I just wanted to wish all you boys and ghouls out there a very happy Halloween. I promise I'll respond to any questions and comments left in today's Worst of the Night post. However, my replies might be slightly delayed due to extreme Halloweening. But here's a treat for one and all: A picture of yours truly in this year's Captain Jack Sparrow costume. Many thanks to Tim for providing the photo...and for loaning me his girlfriend's lap for the duration of the picture-taking. I'm not sure I could stand under my own power at that point. (I guess I should probably thank Milica too. And I promise, dear girl, that was my flintlock poking you. And "flintlock" isn't some naughty euphemism. It's just a fancy term for "pirate gun." Which, itself, isn't a naughty euphemism either.) In related news: Why is the rum always gone? I just don't get it.

"Uhm, why's the room crooked? Oh. That's why the rum's always gone."
Oh, and here's a shot of Timmy (dressed as an...Evil Space Cowboy?) with our very own Evil Ted. ET is a little, ahem, obsessed with the Joker (The Dark Knight version) right now. Can you tell?

Hey, Evil Ted. WHY...SO...SERIOUS?!

Labels: Captain Jack Sparrow, costumes, Evil Ted, Halloween, holidays, The Joker, why is the rum always gone

"Forever's gonna start tonight, baby."
Zydrunas Ilgauskas and Emeka Okafor: See above. Get a room, ladies.

The Associated Press: From last night's game recap: "Branded a one-man team in the past, the Cavaliers showed they can survive without their superstar." Uhm, yeah...against the Bobcats. The Charlotte Bobcats.

In all fairness, it wasn't just the AP. Zydrunas Ilgauskas was also really excited the Cavs could handle the Bobcats while LeBron was getting a long breather in the fourth quarter. "It was kind of weird seeing LeBron on the bench. We got away with it, and if we can do that it will only help us and help his career." Wait. Did I fall into a coma and wake up at a time when the Bobcats are actually good? That didn't happen, did it?

More from LeBron. "We had a lot of guys contribute and I got a lot of rest. Coach believes in our roster and I believe in our roster. I don’t have to average 42 minutes like I have in the past because of our depth." IT WAS THE BOBCATS, PEOPLE! They didn't even win a game during the exhibition season. Calm down. Seriously.

The Charlotte Bobcats: Ugh. Just...ugh.

Raymond Felton: Going 1-for-10 will always earn you a place in WotN. Congratulations!

Sean May: His long awaited return was...kinda sad, actually: 2 points on 0-for-6 shooting in 15 minutes. Three of his shots were blocked. Speaking of which...


Thanks to Basketbawful reader Garron for the video.

Linton Johnson: Brett from Queen City Hoops brought Johnson's line to my attention: 10 minutes, 1 foul, and zero-for-everything-else. Regarding this, Brett said: " I know he is not supposed to be scoring much, he was signed to bring some defensive intensity to a Bobcats squad lacking in it. Yeah, when he was on the court the Cavs scored 166.7 points per 100 possessions, as compared to 110.3 overall. Tough defense. I love supporting the Bobcats." If this keeps up, Basketbawful might have a new mascot.


Mike Fratello: Near the beginning of last night's Rockets-Mavericks game, the Czar of the Telestrator chuckled smugly and assured us that Josh Howard was probably in for a rough night, what with Ron Artest guarding him and all. Well, Josh struggled so badly that he scored 28 points (on 11-for-19 shooting), grabbed 11 rebounds and dished out 4 assists without committing a single turnover. So, you know, good call, Mike.

(By the way, I remember thinking last season: "When was the last time Ron Artest really shut out an uber-talented offensive player?" I mean, he still plays aggressive defense, but is he still a lock-down defender? I'd have to go back and check the box scores, but it always seemed like the scorers usually got their numbers against him, and Kobe flat-out lit him up a couple times. I'm going to keep my eye on this as the season goes on...)

Yao Ming: He was great last night -- 30 points (11-for-15), 13 rebounds, 3 assists, 2 blocked shots -- but two things bothered me. First, he didn't win the opening tip. I was like, "Whaaaaa...?!" How in the name of Lincoln's wart does a nine-foot man lose the tip to Erick Dampier? I mean, Damp was never one of the great leapers, and I'm not sure I've seen him actually leave the ground since '06. Shouldn't Yao be able to just stand there with his arms raised and win the tip against pretty much anybody? Then...there was this...


Stuffed by the rim, Yao? Really?! That would be like me getting my shot sent back by the Jordan Jammer. Again, a man who is nine feet tall should not have these problems. It makes no sense.

DeSagana Diop: I openly scoffed at all the people who said that Dallas had made a critical error by including Diop in the Jason Kidd trade. He was too valuable, they said, for defense and rebounding. Some even said he was the Mavs' Center of the Futures (TM). Am I the only person who sees Diop for the awkward stiff he is? Well, me and the Nets, because they sure didn't want anything to do with him when his contract expired over the summer. But the Mavericks tried to redress their "mistake" by re-signing Diop in the offseason. There reward for such amazing forward thinking will be many nights like last night, when he contributed zero points and one foul committed for each rebound grabbed (3 of each) in 11 lackluster minutes. Oh, and his defense was so great that Yao was shooting over him like he wasn't even there. And, really, he might as well not have been.

Jerry Stackhouse: Stack (2 points, 1-for-6, 1 rebound, 1 assist, 1 turnover, 1 foul in almost 18 minutes) is D-U-N.

Reputation calls: In the fourth quarter, Josh Howard elbowed Yao Ming. Naturally, they got in each others' faces and Ron Artest rushed in to play peacemaker. Of couse, Ron-Ron got T'd up. Not cool. But on the upside, that proved to be a relationship building moment for Yao and Artest. The big guy defended Artest to the officials, and after the game he said: "Ron's a very good teammate. That happened once in the preseason and he did the same thing. He's trying to help a teammate, sacrificing himself." Has Artest finally grown up? I'll be keeping my eye on that this season as well...


The Phoenix Suns' handles: I once participated in a basketball drill where we had to work on ball handling and precision passing while wearing big, thick mittens. As you can probably guess, it's nearly impossible. Anyway, I'd like to pretend that's what the Suns were doing last night. They committed 24 turnovers that were converted into 21 points for the Hornets. Steve Nash was the primary culprit with 7 turnovers.

The Suns in the first seven minutes of the second quarter: Let's see...1-of-7 shooting and seven turnovers. No wonder they fell so far behind. Did somebody spike their Gatorade during the first quarter break or something?

Leandro Barbosa: The line: 2 points, 1-for-6 from the field, 0-for-5 from downtown, 2 rebounds, zero assists, 3 turnovers and 3 fouls in 21 minutes. It makes me sad that somebody so young, quick and talented can be so ineffective. It's the same kind of disappoint I feel when my pet monkey just sits there eating bananas instead of picking his nose or comically scratching his butt.

Robin Lopez: It was a rough night for Bozo the Rookie. He played one minute and 35 seconds, contributing zero points, zero rebounds, 1 turnover and 3 fouls. That's impact! The way accidentally setting your own pants on fire is "impact." By the way, that happened to my friend Dave D. once. He was goofing around with a pack of wooden matches when one he had just lit popped out of his hand and dropped under the table. We all just assumed it went out, but maybe half a minute later we smelled smoke: The match had lit the frayed edges of his pant cuffs. Fortunately, the fire was quickly extinguished and nobody was hurt. That kind of stuff always happens to Double D. Once, I swear, a wasp flew down the the neck of his shirt, then, when he yanked it open so the wasp could fly out the bottom, it went down his pants. Some people just have bad luck. He's one of them.

Mike James: The Hornets are good, there's no question about that. But they are not deep. That's their "Walton's foot." (By the way, I've decided that "Walton's foot" is going to replace "Achilles’ heel" in all future posts.) Yeah, they beat the Suns last night. But Terry Porter is clearly working hard on establishing a 10-man rotation. Trust me, that's going to make Phoenix better in the long run. The Hornets? They could very well run out of gas by the time the playoffs roll around. Chris Paul played 38 minutes last night while his backup, Mike James, put in about nine and a half minutes of -- you guessed it! -- lack-tion: Zero points, 0-for-2, 2 rebounds, and zero assists. Yeah. You'll might also notice that while CP3 had 10 assists, the rest of the buzzing bugs produced only 6...and 4 of those belonged to David West.

The New Orleans defense: Before you get all excited about those 24 forced turnovers -- most of which were the result of poor and misguided "passes" by the Suns -- keep in mind that Phoenix shot 54 percent from the field.

Update! Kobe Bryant: Oops. Almost forgot. Thanks for the reminder, Yams. Last night, Kobe spent the night collecting a huge pile of rocks to hand out to Trick-Or-Treaters tonight. He also took a few hours to complete his costume, which is make of real, living human flesh.

Update! Rec League losers: From Basketbawful reader Trev: "I got a Worst for the Night for you, even though it doesn't involve the NBA. Last night in our Rec League game, 3 of our 4 top guys for whatever reasons decided not to show up, leaving us with 4 guys. Me (29 and about 65 pounds over my high school, read prime, playing weight) 2 guys in their mid-30's and our 2nd best player overall, an actual real-life baller. Up against a team with not only the 5 starters that are usually a given but also 2 bench players (all of which where younger than me by the way). Anyway it's decided by the powers that be that we will play 4 on 5 and all was going as you would expect with team cinco going up by 15 at one point, but the old guys cut it to 8 by the half and then open the second half on something like a 16 to 2 run to not only improbably catch team cinco but actually take a 6 point lead. We held onto win by 4. How humiliated would you be to let a team with only 4 players hang around let alone beat you? Pretty bad right? Wrong!! Team cinco was talking trash THE ENTIRE GAME even though they had one extra guy on the court and where losing!! They even complained about an injury time out when one of our four got a bloody nose taking a charge. If that doesn't get a Worst of the Night I don't know what does."

Labels: Associated Press, Charlotte Bobcats, DeSagana Diop, Jerry Stackhouse, Leandro Barbosa, Linton Johnson, Mike Fratello, Mike James, reputation calls, Worst of the Night, Yao Ming

Everybody was Kung Fu Fighting...
Note: Thanks to Matt E. for the pic.

The Sixers' defense: Ruh roh, Raggy. As a team, Philly must have suffered damage to the part of the brain that tells the hand to get in the face of open shooters. (I think it's the parietal lobe, right?) The Raptors nearly started a wildfire with their three-point sniping (almost 63 percent from downtown) and they also got a number of uncontested buckets at the rim. Said Elton Brand: "It's disappointing. There's (game) tape in the background and I see these layups they got. It hurts." It might hurt a little less, Elton, if you contributed some blocked shots, Elton. Speaking of which...

Elton Brand: He had 14 points and 13 rebounds, but it took him 14 shots and six free throw attempts to get those points. He also turned the ball over 4 times without registering an assist. He suffered more blocked shots (1) than he doled out (0), and he committed 4 fouls. Quite the debut.

Theo Ratliff: Damn you, Theo. You just had to block a shot and ruin your four trillion, didn't you?

Philly fans: They were excited about the World Series. I get that. But I'm guessing the Sixers weren't exactly inspired by the fact that half of their arena was empty and the half that wasn't was rooting loudly for a baseball team. It would be like if the midget I pay to cheer me on during sex was raving about his favorite NASCAR driver or something.

Andrea Bargnani: Mr. Former Number One Draft Pick scored zero points (0-for-4) in almost 20 minutes. But at least he didn't commit any turnovers!

Update! Toronto's first quarter rebounding: From Basketbawful reader Colin: "Although I'm a Raptors fan, they have to be on there for WotN. From Doug Smith's Toronto Raptors in-game blog: 'We're just told by Media Relations czar Jim LaBumbard that the 22 rebounds that Toronto gave up in the first quarter equal the most given up in any quarter ever. So, we've seen history! Lucky us.' 22 rebounds? In the first quarter? Double-you-tee-eff?" Good thing they dealt for "big man" Jermaine O'Neal, huh?

Royal Ivey: He's on Philly's active roster, but he was ineligible to play last night (and Friday against the Knicks). Why, you ask? Because dude is still serving the three game suspension he received for punching Aaron Gray in the groin last season. Maybe you remember it...


Foul shooting in the Hawks-Magic game: Ugh. Atlanta missed 13 and Orlando missed 10. But, in all fairness to the Magic, Dwight Howard accounted for 7 of their misses. Speaking of which...

Dwight Howard: I could easily rag on Hedo (5-for-17) or Rashard (5-for-12, 6 fouls), but Superman not only missed all those 'throws, he also committed 4 turnovers and had his junk stuffed four times. Oh, and he almost fouled out. Kinda takes the shine off that 22 and 15, doesn't it?

J.J. Redick: Last week, I read an exited article about how J.J. was finally ready to break into Stan Van's rotation and actually contribute. Well, uhm, didn't happen last night: 2 points, 0-for-4 shooting, 1 rebound, zero assists, and 1 turnover in nearly 19 minutes of lack-tion. Don't worry, J.J. They saved your spot on the bench for you.

Mario West: He finally got some significant PT! For him, anyway. A whole two minutes and 48 seconds. Sadly, the only thing he managed to do was block a shot. He did have a +/- score of +8, though, which means he was more productive than Al Horford. Yay for Mario!

Mike Woodson, quote machine: "When you're on the road you have to come out and try to establish yourself and not get hit in the mouth."

Caron Butler and Antawn Jamison: Caron shto 3-for-11 and committed 4 turnovers, while Jamison shot 6-for-18 and grabbed only 3 rebounds...two fewer than the Nets' Devin Harris. I should also mention that Antawn was 1-for-8 from downtown. Dude, at some point you've gotta stop shooting them, feel me?

The Miami Heat: Oooooo. They got seduced into playing Mike D'Antoni's style, and they paid for it. Six Knicks dropped double-figures on them, and Chris Duhon was 1 point short of making it seven. The two teams combined to attempt almost 200 shots and nearly 50 freethrows. It's like D'Antoni's mere presence creates a giant No-Defense bubble that can only be punctured by the Spurs.

The Associated Press: Basketbawful reader barry drew my attention to this gem from the Heat-Knicks writeup: "And [the Knicks] did it without former coach Isiah Thomas' two prized acquisitions, Stephon Marbury and Eddy Curry. D'Antoni kept both former starters on the bench, ignoring rather loud chants of 'We want Steph! We want Steph!' late in the third quarter." I might frame that paragraph and put it up in my bathroom.

Stephon Marbury, quote machine: "He should do whatever he feels he should do. I can't control what he does. He's the coach. If this is what it is, I mean there's always next year." Yeah, because what exactly is going to change between now and then? I seriously doubt somebody's going to hire Isiah to GM again.

Eddy Curry: It seems Baby Shaq was a little upset about his benching. Seems Curry spent the fourth quarter in the training room icing a sore right knee. How do you hurt your knee on the bench? I guess he must have been sitting in an uncomfortable position. "I want to stay here. I'm happy in New York. I just think it'll take some work, but I'm happy staying," said Eddy through what I'm assuming were gritted teeth. (Also, apparently Eddy hurt his knee in a "collision during practice." Which might become my new catch-all euphemism for when a player gets benched for arguing with his coach.

Kwame Brown: Mr. I Was Also Picked Number One Overall In The Draft played just a shade over three minutes in his Pistons debut, scoring zero points on 0-for-2 shooting and grabbing no rebounds. I think we should tattoo FAIL on his left butt cheek. We should also do that to Michael Jordan for drafting this stiff.

Kevin Love: Huhn...12 points, 9 rebounds, 2 assists, a steal, 2 blocked shots, and by far the hightest +/- score on the team (+20). All in only 18 minutes! Not bad, rook. So why is he in Worst of the Night? Because if Love keeps playing like this, he's going to win Rookie of the Year and cost us a season's worth of Kevin McHale jokes.

Randy Wittman, quote machine: "Kevin Love played great for his first game as a rookie." Thanks, coach. Couldn't have figured that out without you.

Shaq: Remember how The Big Grumpy got all persnickety a couple weeks ago about Gregg Popovich's decision to Hack-A-Shaq him during last year's first round Suns-Spurs series? Well, Pops gave Diesel a little dose of it only seconds into last night's game. Note the look of complete and utter confusion on Shaq's face. It's like somebody asked him to spell thromboembolism or something. As for Popovich? Best thumbs up ever.


I should point out, though, that Pops did use the Hack-A-Shaq for real later in the game. But when Ime Udoka went to foul the Daddy, Shaq used his left arm to send Ime to the floor...just like swatting a fly.

Update! Shaq, quote machine: As noted, San Antonio went to the Hack-A-Shaq, for the final 97 seconds of the first half. But Shaq somewhat defied the strategy by going 5-for-8, after which he said: "You may win a game or two using a mathematical strategy, but in the long run it will never work." Right. And "a game or two" would never effect the outcome of a playoff series, would it, Shaq? Thanks to andrei for supplying the quotage.

O.J. Mayo: He helped make Kevin McHale look like a genius by scoring 10 points on 20 shots and notching more TOs (3) than assists (2). He was also 0-for-7 from Threeland and had the second-worst +/- score on his team (-15).

Quinton Ross: From Basketbawful reader Zimmerman: "Just wanted to ensure that Quintin Ross gets due credit for registering an 8 trillion and thereby matching the rest of the Grizzlies squad for 3 pointers made." Consider the credit given. Amusingly enough, Ross still had a butter +/- score (+2) than any of the Memphis starters. As for that three-point marksmanship...

The Grizzlies' three-point shooting: A gak-inducing 0-for-13. Where's Antoine Walker when you need him?!

People getting too excited about the Rockets: Look, people. They scored an 11-point home win over a truly dreadful Memphis squad. Yet I swear somebody on ESPN declared the "Ron Artest experiment" a "total success" last night. Oooookay, if you say so...

The whole Grizzlies-Rockets game: Zimmerman correctly dubbed this game a "festival of fail" and even Artest said "It was ugly." Both teams shot in the 30s: Memphis hit 38 percent (31-for-81) of their shots while Houston hit only 36 percent (28-for-76) of theirs. Both teams also registered more turnovers than assists: The Griz were 11/16 and the Rockets were 10/12. It was one of those slow-it-down, slog-it-out affairs that made me wonder if Houston had reinstated Jeff Van Gundy as the coach.

The Denver Nuggets: The Jazz were forced to start Ronnie Price in place of the injured Deron Williams, and Price spit in Jerry Sloan's face by shooting 1-for-9. Note also that the Jazz had only 4 assists in the first quarter, and none of them were dished out by a guard. Thanks, Ronnie. But the Nuggets couldn't take advantage of Utah's vulnerability. Most likely because of...

Carmelo Anthony: 'Melo couldn't play because he was serving the first of a two-game suspension from a DUI arrest over the summer. Wag of the finger, Carmelo. Wag of the finger.

Juwan Howard: Yes! He's still alive and playing for the Nuggets! Technically speaking, anyway. He spent seven minutes on the court last night and managed 1 lonely rebound and was zero-for-everything-else. But, you know, there's no way to measure what he gave the team in Veteran Leadership (TM).

Los Angeles Clippers: GOD. They were spanked so badly by the Lakers last night -- 117-79 -- that I think we should seriously consider moving them out of L.A. How does "The Gerber-Las Flores Clippers" sound to you? I think it has quite the nice ring to it. And I know what you're thinking, Baron, and the answer is: Nope, you cannot go back to the Warriors. Sorry, no takebacks.

Ricky Davis: He had more assists (6) than shot attempts (5). So I guess it's time to go check his basement for Body Snatcher pods...who's with me? Anyone? Bueller?

Update! Baron Davis, team leader: From Basketbawful reader Wild Yams: "This is probably WOTN-worthy as well: After the 38-point loss to the Lakers last night, the LA Times is reporting that Baron Davis held a closed door players only meeting with the rest of the Clippers. Has that ever happened following a team's home opener before? It's a bit early in the year to go to that isn't it?" Indeed it is. Even Baron seemed a little embarrassed about it afterward. From the same article: "I mean, no, it was kind of a get-together," Davis said, fumbling out the words. "It wasn't really like no team meeting, nothing special like that. It was just an understanding that that's a winning team over there." Uh huh.

Update! Baron Davis, quote machine: "All of the credit goes to them for smacking us upside the head that first game,. In the end, we're going to be able to look back at this game and thank the Lakers for this." YES SIR! MAY I HAVE ANOTHER, SIR!

Kobe Bryant: My sources tell me that the Dark Lord has completed construction of his very own Imperial Death Star. After successfully testing it last night against the hapless Clippers, Kobe was quoted as saying: "Fear will keep the other divisions in line. Fear of this battle station. And of my new nickname: The Doberman! Rarf! Rrrrrrarf!!"

Scot Pollard: This is a day late, but hey, Scot. You're a real class act. I hope Kevin Garnett kicked your ass for this.

Yes, Scot. We all know you're number one at sucking.
Update! Scot Pollard, interviewee: More from Wild Yams: "Does anyone have the video of the Scott Pollard 'interview' from the Celtics-Cavs game the other day? I say 'interview' because it was essentially a TNT sideline reporter sitting next to him and talking about his championship ring for maybe 30 seconds or so, and then right as Pollard started to say something they cut the interview off and went back to the game. You could practically feel the sideline reporter shooting him a 'shut up and just show off the ring, dummy' look." You're absolutely right. And here's the video. (What the hell is up with Craig's finger nail?!)


Adam Morrison: Ugh. More horrifying pictures of Adam Morrison have surfaced. Here he is in the middle of his Britney Spears moment. More on this cut-tastrophe at Bobcats Baseline.

Labels: Gregg Popovich, Royal Ivey, Shaq, thumbs up, Worst of the Night

He's so gangsta, I feel like I just got shot in the face.
Note: Thanks to Basketbawful reader Anfernee for the picture. Pure awesome.

LeBron James: In his own words, LeBron has "improved five times than I was in Game 7 of the Boston series." We already knew his grasp of the English language was a little shaky. Now we know his math skills are off as well. Bron-Bron's numbers were decent -- 22 points, 7 rebounds, 6 assists -- but he shot only 9-for-21, went 0-for-4 from downtown, missed four free throws, had three turnovers and committed four personal fouls. He was also repeatedly burned on defense by Paul Pierce (27 points, 10-for-19), who kept walking around James like he'd been turned to stone.

Mo Williams: Instant offense? Yes. Any defense? No. Unless his five fouls count as "defense."

J.J. Hickson: The rook lost his spot in the rotation to Lorenzen Wright and registered a DNP-CD. Saaaaad trombone.

The Cavs-Celts' three-point shooting: Build da' house! These teams combined to shoot 6-for-29. And the peeps not named Williams (3-for-5) and Pierce (2-for-4) were 1-for-20. Gak.

Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett: Ray-Ray shot 2-for-9 from the field, 1-for-4 from Threeland, and had 4 turnovers to only 1 assist. KG shot 5-for-15 for his 11 points (which was equaled by Big Baby) and grabbed only 6 rebounds (only one more than Rajon Rondo). Good thing Leon Ka-Powe and Tony Allen bailed them out.

Glen Davis: Dude actually looks fatter than last year. How is that even possible? Glen, I have two words for you: Jenny Craig.

Boston's first-half defense: They gave up 50 points, mostly because their rotations were confused and sloppy, and they couldn't stay in front of anybody. They did clamp down in the second half, though, limiting the Cavs to only 35 points.

Update! Boston's freethrow shooting: Oops. Almost forgot about this, but Basketbawful reader Garron reminded me. "You HAVE to mention the Celtics' free throw shooting. I got floor tickets to the game, and man was it a crap show. Stats will show the celtics offense was lame in the first half. It kind of was with Ray Allen and KG clanging everything. But the reason they were behind? Free throws. It got so bad that even Ray Allen missed his first one." In all, the C's missed 3 'throws last night, with Rondo (four misses), KG (three) and Pierce (also three) being the main culprits.

Marv Albert, Mike Fratello and Reggie Miller: They got all giddy and stuff about how deep Cleveland is because several of their bench players -- Varejao, Gibson, Szczerbiak and Pavlovic -- used to start. But, uh, guys...there are reasons they aren't starting now, you know? Kudos, though, to Fratello for calling out Reggie's insightful report on how the Celtic and Cavalier coaching staffs want their teams to run more this season. As Fratello noted, every team talks about running more during the preseason. It just rarely happens.

Brian Scalabrine: Wow. Reminds me of the time I got a free t-shirt because one of my buddies managed to finish off an eight-pound steak without throwing up.

Chicago television stations: Imagine my surprise last night when I flipped over to WGN to watch the Bulls game and was greeted by an airing of the new Beverly Hills 90120. A quick scan through the Comcast guide showed that the game wasn't on any of the other local stations either. So Derrick Rose's first regular season game doesn't rate a local broadcast? Really? Thank Zeus for League Pass. Update! At least one reader was able to watch the game on WGN. What happened to me, then? God, I hate Comcast...

The Milwaukee Bucks' defense: Let's see...the Bulls shot almost 51 percent from the field and nearly 42 percent from downtown. They also grabbed 40 rebounds (14 on the offensive end) and dished out 27 assists. Oh, and they shot 44 [!!] free throws. Scott Skiles, not surprisingly, was vexed. "We were a step slow and we were slapping at people. Pretty much, every category they owned." No kidding. A stern and disapproving look would have been more effective at stopping Chicago than the "defense" Milwaukee played.

Andrew Bogut: The line: 9 points, 7 rebounds, zero assists, 3 turnovers, 1 block, and 4 fouls in 25 minutes. Not exactly what the Bucks had in mind when they decided to pay him a bajillion dollars over the summer. Basketbawful's "Bogut Watch" has officially begun.

Andres Nocioni: Ugh. Only 7 points, 1-for-3 shooting and 3 rebounds in 18 minutes. On a night when everbody else on the team was en fuego. Not a good sign. What happened to this guy? It's like he signed that 5-year, $38 million dollar contract extension last year and then forgot how to...oh, right.

Greg Oden: First pro game: 12 minutes, zero points, 0-for-4, 5 rebounds, zero assists, 2 turnovers, 1 block, 2 fouls. Oh, and one injury. SAD FACE.


According to Oden, the injury -- currently listed as a "sprained foot" -- occurred when he landed on Derek Fisher's foot while going after a rebound. Only Fisher said: "I don't remember a 7-footer on my foot." So what happened? According to ESPN's J.A. Adande: "Replays indicate that Oden landed with the weight on the front of his foot, then perhaps his heel hit the top of Fisher's foot, then Oden's foot twisted to the right, after Fisher had moved away."

Uh oh. X-rays taken during the third quarter were inconclusive, and Oden is scheduled to have an MRI exam today in Portland. But, as Bill Walton might tell you, the description of the injury could be...well, one of several things. Let's hope for the best.

Channing Frye: He put together a stellar box score horror of zero points on 0-for-7 shooting (0-for-3 on threes) and 4 fouls in 17 minutes. Then, he made it sound like the potential of losing Oden (again) was no big deal. Said Frye: "If [Oden's] hurt, that's part of basketball. We just moved on. Joel's not chopped liver." No offense to Joel Przybilla -- we know he's a Vanilla Godzilla and all that -- but he does NOT equal Greg Oden. (Although, to be fair, he's been a much better pro so far than Greg. So what I should have said is "He does not equal Oden's potential.)

The Portland Trail Blazers: How badly did they get spanked by the Lakers? Let me put it this way: Chris Mihm was revived and sent into the game. LaMarcus Aldridge described Oden as "unsure...scared" and that was before the injury. Aldridge continued by saying: "I don't think he was really scared, but everyone was passive. I can say for myself I think my whole mentality was to play off Greg, which is a different mentality I possessed from last year, so I felt like I was playing passive, as well." Channing Frye, who's on the verge of becoming a quote machine, said: "They disrupted our offense and threw a wrench in our whole system." Which is a slightly nicer way of saying "We sucked."

Lamar Odom: His, ahem, creative passing has been well-documented on this site. And last night, he struck again. As Basketbawful reader Freeman put it: "Hope you were watching the Lakers-Blazers game in order to catch Lamar Odom make a whirling move into the paint only to throw it to Sasha Vujacic who was standing there with his warmups on." Seriously, Lamar. Get off the ganj, okay? Here's the clip.


And Phil Jackson called Vladimir Radmanovic a space cadet...

Luke Walton: He was relegated to garbage time...only two minutes and 43 seconds of a blowout. He missed his only shot and finished with zero points and 1 assist. But don't worry, Laker fans. Only five more years and $25 million and this guys is totally off the books!

Kobe Bryant: This has nothing to do with what happened on the court and everything to do with something he did off the court. My sources tell me he sent a Terminator back in time to prevent Michael Jordan from being born. The plan failed thanks to the fact that Jordan caught wind of the plan and sent Charles Oakley to intercept and kick the Terminator's robot ass -- and he did. But still, it just goes to show that Kobe will do literally anything to usurp MJ's legacy.

Badass? Yes. But no match for The Oak.
Update! Adam Morrison: ADAM, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!


From Basketbawful reader Dunpizzle, via Ball Don't Lie, via Bobcats.com. Some investigative journalism uncovered the following fact: Nobody knows why Adam went all buzzcut. All I know is that I feel like a friend died.

Labels: Boston Celtics, Chicago Bulls, Cleveland Cavaliers, Greg Oden, Los Angeles Lakers, Milwaukee Bucks, Portland Trail Blazers

Well...Boston was a nice place...

I was a little, shall we say, confused by a statement LeBron made in the preview for tonight's Cavs-Celtics game: "I know I've improved five times than I was in Game 7 of the Boston series."

Forget the clumsy sentence structure -- the kid didn't go to college, after all -- and let's concentrate on the math instead. Five times better than this game, LeBron? Really?! Well I, for one, cannot wait to watch King James drop a 225-point, 25-rebound, 30-assist bomb on the greater Boston area. (I do mean a metaphorical bomb, by the way.) Still, I can't help but wonder how LeBron could have possibly gotten so much better during the offseason. Especially since he couldn't even win a game of HORSE against a 26-year-old warehouse worker during that time.

Tomorrow: Worst of the Night returns!

Labels: atomic explosions, Lebron James, megalomania, quotes

Go on. Open it. What could possibly go wrong...?
The Basketbawful dictionary project continues...


dagger
dirty triple
disconfidence
double triple double
drafterglow
Duncan face
dunk face
Dunleavy
Dunning-Kruger effect



ego-ectomy
embarrassment call
espacular



fan whore
fifth quarter
First Round Dark Horse
flop
flop-ternity
flu-like symptoms
free taco excitement
French pastry
fundamentivity



Game 1-itis
gamesmanshit
garbage time
Ginobili

Labels: Basketbawful's guide to Basketball Slangeology, Word of the Day

Deron Williams and Carlos Boozer are often referred to as the second coming of John Stockton and Karl Malone. This, however, is an intellectually irresponsible claim for a couple reasons. The first being that Boozer, unlike Malone, has not yet killed a man with his elbows. (So far as we know.) And while Stockton was brilliant in the field of point guardology, he was rather humorless and robotic. (And I just know somewhere a robot is saying, "Oh, come on. BZZZT! I'm not that boring. ZZZZZT! NOW DIE FLESHBAG!") Deron Williams, though? Pretty funny. For instance, do you think Johnny Short-shorts would have made a commercial like this?


Here's the follow up, with a surprise cameo by Jerry Sloan.


Okay, so he's a little sensitive about how he smells.


Plus he's particular about his personal space.


And it seems that he only clowns on his own terms.

Labels: Carlos Boozer, Deron Williams, Elbows of Doom, John Stockton, Karl Malone, sense of humor

Over the years, several readers have requested an easier way to navigate Basketbawful's growing collection of Words of the Day. So, starting today, I'm collecting all 200-some of them into a series of dictionary-style posts. Once that's finished, I'll put a link to each post into the sidebar. And, because I'm just oh-so-giving, I'll update the posts every time I create a new Word of the Day. Now, without further ado, let's begin...

1994 Knicks/Rockets Finals
7-11 defense



"Almost" Team
And one!
"And whoever else you want to name..."
Artestean
atom smasher



bailout call
ball-hoggery
ballin'est
bargument
basketbrawl
Black Hole
boo birds
butcher shop
butt slap


calorie cap
Calvin Murphy
Camera of Shame
cap killer
Catch-and-Shoot 22
championship piggyback
cheater's proof
chronological snobbery
circus shot
Clark Kent job
Contract Year Phenomenon

Labels: Basketbawful's guide to Basketball Slangeology, Word of the Day

My epic NBA season preview spectacular on Deadspin is still silently stalking the upcoming basketball season the way Jason Voorhees hunts down large-breasted camp counselors. Only my previews offer a sightly better surival rate. But don't run up the stairs or hide in the basement! Your very life -- and my page view bonus -- may very well depend on it.

Orlando Magic
Philadelphia 76ers
Portland Trailblazers
Sacramento Kings
Toronto Raptors

Also, in continuing coordinated conjunction with CelticsBlog, here are the previews for the Southeast Division. And hey, it looks like I wasn't the only sucker brave soul willing to preview the Hawks...

Atlanta Hawks
Matt McHale: Basketbawful
Hoopinion: Peachtree Hoops

Charlotte Bobcats
BrettL: Queen City Hoops
Ziggy: BobcatsPlanet

Miami Heat
Darren Heitner: SportsAgentBlog.com
Gregory Broome: The Peninsula is Mightier

Orlando Magic
Ben: Third Quarter Collapse

Washington Wizards
Rashad: Hoops Addict
HoopsAvenue: HoopsAvenue
Mike Prada: Bullets Forever
Truth: Truth About It Dot Net

Labels: CelticsBlog, Deadspin, NBA season preview

Now serving Luol Deng on a stick!
Ever hear of Mister Softee? According to Wikipedia, it is "a United States-based ice cream truck franchisor popular in the Northeast. It is the largest franchisor of soft ice cream in the United States." And they have such a delightful jingle: "The creamiest, dreamiest soft ice cream, you get from Mister Softee. For a refreshing delight supreme, look for Mister Softee. Milkshakes and my sundaes and cones are such a treat, listen for my store on wheels, ding-a-ling down the street. For a refreshing delight supreme, Look for Mister Softee. S-O-F-T Double 'E', Mister Softee!" And if that doesn't make you scream for ice cream, then you live in a cold and empty world.

Anyway, as you probably know, many Wiki entries have an "In Popular Culture" section, and Mister Softee's page is no different. (For instance, A Mister Softee truck driven by Gail (Catherine O'Hara) was a key device in the Martin Scorsese film After Hours. Fascinating.) The basketball connection -- and I know that's is important to many of you -- was this item: "Mister Softee is also a reference for the Chicago Bulls' Luol Deng, who is one of the softest players in the NBA." Ouch. Sorry, Luol. It is kinda true, though...

Thanks to Detroit Murder Dog (real name folks) for the tip.

Labels: fan submissions, luol deng, Mister Softee, so squishy

Despite the fact that some people think he's a [derogatory term for penis], Boston's Bill Walker is a brush fire fightin' hero! Or...is he? From Basketbawful reader Mark L.: "I saw your post about Bill Walker and thought it was pretty funny. I went to his Web site and found that he had one of those Google news things that look for keywords and he had his own name in. Needless to say the news box was loaded with his exploits. I kept getting a mental image of Ron Artest getting between that firefighter and the brushfire out of habit."


The only thing missing is a link to the story about how he helped an old lady across a busy street while simultaneously rescuing a kitten from a tree, holding off an alien invasion and avoiding a banana peel that had been comically dropped in his path.

Labels: Bill Walker, fan submissions, heroes

Generally speaking, I try to avoid political discussions on this site. But John Stewart is freaking brilliant, and this vignette cracked me up.

Labels: And now for something completely different..., John Stewart, The Daily Show, the gender card

Got one? Seriously?! Buddha does not approve, my friend.
karma call (kahr'-muh kahl) noun. Describes those occasions during a pickup basketball game in which someone makes an iffy call simply because they feel it is owed to them due to one or more "bad" calls made previously by a player (or players) on the opposing team. This is the pickup equivalent of the makeup call.

Usage example: I know I didn't travel, but that guy was making a karma call.

Word trivia: Most veteran pickup ballers are intimately familiar with indignant rants like this: "Aw, come on, man. That call was bullsh*t. Well, fine. We get the next one, then." And make no mistake, when somebody makes a statement like that, they mean it, and a cheesy call will usually follow within the next five minutes.

Take last night, for instance. Someone on my team seemingly knocked the ball out of bounds. However, he called a foul, claiming his defender had whacked his hand. Now, that's where things should have ended, because -- in a perfect pickup world -- people are supposed to respect the call that was made. But the other team didn't respect it, not one bit, and the guy I was matched up against said, "Oh yeah? We got next call." About three or four possessions later, somebody partially deflected a pass to me and I had to battle for possession with a couple opposing players before finally gaining control of the ball. My guy immediately called traveling on me and made a determined beeline to the other end of the court. It was obviously a bogus call, but he wouldn't back down. I walked up to him and said, "You know that was a crap call, right?" He just said, "You guys got your call. That's ours."

What made the situation even more pathetic than it already would have been was that this guy's team was already up by double-digits -- yeah, it was just one of those nights -- and he was still getting all pissy about a call he didn't agree with...which wasn't even made against him and had no impact whatsoever on the game, by the way. And he used to play NCAA Division I ball for a major university. I figured he'd have a little more class than that.

Anyway, it's your standard "two wrongs make a right" logical fallacy. And I just don't get it. If you're against bad calls, then making a bad call in your own defense isn't going to change anything. It only perpetuates the "bad call" system by actually encouraging calls that are made out of spite and a sense of entitlement. Here's a lesson everybody should take to heart, no matter what level they play at: You earn a call. They aren't owed to you.

Further reading: Embarrassment call.

Labels: annoying idiots, cheapies, pickup basketball, Word of the Day

My NBA season preview extravaganza on Deadspin keeps rolling on, like a giant boulder tumbling down a long hill and, like, smashing people and houses and stuff. Don't defy its power. Click the links.

New York Knicks
Oklahoma City Thunder
Orlando Magic
Phoenix Suns

And, in association with CelticsBlog, here are the Northwest Division previews.

Denver Nuggets
Jeremy: Pickaxe and Roll
Nick Sclafani: The Nugg Doctor

Minnesota Timberwolves
Derek Hanson & Staff: TWolves Blog
Andrew Thell: Empty the Bench
wyn: Canis Hoopus

Oklahoma City
xphoenix87: BallerBlogger
Zorgon: Blue Blitz
Royce: The Thunderworld

Portland Trail Blazers
Mookie: ...a stern warning
Benjamin Golliver: Blazers Edge
Coup and SJ: Rip City Project

Utah Jazz
UtesFan89: The Utah Jazz
Basketball John: SLC Dunk

Labels: 30 previews in 30 days, CelticsBlog, giant boulders, NBA season preview

You know how ESPN.com provides current headlines and links on their NBA player pages? Well, take a peek at what recently popped up on Bill Walker's player profile...

Somebody better adjust that automated headline retrieval application...
This wasn't some amazing feat of computer hackery, either: It was a link to a real article:

"Former Kansas State Wildcat Bill Walker is making a name for himself in the NBA as a dick. The Boston Celtics rookie acts like a punk throughout this three-minute video. He tangles with all-stars Tracy McGrady and Yao Ming of the Houston Rockets, and McGrady knocks Walker on his ass. Walker apparently didn't learn his lesson. Later in the video, he starts pushing Ming, and riot-starter Ron Artest actually plays peacemaker. Nice, Walker. You actually made Artest appear angelic."

And in case you haven't seen the video being referenced, here it is:


Thanks to Basketbawful reader Mark for the head's up and the screen shot.

Labels: Bill Walker, Boston Celtics, fan submissions, people being dicks

By now, most (if not all) of you are probably familiar with how London street ball legend Stuart Tanner recently "hustled" Devin Harris in an abbreviated game of one-on-one. But here's the video anyway. I may never get tired of watching it.


This now-famous smack down has been explained in detail on Basketball 24/7 by Stu's brother Greg, who insists that they weren't hustling anybody. They were there to cover a court dedication ceremony for their site. That's why Stuart was wearing a sweater and jeans. What a dirty trickster, huh?

What should Tanner have done differently? Introduce himself? "Hello, Mr. Harris. I am London street ball legend Stuart Tanner. I once beat Tony Delk in one-on-one!" The fact is, Harris hustled himself. He saw a nondescript white dude dressed like he was on his way to a bar called something like The Yacht Club or The Uppity Scotsman and immediately assumed he could beat the guy. Easily. And he probably would have thought the same thing even if Tanner had been decked out in AND 1 gear and gold chains. (Maybe even more so.)

It's hard to fault Harris, because he probably had a 99.9 percent chance of being right. Still, this kind of thing isn't limited to showdowns between NBA players and street ballers. I can't tell you how many times this has happened to me, usually when I'm just shooting around or running drills at my gym. (Yes, I run drills.) The scenario is almost always the same: A young black man challenges me to one-on-one. He plays rather casually in the first game and loses badly. He ups the intensity in the second game, but still loses. This cycle continues until he becomes angry and/or disgusted and leaves. And I would estimate that I have been accused of a hustle in 60 to 70 percent of these situations.

So...white guys aren't supposed to be able to play? That fact that I'm pretty good (for an amateur baller) constitutes a hustle?

Here's an example. A few years ago, a guy challenged me to one-on-one and I won in a route (something like 11-3). He then announced rather loudly -- so that the other people in the gym could hear -- that he only played "serious" if money was involved. It wasn't the first time somebody had wanted to play me for money. Normally, I turn these challenges down, but on that day, I accepted because his attitude really got to me. (You know how it is when somebody's looking at you like you're some kind of lower life form.) "Fine," I said. "Ten bucks." He tried to get me up the bet, but I refused. Finally, he smiled reeeeeally wide and said, " You're on."

I beat him 11-5, and two of his points came off one of those garbage banked threes from the top of the key (if you've played a lot of pickup ball, you know what I'm talking about). He was pissed. He stomped off the court to go to the drinking fountain, then stomped back onto the court and paced around for a few minutes with his hands on his hips. Finally, he turned to me and said, "Let's go again. Double or nothing." I not only agreed, I said that, for me to win, I would have to hold him scoreless.

"You're gonna beat me 11-0? Seriously?" He laughed and called me a sucker. But I beat him 11-zip in what turned out to be an incredibly physical game. Bruises were given and received. He did not request a rematch, so I followed him to the locker room to collect my $20. And, to his credit, he paid up. Grudgingly, but he did it. However, as I was walking away, he said (to no one in particular), "Damn! I just got hustled by a white dude!"

You'd think I was the one who challenged him.

Mind you, I'm not trying to make this a black versus white thing. I've received similar challenges from white guys, including this one dude I like to call "Fat Shaq." One night we played over and over because he insisted he was not leaving until he won a game. He even kept modifying the rules to his advantage -- one game had to be played exclusively in the paint -- and couldn't win. And after all that he called me a "hustler."

But that's life in pickup ball. I've talked about it before. People make immediate assumptions about how good or bad someone is based on physical appearance. There's definitely a Hierarchy of Presumed Ability, with black men at the top, white men in the middle, and various other ethnicities (Asian, Indian, etc.) at the bottom. Although, admittedly, there are adjustments based on size. (It is widely assumed that tall guys and muscular guys will be really good. But, in my experience, the really muscular guys are almost never any good...although they seem to believe they're better than everybody because they look like the Hulk.)

Anyway, I don’t want to go on and on about these things, but this is what I think we should take from Tanner versus Harris: Tall, short, black, white, young, old, basketball is all about playing the game. Never make assumptions.

Labels: pickup basketball, preconceived notions, the hustle

It's baaaaaaack! Hotter, harder and more unintentionally gay than ever! Thanks to faithful reader Sun Devil for this money shot of Nicolas Batum - whom I understand is French - saying a groinal hello to Anthony Randolph.


Randolph was, apparently, so traumatized that he had to do the same thing to poor Earl Watson. Man, Nike should create a marketing campaign out of pictures like these. Oh, wait a minute...

Labels: Anthony Randolph, Earl Watson, groins, man love, Nicolas Batum

This is my entry for the 2008-2009 blogger preview series organized by CelticsBlog. You can get the full list and schedule of previews here. Note that I offered to preview whichever team no one else wanted to preview. This is that team...

Team Name: The Atlanta Hawks (a.k.a. Atlanta's Air Force!)

Last Year's Record: Finished 37-45, third in the Southeast Division and eighth in the East.

Key Loss: Josh "The Greek Benedict Arnold" Childress (only he's not really Greek)

(Sort of) Key Additions: Maurice Evans, Flip "4 Ur Luv" Murray, Randolph Morris, Othello Hunter

1. What significant moves were made during the offseason? Josh Smith -- the team's second-leading scorer (17.2) and rebounder (8.2) -- re-signed for $58 million over the summer. (But only after signing an offer sheet to play with the Memphis Grizzlies.) Maurice Evans was brought in to replace Josh Childress. (Good luck with that, guys.) The Hawks also tried to add some front court depth with the acquisitions of Randolph Morris and Othello Hunter. (The key word here being "tried.")

2. What are the team's biggest strengths? Their starting five of Mike Bibby, Joe Johnson, Marvin Williams, Smith and Al Horford is solid (particularly in the East). And Bibby -- whose "sore thumb" is fully healed -- has now been through training camp with his 'mates and should be fully integrated into Mike Woodson's offensive and defensive schemes. This should lead to improved chemistry, especially with backcourt buddy Joe Johnson, and hopefully a general improvement in team defense (which definitely de-improved after Bibs was acquired last February). They're an "energy" team that can push the tempo and crash the offensive boards. They play really tough at home, where some actual fans were sighted last season, along with at least one Bigfoot. (However, one or both sightings might have been a hoax.) Their confidence is sky high after the way they "pushed" the Celtics in the first round of last year's playoffs.

3. What are the team's biggest weaknesses? Losing Josh Childress will affect the Hawks both on the basketball court and [insert Bill Walton voice here] on the court of the mind. Smith might still be a little bitter over how his contract negotiations were handled. (He had to sign an offer sheet with the Grizzlies for God's sake.) Their bench is about as deep as a puddle on a 98-degree day. Offensively, they're very inconsistent due to their "on again, off again" running game and streaky jump shooting. (Johnson, the team's leading scorer, hit only 43 percent of his field goals in 2007-08.) Their three-point marksmanship is herbal tea weak (35 percent as a team last season). In fact, their best shooter is Mark Price. Assistant coach Mark Price, that is. They don't always go all-out, especially on the road, where they were 12-29 last season. They seem to be thinking a little too highly of themselves right now, due mostly to that first-round slugfest with Boston (more on this below).

4. What are the goals for this team? They need to avoid complacency and build on the momentum they sparked at the end of last season when they were fighting tooth and nail to make the playoffs. They also need to reestablish the defensive mindset they started the 2007-08 campaign with. And, most importantly, they need to stay focused and go full-tilt every game. Their starting five is solid but not great, they lack depth, and -- no offense to Joe Johnson -- they don't have a superstar in tow. This means that anything less than 100 percent effort can and will doom them on any given night.

5. Are they simply a one-season tease? We've all seen it before. A team gets hot at the end of the regular season, sneaks into the playoffs, makes some noise, and so everybody expects them to take The Next Big Step next season. But when said team is flawed -- as the Hawks are -- this often leads to overconfidence and failed expectations. The most recent example of this is the Golden State Warriors. The 2007-08 Warriors may have won a few more games than the 2006-07 Warriors, but they failed to recapture the magic of that '07 playoff run. I think we're going to see the same thing happen to the Hawks this season. Especially since that seven-game series with the Celtics wasn't as close as everybody seems to think: The champs absolutely crushed them in Boston whereas the Hawks pulled out three could-have-gone-either-way victories at home.

Predicted Record: 40-42

Labels: Atlanta Hawks, NBA season preview

I just read (via TrueHoop) that the Celtics have waived Darius Miles. Thus ends one of those strange paradoxes of the NBA offseason: Contradictory expectations. To wit: It was generally conceded that Miles was, at best, a longshot to make the team. However, it was also believed (by more than a few people) that -- if his services actually were retained -- that Miles could help fill the gaping hole in the team left by the departure of James Posey.

So he was either going to get cut or replace a guy who, during the club's championship run last season, was utterly irreplaceable? Really?

No, not really. Miles never had a chance. But the Celtics have faced those kinds of false hopes before. Like when they thought Bill Walton would be ready for the 1987 NBA playoffs or, at worst, the next season. Or when they thought Derek Smith could be the elusive missing piece in 1990-91. Or when they thought Xavier McDaniel and then later a washed-up Dominique Wilkins could cover for the retired Larry Bird. So on and so forth.

Anyway, the following picture ran with the article I linked to above. It was accompanied by the caption "Darius Miles' return to the NBA will not be with the Celtics." For some reason the picture/caption combination cracked me up.

I don't remember him looking like such a spaz. Do you?

Labels: Boston Celtics, Darius Miles, I can't believe they thought this would work, James Posey

Now, I already knew Lamar Odom was a little bit loopy, but I had no idea he was so darn funny. Some of these YouTube videos made me laugh out loud...and I was watching them in church. Oh, but hey, it's not as bad as it sounds. I don't actually attend that church. I was just there for the free WiFi.

Anyway, here's one where Lamar dribbles the ball inbounds. He must have been having a pickup basketball flashback or something...


Next, watch Lamar deliver a fundamentally sound chest pass...right to a referee.


Okay, now this is the one that made me spit up that fruit punch they gave me during Eucharist. What the hell was Lamar trying to say?!


Ego-ectomy extra: Just for the heck of it, here's a video of Lamar's teammate punching the ball, which bounces right back up and hits him in the face.

Labels: comedy, Lamar Odom, that's what smoking pot will do to you

Here are the links to my latest batch of NBA season previews on Deadspin, brought to you in that irreverent, hard-hitting style that only Basketbawful can deliver! I'm not saying that clicking on these links will save lives, but it will. It so totally will.

Memphis Grizzlies
Miami Heat
Milwaukee Bucks
Minnesota Timberwolves
New Jersey Nets
New Orleans Hornets

And let's not forget the Central Division previews organized by CelticsBlog. I'll be posting my Atlanta Hawks preview for this series tomorrow.

Chicago Bulls
Nels: Give Me The Rock
Matt: Blog-a-Bull

Cleveland Cavaliers
Rock: Waiting For Next Year
FTS: Fear The Sword
David Friedman: 20 Second Timeout
Amar Panchmatia: Cavalier Attitude

Detroit Pistons
Brian Spencer: Empty the Bench
Natalie Sitto: Need4Sheed.com
Matt Watson: Detroit Bad Boys

Indiana Pacers
Tom: Indy Cornrows

Milwaukee Bucks
Jeramey Jannene: The Bratwurst
Frank Madden: BrewHoop

Labels: Deadspin, NBA season preview, Peja Stojakovic's head on a stick

This has been around for a while, but it's still worth another look: Steve Nash comically overreacting to a call. Tim Duncan would be proud.


And here's a special bonus video titled "Overweight Gay Guy Checking Out Steve Nash." Ever seen a fan undress an NBA player with his eyes? It's pretty creepy.

Labels: Duncan face, Noooooooo, not unintentionally gay, Steve Nash, Videos

Ah, classic Sir Charles: The secret of his NBA success was "...my big ass against their little skinny legs." Is it possible to make love to a quote? Someday, I'm going to find out. In the meantime, based on the comments left on this week's Word of the Day: The Dantley post, I present the Big Butt Prodigious Posterior All-Stars!

Starting Five:
Baron Davis
Adrian Dantly
Charles Barkley
Shawn Kemp (the Cleveland Cavalier version)
Shaq

Sixth Man
Oliver Miller

The Extra-wide Bench
Magic Johnson (during his 1996 return)
Mark Jackson
Corey Maggette
Rick Mahorn
Robert "Ass-Tractor" Traylor
Glen "Big Baby" Davis
Clarence Weatherspoon (IR)
Mike Sweetney (IR)

Labels: big butts, Prodigious Posterior All-Stars

Pickup ball really puts a smile on my face...
An anonymous reader left the following comment on yesterday's The NBA versus Male Genitals post:

"I got a hit in the nuts horror story for the ages. When I was around 15 years old, I was at the park playing basketball when I did a no look bullet pass into the post. My teammate wasn't ready for it so it went out of bound with a crazy amount of velocity right into the crotch of some poor sap who was sitting on a bench hanging out with what I'm guessing was his girlfriend. He immediately falls to the ground shrieking and crying. I walked over to apologize and see if he was alright, when I suddenly see blood stains on his jeans around his crotch. I started freaking out asking what happened when his girlfriend yelled at me, "He just got circumcised a couple of days ago!" The guy's probably alright now but I still feel guilty that I might have inadvertently ruined some young man's genitalia."

If you were able to read that gruesome story without at least wincing, then I'm pretty sure you don't have a penis. Which, for the time-being, makes you one of the lucky ones. [shudders] Anyway, it got me to thinking about weird basketball injury stories. I'm not talking about the standard sprains, strains, pulls, bruises, cuts, etc. I'm talking strange stuff. Here's the story of my oddest basketball-related boo-boo.

Several years ago, I was playing pickup ball with a few friends at Lifetime Fitness late on a Sunday evening. Now, I had received two early warnings that strange things were afoot that night. First, a buddy of mine who cannot hit from the outside beat me in a game of 21 -- for the first and only time ever -- by shooting all threes. (I continued to give him the green light, of course, because I refused to believe he'd keep knocking them down.) Second, some very eccentric characters showed up and asked us to go full court, including one guy who was playing without shoes or socks. (Who plays basketball while barefoot? Seriously?) I ignored Fate's warnings, though, and paid for it dearly. On the first possession of the first full court game, I collapsed into the paint to help out on a guard who had beaten his man off the dribble, but the guy flailed his off arm and whacked me in the face. It was a stinging blow, and I was momentarily stunned. I grabbed my mouth, where he'd hit me, and bowed my head slightly...and blood started gushing onto the court.

My buddies, who know me a little too well, assumed I'd just keep playing. (I have a history of playing through some rather grievous injuries.) But the blood was freaking me out -- I mean, there was a lot of it -- so I stumbled out of the gym and toward the locker room to check things out. I bumped into another one of my friends on the way, and when he asked what was wrong I removed my hand to show him the wound. I asked how bad it was, and he said, "Uh...was it hanging down like that before?" It? Hanging?! As cryptic and somewhat alarming comments go, that one was right up there. So I started freaking out a little.

In the locker room, I wiped some of the blood off my face with a paper towel -- I know, really sterile of me -- and inspected the damage. It was worse than I'd imagined. The corner of my mouth where my upper and lower lips meet had split and was just gaping open. It wasn't the force of the blow that had done it; the hit had driven the flesh into my incisor, which had done the job that nature created it for: To cut and slice. My very first thought was: "Oh shit! I'm...I'm deformed!" It looked that grisly.

Pressing a huge wad of paper towels against the wound, I shuffled to my car and drove myself to the nearest emergency room I could think of. It was empty when I got there, but they made me wait for over an hour anyway. I guess people were dying in the back or something. While waiting, I asked the nurse on duty for a butterfly bandage or maybe some gauze, but she said they didn't have any. How a hospital doesn't have these things is beyond me. (My suspicion is that she simply didn't know where they were or didn't want to have to stand up and, you know, do actual work.)

The good news was that, once I got to see the doctor, he assured me that he could stitch everything back together and that the scarring would occur inside my mouth, so no one would ever see it. Whew. There were some downsides, though. For one, it took him so long to return after shooting me up with anesthetic -- about an hour and a half -- that the anesthetic had actually worn off a little bit by the time he started working on me. Let me tell you, that did not feel good, but it was almost 3 a.m. by this point and I was sick of waiting. The other crappy part of the whole deal was that he had to sew half of my mouth shut...and it had to stay that way for no less than a week and a half.

Having half of my mouth sewn shut really sucked. I know that sounds rather obvious, but allow me to expound. First, I was only able to eat things I could suck through a straw. That meant I was on a liquid diet for about two weeks. Liquid diets get a little boring after about, oh, half of one meal. They also leave you weak and constantly hungry. Second, I couldn't talk. Well, I could, but everything I said sounded like, "Errr, errr, errrgh." But the real bummer was that the very next Saturday was my dating anniversary with my then-girlfriend. We had reserved a fancy hotel room and pre-ordered some really nice room service food, complete with hors d'oeuvres and cake. But I couldn't eat. And I couldn't kiss. And the area of my mouth that was stitched shut was rubbing against my teeth, which caused several canker sores to form on the wound...so let's just say I wasn't exactly filled with passion and romance. Worst date ever? Pretty close, yeah.

Okay. I've spilled my guts. Now you, dear readers, must post some of your freaky basketball injury stories. I'll add the good ones to this post.

Labels: injuries, pickup basketball, so much blood

I once posted a list of the basic staples of American comedy, the gimmicks that are always used for (and seem to always get) a cheap laugh. These include (but are not limited to):

1. Monkeys
2. Midgets
3. Fat people
4. Farts and/or poop
5. The Amish
6. Men dressed as women
7. A man getting punched/kicked/shot/etc. in the nuts
8. White people attempting to act like black people
9. Old people trying to behave all young and hip
10. Some random combination of the elements listed above

Now, you get to see one or more (usually more) of these comedic devices during the typical NBA halftime show. However, one of them actually occurs -- with alarming frequency -- during the course of the game itself. Here's a hint: It's number seven. I don't know what the sport of basketball has against the man region, but ballers sure do suffer an extraordinary number of nutshots. (Or worse. Just ask Mo Williams).

In this video, for instance, Danny Granger forgets that he's not playing soccer, and that Antawn Jamison's family jewels are not, in fact, the game ball.


From the YouTube description: "Chandler gets a feel in the 'Smoky Robinson.'"


Hey, remember when Royal Ivey got suspended for an attack on Aaron Gray's meat 'n taters? Of course you don't. You probably don't even know who those guys are. But here's what happened.


Then there's that whole bizarre Reggie Evans/Chris Kaman incident...


Not even the crotches of our team mascots are safe, as Utah's Bear proves here.


And, of course, no rundown of junk assault would be complete without Bruce "The Master of Groin Disaster" Bowen. Watch BTMoGDB give Steve Nash a little [Canadian euphemism for knee in the groin].


Update! How could I forget about the time Avery Johnson cup-checked Josh Howard? Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Anonymous.


Update! Thanks to Reginald from Wasilla and the second Mr. Anonymous for reminding me of that time Chris Paul gave Julius Hodge the five-knuckeled junkblaster.

Labels: Antawn Jamison, Bear, Bruce Bowen, Chris Kaman, comedy staples, Danny Granger, NBA mascots, nutshots, Reggie Evans, Steve Nash, Tyson Chandler

Dantley's about to draw the foul. And McHale knows it.
The Dantley (thuh dant'-lee) noun. Describes those performances in which a player scores a significant number of points and more than half of those points come from the foul line.

Usage example: Kobe Bryant had a Dantley in Game 1 of the Lakers' second round playoff series against the Jazz: 38 points on 8 field goals and 21 (out of 23) freethrows.

Word history: Bob Ryan invented the term (as noted in David Halberstam's Playing for Keeps: Michael Jordan and the World He Made) to describe how Adrian Dantley was able to ignite many of his famous scoring explosions from the foul line. Dantley scored 23177 over his 18-year ABA/NBA career, and 8351 of those points -- roughly 36 percent of them -- came from the charity stripe. He led the NBA in free throws four times (and was the league scoring champion during two of those seasons) and currently ranks sixth all-time in that category. He shares the record (with Wilt Chamberlain) for most free throws made in a regular-season NBA game (28). Dude straight up knew how to draw fouls. It helped that he could bulldoze his way to the basket with his giant ass (see below).

Unfortunately, basketball-reference.com doesn't provide box scores from A.D.'s heyday during the mid-80s, but even in the latter stages of his career, Dantley had some signature Dantleys left in him:

November 7, 1986: 24 points, 18 made FTs
December 10, 1986: 33 points, 17 made FTs
January 19, 1987: 27 points, 5 made FTs
March 6, 1987: 23 points, 17 made FTs
April 17, 1987: 28 points, 16 made FTs
December 15, 1987: 27 points, 19 made FTs
January 20, 1988: 28 points, 16 made FTs
December 2, 1988: 28 points, 18 made FTs
January 31, 1989: 20 points, 14 made FTs
March 20, 1989: 24 points, 14 made FTs
April 14, 1989: 34 points, 18 made FTs

Word trivia: I thought that the 2006 NBA Finals would be the perfect place to find examples of The Dantley. After all, Dwyane Wade lived at the freethrow line, right? But I was surprised to discover that he did not have a single Dantley in that series. Yes, he received a ginormous number of freethrows, but he scored more points on field goals in every game. Seriously, go check the box scores.

Fun fact: According to his NBA.com bio, "As a 6-4, 245-pound freshman at DeMatha High School in Hyattsville, Maryland, his prodigious posterior earned him the nickname 'Baby Huey.'" I'm going to go ahead and assume he preferred "A.D."

A word of thanks: To faithful reader Nick F. (Buck Nasty) for the suggestion.

Labels: Adrian Dantley, Dwyane Wade, fan submissions, free throws, Word of the Day

In case you haven't been keeping up with them -- and shame on you, if that's the case -- here are links to my latest NBA season previews on Deadspin. Harsh yet realistic appraisals! Fun facts! Amusing videos! Shameless self-promotion! (Wait. That's here. Never mind.)

Denver Nuggets
Detroit Pistons
Golden State Warriors
Houston Rockets
Indiana Pacers
Los Angeles Clippers
Los Angeles Lakers

Here are the Southwest Division previews organized by CelticsBlog.



Dallas Mavericks

Jake Kerr: Mavs Moneyball

Houston Rockets

grungedave and UofTOrange: The Dream Shake

Memphis Grizzlies

Joshua Coleman: 3 Shades of Blue

New Orleans Hornets

Rohan: At the Hive

ticktock6 & mW: Hornets Hype

Ryan Schwan & Ron Hitley: Hornets247.com

San Antonio Spurs

Graydon Gordian: 48 Minutes of Hell

Also see links to all the previews at CelticsBlog.com

Labels: CelticsBlog, Deadspin, NBA season preview

This was a new one to me: Bighead Clutch, one of the Houston Rockets' inflatable mascots (yes, there are two of them), swallows a cheerleader whole, gets attacked gang-style by some of the other cheerleaders, then vomits up the girl that had been eaten. Very National Geographic.


Apparently, this is pretty standard behavior for Clutch. Even on the road.

Labels: cheerleaders, Houston Rockets, NBA mascots

Stacy Elizabeth Beshear, eh? Yeah, right. Rearrange a few letters, add a couple more letters, and that name is simply an anagram for "Larry Bird." Talk about your bizarre and unexpected plot twists. Larry...why?

Ugly as a man. Uglier as a woman.
Well, at least now I understand why Larry, a lifelong Celtic, called Luke, a Laker, to wish him luck in this year's NBA Finals. Obsession makes you do crazy things sometimes.

Labels: Larry Bird, Luke Walton, no freaking way, stalking

Henry Abbott mentioned this week's WNBA posts on TrueHoop yesterday. In the same article, a TrueHoop reader provides a list of 10 reasons to why we (with "we" being pretty much everybody) are idiots for not watching WNBA games. Go check it out.

Now, the comment I found particularly interesting was the one in which Henry suggested that Basketbawful had "lost the moral high ground, perhaps, when it later called for WNBA games to be played in skin-tight outfits for the amusement of lusty fans."

Have you ever noticed that almost every conversation about the WNBA's lack of popularity eventually transforms into a discussion of morality, human dignity and gender equality? Not that these concepts aren't worth discussing, but at least with regards to Evil Ted's "let's dress 'em pretty" post, they miss the point. Allow me to elaborate. I live in Chicago. As such, I try to attend as many Bulls games as my time and personal finances allow. Let me describe that experience for you:

I get to see the Luvabulls dancers -- described on the team Web site as "beautiful, talented and articulate women" -- expose large sections of their anatomy and gesticulate in ways that prominently display their breasts and behinds. Sometimes while wearing suggestive, lingerie-like clothing. For instance:


I am forced (rather against my will) to endure the sight of the Matadors -- a group of dancing fat men -- expose large sections of their anatomy and gesticulate in ways that prominently display their breasts and behinds. Sometimes while wearing suspenders and funny hats. For instance:


Then there's the Swingin' Seniors "entertainment team," a group of older women dressed up in Bulls jerseys who sing and dance. There's also the BullzKidz, a group of teens who run around and act really superduper excited (the tagline: "Energy in a small package!"). The Junior Luvabulls are basically miniature versions of the actual Luvabulls, only they're little girls in short skirts instead of bigger girls (relatively speaking) in even shorter skirts. The IncrediBulls wear McDonald's logos ("I'm lovin' it!"), perform gymnastics and fire t-shirts into the crowd. And, of course, their are those brave men who dress up like stuffed and/or inflatable animals to dance, fight and appear on the Jerry Springer Show.

There are also a variety of "fan interactive events," where, for instance, people from the crowd spin around on the tip of a baseball bat until they're dizzy enough to throw up and then try to shoot a layup without falling down. ONLY THEY ALWAYS FALL DOWN. To the crowd's delight, of course. Other fans compete in a nightly sing-off to win fabulous prizes, like a McDonald's Big Mac, only they usually sing so poorly and off key that the whole experience becomes a study in public humiliation. And, of course, I've already described my halftime of horror, in which I was introduced to Duo Design, a "strength and hand-balancing act from Warsaw, Poland." Basically, it's two topless guys in ass-hugging tights and gold body paint doing gymnastics -- slow, sweaty gymnastics -- off each other's bodies. No, really.


But keep in mind that these are simply sideshows to the real event, in which muscular male athletes, dressed in shorts and tank tops, sprint up and down a 94-by-50-foot court, leaping high into the air and playing games with an inflatable ball purely for the purposes of our entertainment. Dunk the ball! Dunk for me, puppets!

Here's the point: The NBA is, first and foremost, a business. As such, they willingly exploit their players, their hired entertainers and their fans in any and every way they can in order to make money. It would be great if professional sports could exist solely for the sake of the sports themselves, but they cannot. They provide goods (the players) and services (entertaining games), and if those things cannot be sold, the business will fail. It's that simple. That's why certain players (like, say, Mario West) are largely ignored while other players (such as Kobe Bryant) are repeatedly exploited.

Seriously, Kobe Bryant is the most exploited basketball player of our time. His team exploits him ("Come see Kobe Bryant take on the Spurs!"), opposing teams exploit him ("Come see Kobe Bryant try to beat your team...maybe he'll even score 81 points!"), sports writers and bloggers exploit him because any article or post about Kobe will cause an almost immediate spike in readership.

That's the reality of it. Human dignity is a noble goal, to be sure, but it didn't keep NBA's Hoop Magazine from airbrushing the tattoos right off of Allen Iverson's body, nor did it prevent David Stern from instituting a dress code to try and prevent the league's mostly white, middle class fan base from associating its players with rap artists and criminals. Back in the 50s and 60s, both professional and college basketball tried to discourage and even outlaw the slam dunk. But when the people in power figured out that the dunk both amazed and delighted the fans -- drawing them in even bigger, higher-paying numbers -- they decided to exploit the hell out of it.

The WNBA is a business, just like the NBA. To my knowledge, that business has never been able to turn a profit, yet it still exists, mostly because of the persistent support of David Stern and the immense wealth of its brother league. The WNBA formed in 1996 and has operated in deficit spending ever since. How many business could survive like that? Could any other business that exists solely for the entertainment of its audience remain doggedly the same, changing nothing, and yet convince shareholders and investors to continue flushing away millions of dollars per year because there are various moral and ethical reasons to keep trying to entertain people in a certain way? I highly doubt it.

Look, Evil Ted's suggestion was callous and exploitative. But really, take a closer look at the NBA experience I described above and ask yourself whether that suggestion is really any more callous and exploitative than the many ways the NBA is sold to its consumers. I honestly don't think it is. It's just idea that might get more people to purchase the WNBA product. And that's simply good business.

Update! Henry responds with a thoughtful post. One last note on this subject: I do think it's unfortunate that people often get treated like cattle so that a business can make money. I see it happen at my Clark Kent job all the time. I see it happen in beauty magazines. I see it happen at Burger King. I think many organizations have to disconnect their kindess and sympathy in order to do business. I don't think it's necessarily right, or conducive for making a better world, but that's capitalism for you.

Labels: Chicago Bulls, exploitation, moral high ground, TrueHoop, WNBA

If you listen closely, you can hear his genitals screaming.
John Stockton shorts (jahn stahk'-tuhn shohrtz) noun. Refers to the leg-exposing, butt-and-junk-hugging short-shorts that were worn by NBA players from the time of George Mikan in 1946-1947 up to the early 1990s.

Usage example: Back in November of 2001, the NBA fined a scad of players -- including Shaq, Kobe Bryant, Tracy McGrady, Nick Van Exel, Eric Piatkowski and Dana Barros -- $5,000 each for wearing their shorts too long. League rules dictate that players must wear shorts that are at least one inch above the knees. For his part, Shaq said he didn't want to wear "John Stockton shorts" and was seriously worried about what the kiddies would think: "Would all the kids then wear John Stockton shorts? No, they wouldn't. They would laugh at me, and I wouldn't be their favorite player any more. I'd be the laughingstock of big men."

Word history: Michael Jordan and later Michigan University's Fab Five brought baggy shorts into vogue in the NBA, and that fashion shift caused the extinction of the short-shorts. Or, I should say, the near-extinction. Because one small, hairy man continued to sport the shorties right up until the final game of his 19-year NBA career. The fact that John Stockton was the last remaining short-short enthusiast was well known -- it's even mentioned on his Wikipedia page -- and became something of a running joke around the league and among its fans. For instance, after being fined for wearing his too-baggy shorts (as described above), Shaq squeezed his giant ass into a pair of Stockton-sized Jazz shorts and said: "Are these better, Stern?" No pictures of that event survived, and I thank God for that, but the point was made.

The short-short subject actually came up during Stockton's retirement ceremony, and this is what he had to say about it: "To be honest, for the first 15 years, I didn't know we had a say in it. I figured shorts are shorts, I've never had a say in what size the shorts were since I was a little kid. I was lucky I wasn't wearing my brother's most of the time, it's just what you have. It came to a surprise when people were making fun of me, 'I can change them?' And I didn't want to at that point, they were comfortable. Styles are going to come and go. I think it's easier to stay with what you're comfortable with."

And in case you're wondering, wearing short-shorts for 1,504 career NBA games didn't do any serious (as far as we know) or lasting damage to Stockton's genitals: He and his wife have six children. For all we know, the short-shorts might have made him more potent.

Personal anecdote: I was still in high school when baggy shorts were being phased in as the standard for NBA uniforms. Well, actually, they were pretty much phased in already. However, I had a pair of Celtics practice shorts left over from the late-80s. And, of course, they were of the short-short variety. I regularly wore these shorts when I played and practiced at the small court near my house. (Which, being in Indiana and all, was sandwiched between an elementary school and a corn field. Seriously.) To make matters worse, that also happened to be around the time when NBA players had begun wearing compression shorts under their shorts. So...I usually wore my Celtics short-shorts over a pair of bike shorts that reached almost to my knees. Yes, I know. FASHION FAIL.

Anyway, a day came along on which I was supposed to go out with this girl I'd been crushing on for years, but things were kind of up in the air. So instead of just waiting around for her to call me, I went to shoot some hoops. She called shortly after I'd left, and since this was the pre-cellular phone era, my mom had to drive out and tell me that she was waiting for me at the convention center of the local community college. There was no time to clean up or get changed, so I jumped into my car and hightailed it over there. Turns out, she wanted to attend a play. Being your typically clueless 16-year-old boy, I was utterly unaware that there was anything whatsoever unusual about showing up dressed in my short-short/bike short combination and a Larry Bird t-shirt (yes, I was decked out in full Celtics regalia). Her best friend and the best friend's boyfriend were also there -- the bf was wearing a sensible (but boring) khaki-and-polo ensemble -- and her friend kind of laughed at me and said, "Nice shorts." I didn't realize until sometime later that she wasn't being sincere.

Labels: John Stockton, short-shorts, Word of the Day

...who would stalk Luke Walton? Well, here's the answer (via Deadspin):

Bloargh!
Her name: Stacy Elizabeth Beshear, 34, of El Segundo, California. Her game: Stalking the hell out of the Son of Walton. For a year. According to Sgt. Steve Tobias of the Manhattan Beach Police Department: "She had been following him to his practice site and following him home and repeatedly asking him to sign basketballs after he'd already done so. At one point, she got upset and was taking a Sharpie pen to his vehicle after he refused to sign a soccer ball."

It didn't end with those fun and games, though. On September 15, Beshear "crossed the line" by following Walton to the house of Lakers teammate Jordan Farmar and pulling up next to him. Said Tobias: "She was following him for a large part of the day and at one point drove side by side with him and gestured at him, extended her hand out the window and acted like she was cocking a gun."

As you can imagine, this behavior freaked Walton the hell out: "It's bananas. I'll be going to sleep at night and just randomly look out the window. Just to check. Just because. She has been out there at 12:30, 1:30 in the morning. She would park outside my house for hours and hours. I would drive out, and I would see her peeking through. It would suck, because I know I'm leaving my home, and I know she's still there. What am I supposed to do? Is she planning on breaking in? Am I going to come home one day and she's sleeping in my bed? Is she going to steal my dog? You try not to think about it. But every time I see a black Honda now, I'm like, 'Is that her?' I'll slow down and look. It's like every day. There are a billion of these cars. Since I've noticed her, I've noticed these cars are everywhere. It's like I'm going paranoid like some movie character."

The source of the woman's insanity? Why, the trammels of unrequited love, of course. According to Walton, this is what crazy stalker lady said during her fake gun attack: "She told me that we belong together. And then she started flipping out about all sorts of stuff. She said she wanted to move to San Diego, but people wouldn't let her. I was like, 'What people?' She's like, 'The people! The people in the universe! They won't let me move, because they say you and I are supposed to be together.' I was like, 'Oh, wow. She's crazy.'"

Maybe that'll teach Luke the dangers of having such beautiful, glistening hair and powerful, rippling muscles. Sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah. Click here for even more of the whacky details.

Update! If Stacy is as batshit insane as I think she is -- and let's face it, she might go to jail for stalking Luke Walton, and that's pretty damn crazy -- what's she going to do when she finds out about Luke's threeway tryst with Karl Malone and Horace Grant? I'm not saying that she's going kill them and make clothes out of their skin, but if Grant or the Mailman find a bunny boiling on their stove someday, the police might want to give Stacy a ring. (Thanks to eljpeman for the reminder.)

How do you eat your Oreo cookie?

Labels: crazy people, holy crap, Luke Walton, mucho crazy, stalking

"Have you ever had a dream that was so crazy and seemingly unrealistic you never even tried to follow it? This book is about a guy who followed that dream all the way to Prague and discovered that, sometimes, the journey is more important than the dream itself. Read it and you might find yourself willing to take a few more chances."

That's the pull quote I wrote for Expatriate Games: My Season of Misadventures in Czech Semi-Pro Basketball. Or, I should say, that's one of the pull quotes I wrote. Here's the one that the editor wanted to use but (for obvious reasons) did not:

"If the earth ever spins off its axis and kills us all, it'll be because of the titanic balls it took for Dave Fromm to move to Prague and just walk on to a semi-pro basketball team. Next time I hesitate to follow my dreams, I'm going to think back to this book."

Expatriate Games is the story of David Fromm, who -- like many people before and after him -- had no idea what to do with himself after he graduated from college. Or rather, he had ideas, but he didn't particularly like any of them. Law school beckoned but didn't exactly entice. He wasn't ready to grow up and start taking on adult responsibilities, so he talked himself into doing something wild and unexpected: Move to Prague and play professional basketball. Brilliant!

The idea, in and of itself, wasn't entirely original. A lot of the guys I played pickup ball with in college -- which was around the same time Fromm went on his most excellent adventure -- talked casually (but quite seriously) about how they probably could and therefore should move to Europe and become a pro baller. Seriously, I knew several people who thought that was a perfectly valid option in the mid to late-90s. Like, you could just fly halfway around the world and walk onto a pro team. Snap of the fingers, just like that.

And Fromm did it. Sort of.

Despite a language barrier that he never really broke through and a cultural gap he never fully crossed, Fromm tracked down and improbably walked onto a semi-pro Czech team called TJ Sokol Kralovske Vinhorady. In between the practices and games, he managed to earn a one-year postgraduate degree (which partially justified the zany odyssey) and fall into one of those crazy "I'm away from home and in a foreign and totally exotic place" romances that hit you hard and leave you feeling, well, like you got hit really hard.

The book is sort of an extended diary of the experience. There are plenty of vivid and amusing descriptions of the life that went on around playing basketball -- including the occasional side trip into of what was going on in the NBA at that time -- but the best parts of the book come when Fromm talks about playing and practicing. At times, he was even better than he thought. At other times, he was much worse, particularly since he was nurtured on Jordan Era hoops, which meant that his style of play (cutting, slashing, breaking his man down one-on-one) didn't quite mesh with the European style (passing into the post, cutting without the ball, spotting up for an open jumper).

Fromm was alternately delighted and frustrated by his teammates, and they probably felt the same way about him (although, thanks to their incomplete and broken English, it was sometimes difficult to tell exactly what they were thinking). But one thing that he found out is that camaraderie is something of a universal language. Win, lose or draw, there was always time to celebrate victory or (more often) drown the sorrow in a bitter but surprisingly tasty Czech brew.

That year came and went in a flash. Fromm played semi-pro ball, but he never earned any money doing so (unless you count the proceeds from this book) and his team never won anything of note. He kind of fell in love, but that love never really went anywhere. He met a lot of fascinating people, but many of them have been lost in the mists of time. In the end, the journey feels somewhat surreal, like a complex and vivid dream. But what a dream to have and make come true, you know?

Labels: big honking balls, book reviews, Expatriate Games

After seeing Bawful's post about the world's general lack of respect for the WNBA, I was reminded of my own ponderings on this issue.

Sometimes a solution is so obvious that it's not obvious at all. That appears to be the case in the "How do we make the WNBA popular?" conundrum. Is the NBA not advertising the WNBA enough? Uhm, no. I, Evil Ted, am very aware of the existence of the WNBA and have seen tons of TV ads for it, such as:


You could play these ads during every commercial break on every TV show on every channel. You could play them during the Super Bowl. You could tattoo the WNBA logo on Janet Jackson's boob during the halftime show. You could put it on the backstop greenscreen during the last out of the World Series. Hell, you could even paste the face of every female pro basketball player on the hood of every car in Nascar. But people aren't going to watch women's basketball unless there's an angle. And that angle will NEVER be that they play with the same skill and athleticism as men. It just won't. And I'm not being sexist here, or saying that there aren't plenty of women who could thoroughly kick my ass in a game of one-on-one. This is pure branding I'm talking about.

The solution revealed itself like a devine intervention during the 2008 Beijing Olympics, and it's so obvious, it's almost silly. Did anyone happen to come across the U.S. women's basketball team playing Australia? Well, I did. And gosh darn it if I didn't find myself glued to the telly. Why? because the Australian Women's Olympic team was dressed like this:


I give you...drumroll please...the Australian Opals. Are they the best women's basketball team on Earth? I don't know...and I don't care either. But I'll tell you what, if they're playing on TV in those uniforms, I'll watch them. And if I watch them play, it's inevitable that I'll learn more about them. And if I learn more about them, I might - just might - become a fan.

Frankly, I don’t understand why this hasn’t already been done. I mean, sure, there’s a level of implied sexism. The idea of “Hey, put on this tight outfit and maybe we’ll watch” might be considered a little tawdry. But if those involved in the WNBA are really willing to do anything to expand their fan base, how can they not explore this option? Is it such a big deal to change the uniforms to something more flattering of the female form? And who decided women basketball players need to dress like the men anyway? I think the current outfits make the women look like…well…men. So now you've got players who look like men, but don't play as well as men. This not only puts off potential male fans, but might even be anathema to young girls, many of whom want to be princesses and ballerinas when they grow up.

That's right. I said anathema. Deal with it.

There are certainly ways to spin the change – but a press release stating that “the new outfits are more streamlined, making players more aerodynamic, and the tight fabric eliminates shirt-grabbing fouls” would be comedic and needless. So don’t bother coming up with any reasoning at all, WNBA. Just do it, as Nike would say. The uniforms are tasteful enough to keep from offending the average female fan, but provocative enough to entice the average man. At least give a guy a reason to start watching, and that may be enough to improve the league’s popularity by default.

Here's a taste of how women's basketball should look. And with high definition - the greatest invention on Earth - I can guarantee you'll be watching, gents.

Labels: tight unis, WNBA

I can't explain this picture, but I know awesome when I see it.
In case you missed 'em, here are the last handful of NBA season previews I wrote for Deadspin:

Charlotte Bobcats
Chicago Bulls
Cleveland Cavaliers
Update! Dallas Mavericks

Moreover, I'm participating in the CelticsBlog season previews (I'll be doing the Atlanta Hawks later this month). Here are links to the Atlantic Division previews:

Boston Celtics
Jeff Clark: CelticsBlog.com
Jim Weeks: Green Bandwagon
FLCeltsFan: LOY's Place
John Karalis: Red's Army
Dustin Chapman: Celtics 24/7

New Jersey Nets
Dennis Velasco: About Basketball

New York Knicks
Joey: Straight Bangin'
Seth Rosenthal: Posting and Toasting

Philadelphia 76ers
Dannie & Pete: Recliner GM
Jon Burkett: Passion and Pride

Toronto Raptors
Franchise: RaptorsHQ.com
Ryan McNeill: Hoops Addict
Cuzzy: Cuzoogle

Labels: CelticsBlog, Charlotte Bobcats, Chicago Bulls, Cleveland Cavaliers, Dallas Mavericks, Deadspin, Dirk Nowitzki, guitar hate, NBA season preview

This isn't (necessarily) meant to be a statement on the relative worth and follow-ability of the WNBA, but this "press clipping" is from Friday's print edition of the Chicago Sun Times. The WNBA Finals section -- if you could even call it that -- was crammed down at the bottom of the page, below things like High School Girls Golf and among various advertisements for happy-ending massage parlors and escort services. Ouch.

Don't tell them I sent you...
This was underscored by a comment Evil Ted made this morning upon his return from a High School Reunion/Guy Trip. "I went into a Buffalo Wild Wings with some friends and there was playoff baseball on three out of the four giant projection screen TVs. The fourth screen was playing a basketball game, and the first thing I noticed was SAN ANTONIO 14, DETROIT 6. I was like "Whoa, what's going on here?" and got a little excited. Then I looked up and saw breasts and long hair tied into buns and thought, "Oh, that's what's going on..."

Oh, and in case you didn't know it -- I'm guessing you probably didn't -- the Detroit Shock swept the San Antonio Silver Stars to win their third WNBA title in six years. There was not a single note about this event in the Chicago Sun Times this morning. There was, however, a large section devoted to middle school volleyball and a feature on the disappearing habitat of the Venus flytrap.

Question for Pistonsgirl4life: Does this latest title change your feelings about Bill Laimbeer as a coach? Discuss.

More like, "Shock 'em with some press coverage."
Update! Basketbawful reader Baguete said: "Its also important to say that the game wasnt played at Auburn Hills, due some Disney On Ice event. The game was played at Eastern Michigan University instead." He's not kidding. But hey, Ypsilanti -- where EMU is located -- has been good to the Shock. They won both of their "home" playoff games against New York at EMU's convention center.

Labels: Chicago Sun Times, press coverage, respect, WNBA

After kicking away a six-year deal worth $58 million, Ben Gordon held out for -- drum roll, please! -- a one-year qualifying offer of $6.4 million. For non-mathematologists, that's a net loss of almost $52 million in guaranteed money. But Ben's going all Alfred E. Neuman about the whole thing:

"I don't regret any decisions. I always try to make the right one. I have my own set of reasons why I make decisions that may be different than anyone else's. After looking at how everything went down, I definitely made the right decision."

Boy, I'd hate to see what happens when Ben makes the wrong decision. The supposed upshot of the one-year deal is that Ben will be an unrestricted free agent again next summer, when, apparently, he and his agent believe teams will suddenly be keen on handing over a max contract to an undersized shooting guard who can't handle the ball, create plays for his teammates, or defend anybody at his position. This will be right after gold nuggets start falling from the sky and just before Al-Qaeda starts handing out real kittens instead of kitten-shaped bombs.

Labels: Ben Gordon, Chicago Bulls, contract negotiations, failure

Where white men are forced to jump in captivity...
An inch! I gained an inch! I know what you're thinking, but the answer is: No. This post is not an endorsement for the Swedish-made penis enlarger pump, nor for the book "Swedish-made Penis Enlarger Pumps And Me: (This Sort Of Thing Is My Bag, Baby!)."

I am now exactly one month into the White Man Jump Challenge -- which officially concludes the Beginner Phase -- and my vertical leap has increased by a full inch. Or 2.54 centimetres. Or about 0.08333 feet. Or approximately 0.02778 yards. And sure, an inch might not sound like a big honking deal to you, but don't tell that to this guy.

The point is, it's progress, and "minor, almost imperceptible progress" is certainly better than "no progress at all." It's proof that the Strength Shoe training system can do something. I'm still not a believer; not by a long shot. I probably could have made the same modest gain by doing the same exercises without wearing paddleboards on my feet. But I wore them, and I'm now jumping higher than I did before. There's no denying that.

I actually discovered this while measuring my vertical on Wednesday night before heading to my pickup league. Silly as this may sound, I actually felt a little more confident going into the games. I mean, rationally speaking, I know that a one-inch improvement doesn't make that much of a difference, but I was jumping harder and with more determination. I was crashing the boards with greater resolve. At one point, the ball got stuck between the rim and the backboard, and I was the first to jump for it. FAIL. Instead, some 18-year-old jumping jack had to bring the ball down. No matter. Give me another month. I begin the Intermediate Phase on Saturday.

A quick note on recovery: Chris, the issuer of this challenge, e-mailed to warn me of the painful aftereffects of using the Strength Shoes. He explained that his legs were almost useless the day after his first training session, and that he briefly considered amputating them and fitting the stumps wtih bionic implants. (Okay, I made up the second half of that sentence. As far as you know.) Fortunately, I had read about the Strength Shoe hangover, and I was ready. So in addition to the proscribed stretches, my post-Strength Shoe workout recovery period also includes icing my calves, 15-20 minutes in a Whirlpool tub, and 10-20 minutes of vigorous therapy from an electric handheld massager. I skipped recovery once and my legs felt like they were trying to contract to 1/5th their normal size the next morning. I didn't skip again.

Videotastic extra: Did you know that the Strength Shoes were featured on an episode of Seinfeld? Well, now you do.

Labels: plyometrics, the incredible one-inch vertical gain, White Man Jump Challenge

Important reminder! Check out my season preview for the Boston Celtics on Deadspin.

Labels: Boston Celtics, mucho crazy, NBA season preview, The Tao of Ron Artest

Appetizing, right?
My 30 Previews In 30 Days feature began today on Deadspin. First up: Atlanta's Air Force! Check in every day for a new preview and fabulous cash prizes! (Note: 50 percent of the last sentence was a damn lie.) Each team will be covered in alphabetical order, and every post will be filled with useful information as well as fun facts and historical trivia. Remember: Tips aren't required, but they are appreciated.

Labels: 30 previews in 30 days, Deadspin, NBA season preview, vampires

This image was found doing a Google search for "martyr." Seriously.
Pickup Martyr (pik'-up mart'-uhr) noun. Refers to those pickup basketball players who refuse to call fouls committed against them -- ostensibly because they're too tough or principled to do so -- but nonetheless never fail to communicate (either verbally or non-verbally) that the foul occurred...sometimes (or even often) quite loudly. These players might also labor fruitlessly on terrible teams without suggesting roster changes. And, of course, they won't miss an opportunity to inform various members of the opposite team that their squad sucks.

Usage example: That one guy never calls a foul, but he always lets you know he's not calling it. He's a regular Pickup Martyr.

Word history: I thought up this term right after finishing the Pickup Judas post. If you're a baller, chances are you've played with and/or against a Pickup Martyr. Some examples of Pickup Martyrdom include:

1. Someone fouls the PM in an obvious way. Play slows noticably while everybody watches the PM to see whether he's going to call it. The PM then makes eye contact with one or more people, sighs heavily (to openly acknowledge that he was indeed fouled), shakes his head (to indicate he's "better" than to make the call), and trudges despondently downcourt to play defense.

2. Someone fouls the PM in a slightly less obvious way. Play continues while the PM groans, sighs, laughs in mock disgust, or maybe taps his arm or wrist to indicate he was hit. This behavior continues until at least one other players notices and tells the PM to call the foul. The PM will respond by shaking his head and/or saying something like "Nah, forget it" in a highly dignified manner.

3. Someone fouls the PM in either an obvious or not-to-obvious way. The PM will stop and stand stock-still for a moment, which in many pickup leagues is the same as calling the foul out loud. Play stops and one or more players will ask the PM if he wants the call. The PM will then say something like "Forget it" or "No, it was clean" even though everybody pretty much knows it wasn't clean. On some rare occasions, the opposing players will insist on giving the PM the call no matter how strongly he resists accepting it.

The goal of Pickup Martyrdom seems to be twofold. First, the PM is trying to establish a sort of moral superiority among the players who are present. This often provides the PM with a sense of pride and personal satisfaction that he can use to feel victorious regardless of whether his team wins or loses. Second, the PM is often trying to passive-aggressively modify the behavior of the other players. Some heartless pickup ballers won't care how much the PM suffers, but many players develop a heightened sensitivity to the PM, so that they will either try their best to never foul him or insist on repeatedly calling fouls for him...even in situations when they might otherwise not be called (such as with ticky-tac fouls and embarrassment calls).

The downside of having a PM on your team is that the fouls he doesn't call could very well end up costing your team a close game, especially if the PM is relatively talented. This has often happened with my buddy Mister P, who never, ever, ever calls it when he gets hit driving to the basket. This drives me absolutely batty. Fortunately, Mister P usually spots up at the three-point line in lieu of taking it to the hoop.

Update! Some followup thoughts from Basketbawful reader Drake: "I was a little skeptical about your definition of the PM at first, but your explanation makes sense. Being a martyr isn't about dying silently for your cause; it's about making as much noise as possible while dying for your cause. For some PMs, the 'dying for his cause' part means he won't call fouls because he feels he's ruining the integrity of pickup ball like that (or something), but he will bitch and moan as much as possible about it so other will know what happened. But your definition seems a little narrow. It defines the PM as a passive-aggressive asshole who keeps muttering under his breath. But what about those loudmouths who go all out and keep yapping off about everything, except they don't actually explicitly call foul?"

Solid point. Some PMs do indeed make a spectacular and flamboyant show of thier martyrdom, yelling, sreaming or cackling about this or that call they didn't make but totally should have. Some of them even use this as an excuse to retaliate with similar fouls, which they will complain about if called. So I suppose you could say there are two types of PMs: The silent, stoic kind and the loud, obnoxious kind.

Labels: martyrdom, pickup basketball, Word of the Day