The man who made a certain famous comment has returned to expand upon his initial germ of genius. Ladies and gentlemen, Damian Garde:
As far as NBA platitudes go, among the oldest and most yawn-inducing is the idea that players sacrifice everything for the team. Whether their bodies, their egos or their stats — we want our heroes to be selfless at some cost. But all that seems petty compared to the transformation of Rajon Rondo. Beyond making the extra pass, beyond diving for a loose ball, Rondo gave up his innocence for the Boston Celtics.
It seemed sudden in the moment but natural in retrospect. The boyish, long-lashed work in progress who unabashedly discusses his love for roller-skating and keeps Chap Stick in his sock turned into a volatile rebounding machine who’d smack you in the face and throw your Kansas ass into a table on general principle. But it wasn’t a flash of deep-seeded rage or some misguided ploy for street cred or respect. In Game 5, Paul Pierce — who is perhaps a dramatist, a masochist, or both — was playing hurt; Ray Allen had uncharacteristically fouled out; and Kevin Garnett was caged in a suit on the sidelines. Rondo — like a young Dr. Doom, like the child soldier who kills because it’s the only alternative to dying — became evil solely as a survival mechanism.
But like any evolution, Rondo’s has not been without growing pains. In Game 5’s post-game news conference, when the foul on Brad Miller got brought up, Rondo sheepishly lowered his head and, oddly, let Kendrick Perkins defend him before mentioning that, yes, Miller is much bigger than him. This can’t be overlooked — the Celtics have gone out of their way to defend what he did, and when pressed, Rondo only points out the perceived injustice that, excuse the pun, forced his hand. Further straddling the line between a sudden, very adult fury and his boyish nature, Rondo left that conference to share a post-game dinner with the guy who played McLovin.
Following last year’s championship run, Rondo was a league rarity: a name player without a creation myth. Taken late in the first round, Rondo spent his rookie season battling with Sebastian Telfair and Delonte West (a triumvirate pregnant with meaning, if I’ve ever seen one) for minutes at the point. Despite proving himself as a serviceable PG, he was seen as a lanky uncertainty after Boston’s summertime transition into a juggernaut. Even this season was spent somewhat in the wilderness: There were flashes of brilliance, followed by no-shows. And that probably should have made his playoff christening all the more predictable — few furies match that of a man in search of his own legend. And isn’t it only natural that, raised by three of the best self-mythologizers in the game, Rondo would eventually come into his own? After all, Paul Pierce need only touch a wheelchair to pack the theater; KG screams at the God who scorned him after an easy rebound; and, well, Jesus Shuttlesworth is Jesus Shuttlesworth.
But while Rondo’s newfound identity is perhaps as theatrical as those of his wolf-parents, its rawness makes it unsettling. Garnett, as intense as any player since cocaine stood in for Gatorade, is controlled genocide and often rides murder to work. His demons, volatile as they may be, forever bow to him. Rondo, who provided the waifish, just-happy-to-be here levity last season, now has the soiled hands of an off-the-handle bruiser. But, in a sense, he has the worst of both worlds: His fury is shaky and noncommittal. In Game 6, it was tempting to see Rose’s block as the hero’s impossible feat to thwart the supervillain. But aside from his squabble with Hinrich, Rondo was somewhat less explosive in that game. However, that didn’t stop the dawn of the new narrative: Rose, the golden, acne ridden beacon of Stern’s master plan, versus Rondo, the shifty, Gollum-like trickster. Doin' Dirt: A Visual Taxonomy
(Chart by Ziller)
Facts don’t matter in the face of such montage fodder, and, thus, the new reality. Even though Rondo has been emotionally (and statistically) calmer in this Orlando series, his wide-eyed exuberance is gone, replaced by a quiet menace lost on no one. Obviously, his whole career is ahead of him, and it’s impossible to say with authority whether this identity will stick or be just a hiccup on the way to becoming Chris Paul Lite (It’s worth noting, however, that he’s probably the only 23 year old I’ve heard described as “wily”). But even if he goes on to become Isiah, we can never get jaded to the myth of Rondo. We were there, and we saw the boy in him die.
Make sure you ready Joey's post on the trajectory of the league, and get used to seeing him here regularly. Also, I've updated the Amazon widget, but am not going to beat over the head with the reasoning behind the recommendations.
I mentioned this point already on my TSB weekend review, but it's so important it deserves its own post. On the last FDPDOCNBAPC (the podcast), Dan, Shoefly, and myself decided that the "putting it all together for the playoff run" cliche is largely specious. It's almost always the result of injured players coming back and getting into the swing of things at the right time, or the team trading for someone huge at the deadline. It just doesn't make sense that the onset of "real" basketball would suddenly cause a mediocre team to transform into something mighty. Yes, it happens in some other sports; this just proves how random and unconvincing their postseasons are.
Well, I'm here this morning to tell you that we were wrong. Sort of. I'd assumed, like most people, that the KG-less Garnett would be just that: the Celtics, minus their best player, plus everyone else trying to pick up the slack in slightly embarrassing (or at least paltry) fashion. What I certainly didn't count on was seeing a team in the playoffs that, while maybe not as good as the team that equation yielded, is fresh and exciting in new ways. Quite simply, this is a very different Celtics team. For one, the unquestioned star and center of attention is Rajon Rondo, a longtime FD favorite who in these playoffs has asserted himself as part of the "point guards now win games" movement (even if it took the media a few days, and Mark Jackson till overtime on Sunday, to figure this out). I've written at length about the strangeness of Rondo's game, even if I neglected to really break his signature move/nervous tic—the behind-the-back fake that, in effect, feigns the element of surprise in an attempt to gain the element of surprise (a double-negative? net result, zero? the key to Rondo's everywhere/nowhere style?). Suffice it to say that in this series, Rondo's used the playoffs as a platform to expose his most potent essence.
But this isn't only about Rondo's welcome-here parade. It's fascinating to watch the overall dynamic of the team develop, as something quite different from the previous (incarnation of) The Big Three (minus one) gives way to, well, a team for the future. Pierce has been far less conspicious, functioning not as someone who would brag he could take Kobe, but a wily veteran whose scoring is deployed selectively and attracts a lot of defensive attention. Allen has been thus pigeon-holed the whole time he's been in Boston—disastrously the first season, to far better effect this year. These playoffs, Ray Ray's not being asked to hit too many stand-still jumpers (he hates those, I've realized) or create for himself (not clear he can do that these days). Instead, he's coming off of screens like a champ, staying in motion so he gets the kind of shot he thrives on: An eye-blink clear look, for a split-second, from an absolutely exact spot on the floor.
In short, the older dudes, while still key producers—ironically, Allen more so than Pierce—are beginning to gracefully recede from the foreground, or at least play in a way that's not going to fall off a cliff one day. At the same time, Big Baby and Perkins, while hardly anyone's idea of a formidable front court, are playing solid, well-rounded basketball that makes it possible to imagine life without Garnett. The Celtics are, for lack of a better word, pulling a Dumars without even meaning to (by the logic of a TSB post last week, would this make Rondo into Bias?). The team's different, but they have less rigid, more malleable identity that serves them well going forward. Damn you, Danny Ainge!
The Bulls, I feel even worse for maligning going into the playoffs. Maybe that's because they've tried to rebuild three times in a row now, and have a roster that reads like a geological cross-section of failed recent history. There's also just something really unseemly about this year's additions: Pull the ROY out of a hat, and then tack on two vets way late just for the hell of it. This team seemed like glimpses at several different philosophies, held together with glue and mud, with a non-coach coaching it all. And then somehow, everyone (and what they stand for) ended up facing the same direction. We need not speak much of Derrick Rose, except to say that as a 20 year-old, he's solidified his standing as somewhere between that Game One juggernaut and the off-nights we saw throughout the season (and elsewhere in this series).
Now, as if by miracle, suddenly this patchwork team makes perfect sense. Ben Gordon, possibly the most boring enigma in basketball history, was perfect as the fearless scorer who, for the most part, realizes there's a time and place for his would-be heroic. Hinrich, too, is a role player extraordinaire: Expert defender, long-range option, scraggly grit monster, can handle the ball. Tyrus Thomas and Joakim Noah are far more mercurial than Davis and Perkins, but they can finally take the floor together as a big man tandemn of tomorrow. Noah's all hustle (real, these days) and elegant effort, Thomas has that jumper to go with his arsenal of general havoc-wreaking. Backed up by Miller and Salmons, vets perfectly content to occasionally remind us that they were once capable of star-caliber play, insurance policies willing to come in to steady or bring order to this tenuous assemblage. The Bulls, rather than looking like the unrelated wreckage of front office chicanery, are instead a real team. If just for this series.
I don't see this like last year's Hawks, or the Warriors of 2007. There's not the sense that these teams are living on the edge, or betting the farm on something outlandish. And maybe this does fall under my original rubric of players discovering their limits, for better or worse, in the playoffs (I would say that last year, Iguodala experienced the latter; this year, the former). I think we can say, however, that we're seeing off-season concerns seamlessly dealt with at the most high-pressure part of the season. Maybe you could call it a fluke, except these teams just keep honing these new models, and the whole things just makes too much sense. The individual/team key might be thus: When one or two key guys outstrip themselves, all of a sudden it's contagious. Boston's was brought about by necessity; Chicago's, on the other hand, is almost inexplicable, especially in the way it caps off an entire season of muddle. It begins with Derrick Rose, but you've got to give everyone on the team credit, one-by-one. And that's how a team puts it all together: By everyone involved catching some individual inspiration.
First order of business: if you have not yet done so, please listen to this week's installment of FreeDarko Presents the Disciples of Clyde NBA Podcast. Shoefly was in the house as a guest on the show. Also, don't forget some of his excellent recent updates at Boxiana.
Second order of business: what follows is a reflection upon a changing of the NBA guard. Make note that it was wholly conceived independent of Shoals, who has made reference to and advanced a similar theory. He can, and surely will, better explain his take on it at a later date. Among other things, he's smarter than I am. But please know that this post reflects no collaboration or previous discussion.
Third order of business: you may know me from Straight Bangin', and as a sometime FreeDarko guest lecturer. Well, I have an account over here, now, and will be doing some writing. I hope that preempts any confusion. Onward...
This postseason, there is much to celebrate, what with the revelations that Denver is not Denver this year, Dallas is a new version of the old Dallas, and Kobe vs. LeBron is seemingly swelling toward a crest. Plus, we’ve received the usual glimpses of exciting youth, this year provided by Philadelphia (again), Chicago, and Portland (sort of). We also have the tabula rasa of Houston’s impending participation in a second round: it is either a fairy tale about Yao’s quiet fortitude and the harnessing of new, quirky powers (who knew Aaron Brooks would be this way?), or it is the latest cause for lamentation as we continue to chronicle the heartbreak that is Tracy McGrady. We might even add that these playoffs, so far, stand as a refutation to the tired criticism that the NBA is solely a league of isolation and one over five. To the contrary, while stars continue to shine bright, it is readily apparent that it takes a real team to win. Were it otherwise, Orlando wouldn’t be mired in panic, and New Orleans wouldn’t be an afterthought. (Maybe this makes Dwyane Wade even more impressive.)
That’s all good, however, it’s not most pressing in my mind. This is almost surely a function of my rooting interests, but these playoffs, through two weekends, have taken on an elegiac tone that cannot be escaped. I am enticed by the good, of course, but I’ve found myself dwelling on the bad. Or, really, the sad.
2009 marks the end of an era in the NBA. Some would argue “error” (zing!), but nonetheless, caring about the Pistons and Spurs was a rite of spring that is suddenly useless. The Spurs will soon be over, either now or in the next round, most likely. The Pistons are surely over. Their twin demises are not shocking, but now that they’ve arrived, the reality is somewhat jarring. I’d fallen into the habit of caring about these teams, of considering these teams, of closely watching these teams. That’s no longer necessary, and that’s weird. The Spurs and Pistons have served as barometers for the league this decade. We’ve calibrated our beliefs about worth and value using those heretofore enduring measuring posts. You don’t just switch off the gold standard to something else and not notice. You know?
But it’s bigger than those two teams, even. Kevin Garnett, who long suffered from knee problems that are degenerative and won’t just get better with surgery and rest, is not a part of the playoffs. It’s a sad portend of his coming decline, as his departure from our regular consideration will draw to a close a period of NBA history when a league of brand names grown in college started regularly running into the newjacks who short circuited the process. Beyond the obvious lessons taken from that merger of those disjointed cultural norms, Garnett had special meaning, because he was almost a template for a new kind of fan relationship with players. Without college incubation, Garnett’s growth as a person and a player was harder to discern, and to predict. But his youth, which served as his defining characteristic having never gone to college, also invited fans to care about him in a different sort of way. At least, that’s how I felt. I so desperately hoped for his success because I thought he needed it. He was just a kid. Actually, he was Da Kid, which seems even more apt when Garnett is cast in this light.
But it’s bigger than KG, too. Allen Iverson effectively played his way out of NBA relevance this year, and the consensus appears to be that he won’t be coming back. Iverson, too, was a certain sort of paradigm who marked the shift in the NBA. The interregnum between Magic-Larry-Michael and LeBron-Wade-Paul-Howard may not have clean dividing lines, and its leading historical stars may be Shaq, Tim Duncan, and Kobe, but Iverson, more than anyone else, was clearly of that time. He arguably was that time, his body, itself, standing as a testament to a change in the Association. He’s now gone, an absence made even more conspicuous because his team has chosen to play without him.
To all of these reasons for mournful reflection, we might add a contemporary sadness: Dwight Howard. Blaming him for Orlando’s feebleness, and almost palpable panic, may not be fair. He was terrible in Game Two, but he’s otherwise played well. And yet, it seems impossible to not be angry at him, and disappointed in him. Some of it may be our fault. Since August, we’ve deified him, almost willing the manifestation of his potential. And he obliged in every way--he was stellar on the floor, he grew as a player, and he seems to have no limits as a personality. That may have simultaneously neglected his shortcomings and set unrealistic expectations. Let’s be straight up: for all of his muscular excitement, Dwight has few moves and no jumper. He hit two big free throws in crunch time last night, but he’s far from reliable at the stripe. With a smaller man pinned at the basket, the Defensive Player of the Year couldn’t find a way to prevent the game-winning layup. And on a team that was so clearly jittery in the clutch, he did little to mollify nerves. Reading that back makes me depressed. That’s the problem. He’s not where I want him to be yet.
Kind of like these playoffs. For as much good as we’ve seen, there’s been an equal amount of bad. At least, for me, there has been. It’s an odd duality well captured by the Celtics, in fact. As sad as it is to watch Kevin Garnett reduced to the world’s most profane, best-dressed cheerleader, Rajon Rondo’s playoff performance has been a sensational counter, offering the sort of boundary-challenging performance we like to celebrate and mythologize. Of course, it likely comes from necessity precisely because Kevin is hurt. I don’t think one necessarily trumps the other, but this year, the bad seems to be a consequence of the good in a way that’s more pronounced than usual.
Let me attempt to explain to all of you exactly why the "Z-graphs" (link is to overview) were so seductive. On a number of intuitive, if largely metaphoric, levels, they made perfect sense: Both center and point guard, the position's most often discussed in terms of "purity," are represented as untroubled rows of attributes. They flow from logically from one to the next, even as they start toward more nebulous areas. But insofar as we believe these positions to have some sort of enduring essence, it makes sense that they'd maintain an untroubled, un-sloped plane of description. Furthermore, this allows either the PG or C section to serve as a base—or, to reify the thought, a foundation. This is consistent with our understanding of big men to this day, but the Stockton/Cousy point guard who excelled simply at a select set of responsibilities essential to any functional line-up, no longer defines the position (sorry, Steve Blake). For instance, Chris Paul, arguably the finest in the league at this position, was almost single-handedly responsible for the scrapping of the "Z," since his chart was almost as "impure" as that of, say, Allen Iverson. Paul basks in legitimacy, as did forebears Isiah, Kevin Johnson, and Payton. The likes of Magic and to some degree, Kidd, are pure in heart but can't help contributing all the over the place as well.
I never felt like Rose/Beasley was really a small man/big man dilemma. Beasley's a total weirdo and an idiosyncratic player, more SF than some SF's, more PF than many PF's, and quite possibly to "tweener" what Arenas was to "combo guard." Rose, on the other hand, was a pure point guard (relatively, historically, speaking). But with Ricky Rubio throwing his name into the hat for this summer's draft, we finally are presented with a real small/big dilemma. Blake Griffin is big, athletic, fairly skilled, and automatic; Rubio is mercurial, Pistol-like as a descriptive quality, and a natural-made trickster with an offense. Griffin—stable, staunch, and unromantic—is exactly the kind of foundation proposed by the visual metaphor of the "Z". The connotations will bury you, so don't spend too much time there: Anchoring the frontcourt, providing insurance through boards, dunks, and interior defense, you build a team around a known quantity that, for lack of a non-slang term, holds it down at both ends. Indisputably. Today's point guard, though, isn't drafted to provide a foundation (as the "Z" would suggest), but a non-stop spark. They're playmakers, here to furnish the unexpected without betraying our trust, following their muse as responsibly as possible while taking the team with them. They are, in short, anti-foundational, always reaching upward and looking for that new angle or opportunity. That involves running an offense and controlling the ball, but its stability is exactly that assurance of ambitious play-making that sweeps up the rest of the team with it.
For the most pure example of this impure point guard, you need look no further than Rajon Rondo, who has gone grievously underrated in this series exactly because he cares so little to project authority, gravitas, or emotion—those silly markers of "quarterbacking" that, ironically, have no place in Brett Favre-inspired mayhem.. I'm not placing Rondo in the same anarchic category as Westbrook, because he obviously fits into the Celtics (or rather, the team accommodates and respond to him). But instead of pin-point passing and orchestrated partings of the defense, Rondo just kind of speeds towards the basket or ball on every play, and then either ends up tossing in an off-balance lay-up, crookedly finding a teammate for the easy shot, or grabbing the rebound. Same goes for his defense: He'll lock down opponents, only to lunge after loose balls and errant passes not with a speedster's hubris, but because it's his job to make a play. He's fast, physical, and utterly undemonstrative. Rajon Rondo is the engine of that team, especially in this series, and yet he remains strangely elusive. You wonder if he's not just making every decision on the fly, in an off-hand manner that evokes nothing if not his childhood idol Favre. There's no need for poise, or bravura, because Rondo just blankets the court with his blinding speed and long arms. He's vague, even ectoplasmic, everywhere at once while only rarely making what feels like a statement play.
Does that make Rondo any kind of traditional "foundation"? Of course not. But if he keeps this up, then no lack of poise, or stability, can take away from the key role he plays on that team. Maybe Rondo is the ultimate postmodern PG. Not in the scoring vein of Isiah, or Magic/Kidd's augmented pure point-ness. Unlike Rose, Rondo is anything but immediate and tactile. If you blink you might miss him, because he does little to establish any continuity or sustained position of authority. Yet for all the fragments and impression he yields, for all his refusal to stand up and project authority, Rondo is doing exactly what a new, non-foundational PG should. He takes care of the ball, makes it move, creates shots for others, and consistently saves possessions when they appear lost. That he produces little that can pass for iconic or poised shows only that he's mastered the raw material of playmaking, and with it, a resistance to fall back on cliche or positional piety. Not a foundation, but a skyward gesture that sets parameters by remaining tethered to the team.
So last week, the thing du jour around the basketball blogosphere was Michael Lewis's NYT article, specifically its discussion of how players like Battier, wholly complete and savvy behind-the-scenes type guys who do little things we can't notice, make happiness and winning. It's interesting stuff and more good than bad, but at this point is probably like two months away from falling into evil hands and being subverted into some form of scientific discrimination—maybe a reason to keep Julian Wright off the floor. What interests me at this point are the differences between the explosively subtle. The two top teams in the East both feature point guards who are both far from superstars and absolutely and completely indispensable to everything they do. And they could not be more different in every way possible. While Mo's fundamental soundness have stabilized the Cavaliers to a great degree, the far more interesting case study in my opinion is what Rondo's glorious incompletionism and rejection of fundamentals at the individual level have done for his team.
I'm not even going to try and put a quick label on Rondo. He simply defies them, whether positive or negative. As much as any player in the NBA, Rondo is paradox incarnate. Rather than being a paradigm of quiet contribution and efficiency at all times—the standard "know your role" PG—Rondo is at once an unstoppable for whom there is no possible answer and a gaping wound whose weakness provides a possible attack point. He is the type of young, talented, and developing player who normally thrive on bad teams, but he runs the point for the league's current juggernaut. He the worst shooting guard in the NBA, and yet leads all guards in FG%. He's brimming with athletic skill and his body looks like the product of Jay Bilas being allowed access to the Forge of Hephaestus, and yet he's more beloved by stat heads than scouts. His play is more audacious than any guard in the league, and yet he is the unknown star of the Celtics.
The fantastic of Rondo all traces back to the fact that he has no jump shot. This is hardly news. However, it is important to make some distinctions between having a bad jump shot and Rondo's jump shot. Russell Westbrook and Raymond Felton have bad jump shots. They are given space and it is the goal of every defense to force them into taking a shot, and it is a constant struggle for them to create lanes by trying to keep defenses honest. Rondo has no jump shot. He has eschewed it. It is a false God to him. It is not a part of his decision tree but an unwelcome last resort. Defenses do not try to force him to take a jump shot, for there is no pretense he will actually take one. When Rondo gets the ball in his hands, the clarity of his goal actually leads to a greater set of permutations than it normally would-if we are to stretch the metaphor of the outside shots, than the difference between other point guards' possessions and Rondo's possessions are the difference between a gunfight and swordplay.
<
To wish, as most do, for a Rondo with a jumpshot is to wish for a sober Bukowski, a Woody Allen with normal relationships, Obama without the Bush era. Part of what makes him so much better this year, and most of what makes the Celtics tolerable now, is Rondo's embracing of his own destiny and his mandate to all others to get on board. Rondo this year has matured by regressing to his orginal state and taking it to its logical conclusion, rather than attempting to straddle compromise. Whereas last year, he flirted with the idea of playing like a conventional point guard and even started to become passable at it-last year 56% of his shots were jumpers and he shot a very acceptable 42% on them, which is far from terrible. All his shots were wide-open, yes, but that is a better mark than LeBron James has ever posted. This year, however, he has decided to completely reject any semblance of obeying a positional doctrine and has seen his jump shot FG% fall to 33% and, more importantly, has upped his percentage of "inside" shots to 58%, which is a full 10% higher than the next guard and higher than, for example, Pau Gasol and Amare Stoudemire.
At the same time, while Rondo would occasionally sit in the corner and take a passive offensive role last season and allow Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett to make the plays, this year he demands that the veterans fall into line and allow him to be the one who creates. And Rondo is perhaps the purest creator in the NBA. I've long maintained that point guards are like writers, whose effectiveness is determined not by their own personal ability to put the ball in the basket but to turn the court into their own dark funhouse and make the opposing team see the game on the point guard's revised and ultimately manipulative terms. Steve Nash's world is one of impossible choices-he is the best-shooting guard in the league, and he forces defenders to attempt to consolidate their force into a stationary Maginot line that he can fit the ball around. Chris Paul's is one of forced annexation-he is everywhere on the court he wants to be, invading spaces (against the Lakers, there was one possession where he got a basket by going to the basket by dribbling in step behind Lamar Odom's turned back) and blowing up rotations into a chaos only he can see angles through. Rondo's game is predicated, more than anything else, on his ability to become a creature of nightmares. While Paul is a wily trickster who flits around defenders and coerces them out of their comfort zones, Rondo uses his athleticism to fool defenders into seeing things as simpler than they really are. For Rondo to succeed without having any sort of personal go-to scoring moves, he must make himself capable of all things.
The most important of Rondo's myriad dichotomies is his relationship to the rebulous concept of completionism. Clearly, Rondo is an incomplete player on an individual level. However, on a team level, he completes his team in a way Battier could only dream of doing for his own. Rondo's lack of individual manuevers means that all of his actions are aimed at either getting to the basket or creating a wide-open shot for somebody else; his lack of completion makes him exist less as a player and rather as a concept of absolute efficiency-that he has no step-back jumper as his Plan B just means the game to him is an infinite number of paths to Plan A. Not only does Rondo thrive on the Celtics, but he could only exist on the Celtics-without options around him, his freedom would be channeled unto himself instead of serving to transform him into a manifestation of Occam's Katana Blade. And it should be noted that the receiving end of Rondo's creation is often a simple 18-foot jumper by Kevin Garnett, who, many years ago would once position himself as the roll man and look to spin and finish in a spectacular and wholly improvised fashion before he became Complete and relegated himself to an upgraded Antonio McDyess.
Mo Williams, who I'm realizing I find far less interesting than Rondo, nonetheless provides the counterpoint to how individual completionism can have team-level benefits. Mo utilizes a sort of hybridization of the short-lived Iversonian school of scoring, which is to block out the court and turn the game into a battle against one defender for the best immediately possible shot opportunity and the new efficiency-dictated model for scoring, which is to find a way to get the ball to the most high-percentage shots on the floor and to value quality possessions over shot creation.
Mo functions well as a finisher of created plays, but with the ball in his hands Mo has a few spots on the floor that he uses a screen to get to and can always get off a decent-percentage shot from. This shows in Mo's stat line-with radically different teammates around him, his PER is exactly the same as it was last year, and his shot breakdown remains nearly identical. Mo doesn't change dynamics of a given play the way Rondo does, but his abilities as an Island Unto Self provide a foundation atop which ball movement and the general Amazing made by LeBron can then be placed with Mo functioning as a safety net.
And so there it is-Mo succeeds with fundamentals, Rondo with spectacularly flawed gifts. To say that a combination of them would be the perfect guard is to miss the point of them entirely.
[All part of my six-step program to get me back blogging regularly, Shoals joined me last night to chat up the Orlando-Boston game. As usual, heavy editing was done to make this sound somewhat interesting and to preserve our credibility]
Dr. Lawyer IndianChief: I want to talk about the Oscars at some point Bethlehem Shoals: Did you see Rondo break up an alley-oop earlier? That seemed especially germane, given yesterday's post. Dr. LIC: I give in, Rondo is good. He still kind of seems like a product of the environment, though BS: I don't think so. It's not like he's leading the league in assists, or they're always out in transition. Dr. LIC: I have a working theory that confidence is the only thing that distinguishes a great player from a good player. Tony Parker/Manu Ginobili were considered pedestrian before they got confidence. Now the same thing is going on with Rondo. Those guys never got better, they just got confident. Dr. LIC: Wait, this might be an incredibly stupid theory
BS: Parker got better. He was totally one-dimensional and had terrible judgment. Dr. LIC: What was his one dimension? BS: Effetely fast.
Dr. LIC: Did Doc Rivers just say "ass?" BS: Webber said "ass" earlier. "Ass day" is the new "Fan Night."
Dr. LIC: Have we discussed Bowen getting more votes than Melo, Dirk, Gasol, and Artest? BS: That is obscene, and makes me think that All-Star voting is really lame, if San Antonio is champs at it. Dr. LIC: That is some Obama in Iowa shit BS: I mean, that explains why Duncan is in every year, despite everyone not caring about him. BS: Oh one thing . .. the transition game Boston has is all because of Rondo's growth. Just wanted to get that out there.
BS: The Celtics bench is like a bad version of Animal House.
Dr. LIC: Orlando's achilles heel is their lack of home court advantage BS: Why are there people cheering for the Celtics? Because of Doc Rivers? Dr. LIC: Because of STARS?! BS: Dwight Howard is a bigger star than anyone on the Celtics. He got three million votes, and none of them were from San Antonio Dr. LIC: Probably from foreigners, though
Dr. LIC: What if Howard's dunk contest win changed him and the Magic forever? BS: It did. And what's weird is that the media points to that more often than the Olympics as his big breakthrough, even though they aren't explicit about what the nature of the breakthrough was. It's their grudging default. Dr. LIC: THE DUNK CONTEST IS BACK BS: It's back with that fucking Nelson/Howard commercial. NO PANTS ALLOWED.
Dr. LIC: I dont think I saw a single game of the Olympics. In my defsen, there is a psychology article about why people prefer watching live vs. taped sporting events, but I can't remember why BS: Which is why you're sleeping on Wade Dr. LIC: Wade would be so much iller if his name was pronounced Wah-day and he was Nigerian BS: You're getting him mixed up with Iguodala. Also, people prefer live events because they don't know the outcome. Dr. LIC: Right, but what if you still don't know the outcome? BS: Someone does, somewhere. And it gnaws at you Dr. LIC: Really? What about movies? Other people have seen them, they know the outcome. You don't care?
Dr. LIC: Turkoglu has sneaky length BS: I was trying to figure out Gasol's relationship with length. It's sort of the same thing. Dr. LIC: I thought he had a dwarf wingspan for his size BS: It's like his arms grow as he moves them Dr. LIC: His hair makes him an optical illusion BS: Actually, that might be it. You expect him to dunk, but he ends up laying it in at the rim. Which makes it look like his length came out of nowhere, when in fact, it shouldn't even have come down to one of those actions that screams "length." Dr. LIC: Yeah, but the alternative explanation is "he's just a Euro" BS: Like he's a wuss with the length? There's no elasticity or snap to it? Dr. LIC: I get the sense he has weak bones. No vitamin D. BS: Umm, Gasol's wingspan is 7'5". So you can cut everything we said about its magically growing. It is just that he's a Euro.
BS: Webber is absolutely killing it right now Dr. LIC: Webber has nothing to lose anymore BS: He's also like the anti-cliche machine. Has anyone else ever called out a GM in reference to all-star voting? And the pain is so real. . .
Dr. LIC: I just thought of something I found strange: I got an email from nba.com encouraging me to vote for All-Stars multiple times. They're basically begging people to screw up the system (To clarify: They want people to vote multiple times...i didn't get the message multiple times) BS: I will say this About amare, who I don't think deserves to start: I like thinking he set up that site and YouTube campaign just so Bowen wouldn't get in. That's noble and awesome. Dr. LIC: Amare is being bitchy this year BS: Amare needs a coach. Also, someone should call out Shaq for not keeping amare in line/making him get through the darkness. Dr. LIC: Kerr needs to cut his losses and fire Porter. Bring in ANYONE high profile. Or Cotton Fitzsimmons
Dr. LIC: People in San Antonio are likely unemployed => MORE VOTING BS: I wonder how All-Star voting correlates with unemployment Dr. LIC: The NBA city with the highest unemployment rate is Detroit BS: Yeah, of course, but Iverson would've gotten in anyway Dr. LIC: . . . followed by Sacramento. Damn, too bad i can't control for population with this data. BS: DID YOU HEAR THAT, ZILLER?!?! Even Salmons is more worthy than Bowen. Come on, get on this. BTW, this from Tom last night:
Anthony Randolph was born in East Germany (Wurzbach) in 1989, six months before the Wall fell.
(I have no clue why Randolph was born under a Soviet flag. His parents are military, he grew up in Pasadena. I don't see any U.S. military installations particularly close to Wurzbach, though the town is near the West-East border.)
Dr. LIC: By the way, LeBron was six years old when House Party came out BS: You're not allowing for sequels.
BS: Have you ever thought about how the All-Star game helped promote small ball/positional fluidity through its refusal to designate SF/PF or PG/SG? Actually, that's probably just a throwback to when guards were more skilled and there was more SF/PF overlap instead of SG/SF overlap. Dr. LIC: Something we always allude to but never say straight up: If you're a SF, you're basically screwed Dr. LIC: Beasley, Durant, Carmelo, Gay can never be a one man team BS: I can see that. The 2/3 "swingman" can handle, which is why they can be a one-man team, as in the iso era, which is why we're somehow still stuck with that overlap today. That's what's so throwback about Melo: He needs a point guard. BS: Actually, Durant can handle. Has handle, whatever. Dr. LIC: I remember a few years ago I was part of a focus group for Nike. They were asking us (a bunch of young folk) if there was any cool basketball slang we knew of that might be region-specific or whatever. I mentioned that it was popular for people in Minneapolis to say "poke" for "dunk." "Took your cookies" was the one that generated the most noise around the table. Dr. LIC: All of this meaning i have no idea how to express someone's "handle". BS: I think it's like having a head—you never really need to say it's there. You need to with "put the ball on the floor," but handle is self-evident, because it's expected that certain positions will have some handle or other. Dr. LIC: What is Lewis? BS: Lewis is a black Euro
BS: The Recluse used to always say that the SF was once a tweener slot. Not strong enough at shooting to be a guard, but not strong enough to play 4. Dr. LIC: Wait, what if the 2 AND 3 are completely just tweener positions? 2's can't pass/facilitate, but are too small to play traditional small forward. BS: Well yeah, but also the 2 and 3 get conflated. So basically everything that's not a 1 or Andrew Bynum is a mutt. Incidentally, LeBron really has no position anymore. Especially because West and Williams are both combo guards, and Big Z is shooting 3's.
Dr. LIC: Boston is going to make some insane deals at the deadline. BS: For whom? Marion? Dr. LIC: You're gonna see crazy people coming out of retirement. Webber. . . BS: SHAQ Dr. LIC: Marbury? BS: Marion is the new Marbury.
BS: One time some Celtics moron wrote a fake "retirement of Len Bias" post, that imagined he'd never been the greatest he was supposed to be, but still ended up being darn useful. Dr. LIC: I should do that for Malik Sealy BS: I left a comment that mentioned the fact that some people's hearts just don't deal well with coke, it's a total crapshoot when you die. And he deleted it! Dr. LIC: Well, IT LIVES NOW BS: I found some public access show once of Malik Sealy's family talking about what they learned from him and how they used it to succeed in life. Dr. LIC: Malik Sealy's family isn't doing too well last I heard. By the way, the driver who killed him has been arrested for like two DUI's since BS: Maybe it was an old show. Dr. LIC: I met this dude in SF a few years ago who said he ran a recording studio with Sealy in new york and it was like D&D level.
BS: Did you hear that? Rondo=confidence. BS: You know, i think with Rondo, as with Manu, the team just had to figure out what they had on their hands. Dr. LIC: I didn’t hear it. . . I muted it to watch this D&D All-Stars video on YouTube. BS: Um, I thought you'd typed "it was like a D&D level"
BS: Notice, Boston as a team looks much better this year=Rondo looks better. So he's not a product of the environment, he's an integral part of it. Dr. LIC: Nah, it's like a Moebius strip.
BS: Let me tell you why I don't like the Magic: They have the ultimate modern big man and a very effective meat and potatoes PG. And everyone else launches threes Dr. LIC: That is NBA moneyball, though BS: Not really, when Shard has a max deal Dr. LIC: Well, the NBA cap situation makes REAL moneyball somewhat irrelevant. But that's the formula. BS: 2005-06 suns are moneyball. Nash for cheap, Diaw for nothing, Marion, and a bunch of shooters.
BS: Doug Collins is now taking seriously Pierce's "i'm the best in the world" comment because he was MVP. of the finals and is underrated as one-on-one player. Pierce has become so overrated he's underrated. Plus he has self-esteem issues, which should be endearing but aren't. Dr. LIC: I'm just going to take this opportunity to say KG's allusion to superman w/r/t pierce was SO F--KING CORNY. BS: Superman's always corny, so it only works with corny players, i.e. big men. Otherwise, it's DOUBLE-CORNY.
BS: Wait, did Collins just intentionally imply that Reddick has problems figuring out which three-point line to shoot from? men's or womens??!?! Dr. LIC: You know that song "Patches" by Clarence Carter? I am trying to think of some 90s rap song where the rapper sang the chorus or a version of that chorus. Does that ring any bells? It's driving me insane. First Fugees album maybe? BS: This Turturro commercial is like the wop Love and Death. Dr. LIC We need to interview Turturro. He has played a Jew, an Arab, a Latino, an Italian with perfect cultural sensitivity.
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.
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):
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.
![Mattleither-RollOversSeatbeltsLiveOrDie377.flv[1]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vkRWtvIVzkCxaE23LDzFg2Td-LjtcA8NJUpWuGOxVz33sce2NOHTfs-IYYP_d2NkOl2sbjCiMTTCFwWrNH7q26ILA6zfeWXxF68W24qIwRI4yO13yRZVmB2DahyGT8tp9hfw=s0-d)
