Oceanic Christmas Lights

As the Bush era draws to a close, we have a chance to reexamine some of the filters through which we view sports (and everything else), and give some thought to how the framework we use to make sense of things could possibly be different going forward.

For the past 8 years it's felt like anytime you had a disagreement with someone, it was probably safe to assume that your opponent was morally bankrupt. There was so much built up political bitterness that the invective spilled over into almost every other aspect of our lives. Any tension or conflict unwittingly gained ideological connotations: a superhero movie couldn't help but become an allegory about US foreign policy; political subtext cropped up in otherwise innocuous love songs; and a wide range of television shows were convincingly read as referendums on our current administration's incompetence. Sports may not have been quite the breeding ground for political parable that books and movies were, but how we thought about and talked about power and conflict in athletics was necessarily clouded by how we dealt with those concepts during Bush's presidency.



The high-water mark of this tendency in basketball may have been last year's Lakers-Celtics Finals. Even though the series didn't lend itself to any obvious Red State/Blue State mapping, the tone with which allegiances were declared was as indicative of the political climate we've been living in as anything that happened between Bird and Magic two decades ago. You had to have an opinion and it damn well better not have been the wrong one. Granted, sports have always lent themselves to political undertones and to enthusiastically taking sides, but I'd still like to credit Bush for inspiring a particular flavor of venom that spilled over to how we discussed everything from Iraq to All Star selections. In other words, the fact that the Kobe-era of headline dominance coincided almost perfectly with Bush's two terms might not have been purely coincidental. That Obama's favorability ratings hover above 70% and no one views LeBron as a yes or no question is hopefully a sign of things to come.



While I don't think the League itself will actually be discernibly different when we wake up on January 21st, I'm hopeful that the way we perceive the game might already have begun to shift subtly. I'm not sure I envision exactly how this less-polarized, post-Bush era of basketball will look, but for some reason I picture Danny Granger playing a central role in decoding the new landscape. The world is ready for a more nuanced view of the game, one where Cleveland's ascendance doesn't take anything away from what Boston and LA have going on, where the Hawks can be both up-and-coming and taken seriously at the same time, and where Devin Harris doesn't need a counterpoint in Paul, Williams, or anyone else to be understood and appreciated. While columnists were forced to reluctantly shelve the LeBron v. Melo stories long ago, Wade's resurgence thankfully hasn't seemed to force too many battle lines to be drawn. Even with Oden finally on the floor, the fact that he went one slot ahead of Durant is little more than a footnote at this point. Kevin Love's irrelevance probably killed any potential for an ongoing Mayo-Love plotline, but even the contrast that would seem like it should have legs (the UCLA guard on close-by team who will play an equally essential role in overturning his team's current crappiness) isn't really cropping up yet. This isn't to say that rivalries will be (or should be) non-existent, but maybe we're reaching a point where we can stop viewing them as either/or propositions, where one player's dominance doesn't necessarily pose a threat to our appreciation of another's. Even if the sport is ultimately defined by wins and losses, we don't need to view every aspect of it as a zero-sum game.



While I'm probably overestimating both the transformative nature of Obama and the transformable nature of sports fans, I'm nevertheless optimistic that we can at least step away from some of the more forced indignation and oversimplified dichotomies that have dominated our conversations about sports recently. If this post-partisan (sorry) approach sounds an awful lot like the liberated fandom this site has espoused for so long, it's probably because it should. As we adjust to life without Bush-tinted glasses, it will hopefully get easier to eschew some of the knee-jerk thumbs up/thumbs down reactions and to move towards embracing the contradictions before us. Put another way, learning to root for a Larry Brown team might be good practice for accepting a ceremony prominently featuring Rick Warren.

2009 McLaren SLR Stirling Moss

Things got just a bit brighter for the incoming Detroit Auto show. Mercedes-Benz will officially showing what will surely be one of the most attention supercars in exhibition hall, the new 2009 McLaren SLR Stirling Moss,a supercar for year 2009. The boldly styled Merc will be the last vehicle built under the partnership with McLaren, at a cost around €750,000 Mercedes should have no trouble finding buyers for the 75-car allotment. The feature of this super car will full carbon fiber bodywork wrapped over the standard version, a 650-hp supercharged 5.5-liter V8 and the five-speed automatic transplanted from the SLR 722. Despite lacking any sort of roof or proper windscreen, the Stirling Moss can still achieve a top speed of 217 mph and can reach 100 km/h in just 3.5 seconds. Other unique features include swing-wing doors, a retractable air brake that can be operated manually and a two-piece tonneau cover that can cover the entire cockpit or just the passenger seat.

BMW X6 by Hamann

The BMX X6 is a tricky vehicle to classify. In photos, it can look like a hot-hatch on steroids. Up close, you see the SUV in the vehicle. It's dimensions are even larger than the X5 and the only thing that cramps its cargo room to make it less than the X5 is the sloping hatch - a styling cue that makes the X6 unique and hard to pin down.

Of course, the term-du-jour is Crossover, which is what Hamann-Motorsports uses to describe the X6. But their treatment is a little more adventurous than that. Hamann boosts the X6's 3.5i gasoline/petrol version from 306 to 360 hp and the 3.5d (diesel) from 286 hp to 320 hp. Cranking power is also considerably elevated by 140 Nm to 540 Nm in the 3.5i and taken to a massive 660 Nm in the 3.5d from a previous 580 Nm.

On the outside, Hamann offers the option of 23-inch rims, in need of 315/25R23 tires. Oh, and the price tag for just the four wheels is 9,385 euros. Yes, this is an audacious tuner that also messes with the BMW sound with a four-pipe exhaust system that gives the X6 a more grounded sound.

The tuning kit also comes with a collection of spoilers and skirts and the interior gets a once-over with special carbon-fiber materials too. But Hamann is a performance tuner and this X6 definitely puts on a show.

ToyoBaru RWD Sports Car delay until 2012

A smart project of Toyota and Subaru to working together on a rear-wheel-drive sportscar with “wonderful styling” have been replaced by rumours that the car has been put on hold.

The future and superb drift machine, regarded by many as the potential successor to the now legendary AE86, is believe to be based on the current Subaru Legacy platform and powered by a boxer engine putting out around 200hp through a six speed manual transmission.

The original plan is due in 2011,but, according to Nikkei, the car has been delayed to at least 2012 or more. But with things set to get even worse around the globe, 2012 may just come and go without any trace of a Toyobaru RWD sports car.

A Time for Moving Self-Parody and Intense Inward Glances

-So after a series of email conversations about applying my "Jewish question" to the realm of African-American folk, Claude Johnson actually did it. Go watch the action unfold over at Black Fives. I won't go much further than that hypothetical of a "black" black guy with a "white" game, and a "white" black guy with a "black" game.

-Since we're back on this, I wanted to post a link to the interview I did with Jeremy at Mixed Multitudes. I think we cleared the air, though I flubbed my most important statement:

The Woody Allen example was a bad, and obvious, one, but when I look at who I am, and my place in American society, I definitely believe in a sense of community based around–at the risk of sounding totally 19th century–a certain ethnic character. In our case, of course, a lot of it has to do with questioning our character, not knowing where we fit in, what’s ours and what isn’t, and why we care that much to begin with.

That was trying to say not only that identity is construed as such, but that it leads to critical, outsider-y perspective on things that revolves around questioning _________, not knowing where __________ fits in, wondering what belongs to who, really, and accepting that we might not care that much about these questions to begin with. Hence the combination or inquiry, fatalism, dissonance, and absurdity that a lot of us dig in the Spanish players.

-I got an email yesterday asking if those Star of David-shaped snowflakes on the breast of yesterday's holiday jersey weren't eerily reminiscent of you-know-what. What's funny is that I only noticed them on Boston's unis, and assumed it was some sly Red Auerbach joke about this time of year. But if Stern does succeed in pissing off some Holocaust survivors, wow, that would be bad for his standing in the cabal.



-I finally saw Milk last night, and proceeded to read the whole online debate over why he's not known, or promoted, as a Jew, whether the film does enough of that or has any obligation to, and what's going on with Jewish publications not picking up on the newfound interest in a great Jewish political leader. Whatever, the movie was very, very good.

SEE COMMENTS. I MEANT TO MUTE MY REACTION, BUT DIDN'T DO SO ENOUGH. NEXT WEEK, POST ON 40 GUNS and THE FURIES TO PROVE I KNOW FILM.

-News Shoals Unlimited coming later on Celtics/Lakers.

Fastest Street Legal Super Car arrive at Europe...

Show up at any track with a car less than ordinary and you’re bound to get smirks of both disgust and pity. Some people don’t let it affect them, some pack up and go home in search of mummy, others give chase and some blow the competition away. That’s exactly what happen when the took his 1407hp Pontiac Trans-Am to the Papenburg track where the AMG boys from Mercedes

were testing their new models.

With a brisk 8.9L V8 producing a whopping 1407 HP, The top speeds of 300km/h in his warming laps. After driving a couple of rounds around the track, to see what his road machine would do! And after pressing the pedal to the metal the when the technician came over with his laptop computer with a big grin. Here we have the official numbers: 407.134 km/h.

You may say well the 9FF team drove 409km/h in an extremely rebuilt Porsche 911 at the same track; this speed was recorded with their own equipment and therefore can be fixed and therefore is not recorded as an official speed record. Bugatti Veyron 407km/h is also recorded with their own equipment.

As the Papenburg track is to small for the Pontiac to reach its potential top speed of 435km/h and Volkswagen’s test track costs 25.000 Euro an hour to rent.

Paints for Mirrors

Quote of the holiday day: "You bring me the yeti and I'll release your parents." Meatloaf said it, no less.

I knew there was a reason I was so thoroughly invested in Anthony Randolph. Besides being my last best hope for feeling like I'm touching the league's pulse, Randolph's also bringing it back to 2001 for the MSM. Check out these quotes from Bucher (bold all mine):

Sources also say rookie phenom Anthony Randolph, who some believe has the talent to one day be among the league's top 10 players, has been told he's not fitting in and could be dealt.

I guess FD is still more influential than I ever imagined. Are people really saying this? And if indeed it is front office folks, isn't the planet spinning backward if they're on my wavelength? Not that potential will ever completely disappear as a factor in assessing talent, but aren't things supposed to be getting more rational, economical, and here-and-now when it comes to team-building?

If you think I'm overreacting, how about this:

Yes, Randolph is 19 and plays with crazy rambunctiousness that results in silly fouls and ugly turnovers. But he also routinely makes plays -- blocked shots, crushing putback dunks and acrobatic drives -- that are beyond any other Warrior's capability. People within the organization talk about him the way they did Webber, as a singular talent capable of someday making the team a title contender. According to a half-dozen scouts and GMs, he has the potential to nudge out Derrick Rose as the best player in his draft class.



This is one of those "how serious is FD" moments. I would never say any of this with a straight face, because for now, Randolph's mystique is light years away from anything this concrete. I might be treading on the old "potentially potential" territory, but at this point, I think the real drama is seeing what kind of prospect Randolph develops into, not projecting what he might do as a refined NBA player. I'm especially attached to the kind of athlete who forces this kind of thinking. The charm, and the irony, of it is that you've got the fantastic doubling as the height of scouting acumen, the whimsical and the shrewd forced to pull in the same direction. But there's a big difference between venturing there selectively (less so if you're a half-serious blog) and applying it as a matter of course, as front offices once did; it's also bizarre to see it show up at all now, seeing how the climate has changed, the age limit has sobered everyone up, and there are so many embarrassing quotes on the record about past duds. I guess Anthony Randolph really is that fucking powerful.

Also, I was looking at my fantasy team and happened to click here. I have to say, if there's any single reason for me to be alienated from the NFL, it's the way running backs—my favorite position—currently rise and fall, or are platooned. Maybe my "I miss 2003" is nostalgia for the height of my interest in the NFL, but it also marks the exact point at which platoons and "RB's are finished at 30" started their ascent. It keeps real star power from gaining traction—T-Mac, injury-ravaged as he is, is still a viable star at 30 due to his playmaking ability; Kobe at near 31 is 1A or 1B in the league—but it cheapens the position itself, and what the individual's contribution to it means. Feel free to insert your favorite FD buzzword (style, personality, etc.) anywhere in the preceding graph.

Merry Christmas, and may you live like a slipping pitch.

Old Silver Kinds

Supposed to snow again. The above is my favorite YouTube video ever, so excuse me if it has 8,000 views already. I was also looking for a live clip of "We People Who are Darker Than Blue," which would've made no sense as an expression of snowbound ennui and been even more obvious. So fuck off. Below, links that bother or inspire me:

-Byron Scott world's greatest coach, Julian Wright's demotion his own fault. Is Scott the biggest coattail-rider in the league?

-Joe Alexander, Great White Dunking Hope, can bang his head on the rim. Naturally, Bogut makes an appearance.

-This one is good: Rondo's all-explaining relationship with Favre's style. This is his year.

-Mixed. LeBron's shoes aren't such colossal successes, but clearly Nike is building his brand bit-by-bit, instead of worrying about the immediate home run. And might be picking up momentum at just the right time.

-I don't mean to be a huge racist, but aren't there some connotations to Sponge Bob that posts like this one on Amir or all the "oh, Beasley is so silly, he hearts a cartoon" might be missing. Not saying these guys—both of whom are legitimately light-hearted and fun—don't like the show, but I have heard of it being used as a Crip signifier. Certainly this warrants as much of an investigation as Pierce's gang signs. Since, you know, there might be something urban to it, as opposed to simply childish.

FORGET IT, I WAS LIED TO BY SOME EDUCATORS. THE INTERNET REFUSES TO CONFIRM THIS. SO I GUESS ALL THESE ATHLETES ARE JUST MORONS WHO LIKE CARTOONS.

-Chauncey DeVega knocks it out the box on the subject of Christmas. I almost typed "knicks it out the box," which should be an expresion of sorts.

Okay, some Curtis anyway:



Yes, I am comparing inclement weather and a ravaged holiday season to the general upheaval of 1970.

KNICK IT OUT THE BOX.

2009 Nisssan Skyline GT-R:Power Unleashed

Born from a long line of Skyline GT-Rs 1969, this latest version — “R36″ equipped with turbocharged power, more all-wheel-drive technology and more sheer speed than any Japanese car ever to come to America.

For six years the 2009 Nissan Skyline GT-R has been the subject of intense rumors and frenzied speculation. It has appeared in more spy photos than Area 51; and Skyline prototypes are as familiar a sight on the Nürburgring as pine trees and pavement.

Why? Because the Skyline GT-R R36 is expected to be the ne plus ultra of Japanese performance machinery; and after 30 years of waiting, it’s finally America’s turn to officially take part in all the fun.

The original Nissan Skyline GT-R might have hit the street in 1969, but it wasn’t until 1990 that the GT-R legend would be solidified. That was the year the Skyline GT-R was introduced to an utterly stunned Japanese market. It was the first of three twin-turbocharged, all-wheel-drive and all-wheel-steering Skylines (R32, R33 and R34) and it’s the generation upon which the Skyline GT-R legend rests.

Though the R34 left production after the 2003 model year, it was so beloved that Nissan’s Nismo division actually bought 20 used Skyline GT-R R34 V-Spec models during 2005 and completely rebuilt them into what is currently considered the greatest GT-R of them all — the $170,000, 500-horsepower Skyline GT-R Z-Tune.

Although Nissan never imported the Skyline GT-R to the United States, the supercar still found its way into America’s automotive consciousness. In fact, buying one in the U.S. became relatively easy. By the dawn of the 21st century, several hundred had been imported.

So prominent had the Nissan Skyline GT-R become that in 2003’s 2 Fast 2 Furious, the film’s hero drove and raced one through the streets of Miami. And the actor Paul Walker, who played the role, bought his own and modified it.

At the 2001 Tokyo Motor Show, Nissan showed the GT-R Concept as the prospective successor to the R34. By early 2005, modified G35 coupes with Infiniti badges, oversize wheels and tires, big rear wings, hood scoops and bodywork protrusions big enough to hide exotic exhaust systems in back or intercoolers up front were spied at the Nürburgring.

These weren’t just tuner cars, but full-fledged prototypes of the next GT-R.

Then in the 2005 Tokyo Motor Show, another GT-R showcar appeared called the GT-R Proto; and the new, innovative shape of the next GT-R was apparent. Obviously based on Nissan’s FM-code front midengine chassis, this GT-R would apparently use a turbocharged version of the VQ V6 with a seven-speed transmission and all-wheel drive.

And at the 2006 New York Auto Show, Nissan’s CEO Carlos Ghosn announced that, yes finally, the new Skyline GT-R R36 would be sold in the United States and it would be sold worldwide exclusively through Nissan, and not Infiniti. And apparently without the Skyline name.

That’s right, it’ll officially be called the Nissan GT-R. Yeah, right, just like the 2007 Mazda Miata is the MX-5.

Do you know "Super Car"?

Supercar is a term generally used for high-end sports cars, whose performance is superior to that of its contemporaries. It has been defined specifically as "a very expensive, fast or powerful car with a centrally located engine",and stated in more general terms: "it must be very fast, with sporting handling to match", "it should be sleek and eye-catching" and its price should be "one in a rarefied atmosphere of its own",but the correct usage of the term is both subjective and disputed, especially amongst enthusiasts. The use of the term can be dependent on the era; a vehicle that may have been considered a supercar in one decade may not be considered the same in another. The term supercar may refer to factory-built, street-legal sports cars.Some vehicles referred to as supercars include features required for race cars such as roll cages.

Hole or Pile

First off, Ziller has suggested that Thunder/Grizz is the new Bobcats/Hawks, and I'm inclined to agree. I feel like a turncoat for saying this, but as Dr. LIC noted a few weeks back, the Thunder are rad and lose a ton of games. Perfect! And they're about the most god-foresaken outpost of NBA basketball available. The game with Cleveland yesterday was bound to end as it did, but certainly felt like a battle. Westbrook's the wild card, Durant the edgy craftsman, Jeff Green has become Jeff Green. Combine those with a high pick, and Presti might not built another Spurs, but a team with serious mind control powers. Now let's see what he does with a coach, or when Ibaka comes over.

And now, to address something fairly stupid from the comments section, or to wit, something I should've brought up a while ago. In case you hadn't heard, Gerald Wallace lost his faher and grandfather in the last two weeks, and has been caught up in a whirlwind of grieving, driving around the Deep South to attend funerals, missing a few games, and surfacing periodically to absolutely destroy whoever happens to be playing the Bobcats that night. This was contrasted with Josh Howard's collapse, which some have attributed in part to a death in the family. The implication being, in fairly typical sports terms, that Wallace was a man and Howard a fragile piece of cunt. You could also argue that McGrady's personal history, while more dire than Howard's, also fails to display this same stoicism, or ability to use tragedy as motivation. In fact, working against the likes of McGrady and Howard is the cliche, discussed in the book, of sport-as-salvation or escape.



I still believe what I put down in print about how hard it is to separate T-Mac's on-court woes from what's he dealt with away from it, to the point that he seems haunted everywhere. But this isn't some third option, after Wallace's play (either clinging to normalcy, comfort, or taking out the pain on someone) or Howard's inability to deal. I think it's pretty obvious that, just as each death brings with it a completely unique range of emotions—based on the timing, the relationship with the deceased, and the personality of the survivor—the way athletes view sports in times of crisis is just as varied. I know that, the more times "sports" figure in a sentence, the more we expected pre-programmed, cliched, or robotic. Sports is there, and the closer one gets to it, the more he's forced to get in line and choose from a handful of time-honored storylines. Really though, given the range of emotions that go into playing a game, and how much those vary from person to person, why would that element of the equation be any more stable than the loss of a loved one?

If you think basketball is just another job, then fine. Players can either take time away, return immediately and feel better for it, or be noticeably off for months. Or we can see each of these very human instances as a chance to learn something not only about how these people deal with death, but also how they view the game. To be sure, it's a complex, sometimes contradictory, interaction. But it's far more honest than pretending that everyone feels the same way about basketball, a job that inspires great high and lows, deals in huge swaths of stress and release, and couldn't possibly inspire a set number of reactions—especially when intertwined with something as personal as death.

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.

Before I Die and Freeze, Know This All

That's my state of mind now. Or that Russian story I can't remember, where the old couple lives in the snowy cave after the end of the world with nothing but a Scriabin score. Anyone know the name of that one?

If you can't tell, I am still playing catch-up on this season, and might be forever. For one, I haven't spent too much time with the Three Juggernauts, which means until this week I didn't feel confident rattling off bizarre claims about Rondo/KG synergy, or suggesting that Allen's newfound ease is also bringing Boston closer to what I'd imagined last fall. After having spent the entire playoffs defending my right to like the Lakers (not defending the Lakers, mind you), I'm suddenly pretty indifferent to them until they face the Celtics again. Not to get all trad on you, but I actually felt betrayed in those Finals. And while I know LeBron, like Wade, has returned to America with the flame of many nations and their thousand-year histories burning in his breast, it only sunk it last night just how rock-solid that team becomes with a skilled backcourt of Delonte/Williams. Forget my lobbying for Marion—this team has made a leap like Boston, and through sheer sense of purpose could threaten Los Angeles.

All-important sidebar: Big Z has suddenly turned into that Euro big man everyone was trying to draft around 2002. The guy just a hair above Dirk in terms of size, but nearly as much of a shooter, and passes for day. It's funny how much I've come to like him, after years of total indifference. You can expect a similar flip-flop on the Celtics, if it really is Rondo running the show, Ray Allen playing like he used to, and Garnett acting crazy like he's still frustrated and unfulfilled about something. Everyone knows he toned it down last year for the benefit of the year-end DVD. I'll say right here and now that flip-flopping in the face of justification is totally FD. Case in point, Wade this season.

It also dawned on me last week that, during the three weeks I spent on the East Coast doing a good deal of touring/meeting/family stuff, I watched only like one game. And before that, I'd spent most of my viewing time trying to take the pulse of the Warriors (naturally), Beasley, Rose, and all the Grizz. Plus some Blazers, my beloved Hawks, and the Suns when it seemed like Amare was about to take that team over once and for all. But I've missed out on some non-crappy storylines, like the emergence of Devin Harris—I know it happend, but I've scarcely watched him, and really want confirmation that this comes as no surprise to anyone who saw him with Dallas when things were good. Is there that patented qualitative shift, or just an uptick in usage and importance? If he's indeed become a real shooter, and can hit five threes in a game, then I stand corrected, embarrassed, and willing to send him on his new star way. The 30 ppg is unreasonably, but 20+ and some assists sounds right, and even if I maintain he's no true PG, he can pass like crazy, and paired with Carter brings about a surprising redemption of Vince in NJ. He's not soft, he's engaged in a positionally revolutionary project that involves splitting up the responsibilities of the PG and SG.



I also wonder if this, or maybe my over-obvious monitoring of early season youngsters, proves that the league has passed me by. Like when I got this theory together the other day that post-2003 NFL sucks. It just made me sound old. Same way, shouldn't there be other people out there dealing with the chronic condition of TMI we've subjected ourselves to with League Pass. All I've got for this year is Anthony Randolph. And maybe Westbrook. Sorry to get you all down, or suggest that at this point this should be work we all share, but I just haven't had that Julian Wright or Rodney Stuckey moment this season, and Amir has been disappointing, and while I don't feel like it's all been a lie, I wonder if others aren't in a better position to cultivate that fervor. Or curate the exact characteristics of those up-and-coming askew, or askance, or in a way that makes the imagination swell while allowing us to believe with that other side of our brains. You can decide which is right and which is left.

Unrelated, the Birdman is important, almost institutional, now. And I can't stop delighting at how often Hubie employs that nickname. So is J.R. Smith, in a way. They've made flaws and crazy into a kind of accepted role player. Maybe that only works on the Nuggets, but in keeping with the semi-somber tone of this post, it does make me feel like either my work here is done, or the league has changed in ways I need to adjust to. Fucking post-2003 NFL. I can't decide if I'm overjoyed or perplexed that Granger, Harris, and Joe Johnson are up there with Kobe and LeBron in the scoring race. I heart Granger, JJ is FD fam, and Harris, as I've said, I'm almost there with. But are they Kobe and LeBron? This seems to signal some kind of shift, either a slight changing of the guard (fine, fun) or something really disheartening involving platoons.

One serious point that really requires our attention: This whole Boozer situation. I like the Jazz teams of the last few season, and even went so far as to sing Sloan's praises on TSB. But I have to say, it's some serious, subliminal us/country/family/Utah/loyalty bullshit going on with the reaction from Larry Miller and, to a lesser degree, Sloan. Boozer—who admittedly, is an enemy of the blind and tried to get the Jazz to trade him on account of a sick son—simply stated the obvious: That next season, he'd like more money, and maybe to go somewhere where he doesn't have Paul Millsap breathing down his neck. What's not totally obvious about this, especially when he's out with an injury, and Millsap is effectively taking his place? It just strikes me as totally disingenuous to see Miller and Sloan trash Boozer when he's got every reason to try and gain some leverage. And they go and make it into a matter of honor, belonging, and team, which there carries semi-sinister connotations, basically prepping the city to not give a fuck about losing Boozer, and add another plume of ignominy in the guy's cap.



I had a bunch more invective typed, but let's leave it at this: Boozer, out and marginalized, is frank about his situation, and as an All-Star, matters enough to have that right. Especially when it's no surprise, and only radically affects the Jazz's ability to keep him and Millsap. Instead, though, it's spun as an outrage, to such a degree that I can't imagine Boozer wants to come back there now. And that's probably just the effect Miller's going for.

Spanish Armada Docks In Portland; Mixed Results Ensue

It's snowing in Portland and in the mountains of Basque country, so it is therefore the perfect time to turn to our favorite Jewish-Welsh correspondent Eli Gunn-Jones. Take it away, Eli!

Portland has been hit with uncharacteristically heavy snowfall as of late, but due to the Blazers’ mildly surprising mini-slump, Rose City residents have reacted as if chunks of the sky have been falling instead of condensed frozen rain. Setting aside Tuesday’s gimme against tumultuous Sacramento and Brandon’s career performance versus Phoenix last night (which, by the way, barely secured the win), Portland dropped three straight and four of five. Though talk of “tempering expectations” and “weathering the storm” (sorry for the pun) has been the point of emphasis for Portland fans this week, there are still certain infallibilities, untouchable commandments for all to remember. Brandon is a god. Oden will get there. We have too many small forwards. Rudy Fernandez is the unquestionable fan favorite.

How interesting, then, that the high-flying Spaniard’s meteoric rise is countered by the ongoing, ever-present instability of fellow countryman Sergio Rodriguez. It is difficult to ascertain why Rudy, the stunning rookie, is so quickly showered with boundless praise from both the fans and Blazers’ organization while Sergio, a dazzling guard in his own right, is met with a decidedly less enthusiastic response. However, a number of factors offer clues in this muddled situation.

Rudy certainly has the benefit of momentum and hype. This past summer, the lanky Euro stepped off his plane at PDX to find over one hundred fans boisterously cheering his arrival. The excitement can be attributed to Rudy's inspiring play in the Olympic finals when he went toe-to-toe with the NBA's best and brightest. Coach McMillan, an assistant in Beijing, sang numerous praises for his sweet-shooting soon-to-be guard, pointing out the maturity and mental toughness that is overshadowed by Rudy’s long range jumper, quick decision making and aerial grace.

And that’s the odd thing about Rudy’s arrival and subsequent place on the team. His place is already so engrained within the DNA of the team. McMillan already trusts him; Pritchard looks like a genius for nabbing him. He’s not supposed to be Pippen, the Outstanding Achievement for Best Supporting Actor. Rather, Rudy is the star of the second unit, the protagonist of his very own genre B-film. He electrifies the crowd with a barrage of treys and legs-splayed outta-control-lookin-but-very-much-in-control dunks.



Sergio, meanwhile, is a more complicated entity in Blazerdom. He is the rope in a perpetual tug-of-war game. Message board debates can reach Fatlip vs. Imani levels of acerbity (reunion shows notwithstanding). Some call for Spanish Chocolate to play 30 minutes a night, banking on the stability to boost his confidence, shooting percentage and assist-to-turnover ratio. Detractors pray for a trade before the rest of the league discovers he’s a sham. Within the organization, all signs point to a similar divide. There was the semi-famous public tiff over playing time that led to Sergio’s agent demanding a trade. PT is still quite inconsistent, though his 18 min/game in December is the most he’s ever been afforded. Most importantly, Sergio’s playing style—fast break-oriented, sleight of hand magic tricks, gambling defense—is completely at odds with McMillan’s philosophy, both as a hard-nosed former player and disciplined coach. McMillan’s slow and steady approach is a dream come true for veteran starter Steve Blake.

But therein lies the confusing part of this whole situation: how exactly does Rudy fit in with McMillan’s value system that warrants his 28 minutes per while Sergio does not? I’ll happily describe Rudy’s game as dynamic, exciting, and at times unstoppable. But he’s often a defensive liability, launches too many questionable threes, and there are stretches in which he tries either too much or too little. Criticisms, by the way, that have been volleyed at Sergio. Is there a bizarre double standard brewing here?



“Rudy as patron saint” and “Blazers have vendetta against Sergio” are both gross oversimplifications, but those are the archetypes that have solidified. Rudy’s cooled a bit since his scorching start—which, sadly, has cost him some offensive wiggle room with Coach—though he still throws in 11 ppg and drains the long ball. But guess what? So does Sergio, who’s once woeful 3pt shooting now stands at a respectable .366, not to mention those four assists a game (in 16 mpg?!) coupled with a lowered turnover count. Maybe McMillan’s preaching has gotten through, which would be simultaneously rewarding and disappointing. I mean, the nerds beat the jocks at the end of the movie by embracing their inner dweeb, not by becoming roided-out physical specimens. Right?

The Blazers’ recent underachieving, coupled with a crucial home-and-home with Denver followed by surging Dallas, makes this all the more relevant. In the wake of Blake’s poor performance over the past few weeks (game-winning three at Toronto and last night’s shooting clinic exempt), is it time for Sergio to get his chance? Should Rudy return to his Rip Hamilton-esque screen popping ways rather than languish in the role of spot-up deep threat that so egregiously wastes his versatile offensive panache? Best of all, could this team-wide funk translate to more minutes for the eye-popping Spanish tandem together? Just picture it—“Spaniards return Blazers to Western conference elite with electrifying lobs on the court, wear matching sweaters off.”

This is just an exercise in fantasy, though. The organization is too stable, too consistent, too goal-oriented, to rock the boat with any panic lineup changes. And hey, that makes a lot of sense for a promising young team building towards eventual title contention. But, when gazing with FD-tinted glasses, frustration mounts. The team is restrained to the point of boredom; McMillan has truly molded them in his own image. I fear Sergio will decay until his will is broken, devolving from unpredictable ringleader to safe passer; I fear the dark gods have placed Rudy on a path to become a generic, imitation Ginobli. Say it ‘aint so.

In Case You Need Clone Us

Here's me, Big Baby, and Silverbird giving it our all at Gelf's Varsity Letters reading. My wardrobe is amazing, but only becomes readily apparent toward the end. That alone is reason enough to suffer through the gladness.

This snow in Seattle is really fucking with me, as are my dead-whale-like sinuses. So I will keep these two thoughts brief:

-I really, really hope Rajon Rondo doesn't turn into Tony Parker, because he's every day now getting closer to what I'd imagined he could be. It's almost making me enjoy KG again, somehow, like they connect on a special level when they make eye contact. And that will be the foundation going forward. Is it at all possible that Rondo is bringing out things in Garnett? Or is this all in my head, about context and connotation, and so on.

-The Felton to Golden State rumor: I could see Brown wanting Wright. More likely, though, is that he's after Randolph, for the same reason the Bobcats drafted Ajinca and traded for Diaw. He is rounding up all weird, confounding, multi-skilled big men to exterminate their kind once and for all. Larry Brown's last and greatest contribution to the league will be mass murder, even genocide, in the name of the Right Way.

Next to that, the Warriors playing three PG's at once, plus Stephen Jackson, seems trivial.

ULTRA-SUPER BULLETIN: It's being reported some places that I wrote that Farmar "doesn't look like a Jew." I never said that and never would. That doesn't even make sense, especially coming from someone who gets mistaken for a lot of things other than Jewish.

Don't Get Killed

Full disclosure: Part of the reason I love Upside and Motor's newly-unveiled NBA Archetypes so much is that FD has been discussing a similar model. Or maybe we did this, kind of, with the categories in the book. But he did it thorough, and I can't stop thinking about it. So here's the main image, and let's talk about it.

Actually, I really just want to use it to present my once-and-for-all argument for the age limit, something I developed during a shouting match at our Vassar appearance. While I don't exactly agree with Rob's hierarchy—big men of any kind seem to really get short shrift, even by my standards—it does clearly illustrate the rise of the guard that we've often discussed 'round these parts. The dream is of landing a Chris Paul, Deron Williams or Derrick Rose, who as recently history has borne out, are actually easier to build around, and thus truer franchise players, than the likes of the titanic Yao or Dwight Howard. Yes, refined big man is up there with point guard supreme, because the absolute gems of that category are still invaluable. But they've become 1B to the point guard's 1A. And, almost absurdly, you have to look down to the fourth tier to find another archetype that specifically requires size.

Again, I think that's a little batty. Still, it shows how far we've come from the "size conquers all" outlook, at least according to one model of things. While you usually hear about "need" versus "best available" (draft concepts that actually should more often be extended to include free agency and trades), the pro-height bias was almost a philosophy unto itself. In fact, it almost encapsulated, or subsumed, both of the others: Big players were always the best available, and you could always use height, because size wins.



And that, dear readers, is why I support the age limit. Let's not pretend that coming out of high school was about equal rights and opportunity for all. Teams disproportionately favored tall players; in fact, it was a truism that no one drafted high school guards. I can count on one hand the non-big men who ended up with favorable draft position: Kobe, T-Mac, Sean Livingston (length), Telfair (sneaker conspiracy), Webster (huh?), J.R. Smith (blueprint shooting guard, non-lottery), Gerald Green (dropped like crazy). Let's not forget about the 2005 draft, when Monta Ellis, Louis Williams, and C.J. Miles all fell into the second round, when at least one of them was projected to go in the first. Who went first overall last summer? Derrick Rose, who certainly deserved it. Would he have gone that high out of high school? Absolutely not. That just wasn't the culture of high school scouting.

There's a perfect confluence here of the rise of the point guard, which came about as a combination of Nash's MVP's and the success of Paul and Williams, and teams being forced to wait another year before delivering their final verdict on a player. High school big men were drafted on size, athleticism, and some semblance of coordination. Scoring wings or guards didn't just have to have outlandish numbers—who doesn't in high school—but also the size and physical ability that made them sound pro prospects. The likes of Williams, Ellis, and Miles might as well have been playing with counterfeit dollars. And then when you get to point guards, it's just impossible to judge how well they play with others until they're 1) forced to by stronger competition 2) given the opportunity to do so in a complex way, by having a coach 3) have teammates who can really take advantage of their brilliance. Don't believe me? Take a look at Chris Paul's assist numbers in high school (thanks to Kyle for that one) and college.

So if we all agree that guards, especially the pointy type, are gaining in value, but require more scouting, and big men are drafted on crude factors and no longer rule the game, the age limit makes perfect sense. Put simply, it gives the greatest opportunity to the greatest number of players, not just those born with tremendous height. The argument at Vassar hinged on the Williams/Ellis/Miles troika. The other side claimed that their being drafted showed that the age limit worked for guards. My point was, it shows that it didn't. Had Monta spent a year in college, he would've been a no-brainer lottery pick.

Anyway, we can debate Rob's archetypes further, but certainly it's a product of today's game and scouting climate, and makes a case that, in some ways, there have been shifts in this post-Suns era. Though that doesn't mean that Tim Duncan still wouldn't be picked over Rose, or even Paul, with hindsight.



BONUS: By popular demand, the saga continues:



HOLY COW ALERT: How did I not know until just now that D'Antoni had been on the Spirit of St. Louis?

Will Bore Gentiles For Food

Consider this the preamble to the preamble, which is always an apology of sorts. I have been way out of touch with the NBA these last few weeks. Limited cable access, little time to sneak off and watch a game of my choosing, and time spent (thankfully) with people who don't want to spend a Thursday at home with Barkley and Kenny. I've also been talking non-stop about some of the more axiomatic features of the league, which sort of dries out your appetite for day-to-day trainspotting.

I also have this weird feeling that everything in the league has been destroyed except for the Thunder, though that's probably just some unconscious way of guilt-tripping myself for going slack.

But I feel fully armed and ready to do what I do best—take something I said once already and more forcefully, desperately, throw it in the face of those who would doubt me. Yesterday, I put up a post that inquired into exactly what "the Jewish athlete" meant today. Some commenters, and at least one blog with a bigger readership than mine, took me to task as either questioning Farmar's Judaism (different from Jewish-nes, I think), or being guilty of the worst kind of self-stereotyping.

First off, Farmar's Judaism is unimpeachable, insofar as he takes it seriously, attends services, and was raised by two Israelis. That's more than I can claim. The whole "he's half-black, and plays a blacker game" had some awkward elements of racialized biology that no one really called me on, but the point mainly was that, for whatever reason, when he steps on the floor he's able to embody the basketball mainstream. Apparently, there are still American Jews out there who believe strongly in the imperative of, or at least the right to, assimilation. My Greenberg allusion was meant to date this attitude as something that, in theory, we've moved past. Jews now can assert the ways in which they are different from "white people" without endangering themselves professionally or personally. We won.



But the funny thing about Jews as an ethnic group: Except for the construction of Israeli identity, or going all-out religious, it's hard to pin down exactly what Jewish "authenticity"—the idea I was trying to nail down in my plea for a "Jew-y" player—would be, other than a bunch of semi-embarrassing stereotypes. That's why I was ridiculed for suggesting that I'd like to see such a player; it's regarded as self-satire, as opposed to alive and kickin' identity politics. I'm not content with today's criteria-based, near-polarizing system of classification, which is why personally, the "he attends shul" proof doesn't do it for me. Nor do I want a repeat of the Jewish Jordan fiasco. I want an athlete whose game I can identify with.

Someone suggested that my seach for a "Jew-y" player would ultimately be detrimental to the league in the same way "blacker" players have been. Ummm, okay. Allen Iverson's not perfect, but he's changed the game forever. As someone who, however foolhardily, takes the idea of a "cultural Judaism" seriously, it would mean a lot to me if—at a time when I'm increasingly asked to either shut up and accept my whiteness or ante up and pay membership dues at my local synagogue—there were a player that did something to work toward a contemporary version of this term. I threw out Woody Allen as an example; he was dismissed as "of the past," but while he may need updating (as would, say, Serch), that's the kind of figure I'd like to see reflected in sports, just as Iverson was to hip-hop.

(Sidenote: If anyone super-influential is reading this, please send me that lost footage from Annie Hall where the Knicks—the real Knicks—take on a team of famous philosophers)

So while it may have been unfair of me to single out Farmar, or accidentally turn him into a figurehead, the fact remains that sports are fucking huge in America, and insofar as I have spent a lot of time in this life of mine looking at so-called secular variations on Jewish identity, I would like to see this borne out in basketball. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know it's not just a guy who self-identifies as Jewish but otherwise bears no stylistic markers. Or a monolithic, and largely implausible, version of what it means to project "Jewish-ness" for all the world to see. The internal tensions and external negotiations of culture are never an easy thing to pin down, and there's over a century of art, music, and literature that attest to this within the Jewish experience. With sports as central to America as they now are, why can't I ask for an athlete who uses this medium to continue in the critical, often confusing, tradition?



Fine, shove this right back at me as "allusive," guilty of reductionism, keeping the people down, and getting in the way of a more transparent, or flexible, definition of "Jew." Maybe I am living in the past, or preoccupied with my own personality quirks. But I'm not done wrestling with the meaning of secular Jewish identity, nor am I entirely comfortable dismissing an inherently unstable history and canon just because we can't give an easy account of where they stand today. That's the sort of work culture does, and big surprise here, but I think sports, and the power of style, are clearly capable of doing some of that work. They have for everyone else, in every other sport.

Imagine a cross between Rudy Fernandez, Shane Battier, and early Joe Johnson. Also, Stephen Jackson sometimes strikes me as really Jewish. Is Doug Moe the one that got away?

If you want to keep going down this path, I'd suggest consulting our NBA Race War, and its sequel.



I'm fucking exhausted. Don't call me Sarah Silverman or ask for a syllabus.

Blanketstein

Off the road, finally. Still not home yet, but I got to sit down this morning and think no Macrophenomenal thoughts. By the way, for all of you lamenting my long absence: You could try checking out the Sporting Blog. Not quite the same absurdist overtones, but I get my licks in, and I have been constantly churning out material there throughout this long, fun ordeal. Like today, you can find my reaction to that joint-popping Suns/Cats trade.

So many memories, so many faces, so many photos and media that we may or may not post up here in the future. Yes, KGB Radio night, I'm talking primarily about you. I've also watched hardly a game these last few weeks, so bear with me as I try and muster up a post to prove that yes, I still belong to you, you belong to me, and in heaven no one will tear us apart.

Of all the conversations I had multiple times on the road, none was more poignant, or tricky for me, than the Jordan Farmar one. Apparently, a lot of loyal FD readers, and semi-interested Jews, didn't realize Farmar was of the faith, or the people, or whatever the least PC nomenclature imaginable is these days. Now mark my words, I know the way things work, and have no interest in denying Farmar his full spectrum of cultural heritage. But—and this is more about our society than my own feelings—I don't think Farmar reads as Jewish, on at least two levels. For one, there's the Obama principle. Our real life FBP also happens to be half Heartland, and yet that other half is what defines him. Perhaps because of the context, Farmar is more likely to be recognized as "mixed" (which, of course, still ends up being primarily about black blood), but his Judaism is a technicality, or at least not readily apparent, even if he claims it quite regularly.



And that brings me to the second, really tacky, element of this analysis: Race and style. Once upon a time, the likes of Hank Greenberg and Sandy Koufax has to prove that Jews could outman (quite literally) their gentile brethren. Around the same time, in New York a generation of Chosen Kids were defining basketball as a sneaky, shifty urban game that played into all sorts of stereotypes. Sound familar? Farmar's game is squarely in that first category. He has ups, maneuvers with ease, and conveys a certain sense of equilibrium. Personally, I no longer feel the need to prove that Jews can be mighty and proficient in traditional ways. Perhaps it's the ghost of cultural stuidies, or the influence of Woody Allen on the paths of comets, but—and in some ways, this relates to what Kevin Pelton told me about the WNBA—I would want to see a player who played, well, Jew-y. In the same way that certain players are perceived as having a "blacker" style than others.

What would that game be? I'm not quite sure. I could trot out some stereotypes, but that wouldn't actually get to the heart of what I think is a very real discussion to be had. I've long been obsessed with other countries producing new strains of style; Spaniards like Rudy Fernandez, and established guys like Barbosa and Manu, are the proof of this. Has our own country become more fractured by identity politics than it has united by mass consumer culture?



This is where I would insert the video of the time several early FD operatives played a full-court game against a van full of Hasids in Maine. They thought I was a showboat, which apparently there's a word for in Yiddish. It's been lost forever, though, so instead I will open the floor, and ask if anyone knows whether Doug Moe is Jewish.

BONUS: Gordon Gartrelle with a close reading of the Vince/Obama tee.

Impressionable Youths

Earlier today, Shoals told a group of Brooklyn middle-schoolers that they should be into Anthony Randolph.

With any luck, this moment will redefine the book report and lead to the greatest 7th-grade science fair in the history of the world.

(H/T Trey)

Nobody's Barrister Stays Flat

(Supposedly O.V. Wright's son. Spend a day trying to figure it out, once you've solved the Russell Westbrook Challenge.)

Not that I ever really feel like I'm a part of the NBA, but these last two weeks, I've definitely been hovering above it all, occasionally swooping in to either scavenge or dent my beak on the sidewalk. But soon this will all be over, and I will be reduced to that monk-like state of poring over games, rumors, and box scores as if my ka depended on it (or ba, who fucking knows).

But the purpose of this post is one last book tour announcement: Tonight, at Sugar Lounge in Red Hook, we'll provide running commentary on the Bulls/Knicks game, until everyone gets too drunk, we run out of things to say, and the whole thing deteriorates into a celebration of basketball in its least pure form. Hope you can make it!

IF YOU LOVE ME YOU WILL FIND A WAY

We'll probably post some audio/video from our other stops as it becomes available, because some of them were pretty good. For now, here I am appearing on the CBC program Q, discussing the subject of THE COMEBACK in sports and pop culture. My segment's about halfway in, I'm badly tired and have a cold that makes mics trembles. Might be some food for talk in here.

Jesus Christ

More coming soon...

UPDATE: Shoals weighs in immediately.

M.P. Levine!!!!!!!!!!

No one on the planet can say "Russell Westbrook" four times in a row. Fast or slow. It's the secret to his game, too.

Back more regularly in the next few days. . .

The Audacity of Pride

I'm reporting from space while Big Baby, Silverbird, and Shoals are on the front lines. Make sure to check them out on the FD East Coast tour. Oh also, I should mention, you can buy the Macrophenomenal Almanac for 40% off on Amazon ALL DECEMBER LONG.

Lots to catch up on. In the sporting world, there is currently a war on pride. Whether it's Sean Avery, Plaxico Burress, or Stephon Marbury, the standards athletes are being held to is that of a superhuman, which--pay close attention--doesn't get to feel the things that humans feel. Humans get to boast about their sexual conquests (within reason), protect themselves without relying on 350-pound bodyguards, and voice concern when they feel they have been betrayed.

To focus on our bread and butter, I am going to have to once again stand up for Stephon Marbury and talk about how ridiculous the vilification of him is. I never like a player disrespecting a coach, and therefore, I can't back him for dissing D'Antoni in saying...

"Mike had no intentions of me playing basketball here," Marbury said. "He gave me straight disrespect. It was beyond disrespect. He put in (Danilo) Gallinari, whose back is messed up and (who) didn't participate at all in training camp ahead of me (in the season opener). ... That's saying, `I'm letting you have it right now.' He was sticking it to me."

...I do, however, empathize with his feelings of being disrespected. And for Q-Rich to say that he "left his teammates out to dry" is just hypocritical. This is where I back Steph in his comments that

"I didn't hear one of my teammates say, `Why isn't Stephon Marbury playing? This is a good system for him, even to play with the second unit and bring more firepower.'

Not one guy stood up for him? I mean, you don't expect them to complain to Mike D, but you do expect them to communicate with Steph directly on some "that's f'd up, man." For nobody to have it in them to even approach Steph about his situation is about as arrogant as whatever Starbury has done to this point. And what exactly has Steph done. I always come back to this old saw. He never broke the law, he never fixed a game, he never coasted through a series. His crime, being a ballhog and not living up to a monstrous contract a la Raef LaFrentz or anybody else.

The fact that there aren't immediate takers for Steph speaks to the absolute ridiculousness of sports in the 21st century. CP3, D-Will, Mo Williams, and now more than anybody Chauncey Billups are proving that this is a PG-dominated league, and Steph would instantly transform a lot of PG-less teams into at very least playoff teams (WIZARDS I SEE YOU). Pro athletes should be superhumanized for their brawn, and accepted as human for their personalities. If Michael Vick has to play in the CFL out of jail, I'm going to gag.
























While on the subject of pride, I have to pour out a cup of something foamy for Sam Mitchell, last of the true nutsacks in the NBA. Carlesimo, Eddie Jordan, and now Sam Mitchell. Where have all the grown-ass men gone? The only silver lining for me (sorry Skeets) is that it makes Mitchell a more likely candidate for the Minnesota position, which should go vacant....any day now. I love Mitch's style, but I realize that guys like him, and Skiles, and Eric Musselman are really an entirely new brand of coach. The stop-gap hard-ass. They are the guys that are going to come into a rag-tag situation, scream on everybody, rally up the troops and bring them back to respectability...until the players start tuning them out. Much as I hate to say it, I think Colangelo made the right move...again.
























A few more notes. Shoals demands that I point out Rajon Rondo's line last night (even though I hate Rondo):

pos		min	fgm-a	3pm-a	ftm-a	+/-	off	def	tot	ast	pf	st	to	bs	ba	pts

R.Rondo

G

40:39

5-10

0-1

6-7

+30

2

11

13

17

4

3

4

0

0

16

Shoals has deemed Rondo, "the Garnett of point guards," which reminds me, this song is really good: Willie the Kid and La the Darkman -- The Rap Kevin Garnett.


Also, I was completely prepared to hate this, but it turns out to be the most compelling thing I have seen in some time. I can't turn away.