Body of Christ

Leave it to Amar'e to steal the shine from an absolutely seismic-shifting dunk with a nod and a shrug. Rightfully so, though. Blake Griffin's dunk was a thing of beauty, but there's more where that came from. But Stoudemire's look of recognition moments later? That's why we watch.



Any recognition of one star's excellence by another is worthy of reflecting upon (that picture of Iverson/Marbuy/Jordan embracing in the tunnel post All-Star game is itself a labyrinth), but when the nod comes from a curiosity in tenuous standing like A'mare, then shit gets real.

More than anything, I think this exchange exhibits Amar'e the aesthete. For some reason, most likely his flakiness on the defensive side, this is a guy whose grasp of the game and what makes it beautiful is criminally underrated. Dilettantes don't flourish under weirdos like D'Antoni and consistently reach moments of pick 'n' roll transcendence. The emerging meme here seems to be "Amar'e sees his past in the future, laughs at his own futility in the face of progress." Yeah, great, but then like Amar'e is only 28 years old and, lord willing, is still defining his own archetype.

Consider this:



"My Game is Made Outside." Nike's finest and perhaps most overlooked campaign. In addition to Stoudemire, such noted craftsmen as Paul Pierce and Jason Kidd were featured. (LeBron too, but that's another sack of gray matter). In addition to musing on the confining nature of positionality, Amar'e also recounts his first dunk, which occurred in an empty YMCA in Winter Haven, Florida. According to the ad, it wasn't until almost a week later that the 11-year-old Amar'e was able to recreate the feat for his friends on the outdoor courts. He also mentions "soul" several times in the commercial, but rather than invoking the rote "I play with soul" cliche, Amar'e instead sounds like he is commenting on the healing powers of sport on his soul. Rather than some jingoistic notion of "soul" dictating game, Amar'e's soul's thriving seems to be dependent on his game. Nourished by it. How does the "My Game" commercial inform "the nod?" It's really as simple as one disciple of the dunk sharing communion with another. S.T.A.T. may have flirted with Judaism since arriving in the Big Apple, but a Black Jesus tat is forever. Amen.

God Talk

Jubilation.

I started writing a post about Scola and Delfino, context and superstardom, but I scrapped it when I realized that it sounded more like FIBA tourism than it did an actual glorification of two players I consider pretty special. So, instead, I give you some of my favorite lines from the call of today’s Brazil/Argentina match, a true classic.




“How can they leave Louis Scola FREE!?”

“This thing is heating up, BIG STYLE!!”

“EL CLASSICO!!”

“This is why the superstars come to play in the FIBA World Championships, and they don’t come any bigger than Louis Scola!”

Said in the Voice of Bear Grylls. “That’s why basketball is described as a game of chess, with chess pieces that have minds of their own.”

“That’s right, do the cross.” (In reference to a Brazilian fan crossing herself during the critical final moments of the game during which Scola attained enlightenment.)

Like a Figure Eight, On Its Side.

The post "The Decision" water balloon fight seems to be just about wrapping up. Lebron made his choice, Cav's Owner Dan Gilbert stirred up the blood of a weeping city with his #ComicSans diatribe, and NBA boss David Stern levied a $100,00 fine that showed how little these people's lives should really have anything to do with ours.

I listened to a radio interview with Woody Allen two years ago that was done shortly after one of his under the radar European flicks was released. The earnest and genuinely curious interviewer asked Woody what he had managed to learn in his 50 plus years of writing, directing and starring in films. His response? An equally earnest and emphatic "nothing." In fact, he seemed personally offended by the notion that human beings were capable of acquiring new information about themselves or others during their time on Earth.

I'm not quite so cynical, but If someone were to ask me what I know about Lebron that I didn't before The Decision, my answer would be the same as the one given by Woody Allen in that interview. Despite all the digital and actual ink that's been spilled over the last 5 days about what happened on Thursday night, I cannot imagine a less enlightening event. Adrian Wojnarowski seems genuinely conflicted concerning poor Lebron's lack of agency and how his entourage might bankrupt him of his soul and treasure. Jesse Jackson, meanwhile, asserts that Lebron was merely emancipating himself by fleeing to Miami from Gilbert's plantation. Everyone from devout fans of the NBA to those who have never even seen Lebron play a second of basketball are carving out positions on what has become the biggest moment in sports and morality since Kobe Bryant and the accusations of rape at Eagle, Colorado, or even O.J.

But nothing happened! Or, at the very least, nothing that hasn't played out on countless prior occasions. It was only louder this time.

Let's summarize the list of charges against Lebron James.

1: First Degree Vanity (To wit, Conspiring with a Major Media Cooperation to Dissemenate Personal Information)

2: Conspiring to Commit an Act of Terrorism (Conspiring with co-defendants Wade and Bosh to Launch Invasion and Occupation of The League)

3: Disseminating Pornography (The Decision was Public Masturbation)

4: Breach of Contract (Failing to Provide Employer two Weeks Notice Before Quitting)

5: Treason

I'm not above the fascination. I watched it, intently, because as a fan of the NBA this summer has been a running story line in my life since at least the fall of 2007. Also, the game itself and how its played invites curiosity about the players. There are things we think we learn about athlete's by watching them play, and it's natural to want to test that supposed knowledge against reality. For me, Lebron has always been an enigma, and he remains so after Thursday night. It's hard to figure out a player whose physical tools also supersede the the need for investing one's self in the game. What can we learn about the decisions made by a man whose options on the court are, in fact, limitless. Calculating Infinity anyone? I felt the same way about "The Decision." ESPN, as a faux newsgathering enterprise, is pure commerce. Considering that Lebron's facility as a generator of revenue is as boundless as his basketball ability, it shouldn't be so surprising that the two entities were so eager to jump in bed and start awkwardly groping each other's shameful parts.



Lebron was simply walking the path of least resistance. For a human who is literally impossible to deter on a basketball court, what else could we have expected? Lots of athletes have displayed vanity, obliviousness to the actual concerns of their fanbase and a lack of respect for common professional courtesies. As far as owners acting provincial, needy and sincerely clueless? It's a part of the job description. Thursday, at least very least, just affirmed the very few things I think I know about NBA players and the people who pay them.

One of the most priceless pieces of information I gathered from Bill Russell's Second Wind, a jock biography that has pleasantly everything and nothing to do with basketball, is the saddening, but unavoidable truth that the NBA is solely the domain of NBA players. We may buy tickets and merchandise and invest hours and emotions into the game, but its not ours, and we're owed nothing. The players do amazing and revealing things on the court, and though we're not lucky enough to partake in it, I consider it a small blessing that such a game was invented that so perfectly displays the talents of the world's best athletes. I'm also a firm believer that the "who" behind NBA players provides the "what" we see in their games, but the translation is not seamless nor is it subject to moralizing. Sometimes, despite insurmountable odds, great players shake out the be reasonable, dare, likable humans. That could very well be accident, though. And the fact that the man who could establish himself as the game's greatest has shown himself to be kind of a dick. Well, that's not a lesson.

Party's Over, Now You're a Man.

I caught the last quarter of the Suns/Spurs game. Observations.

Jason Richardson is at his most vital since his says as a "We Believe" Warrior. The brotherhood between "those Suns" and "those Warriors" and Richardson as a lost Ronin finding purpose with the more mature, but still philsophically dangerous "New Suns" is an under reported story line. Probalby because it makes no fucking sense.

The pick and roll is being held in its highest regard by commentators since the 2008 playoffs, when the very Suns who dominated because of that play tonight were being dismissed/scorned/chastised for their inability to defend it against the Spurs. (Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it the "D'Antoni can't figure out the Pick n' Roll" meme that finally drove him out of Phoenix?) Nevertheless, feels like the good old days. [Last year's post-Olympic homogenization nearly ruined basketball for me.]



A'Mare occupies a lonely territory in this league. He's no longer a cult favorite, and still too peculiar to be embraced as a"face of the new league" superstar, despite the fact that he's still so young. BUT. When healthy and motivated by moments, he's one of the most insidiously dominant players in basketball. Whereas LeBron is a conspicuous force of nature, A'Mare's 30/10 is less nature's agent than it is nature its very self. LIKE. It's sort of like the difference between being eaten alive by a shark and getting drowned by the rising tide. Both'll get you dead, but at least you can throw a few feckless punches at Jaws. Maybe we've all slept on STAT (can we bring that back) because he hasn't played healhty and important basketball in nearly two years. Before that, there was the Shaq debacle, and before that, there was the suspension that undid it all.



When you think about it, A'Mare's just getting back to where he belongs, right about the top of the list of the league's best power forwards. Pau Gasol, have you been formally introduced?

The images of Al Sharpton leading a group of protesters toward the US Airways Center were thrilling. Politics aside, the cohesion between Team/City/Sport/Activism/Unity at the very least made it seem, for a moment, that Phoenix was again where it belonged. At the center of the Basketball Universe.

May I Be Practical for a Moment

I'm tweaking on coffee and raspberry jelly. Thus, it makes sense that I've just written the least seemingly drug induced post in this here blarg's short history. Without further ado, Nate Robison is a Celtic, ie, it's only the end of everything.

This afternoon the Celtic’s traded Eddie House, renowned for his role as ‘The Dad’ on Jalen House’s “My Dad’s an NBA Star” for the world’s Sprite drinking champion, Nathan Robinson.

While not as desperate an acquisition as those that defined the Celtic’s doomed 2009 campaign, which saw them for the first time flirt with a disgruntled Knick point guard, Stephon Marbury, and for some ungodly reason place some hopes in a really bad basketball player and first-name-speller in Mikki More.

Those unwilling to face up the reality of the hopelessness of the Celtic’s situation are probably psyched about the acquisition of Nate Robinson.

They’ll point out that his athletic gifts suggest he can be molded into a strong defender in Tom Thibodeau’s scheme and will be able to create his own shot and get to the cup, unlike House, whose lack of ball handling ability and offensive creativity relegate him to the role of spot up shooter.

They’ll say the mere presence of the Hall of Fame bound veteran’s on the Celtics will turn Robinson into an upstanding NBA citizen and that he’ll become a conventional backup point guard if that’s what Doc River’s team-first philosophy requires.

All those things might actually be true. Nate Robinson is obviously a more well rounded player than House, and players coming from New York are often unfairly portrayed as cancers in the press if they are unwilling to buy into Mike D’Antoni and Donnie Walsh’s long range plan, which for two years has prioritized clearing cap space for the summer of 2010 over putting the best players on the court every night.

The Celtics eked by the reeling Sacramento Kings on Tuesday evening only because their untested rookies couldn’t shoot free throws in the last two minutes of play.

Does anyone think Nate Robinson is the difference between barely beating the Kings in February and outlasting the Cavaliers, Magic or Hawks in a seven game series in May?

This is not my attempt to bash Celtics General Manager Danny Ainge for making a bad trade. By almost any metric Nate Robison has more value than Eddie House.

This is not a bad trade, but it is a telling one.

Championship bound teams don’t need players like Nate Robinson coming off their bench. Their starters should be more effective and consistent versions of Nate Robison.

If you’re looking for a spark and an offensive force this late into what should be a championship run, you’re chances of hoisting the Larry Brown trophy in June are probably really slim.

Your starting lineup should already be busting with sparkly, offensive forces and your bench should be lined with incomplete but proficient workmen who can effectively nom minutes, hit corner threes, and potentially swing games by winning possessions.

That’s all that the Celtics needed from players like Eddie House, James Posey, Leon Powe and PJ Brown in 2008.

Think about the plays that defined each those now departed players’ eras in Boston. There was House diving out of bounds for a loose ball in that epic second round series against the Cavs. There was Brown hitting that one handed set shot in the same series, James Posey stripping the ball from Tayshaun Prince against the Pistons (the same play that prompted C’s radio play by play man Cedric Maxwell to implore Paul Pierce to “WATCH OUT BEHIND YOU!!”), and of courses, Leon Powe’s insatiable devouring of souls, hearts, babies and rebounds.

Can Nate Robinson do those kinds of things? Probably so. He’s a talented NBA player, motivated by a chance to sniff the playoffs and his coming free agency. In fact, I bet he can do all those things and more. The problem is, that “and more” is exactly what the Celtic’s are expecting. But unless that “and more” includes the ability to roll back the odometer on Paul Pierce’s ankle, Kevin Garnett’s knees and Ray Allen’s back, then this chair amounts to little more than rearranging deck chairs on the SS Umbuntu.

League Pass All Stars: Western Conference

I don't know how you like to spend your weekend evenings, but for me, it's all about hunkerin' down and catching up on all the wild and crazy League Pass action that the fatigue of the work week doesn't allow me to properly enjoy. Pardon the straight-forward nature of this post, but here's a list of the my favorite players to watch, by position, while other dudes my age are courtin' ladies and shouting over bar bands.

SG: Eric Gordon - I love watching tweener guards figuring out just how the hell they're going to survive in the NBA. It usually means they'll score (and fail to score) experimentally every night and put up monstrous performances in the process.

PG: Russell Westbrook - Westbrook is infected with a similar strain of meanness as Rajon Rondo (perhaps a side effect of having arms twice the length of your legs). However, he appears the master of his vitriol, whereas Rajon at times seems mastered by his. Westbrook approaches every action like he was taking off from the foul line in the slam dunk contest.

SF: Kevin Durant - Unlike superstars in their salad days, the networks have yet to shine on Durant. As a result, watching him score 47 on a Tuesday night will make you one of "those guys" who did something cool before it was cool to do. More than that, he's the redemption of every 6'10 guy with handles that was supposed to take over for KG. He's more like George Gervin, though.

PF: Jason Thompson - Is LaMarcus Aldridge established enough to be touchstone in this League yet? I don't know what it is about Thompson's game that forces me to cancel plans at the last minute so I can stay in and watch him on a choppy League Pass feed. He's a big man that can run the floor and hit a mid-range jump shot, but without all the "here's what's next" trappings.

C: Marc Gasol - Not ashamed to say I love a big man with a soft touch. He's so weirdly unlike his brother that just watching him will send your mind all kinds of weird tangents about what their pickup games must have been like.

6: Jared Dudley - This man will make you feel good about life. Everything Chris Dudley does is the right thing to do. Sometimes, at work, I like to imagine that I am Chris Dudley, and broadcasters are praising me for being the best Chris Dudley I can be. Also proof that players are instantly legitimized once they give up their cornrows for a smooth mini-fro.

All Things

If you haven't caught it, do check out the early Iverson retrospective on the Leauge's website. It got me to thinking about his narrative - and how wrong we may have gotten it.

From a purely aesthetic standpoint, I'd forgotten how athletic the young Iverson was. Later in his career he was associated almost purely with doggedness. meanness. Iverson is(was) the post-Jordan era's infantryman, amassing points through force of will - almost as though it were a spiritual endeavor. But look back - look at the elevation on those dunks or the acceleration as he crashed through the paint to send home a missed free-throw. Even the jaundiced and embittered Iverson was once a youth propelled by his now forgotten athletic gifts, pure enthusiasm and resltess potential. Sometime the days before it all starts making sense are most well-reasoned of all.





Can young Iverson teach us anything about Brandon Jennings? Reflecting on both Jennings' Saturday performance where he dropped 55 on Golden State and the early Iverson footage, I was struck by how much the young man's performance was more evocative of old Iverson's game. Jennings accelerated and lept in ways that Iverson no longer could once he passed his prime. He played "within the offense" in way that Iverson could only consider an indignity. However, the array of shots mid-range to deep jumpers and sprawling lay-ups (not dunks) reminded me of what A.I. became once he shed his exuberance and set out on his journey of vindication all while bearing the hopes and dreams of a generation and burdened with the shame of having ruined the sport.

Does this portend well for Jennings? Having early on established a reputation as a savvy gunner who can still facilitate for others, will Jennings earn a place in the public's better graces that Iverson is forever denied? Jennings is all culimation and fulfillment while Iverson was petulence, arrogance and rebellion?

Regardless - I think what I may have learned this weekend is how much the early days matter. A.I.'s transformation from potent supernova to ruthless survivor informs what we feel about who he is and what he does now, even if we have forgotten what came first. I don't know what we will be saying about Brandon Jennings 15 years from now - but I'm sure what happened on Saturday will in some way steer the conversation, whether we realize it or not.