Death by Sex

Calm down, no sex or death in here. Just a friendly note, for those of you who don't read the Works, or use Twitter, that I did in fact weigh in on the big trade.

-All sort of goodies from Eric and myself: HERE.

-My ode to Gil and Beefheart on the Awl.

-Also I am still writing regularly, and weirdly, about the Heat for Deadspin.

PLUG FOR SOMEONE ELSE'S BOOK: I like Zack Carlson a lot, even if I probably can't call him my friend because we failed to get his current address when sending out wedding invitation. But his new book, Destroy All Movies!!! The Complete Guide to Punks on Film is totally fucking awesome, whether or not you like movies, punk, bathrooms, or any combination of the three.

Get Word Gargle!

Behold, the latest Disciples of Clyde Podcast:



Further explanation here. There is military equipment involved, at least the imaginary type.

Now, allow me to briefly steal my own show. This place is my rock, my shelter, so I'll say it here: I don't care if no one else noticed about Jennings's bipolar twit, or subsequent denial. Here I am before and after. I'm not mad at Jennings, nor do I feel I'm some kind of world-class dupe. It was a reasonable statement to make and I reacted thus; it turned out to be an ill-advised, if only slightly tasteless, "joke." We move on.

But what's sickening me is the folks I'm seeing who think that this didn't even warrant consideration. Sorry, but 1) it happened and 2) it touched on something real, and real to the NBA, no less. Someone made a point that schizophrenia's become a joke of sorts, which means it's all good and I'm overreacting. That makes some sense to me, though I'd argue that schizophrenia humor is, like cancer puns, one of those things that presumes shock value or considers its object only in the abstract.

As I've said, I really don't care that much. Yes, Jennings's "joke" (not much of one when he's such a weirdo, and many found the charges plausible, leading to whispers of a cover-up by his agent) struck a nerve and made a fool of me. But it also made him look bad. I don't get why that's conveniently brushed aside. I mean, really, explain to me how there's nothing to this and I'm attacking a poor kid over nothing? There is a world outside the internet.

Let's at least have that conversation. Then we can forget all about it, like I did when I wrote that second piece. Just acknowledge that telling me to "lighten up" is bullshit. Oh, and someone please ask Delonte West how he feels about this.

THAT'S WRITE MESSAGE BOARDS AND TROLLS, I'M TALKING 2 U!!!!!!

Noisy Grabbers

Okay, we know the segment last episode with Josh Levin had some audio issues. We decided that the best thing to do was have him back on the show, in our first ever Make-Up Call. Ken joins in this time. New Orleans and the Hornets are discussed.



Ken and Dan also talk amongst themselves in regards to various excellent things other people wrote, such as this piece by Howard Beck in the NY Times, this post by Seth at Posting and Toasting, this one by Kelly Dwyer at Ball Don’t Lie, and this from Shoals at Fanhouse. Plus, a new twist on one of our segments, using the Pro Basketball Prospectus.

It all sounds normal. The audio part, if not the topics of conversation or the participants in said conversation.

Songs from the episode:

“Re-Ignition” - Bad Brains
“Once Again (Here To Kick One For You)” - Handsome Boy Modeling School
“Whatever” - Husker Du
“If You Don’t Get It The First Time, Back Up and Try It Again, Party” - Fred Wesley and the J.B.’s
“Another Batch (Play It Again)” - Madlib
“Never See Me Again” - Vivian Girls
“Try Again” - Big Star

Subscribe via iTunes, whydontya?

Fly Through All Ears

Yes, we’re back. It was only Dan that left the country for a week, but still, now the show is back.



Dan checks back in with Ken, and they talk a little trade action. Then Dan does something that’s never been done on this show.

In the next segment, Dan talks with Josh Levin, of Slate.com, writer and host of the Hang Up and Listen podcast. Josh is originally from New Orleans, which gave them a chance to talk about the sports scene there (Super Bowl relevant!) as well as the Hornets (NBA Podcast relevant!)

We’ll be honest, there’s some static-y noise in the talk with Josh. We did the best we could about it. It’s probably Ken’s fault.

Songs from the episode:

“Come On Feet” - Quasimoto
“All Tomorrow’s Linoleum” - Autechre
“Perception” - Kylesa
“Ease Back” - The Meters
“The Saints Are Coming” - The Skids

Subscribe via iTunes, whydontya?

The Best of Everything and Its Discontents

Please, do spend some time with the links post I put together earlier today.

But hold up and stop the virtual presses, even if it means sticking your hand in there until it's pulped and spewing blood everywhere. Crawford for Harrington. Knicks officially dead, my trip to the Garden possibly postponed. The 2007-08 Golden State Warriors become my favorite team of all time and we start a Wiki on them, just like this bullshit local NPR show is telling me to do.

Knicks thinking to the future, Crawford not a true point, blah blah. Bring him to Nellie—and this might be the difference between this current incarnation of D'Antoni-ball (training wheels, system will guide you) and the all-out psychedelic meltdown happening in Oakland—and you're looking forward to a back court of Monta and Crawford, with Maggette at PF, Stephen Jackson somewhere, that Latvian guy whose name I can't spell at center, and a bench of Turiaf, Wright, and He Whose Name Is Not Spake. And Azubulke. Oh, and the net result of the Anthony Morrow experience. Nelson will have to dream up all sorts of treats, instead of just letting them play loose, because they're not good enough for that. And then they will anyway. This team is so bizarre, so mismatched, and so lacking in any kind of internal coherence, that it will be like burning down a forest for the trees, or whatever the saying is.

Truly overwhelmed right now. I just know that we rarely get to see such a perverse need for both desperate coach-ly imagination and players taking themselves to their barely comprehensible limits because there's just no other option. This is not a celebration, or an affirmation, it's deep, dark, and even in failure will have the power to scar us for life. In a good way, like that one on your arm or hand that tells a story unto itself.

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.

State-Based Sneezers

I feel like I'm going to puke, and I'm really busy. This book is getting hectic, and I say that both for the sympathy vote (what vote?) and as a teaser.

About Suns/Warriors: Amare is still the best undersized center in the world. Against a team like Golden State, the Suns can go small, use Diaw where once Marion existed, and pray that defense gets lost in the shuffle. It just doesn't seem that Shaq gives them the best chance to win in that kind of situation. Against the Spurs, on the other hand, they go big from the outset.

I just wonder, though, if it can really be all that simple. If this team's going with the dual-consciousness approach—and after a game last night, it's hard to imagine them not doing this—then don't they have to establish some kind of hierarchy, or overlap, or intersection, of the two? Let's face it, while Shaq has been active, he still impedes Nash's natural flow. It becomes a paint-centric team, where the lane's a fort as opposed to a fly-over. With time, you have to assume that the two worlds will draw closer to each other, and yet "opposites attract" doesn't always make for harmony. I always thought that said Paula Abdul song was about rough sex and flying dishes.

I'm assuming Nash will ultimately adjust, and look right playing with either approach. But you have to wonder what's better: To make these two different "looks" separate but equal, or view Shaq as a weapon of necessity. Given how much of a role psychology already plays on that team—Diaw's inability to produce off the bench, for one—it seems like most obvious basketball solution might end up corroding this team from the inside out. Does Shaq really want to be seen as a guy who shows up only when the fun stops, the cops show up, and someone needs rescuing from the clink?

As I was saying about Houston this week, I think identity is very important to teams. In that case, it was how teams can rally around, or be subconsciously set into motion by, a very particular stylistic ideal. Here, we might see that working in the negative: How Phoenix defines itself could end up adversely affecting some player's brains. The human mind is the ultimate liability.

Margins With a View

I sincerely apologize to all of you who have come here looking for reaction to the Cavs trade. Ferry took a crappy situation and made incremental improvements. Wally is not Larry Hughes, though I would encourage you all to remember—this man once stole a pass from teammate Kevin Garnett. And up in Seattle, he's made an art form out of freezing out Durant. Wallace's brokedown-ness is roughly equivalent to Gooden's poor judgment, but he exudes wisdom and can play center. Delonte West will break your heart—his game is nice, except it only intermittently works. He's also pretty much the streetwear Damon Jones, all the same hamminess without the Pixar aspirations.

However, I am an idealist, not a realist. I want to believe that, even if the going small is now passe, its legacy of speed can enter into an unholy Frankensteinian union with the cult of the big man. I see the West as the conference of ideas, while the East tweaks the edges and espouses pragmatism. And for these reasons, for me the signature trade of this evening is Gerald Green's return to Houston.

Right before the dunk contest, Kelly Dwyer called Gerald Green "an All-Star talent who is probably a year removed from being an NBDL benchwarmer, or hooking up with an overseas contract that doesn't have a chance of being fulfilled." As Green staggered through the wastelands of pre-boom Boston, or shivered on the bench in Minny, this seemed like the most cruel, sad, and apt description within reach.



Green's entire career had been one long downward slide, with the occasional big night or highlight hammer only furthering the joke. But right now, I see a twenty-two year-old who—stop me if you've heard this before—has all the potential in the world and no shortage of time on his side. Sounds like J.R. Smith all over again, and yet Green's not even looking for renewal. Smith had that rookie season of note; Green, on the other hand, is still hoping for his career to start.

Green's coming back to Houston, his hometown. As the Recluse awesomely observed, he'll be under the watch of Tracy McGrady, the player he was supposed to emulate. It's an ultra-hospitable situation, one that fills you with hope and seals off the wound left by the Battier/Gay trade (I know, I know). On the one hand, this could be Green's last shot. Then again, he's the age of a college senior, and has a team willing to take a chance on him. The question isn't whether or not he'll do right by others, but whether he'll finally be afforded the opportunity to develop into a professional basketball player. Because lord knows, wandering through mismanaged, scantly-coached lottery logjams is not the way to see if a talent like Green will sink or swim.

That said, I only have the patience to deal with one J.R. Smith. If it weren't for the picture-perfect DAWN, FINALLY feel of this, and if nothing good happens in the next year or so, I'll give up without guilt. However, for now, I am in the business of hope.



FOR EMPHASIS:

State of Fiery Heaven Address

You might still be upset about Shaq to Phoenix, but I'm not. I'm loving the Diaw/Amare combo, and have to figure that Shaq will mostly just contribute in the personality department. And while I kind of miss Marion's melancholy, that's not really an emotion I associate 2004-05, my favorite Suns team. I'm still convinced that Odom/Bynum/Gasol will warrant a stamp of approval, even if it's not exactly visionary. It's Kidd's to the Mavs that has me really feeling like this season has shifted into high-gear, and it's one I'm not so pleased with. Everyone wants a championship, and they want it now. And they want insurance on that.

I've never felt that winning didn't matter, just that it wasn't the only thing. I also try and stay rational about the relative values of victory, but there is something to be said for quantity. Like fine, people make fun of 50-win teams that can't make it in the playoffs. I find it just as fatuous to praise the "well, they won when it mattered" team.

Which brings me to this evening, when the Suns and Warriors went buckwild and reminded me exactly why this site exists. Fine, so the Warriors aren't going to win a title, and the Suns might look very different in two weeks. Still, they can play a game of basketball, play it hard, and transfix me doing so. They can do that any number of times during the season, and maybe even a few times during the playoffs. And you know what, I don't really care if the basketball I like can't go all the way. It's successful sometimes, on more modest scales, and that justifies it in my books. It's kind of arbitrary which teams get branded boom-or-bust, win-it-all or lose all legitimacy. For whatever reason, small-ball, up-tempo, or just plain fun teams get it more often than others.



I also want to add a note on potential, because I think it's gotten too confused with our ultimate mission. Potential is funny, and intriguing, and in keeping with what underground, imaginative ethos this site has. But it doesn't justify shit. It's a sideshow I happen to like a lot, and I'll take it over staid vets. That doesn't mean, though, that I think it's part and parcel with THIS IS OUR BASKETBALL. While the Hawks are funny, I'd much rather see them become who they are. It's on-deck, who's next shit, not what I'd stake this site's integrity on. And it's a rare case indeed that someone like LeBron can embody both at the same time.

Proof: Last night, I went with Seth Kolloen to see Tony Wroten play. I spent forever trying to write about it, and somewhere along the way typed this:

A decent amount of the butts in the stands were there to support the halftime show: a troupe of jugglers and unicyclists from some elementary school. It didn't seem to go with the experience of seeing greatness in the making. Nor did the Garrison Keeler-sounding PA guy and his adjective-laden player intros. Or the cheerleaders who kept snickering mid-routine . . . . Watching Kevin Durant find himself in an empty Key Arena makes you wonder why his progress matters, and hearing the crowd react more vigorously to a break-dancing five year-old is just plain depressing. By contrast, it made a lot of sense to watch Wroten in a less real, or maybe more surreal, context. There's something innocent, or at least honest, about a player working through who he is that's fundamentally at odds with the finished product, bottom line setting of the pros. And, as surprised as I was to realize it, this jibes perfectly with what the most "pure" forms of amateur basketball are supposed to be.

Yes, that's in me. I kept it on ice because I couldn't explain it anyway, but now I see: It's proof that I don't take potential all that seriously, and that it has very little to do with FD's style + substance credo—which, I firmly believe, can be credible without having to answer to the absolute authority of the sports mainstream.



I realized the other night that, Liberated Fandom aside, I see the game in a weird way. When most people turn on a game they have no particular interest in, they watch to see who wins. That's the tension that draws them in, the drama that makes sports worth watching. It's the same way that people can't help but sing along with a catchy hook. All I'm saying is that, before I give a fuck if anyone lives or dies, I'm going to take stock of whether the game has style. If it does, I'll get sucked in, just as I was at that high school game the other night. If not, though, it might as well not even be basketball to me. Is that irresponsible? Should I spend all nine months preoccupied with the outcome of the NBA Finals? That seems tedious, and implausible. And that I reserve the right to enjoy a basketball game, no matter how unimportant it may be—and dismiss them even if there's a ton of invested value in the outcome.

ALSO: Matt at Detroit Bad Boys developed this beauty of a shirt, with my blessings. Cop that, and tell him I sent you so I can get mine free.

High Water Everywhere

One graf on the Lakers, another on Miami:

I think 'twas The Recluse who said that the former Lakers—a team of Euros, misfits, uglies, and total co-dependents—was ideal for Kobe to relate to/rule over. All of them going to see 300 together summed up both Kobe's inner dork and his "activity leader" capacity. Well on that note, a big welcome to this new version. If that's the most unflattering reading you can give of Kobe's inscrutable being, Bynum and Gasol is the most dapper. You've got a dapper Continental for him to swap Spanish with, and a preps-to-pros prodigy known for his brainy interests. Supporting casts can indeed shape a superstar's image, and the more co-equal they are, the less scraggly the effects.

Dr. LIC (and, I'm assuming, Andreo) is totally fond of the Wade/Butler/Odom Heat. Come to think of it, I am too, and it might be the only time I've truly found resonance in Wade. It's beginning to stir again, not in the least because Flash has to bring his greatness into being once again. And no one, I mean no one, is fucking with Wade/Marion/Wright for half-brilliant, half-idiotic halves of basketball. I share with the commenter who suggested White Chocolate come out of hiding. Or for Ricky Davis to remember that he's Ricky Davis, not an American citizen.

Also, everyone's talking about how the Heat will cramp Marion's style, or something. Anyone remember all those times I said that Marion was the structural foundation of the Suns? How about him bringing some passing with him from that Valley, too? FALL BACK EVERYONE.

Obligatory Suns mention: I see where all the pundits are coming from with the "a break doesn't have to be all five guys." But with the Suns, and the Warriors, it usually was. So if nothing else, the whole feel of their game has been altered even if they stay running. And note to everyone: Old Kareem was still a crafty, effective player, on a level today's Shaq and Webber can only dream of.

Fridays Are For Me

I love transparency, mostly since it's totally state-sanctioned narcissism. That and, owing to the everyman-ish quality of blogging, I figure that my plight belongs to all you as well.

Today's concerns: Constant internet barrage. When I was with FanHouse, I checked every rumor page obsessively. Ballhype was my goddess, and anything with the slightest bit of bite to it was worth a short post. That was how the gig worked. Now, in my new capacity, I'm able to relax a little more. I post about once a day, and can afford to take is easy on loose ends and endless conjecture. I know that this puts me at odds with the trends in the sports journalism industry—and rest assured, new bosses, I'm still on top of the news. But I've begun to wonder what would happen if one followed the Association in a less gossip-y fashion.

I'm not exactly sure how this would work, or what it would look like. News now breaks 'round the clock, which means the morning paper model is gone forever. But I do know that the Gasol and Marion trades have emboldened me a little to, well, pay less attention. Before this week, I'd always assumed that most trades begin with rumors. Thousands of rumors don't pan out each year; plenty are the product of wishful thinking, or a need to fill up space. You've also got to figure that, when something real is leaked (or really is leaked), it's because someone on the inside wanted it out there. It's to generate interest or, as Barry Reeves suggested to me the other day, gauge public reaction.



With these gigantic trades this week, we heard nothing. No one heard nothing. Marion found out from the television, GM's around the league were miffed that they hadn't gotten to bid on Gasol. So Marion's trade demand at the beginning of the season was worth covering. Rad. But other than that, and the vague suggestion that Gasol's been on the block forever, what trail is there leading up to this epoch-altering transaction? It's like fine, there's another Jason Kidd scenario that someone worked out on the Trade Machine. A source alluded to a possible interest. LeBron said he'd like some help. I worry that all this "news" is forest-for-the-trees stuff, if not outright ghost chasing.

Yes, I'd like to know when something's imminent. But at this point, the line between likely and merely possible has been so blurred, I'm not sure if we can find it again. Is there any real anticipation left in our reading of these rumors? All that's left is our shared belief that we're all insiders, smarter than the mainstream media, in league with general managers, etc. We're not. And if a franchise is remotely competent, we should attach an ulterior motive to anything that's supposedly real. That's how politics work, right?

(Or, am I just too cynical to throw in a "that's how political blogs work"?)



One other thing I wanted to get out there: I had a piece up on Deadspin this week that earned me some death threats; some people, mostly from Boston, thought I'd praised Kobe's handling of his Los Angeles situation, and trashed KG for his stiff-lipped time in Minny and classy move to Beantown. That wasn't it at all. The point was that I missed the semi-insane Garnett, and couldn't wait to see some of that enter Kobe's micro-managed universe.

So when I watched Los Angeles/Atlanta, it was gratifying to see an (admittedly injured) Bryant barely shoot when his wasn't falling, toss crazy passes every which way, and make sure Lamar Odom got nice and loose. Gasol looks positively amped to be out of Memphis (no offense to the city, which I dig quite a bit), but Odom moving over to the three is akin to Diaw getting free. I haven't seen him that loose and creative since his Clippers days, and that effective since that All-Star year in Miami. Maybe that's a longtime Odom enthusiast foaming at the mouth, but anyone who's dreamt of what Lamar could be -- and that would be just about anyone who has heard of the guy -- should be very, very happy.

It comes down to this: Kobe forces things. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes in a bad way. Even when he holds back, it's an act of clenched discipline. I have a hunch that, with this current team, he might learn how to a flow a little less deliberately, to realize that laying off the super-ego isn't the same as playing without conscience. Phil will be proud, and Kobe will make his enemies even more scared—and his supporters less nervous.



Finally, from the land of WTF:



"Our dad, Dr. Ernest Garlington is innocent of conspiracy to commit murder of Ray Allen's step-father."

They Aren't Who We Thought We Were Waiting For

And with that, the dream died. I heard Obama say in every way imaginable tonight that a change was gonna come, and yet he left out the part where, for the NBA, that train stopped hard. I don't know what Kerr is thinking, or particularly care. I guess this team could be tough for the playoffs, if Shaq's got one last run left in him. But this site could give a fuck less about that. Tonight, Steve Kerr trampled on the ideals that sustain us. Politics as usual. Grind-it-out big man ball, no matter how compromised the giant. One last shot as a mechanistic ploy, not an appeal to the gods, faith, and beauty's left-hand zephyr.

If the Suns were going to win a title, it should've been on their own terms. They should've thrown themselves back in it again, knowing that they'd brought something to this game, something that could beat back others. It would've taken a little luck, or a particularly torrid run, but that's what their whole style was predicated on. Now, we're back in the realm of positivism. Rotting positivism. As far as the eye can see.

I'll be burning alive in a big pile of wheat.

UPDATE: Maybe, just maybe, I can help us all cope.