the offense looks with Delonte West playing with LeBron, as he pushes the ball to get LeBron transition opportunities and can tilt the defense with the ball in his hands to keep things from stacking up on LeBron, often leading to a resounding LBJ dunk off a simple dribble-handoff. And this was the third string point guard on the Sonics. Team USA showed that LeBron can be a fairly deadly shooter when he's allowed to set his feet and get a look at the target, but he takes a higher portion of his threes off the dribble than anyone else in the league. However, the conventional wisdom seems to be that LeBron should be surrounded by spot-up shooters who he can do all the work for.


























MAKING IT EXPLICIT-There seems to be a notion that the relationship between elite slashers/post-up players and spot-up shooters is symbiotic, as shooters supposedly keep the defense from "bunching up" and provide space for the stars in which to work. I find this to be mostly a load of crap-from watching guys like Kobe, CP3, LeBron, and Duncan, I can tell you that spot-up shooters get open looks via those guys about 95% more than those guys get open lanes via their shooters. For a case study, the Cavs have made the de facto swap of Eric Snow (possibly the worst outside shooting backcourt player in the league) for TITS GIBSON (arguably the best three-point shooter in the league this year other than Nash, who is a complete freak), and the upgrade gives LeBron perhaps a quarter-step more space than before-Snow and Boobie get left alone just the same, but Boobie can actually make the defense pay when the defense leaves him alone.

On a common sense level, I'd set a 40% three-point shooter up with a wide-open look and give him all the time he could possibly need before I'd leave LeBron or Duncan's man without help, because they're going to score in that situation like 90% of the time. The relationship between stars and spot-up shooters is, at best, a 90-10 proposition in terms of benefit.















Howard is one of the best guys in however long at getting and converting alley-oops and quick catch-and-dunks, to the point where he's scoring 20 points a game without an especially nice post game or any outside shot to speak of, but his status as a superstar has the Magic convinced that he should stick himself in the post and be surrounded with shooters instead of finding a more suitable option at point than Jameer Nelson to get him the looks he enjoys.

This is why I'm glad my boy O.J. Mayo had a fairly innocuous freshman year instead of a Durant/Beasley like star turn-as a role player, O.J.'s deadly shot and first step will be complimented by whichever team lands him, while Durant, and soon Beasley, were thrown straight into the fire of being the guy whose responsibility it is to nurture the rest of his team.



















The MVP race reflects the NBA's strict sense of hierarchy-one man is the superstar of his team, and all the rest are there to benefit from him, driven by a sense that every NBA team has one ideal play, with their superstar as the sole catalyst, that they run 110 times a game. However, in Amare Stoudemire, a superstar who keeps the trappings and benefits of a role player, we see the argument for a more collective effort, in which roles are symbiotic, each player helping all others, including the supposed superstars. And that's why a glimmer of hope still lies in the Suns.