A Conversation

I had this exchange with a coworker today at work, and felt like it should be shared, partially because every single part of it actually happened, and partially because I'm still so angry from it, I find my hands still shaking a little bit.

Coworker: How late do you work today?

Me: Seven. I'm going home to watch the Bulls/Heat!

Coworker: Go Bulls!

Me (knowing she doesn't really watch basketball much): Oh, you are a Bulls' fan? Who is their best player?

Coworker: Michael Jordan.

Me (slightly taken aback): Really? I mean...you realize he retired and left the Bulls for good in 1998, right?

Coworker: Well, whatever. I haven't watched a Bulls game since he left.

Me (quite taken aback): Really? You can't really call yourself Bulls' fan then, can you? I mean...even bandwagon fans like the Bulls this year. They have the MVP, for crying out loud. Derrick Rose? Ring any bells?

Coworker: Nope. Never heard of him.

Me: (Stunned silence)

Coworker: Basketball sucks anyway.

Me: (mostly joking) Whoaaa whoa whoa. Them's fighting words.

Coworker: It does! It's stupid, it's just a bunch of black guys bouncing a ball up and down the court.

Me: (Even more stunned silence)

Coworker: NASCAR, now THAT'S a real sport.

Me: (Spluttering incoherently) Wha...serious...but...

Coworker: Do you know how hard it is to sit in a car for 4 hours going 200 miles an hour?

Me: (finding my voice) Yeah, I go on vacation every year, and I spend upwards of 13 hours in a row in a car. It's uncomfortable, but it doesn't make NASCAR a sport...you don't even need to be in shape for it!

Coworker: Yes you do! I bet they are in better shape than most of those lazy black NBA players.

Me: (Stunned silence for several seconds) Have you ever seen Dwight Howard? Or any other NBA player?

Coworker: Mike Martin can benchpress 225!

Me: DWIGHT HOWARD BENCHPRESSES 330 FOR REPS!

Coworker: (Pauses) Do you stalk these guys or something?

Me: Do you stalk Mike Martin?

Coworker: (Ignoring this) Well, Dwight Howard is like twice the size of Mike Martin, I bet.

Me: Um. Yes. Because he's in much better shape than Mike Martin. Like every single other player in the NBA, with the possible exception of Glen Davis.

Coworker: Who?

Me: Fuck this.

Aaaaand scene! Seriously, can we just take every NASCAR race, track and driver and stick them all in one state? That way, every crappy NASCAR fan would migrate there, and stop infiltrating intelligent conversations. Would anybody actually be against this?

***A note: I'm not actually against NASCAR fans. I'm against ignorant, racist, redneck NASCAR fans. If you enjoy NASCAR and don't fit into that category, we are cool. But you should really go out and convince all your fellow fans to jump off a cliff.

Bitterness

So. Congratulations LeBron. You did it. You finally beat the Celtics.

You must feel so proud, so accomplished, as you kneel there at center court, head bowed into a closed fist. It must feel fantastic to have finally climbed that mountain, to have finally pushed yourself past Boston and into the next round.

Never mind the fact that most of the nation outside of Florida is rooting against you. Never mind the fact that you so thoroughly burned your bridges with your hometown that your return had the media begging against fans performing acts of violence. It was all made worth it in front of a full house of white t-shirt wearing bandwagon fans who probably can't pronounce Zydrunas Ilgauskas' name.

Obviously, it in no way cheapens your accomplishments that you teamed up with two other All Stars. Especially considering that one of those All Stars thoroughly outplayed you in this deciding game. And of course, it in no way cheapens your accomplishment that your All Star teammate managed to injure the Celtics star point guard in such a gruesome, clearly intentional way. And in no way does that make him a dirty player. It doesn't cheapen the win in game 5 that Miami had 18 more free throws than Boston, even though Boston was attacking the basket just as much as Miami. In no way does this make LeBron's legacy less impressive, having to team up with Wade and Bosh to finally take down his nemesis.

Oh wait. Yes it fucking does.

Congratulations, LeBron. I hope this feels amazing.

For Those of You Wondering...An Update

I recently started writing for a cool Timberwolves' blog, called Howlin' T-Wolf. It's going to be taking up a lot of my writing time, so if my Gym Rat Rants come a little fewer and further between, you will know why.

On the other hand, a man as pathologically obsessed with basketball as I am can't write SOLELY about one team, so I'll try to post on here as much as possible still.

Consider yourself updated!

Winning Ugly: On Memphis/San Antonio

Now it's a mighty long way down the dusty trail
And the sun burns hot on the cold steel rails
And I look like a bum, and I crawl like a snail
All the way from Memphis


-"All the Way From Memphis" by Mott the Hoople

At some point, the commentary about the Memphis/San Antonio series is going to become repetitive and extremely polarizing. That will be a damn shame. So before everyone splits up into pro and anti Grizzly camps, let's just take a second and process what we just witnessed.

I refuse to apologize for being generic...pictures of grizzlies are too cool to not post if you are given the opportunity.

Before we really get into things here, it would be a discredit not to mention the Spurs' sportsmanship after the game; a gesture that I realize feels patronizing, though nothing could be further from my intent. San Antonio, who for years have been one of the classiest, most respectable teams in the league, realized how young Memphis is and how much closing out this series in front of their home fans meant for them as a franchise. So instead of storming off the court in a huff without shaking hands, they all went over to tell the Grizzlies they had done well, and to wish them luck in the next round. Ginobili was forced to endure a short homily from Tony Allen, which, when he related it back to Doris Burke later, was revealed to have been equal parts homage to Manu and inane crazy person babble (to the surprise of absolutely no one who knows anything about Tony Allen). Greg Popovich was quick to compliment Lionel Hollins in his postgame press conference. Everything about San Antonio last night was saturated in class, which is why the media's treatment of them over the next few days is going to be insufferable.

There will be an abundance of people discussing the end of the Spurs dynasty, which is ridiculous; the Spurs dynasty ended in 2008 when Pau Gasol was traded to Los Angeles from (ironically) Memphis. Whoever gets to be the first person discussing the game on Around the Horn will gain 5 or 6 points from Tony Reali when they make the 3,000th "Grizzlies beat the grizzled vets" joke of the day on ESPN. It's all so damn predictable these days.

I'm old.

But instead of following the stream of negativity, let's instead spend some time dedicating Zach Randolph his due, and discuss one of the strangest feel-good stories in NBA history.

I'm not sure how many casual NBA fans remember this, but Randolph was a member of the infamous Jail Blazers, one of the most reviled groups of players in NBA history, and with good reason. Each member of that particular Portland team (which included headcases like Bonzi Wells, Rasheed Wallace, Damon Stoudemire, and probably the worst of the bunch, Ruben Patterson) was arrested multiple times, mostly for marijuana-related offenses, with a couple of sexual assault cases sprinkled in for good measure. Even when he came to Memphis, Randolph was rumored to be running a dope dealing ring within the city.

Now, I say this not to taint what he has done, but rather to point out how far he has risen.

Randolph has turned himself around, won over an entire city (who, it should be noted, were one of the best crowds of the playoffs so far last night), and is currently achieving his highest potential as a basketball player. His back to the basket talents are pure gold. He has 5 or 6 gorgeous post moves, and a beautiful set shot when he's open anywhere from 10-18 feet. He has great hands, and he's very smart when he's rebounding the basketball. Similar to Kevin Love of the Timberwolves, he doesn't leap over everyone else to pull down the ball, but instead boxes out correctly, and seems to have Super Glue on his hands at all times.

Also, can we put this myth to death? Zach Lowe of The Point Forward blog correctly pointed out last night that Z-Bo takes a curious amount of flack for being un-athletic, despite the fact that strength, footwork, and endurance are all part of being athletic. Apparently NBA writers don't consider you an athletic player unless you are built like Amar'e and you jump like a kangaroo.

And since this is the debate all the popular kids want to talk about this postseason, the record should note that Randolph is the very definition of clutch. The Grizzlies in Game 6 were fumbling. They couldn't get their offense rolling, nobody was getting to the basket, and the Spurs were looking as they though might get an opportunity to close out Memphis in Game 7 at home, in a game where they would have all the confidence, momentum, and home court advantages that the best regular season record in the Western Conference could buy.

Randolph was having none of it. Dropping 17 points in the 4th quarter alone, en route to a 31 point close-out game, he was THE offensive option for Memphis. In Lionel Hollins final timeouts, apparently his instructions were "Mike, you bring the ball up the floor. Zach, you get to your favorite spot. Mike, you get Zach the ball. Everyone else, clear the hell out of the way." And the craziest thing? It worked. Not because of any kind of expert planning or execution, but because Zach Randolph was far and away the best player on the floor, and he was not about to be denied.

One could count on two hands the players in the NBA who, when playing at their best and most determined, are truly unstoppable. Durant. Dirk. Manu. LeBron. A few others...and Zach Randolph.

Yeah. He has arrived there. The Spurs couldn't contain him with Duncan, one of the most fundamental defenders of all time at the 4. They couldn't contain him with double teams. Late in the game, with the shot clock running down, Randolph actually managed to split a TRIPLE team, bull his way ungainly to the middle of the paint, and sink a floating, left-handed dagger to put the Grizz up by 9.

Everything about Randolph's game is a bit ungainly, which fits the Grizzlies perfectly. They are not a pretty team; at least, not in the way that Rose makes Chicago a pretty team, which seems to be the golden standard for beautiful basketball these days. The word "finesse" hasn't been uttered within 100 miles of Memphis, Tennessee when it comes to basketball in several years. But if your definition of beautiful basketball includes old school post-moves, a team full of role players doing their job, athletic, harassing defenders, and one superstar entering his own, then the Grizzlies must-see TV, and it's a shame that either the Grizz or their next round opponent, the Thunder, have to lose in the next round, because watching both teams this season has been a pleasure, if for very differing reasons.

But Round 2 doesn't start until Sunday. And until then, I'm going to sit back and enjoy everything I just saw.

Kevin Durant: Slayer of Everything

Earlier this season, I saw Kevin Durant in person for the first time and watched him light up a badly overmatched Minnesota team for 47 points. No surprises there, right? The thing was, throughout most of the game, Durant was guarded by then-Timberwolves' forward Corey Brewer, an excellent long, athletic one-on-one defender. Durant was unaffected. He scored at will. As he fired away, and it seemed that every jumper that left his hands was destined to find the bottom of the net, I remember thinking to myself "Durant could conceivably become the single most unstoppable player in the NBA sometime in the next few years."

Despite the fact that I recently wrote an article that ridiculed sports writers who are so prone to hyperbole in their analysis, I feel as though I just witnessed a turning point. That time might be now. Playoff Durant is here, and he just made damn sure the Thunder moved on. 

(A quick tangent: tonight we nearly saw the utter demise of one of the most decorated dynasties in the NBA, the Tim Duncan era Spurs, at the hands of the 8th seeded Grizzlies, only to see rookie guard Gary Neal save their season and championship hopes at the buzzer with a long three to send the game into overtime. Despite all this drama, the Spurs/Grizzlies game was the second most fascinating game of the night. Is there anything in the world better than the NBA playoffs? Aside from Starburst jellybeans...? No. No there really isn't.)

I am squirming as I write this down.

On some nights, players are described as having scored a "quiet" 20 points. This usually means they hit some shots and contributed sufficiently to the game, but essentially just added points to the final box score; points that were necessary to get the win, but that didn't change the course of the contest.

This is the complete antithesis of what just occurred in Oklahoma City.

Yeah. Don't act like you didn't hear him.

Kevin Durant's 41 points were jet-engine-screaming, 11-year-old-girls-at-a-Justin-Bieber concert loud. With his team down 9, and the 4th quarter winding past the halfway point, Durant saw the situation was calling for a hero, and he took over.

A long two pointer. A big three. A falling, floating, off balance leaner which he sank as he was fouled on the way down. Another jumper. The closing free throws. And then blocking Aaron Afflalo's three point attempt out of bounds with 9 seconds left.

One thing he made abundantly clear: Durant was NOT about to let this series stretch to a Game 6.

What was so special about tonight's performance wasn't the 41 points, or even the 4th quarter explosion itself. It was seeing Durant demonstrating himself as a wise, mature-beyond-his-years player before our very eyes. He was aware of the stakes: if Denver won tonight, the Nuggets would have an opportunity to play at home in Game 6, and they would be dangerous molotov of confidence and desperation. Oklahoma City's confidence was visibly wavering. They had collapsed in the final seconds of Game 3. They weren't clicking for the first three quarters of Game 4. All the statistics and questions about teams who had never won a playoff series were swirling around their heads and it was starting to get to the young team.

So Durant made like Woody Harrelson.

He nutted up, demonstrating a sense of the Moment, the killer instinct, all the over-used cliches that are so deservedly bestowed upon Kobe Bryant. One has to wonder how much good leading the USA national team to a World Basketball Championship over the summer did for Durant's maturation, because as he took an entire franchise upon his slender, 22 year old shoulders, it felt as natural as breathing. Durant started elevating for jumpshot after unguardable jumpshot, pumping his fist after every basket, and gifting energy and confidence into the young Thunder, who followed his lead on offense, and chipped in an incredible six minute effort on defense, propelling themselves into the second round for the first time since the move to Oklahoma City.

The contrast between Games 3 and 4 is so obvious, it barely deserves mentioning, but I'll do it anyway. If there was any doubt (and there shouldn't have been) who the best player/alpha dog of this team is, consider it settled. When the Thunder need big plays late in the game on offense, Westbrook cannot be allowed to blunder the ball away; the offense needs to be in Durant's hands. Everyone knows he is going up with the shot, and it doesn't matter. He's supremely talented, impossible to guard, and now he has proven himself as winner. Oklahoma City is his team. Westbrook is nothing more than a very talented Robin, but as long as he embraces that role, the Thunder might be the best team in the playoffs.

In 2006, LeBron James had one of the greatest individual playoff performances in NBA history, dropping 48 points including 29 of his team's final 30 to drag the Cavaliers past the Detroit Pistons in Game 5 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Durant's Game 5 doesn't touch LeBron's in terms of pure single-handed dominance, or even in postseason significance, since it was just a first round victory. But if the Thunder can make a push to the Finals, it certainly doesn't seem ridiculous to say that tonight's performance, the first playoff series victory in Durant's career and certainly a defining moment of the postseason so far, was a similar first step.

Welcome to the postseason, Mr. Durant. We've been expecting you.

How Westbrook Made Me Appreciate Rondo...Even More

Some days, I like to take a step back from my daily life and reflect on what I'm thankful for. You know, life, love, family, Starburst Jellybeans, the usual. I'm a fairly normal guy. But on days like today, I'm unspeakably thankful for Rajon Rondo.

Like so many other Celtics' fans, I adopted Oklahoma City as my Western Conference playoff team for two reasons: they now have Perk, and with his acquisition, they look like the toughest matchup out West for the Lakers (or at least, the toughest matchup that isn't 6'1 and wearing the name "Paul" on the back of his jersey). So while watching a very tight Game 4 between the Nuggets and Thunder on Monday night, I was rooting for OKC to come back and win. And, given that the Thunder were down by three, that Kevin Durant is one of the toughest three point shooters to guard in the NBA, and that at that point in the game, he was hotter than a high fever in summer from beyond the arc, I automatically assumed that Durant would be the one shooting for the tie.

I was wrong.

Russell Westbrook got the ball off a miss by Denver, pushed the ball up the court, and slowed to a stop just behind the three point line. He continued dribbling, and seemed to survey his other offensive options rather half-heartedly for a second before stepping into a three pointer. Airball.

Upon witnessing this abomination of human endeavour, the Denver crowd seemed momentarily stunned with relief before exploding into cheers. Viewers at home could practically hear Charles Barkley back in the TNT studio foaming at the mouth at Westbrook's decision making. But Westbrook wasn't done. After Felton clanked a free throw that allowed the Thunder one final heave to send the game into overtime, Westbrook again played antihero-ball, dribbling up the court in a mad dash, and heaving a desperate attempt to draw a foul at the basket. Clang. Ball game.

All the while, I was thinking just one thing: Rondo would not have taken those shots.

Now, Westbrook is a fantastic player. He developed into an All Star this year, and his selection to the squad was well deserved. His bull-in-a-china-shop routine consistently gets him to the free throw line, where he knocks down a very respectable 85%. Combine this with his speed, strength, and freakish aggressiveness, and he has made himself one of the most difficult players to guard in the NBA. 

But in close games, the teams who win consistently are teams whose players know EXACTLY what their role is, and how best to perform that role. A point guard's job throughout the game, but especially in crunch time, is to find the best shot available, whether that's for themselves, or for a teammate; a role with which young stud point guards often struggle. Another good example is Derrick Rose, who has hoisted a shudder-inducing 29 three pointers in four playoff games so far (three more than the greatest three point shooter of all time, Ray Allen...hey, I'm just the messenger), and has made just 5 of them. Derrick, your shot selection...woof.

But Rondo, despite being one of the most confident young players in the league, doesn't take stupid shots. For whatever reason, they really aren't a part of his repertoire. He knows his limits, he knows his strengths, he knows the pieces he has around him, and plays within these parameters as well as (if not better than) anybody else in the NBA. He doesn't think of himself as a three point threat (thank goodness) or as his team's number one scoring option (unless he's being guarded by Tony Douglas). He knows all of the dangerous options the Celtics have on offense, he knows where they need the ball, and he knows when to get it to them. He knows that if he waits a split second, Ray Allen will be coming off a curl, his defender will have just received a bone-jarring pick from Kevin Garnett, and Allen will likely have an open jumpshot. Not just that, he also knows the spot on Ray's body that makes it easiest for him to catch, elevate, and shoot in that perfect, sweet motion. 

But more importantly, at the end of the game, Rondo knows who has the hot hand, and he knows how Doc Rivers' plays are drawn up. Doc's plays out of timeouts almost always have four scoring options and Rondo memorizes them flawlessly. He improvises when necessary, but does so intelligently, which leads to many easy baskets coming out of timeouts for the Celtics. 

Obviously, I'm not under the impression that Rondo is a perfect player; he's far from it. But he might be the perfect point guard for this particular team. We all know his flaws, and, honestly, we've all rehashed them so many times that sometimes I'm afraid we forget to appreciate the beautiful, cerebral brand of basketball that he plays when he is at his best, which he seems to save for the playoffs. So after watching several other young point guards struggle with their roles and identities in Round 1, it seems entirely appropriate that we take a moment and remember to appreciate how lucky we are to have Rondo. 

And while we are at it, we can drool over the fact that he will be facing Mike Bibby's corpse next round. Bring on the Heat!

Tony Allen Has All Your Reckless Quotes

He ain't playing like his arm is hurt. I think that's all for the birds right there. I don't think there's anything wrong with him. Everybody's banged up...I don't go to the media saying what's wrong with me. I don't go to my P.R. guy and say "put this out". I just fight through.

-Tony Allen

Tony. Buddy. I love the attitude, I love the swagger. I love the chip on your shoulder. It's what has made you such an entertaining player this season, and it's one of the things that makes your Grizzlies such a likable team.

*Smack!* BUT WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!

The Grizzlies have put themselves in a great situation, up 2-1 over the Spurs, the top seed out West. San Antonio has looked old and undersized against a young, hungry Grizzlies team. Now, Celtics fans from last year can attest to the fact that Tony Allen is, to say the least, a strange young man. But this particular quote is playing with a very dangerous fire.

If there's anything we know about playoff basketball these past couple years, it's that the vets don't go down easily, and sometimes all they need is a little motivation. Last year, the Celtics were being counted out before Quentin Richardson through an elbow at Garnett and both teams got into each other's faces on the sideline. Richardson followed up the altercation with a comment to the media calling Pierce and Garnett "actresses" and saying "I don't like them and they know it." 

This situation ended about as well for Q-Rich as throwing a rock at a hornet's nest. Boston went on a chainsaw-like tear, knocked off the Heat in 5, and blew through the Eastern Conference like a tornado through a trailer park before Kendrick Perkin's injury cost the Celtics the title in Game 7.

For the record, I still think Memphis holds the advantage in this series. I think they should be able to win tonight and go back to San Antonio with a commanding 3-1 series lead, especially if the Spurs front line is sporting a hobbled Antonio McDyess from his neck injury. But if San Antonio has been kickstarted, if they come back and win the series, and if Manu Ginobili plays pissed off, destroying everything in his path, this writer for one won't be incredibly surprised. And I'm pretty sure I'll know where to point my finger.