NBA Talking Points: Where The Little Guys Get Some Love

It’s been a busy week in the NBA world… Lebron kicked things off last friday by breaking his own record for “most trasparent PR-stunt” in NBA history, Ty Lawson proved that pitbulls can jump, Brandon Jennings dropped 55 on the hapless Warriors, the hapless Warriors then shipped Stephen Jackson to Charlotte, Pau Gasol showed off his acting chops, and Allen Iverson might go to the Knicks? Oh, and look… Atlanta!

Anyway, there’s a lot to get to, so we’ll skip the prelude. Like last week, you can click any of the links above to jump to a story, or simply read it as chronologically. Or you could not read it at all, and check out this website, because, “Have u ever noticed that arms are just arms..like if there not in pockets or doin something..they’re just there to dangle.”

It’s either a cosmic event, one big coincidence, or an inevitable consequence of the current NBA rules, but have you SEEN some of the guards that are playing these days?

That’s Earl Boykins for the Wizards and Will Bynum of the Pistons, and they typify this mini-revolution. You’ll note, both players are at eye level with Brendan Haywood’s waistband. Maybe it’s just because I’ve had the pleasure of watching Boykins in person, but doesn’t it seem like these little guards are becoming more and more effective in today’s NBA? Boykins provides a jolt of energy every time he steps on the court, and whatever he concedes on defense, he makes up for with energy and bounce on the other end. Same with Bynum.

While Rodney Stuckey continues to struggle taking up the mantle vacated by Chauncey Billups, the Pistons have looked to Bynum, their 5’10 firecracker, as the improbable catalyst for their offense. Detroit’s not a “good” team, of course, and let’s be honest: neither are the Wizards. But the fact remains, both Boykins and Bynum are playing key roles on NBA teams, and they’re fun as hell from a fan’s perspective. And Bynum, at least, looks like he could be a factor for years to come. It’s part of a trend in the league. Who are some other “super cute miniature standouts”? Let’s see:

Ty Lawson. Listed Height? 5’11. Actual? 5’10, but he’s coming at your neck and he will f’ing dunk on you, so fall back. Lawson’s been one of the most impressive rookies in the league so far. He goes 100 MPH at all times, he’s strong, and so far he’s been finishing better than he did at Carolina.

Jonny Flynn. Listed height? A laughable 6 feet. Actual? Probably 5’10. He’s averaging 13 ppg and looking mighty promising for David Kahn and the T’Wolves. He’s not the Great White Ricky Rubio, but he’s pretty damn good as a consolation prize.

Jameer Nelson. 5’10, Magic sparkplug, St. Joes. You know the story. But he’s also sort of a pioneer in this category, as he went a long way toward convincing teams that an undersized point guard could still be a starter.

Kyle Lowry. Listed at 6 feet, noted for being 5’10, bullish with the ball, and better than anyone realizes. When the Spurs or Rockets trade for someone, you can safely assume that player is very good. Has Rockets GM Daryl Morey reached that point? Yeah. Have you seen Chase Budinger?

Nate Robinson. Listed at a decently accurate 5’9, but only because his height has become a commodity. He’s also a former football player that might be one of the five toughest players in the league. Napolean Complex, to put it lightly.

Aaron Brooks. He’s not possibly 6 feet. I don’t believe it. Of all the ridiculous embellishments on this list, that one is actually amazing to me. Also notable for being probably the best player on this list, especially given Nelson’s injury issues.

Adorable.

And now seems like a good time to mention that Earl Boykins, the oldest player on this list, can bench press 315 pounds. Pretty remarkable considering, you know, he’s only 139, which is the size of say, a portly fifth grader.

(And while both Allen Iverson and Chris Paul are under 6 feet, they don’t count, because… well because they’re not human. Speaking of which…)

Well, perhaps we jinxed him last week with the Taylor Swift-Rihanna analogies. No man can be that perfect.

And after playing pretty much flawless basketball over the season’s first few weeks, Chris Paul is now out indefinitely with a severe sprain in his ankle. That’s a bad injury, but it’ll be compounded when CP comes back a week early (at least) because that’s just how he gets down. He’s one of the most competitive players in the entire league, and even though his team’s already sorta out of contention and everyone would understand if he just hung out on Bourbon Street till Februrary, he’ll be back sooner than expected, and play the rest of the season on a kinda-bum ankle. It’s just the way he’s built.

Actual facepalm. Oof.

It’s something my friends and I have discussed for a good while now, but given the recent news that he’s broke and being sued by his manager it warrants mentioning that Nicholas Cage has had maybe the greatest acting career in human history. Like, the number of bad movies that in which Cage has starred is INCOMPREHENSIBLE. Beginning with Face Off—a turning point for him, really—Cage has starred in City of Angels, Snake Eyes, 8 MM, Gone In Sixty Seconds (okay, so I enjoyed this one), Captain Corelli’s Mandolin, The Family Man, Windtalkers, Adaptation, National Treasure, National Treasure: Book Of Secrets, The Weather Man, Ghost Rider, and the forthcoming Bad Lieutenant: Port Of New Orleans, where he plays a “drug-andgambling-addled detective in post-Katrina New Orleans investigating the killing of five Senegalese immigrants.”

Ladies and gentleman… Nicholas Cage!

Who’s the NBA’s Nicholas Cage? Probably post-Indiana Ron Artest. He’s clearly insane, his skills have been declining for years, and yet his name still sounds like an All-Star, and nobody will say otherwise because it’s so entertaining having him around. I mean, seriously: how soon can we greenlight the third National Treasure?

One of his movies absolutely changed my life, however. In The Rock, he played Dr. Stanley Goodspeed next to a crusty old war veteran, Sean Connery. It’s hard to describe how incredibly badass this movie was at the time; I was maybe 12 years-old, and when it came out on cassette, I probably watched it a solid 150 times. Anyway, watching the Wizards the past few weeks reminded of the climatic scene (spoiler alert for 15 year-old movie):

At the 3:40 mark, Dr. Stanley Goodspeed has to stab himself in the heart with a needle containing the antidote to the poison VX gas that will otherwise kill him within 60 seconds. (How awesome is that sentence?) And that’s how I feel about Gilbert Arenas with the Wizards.

Arenas single-handedly rejuvenated hoops in D.C., and arrived at a time when our psyche had just been trampled upon by Michael Jordan and his gigantic ego. For the first time in my lifetime, it was FUN to root for the Wizards, right after morale had hit an all-time low. And nearly all of that can be traced back to Gilbert. When he peaked in 2005-06, he was one of the deadliest scorers in the game, and easily the NBA’s most entertaining personality.

But after two yearlong stints on the injured list and two knee surgeries, it’s unclear whether he’ll ever get back to that level. Or even close. On Wednesday night he was 6-22 from the field, didn’t attack the basket the entire first half, consistently looked a step slow on defense, and generally, just hurt the team. A liability on offense and defense is really hard to justify, ya know?

He played well in the third quarter and had plenty of Wizards fans crediting him for “saving the day,” but then he sat the entire fourth quarter with ice on his knee. And while he sat on the side, Caron Butler finally looked good, Earl Boykins was wreaking havoc, and the Wizards hummed along nicely, extending their lead in his absence. And that’s why it feels like Wizards fans are Stanley Goodspeed.

To openly doubt Gilbert would be like stabbing ourselves in the heart, but it just might save our life. So far, Gilbert’s not attacking the rim, Caron can’t find a rythm playing alongside him, and the offense has been almost as terrible as the defense. Gilbert’s not to blame for all of that, but again, if he and Caron can’t coexist for 40 minutes-a-game, anchoring this team around Caron and Antawn may be the right move. 

Gilbert’s struggled so far, and while it’s too early to say he won’t regain his form, “post-microfracture Chris Webber” is a definite possibility as far as the rest of his career’s concerned. And if that’s the case—the next month will tell a lot—the Wizards need to stop treating him like their superstar and dispatching him to shoot 20 shots-a-game and take every game-winner. It’s hurting us now, and over an entire season, it’ll kill us. 

It hurts my heart, but this may not be Gilbert’s team anymore.

We weren’t going to report on this news, mainly because it’s not “news.” Sure we’ll mention a lot stupid things (ahem, Pau Gasol, CSI), but do people really care that an NBA player has announced he’s NOT using Twitter? And then, just like that, he goes an makes the editorial decision for us, pretending to hit Nick Young in the face with a belt:

Special points for using Lil Wayne on the soundtrack and making light of the Shaq situation. And on second thought, maybe we should just stick with Gilbert and see where it goes. It’ll be a fun ride…

Last week I had the chance to talk to Wizards GM Ernie Grunfeld and his wife for a few minutes. And while it was a totally casual and forgettable experience, one thing stood out for me. These people have been involved with basketball for their whole lives. Ernie’s a crusty old guy because, well, wouldn’t you be if you’d been roaming NBA locker rooms since the 70s? And it’s odd to meet him and introduce myself as a blogger; because while we on the internet may see ourselves as integral parts of the game’s evolution from the fan perspective, we’ve got about a quarter century to go before we approach the level of investment from someone like Ernie Grunfeld or George Karl.

(My only regret? I didn’t ask Ernie about playing with Bernard King at Tennessee. Damn.)

And as for Karl, our Nuggets blogger Andrew Feinstein caught up with him a few weeks ago, and actually got a pretty good interview out of it. What’s more, he sat down with Karl’s family for what I’m sure was a highly entertaining dinner—George introduced him as "the guy who created firegeorgekarl.com." And that last part is interesting. While bloggers these days can casually cast out stones at someone like George Karl, Feinstein’s anecdote and my experience provide reminders: basketball is LIFE for these people, and that’s not just some empty rhetoric.

What does that mean for us? Well, that’s a longer conversation… But for now, check out the George Karl stuff at Denver Stiffs, because it’s really fantastic.

We should all read Hardwood Paroxysm. While I still have no idea what that second word means, it’s an excellent combination of high entertainment and astute analysis. And even if they were terrible, this post makes it completely worth checking out.

They stumbled across a set of photos on Flickr, and the rest is history. A sample:

Chinese pronunciation: AHHHH-TEST! This is how we should pronounce his name hereafter. And in some weird, Wu-Tang Clan-type thing, Artest would probably love this.

Vince Carter should have a bleached blonde mohawk, right? Sort of fits his ethos.

They thought Steve Nash was making fun of Asians here, so they made him into a female bodybuilder.

And finally, among a set of current NBA superstars, they included this:

To be accompanied by this tweet, from Wednesday’s Wizards’ game.

Although let’s not shortchange Yuta Tabuse.

Chinese trading cards are all well and good, but I’m of the belief that ex-Suns guard Yuta Tabuse had real, mystical powers the likes of which we’ll never fully grasp. Plus, he’s Chinese and 5’9. What can we do to get this man back in the NBA?

In an effort to put Brandon Jennings’ 55-point game in perspective, I took some quick notes on what transpired during his 29-point third quarter. Just unreal.

11:00 Jennings misses a free throw on a technical. Announcer: “That’s the kind of night it’s been for Milwaukee.” Um, that’s about to change.

10:15 Jennings hits an 18-foot pull-up. The Warriors fail to defend the high screen.

9:02 Jennings hits a 16-foot jumper from the foul-line-extended. Remember when people said he couldn’t shoot?

7:55 Jennings hits a three. Yeah, about that…

7:02 Jennings hits a leaning lay-up. Bears mentioning that he can get to the basket at will. When he stops shooting lights out from EVERYWHERE, this will become pertinent. Until then…

6:01 Jennings hits another pull-up three. The crowd begins buzzing at this point. Not going crazy, but almost disbelief. Beginning to sense something special is happening.

5:35 Jennings gets a lay-up and the foul. Ann. #1: “Look at him! LOOK AT HIM!” Ann. #2. “Look at this building…” Fans completely with it now. Standing ovation, screaming, and eventually, chanting BRAN-DON JEN-NINGS. 

5:08 Jennings hits a 20-foot jumper from top of the key. The Warriors fail to defend the high screen.

4:50 Jennings pull-up three. The Warriors really can’t defend that screen.

4:07 Jennings drive-and-kick for an assist. Just to see how it feels.

3:35 Assist #2: Jennings alley-oop to Bogut. It feels good. Ann.: “Young people call this SICK!” Brandon Jennings is changing Wisconsin, people.

2:40 Jennings lay-up. Now seems like a good time to wonder whether Brandon, of Compton, CA., feels more out of place in Milwaukee or Rome? I’m betting the latter, but not by much.

2:13 Jennings floater in the lane. One of Jennings’ deadliest weapon. Again, this would be pertinent if he’d stop shooting 85% from three-point range.

1:15 Three from the top. High screen, anyone?

0:45 Jennings jumper from the elbow. An even 29 for the quarter.

0:04 Jennings misses an open 3. He’s human?

0:00 Jodie Meeks Hits 60-Foot Shot at the Buzzer. Just to make sure the surrealism of this quarter rings loud and clear for everyone at home. Amazing.

In sports, as in life, there are certain infrastructures that are just impossible to subvert. Like, remember a few weeks ago when Sean Hannity committed outright journalistic fraud? Yeah? Well he’s still insanely popular. And even though ESPN continues to plod along with head splitting levels of corporate tie-ins and product placement—the Coors Light Hard Cold Six Pack of Questions sounds like something that’d be made up on 30 Rock, for instance—they’re still an empire in sports media. And maybe it’ll always be that way. Once someone or something gets entrenched with the masses, it’s much harder to shape the surrounding narrative.

BUT that doesn’t mean we can’t try. And with something like Lebron changing his number, it absolutely needs to happen. Because he’s just the worst. I mean, truly, he’s historically disingenuous, and among athletes, that’s really saying something. People that casually follow sports might hear this news, shrug, and say, “Look at that, he wants to honor MJ. Good kid, that Lebron.”

But whoa whoa whoa… Let’s back up for a second and look at the motivations here, and highlight why, exactly, this is such a transparently selfish move. To keep things super simple, let’s recount a conversation I had with my girlfriend at the game Wednesday night. Swear to God we actually had this conversation:

Which one’s Lebron?

Uh… Number 23.

He’s really good, right?

Yeah. (grits teeth) Best player in the league.

Wait, didn’t Michael Jordan wear 23 also?

Funny you should ask… (Explains Lebron’s changing his number)

That makes no sense. Didn’t he know Michael Jordan wore number 23 when he came into the league?

Yeah. I know.

If Lebron had truly wanted to honor Michael Jordan’s contribution to the game, he could have chosen not to wear his jersey right when he was coming into the league. It’s not as if people didn’t associate the number with Jordan way back in 2003—by wearing number 23, James was already clearly paying homage to his idol. ANY player that wears that number implies as much without saying a word on the subject.

Of course, as James continues to blossom as a player, we’ve to believe that he’s suddenly grown more reflective on his place in basketball history. So, of course, just when Michael Jordan is joking and posing for pictures with one of Bron’s peers, Dwyane Wade, James has an EPIPHANY. All these years, he’s been shortchanging Jordan’s legacy by wearing that famous number.

Sure, changing his number will help sell jerseys. And by announcing it out-of-the-blue in the middle of the season, Lebron’s decision garners about ten times the publicity it would have had he filed the paperwork later in the year. By going about it this way, it’s almost reminiscent of David Stern’s tactics. The way he’ll announce something like the NBA dress code right before the season, just to get everyone talking about pro basketball.

Yeah, this is sort of like that, except Lebron wants everybody talking about Lebron. And as for honoring MJ’s contributions to basketball… Are we to pretend Lebron doesn’t mimic about eight other things that Jordan made famous? This whole routine is certainly the most egregious:

None of which is a criticism. Jordan’s the greatest player that ever lived. OF COURSE you mimic him. But by changing his number—and telling other players to do the same—Lebron’s not leading some crusade to make sure Mike’s not forgotten. It’s all about him, per usual. He’s always marketing, to the point where his adult identity has pretty much been created for him by Nike. That’s why he’s so overwhelmingly popular, and no matter what we do or say, he’ll always have millions of fans and murals on buildings. That’s the way life works sometimes.

But it doesn’t mean we can’t call him a douchebag…

Just because Lebron’s stupefying levels of fame and fortune insulate him (for now) from karma, it doesn’t mean that everyone else’s arrogance or ignorance goes unpunished. For every Lebron James or ESPN, there’s someone like Pete Rose, a guy who treated people like crap and wound up bathing in his own disgrace, selling autographs like some washed up pro wrestler, and giving bitter interviews to whoever will listen. And you know what? That’s awesome. He deserves every ounce of the indignity.

Same goes for Stephen Jackson. Ordinarily, I’d side with just about anyone on the other side of a feud with Golden State management, but Captain Jack had this coming. He deserves Charlotte. If he wanted to leave Golden State, then he should have done it before he signed a $30+ million extension. The writing was on the wall back when he signed the contract; Baron Davis had left, Don Nelson was as boorish as ever, and the team was headed to disaster. To be clear, this was OBVIOUS when he signed his contract. So why sign it?

Because he wanted the money. And that’s fine. But if someone is dumb enough to reward a declining player an extension that lucrative so late in his year, the least that player can do is be loyal to the idiots that gave it to him. Instead, Jackson basically decided he wanted to leave, and was going to be as disruptive as possible until the Warriors sent him packing. Can you say Charlotte Bobcats?!

Which brings me to other side… Larry Brown was pretty much the toast of the basketball universe in 2004. His Pistons won the title playing team basketball and were being looked upon as the model for young kids all over the country. See? When 5 guys play together, you can beat Kobe and Shaq, went the rhetoric. The next year, he lost in the NBA finals and bolted for the New York Knicks.

What ensued in New York may as well have been the basketball apocalypse. It should not be spoken of again unless one of the pertinent characters finds himself in a confessional booth (Truck Party!). But suffice to say, Larry Brown ditched basketball valhalla in search of more money and another knotch on his basketball belt. His ego demanded that he take the Knicks job, regardless of whether it meant leaving a great situation and a group of guys that’d given him his first ever NBA title. He wanted the job, and he took it.

No harm done, but it meant going from a symbol for doing it the right way to a cautionary tale. Overnight, he became karma’s cruel joke. That Knicks team lost 59 games, and now with Charlotte, he’s got the most offensively inept team in the entire league. It hurts to watch Bobcats games on a nightly basis. Will Stephen Jackson help solve some of those woes? Maybe, but since he’s… ah, impetuous (and due to make $27 million), the cost almost certainly outweighs any benefits.

Does that sound like a fun coaching job? Well Larry Brown, you earned it. 

Another famous person that’s about to get absolutely HAMMERED by karma? Jon Gosselin. For so many different reasons, he represents the very worst of human potential. He’s also far too satisfied with himself for anyone’s comfort. And thankfully, he’s not rich or talented enough to keep himself from fading into oblivion. In about three years, he’s going to be walking around with a briefcase full of headshots, saying his name really loudly in the middle of other people’s conversations, and making unsolicited offers to sign copies of US Weekly at Barnes and Noble, before being quietly escorted out by security. Again.

Either that, or he’ll have a number one pop record, Sarah Palin will be President, and I’ll be spending my days eating cigarettes and huffing paint thinner. Time will tell, ya know?

Last week we asked if there was an NBA equivalent to the No Hitter that Dock Ellis threw for Pittsburgh back in the 1970s. This video prompted the investigation. And the answer is no, there’s probably no direct corollary on the pro level, but as my friend Muse pointed out in the comments, Gary Ervin WON A NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP ON COCAINE. And even though that’s the college level, I think that’s got to win.

But what someone else pointed out, and what I’d been secretly considering when I posed the question, was Chris Anderson’s RIDICULOUS performance in the ‘05 Dunk Contest (7:10 mark). It’s unclear whether he was on drugs and unfair to speculate, but he was certainly dealing with a lot of personal problems at that point in life, and it’s not inconcievable. As Kenny Smith explained at the time, “he’s missing a couple ice cubes from his tray.”

But more to the point, wouldn’t an NBA Dunk Contest be the scariest place EVER if you were on drugs?

Think about it: you’ve got ridiculous light shows, people holding up random numbers all around you, Shaq in the front row filming you, some years you have a giant spinning wheel standing beside you, and this little midget Nate Robinson keeps jumping ten feet in the air. I’m not saying Chris Anderson was on acid, but if someone were to participate in a dunk contest on LSD, it’d be the most harrowing experience in human history. That is all.