It goes without saying that, amongst all of the denizens of the staff of PtR who ply their writing trade, none of them so deftly wield the sword of hyperbole as I, or are as content to live outside what most accept as reality. I often spend countless hours creating my own representative topiary thereof; I can often be found on the far flung reaches of the site, carrying on about things that (hilariously, hopefully) make no sense at all. Indeed, to those of us over the age of 25 or so, it could be argued that I am to the basketball world what that old wizard who gave the cryptic directions through the Lost Woods was in Zelda.

With that in mind, it brings me a great deal of both pleasure and relief to enter into the realm of serious discussion. Join me. Or don't.

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"You got the taste, but you still have the thirst, Nate. The thirst for the real thing..."

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Orlando- Area reporters at the New York Knicks shootaround on Tuesday afternoon were treated to an impromptu and somewhat candid interview with star forward Carmelo Anthony who, while cajoling his teammates from the sidelines, admitted to reporters that "defense is really hard, dog."

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A thought came over me as I watched the Spurs pull one out over the Hornets the other night. I kind of toyed around with it before placing it on the back burner out of the necessity having more to it than simply being a thought. After last night's game against Atlanta, however, I decided that I would rather have this be as short and sweet as I could possibly make it, and have some of the long-windedness I usually tend to replaced with the essence of the truth that surrounds the matter as I see it. To be perfectly clear, it wasn't even the game itself that returned the thought to the forefront of my mind; it was merely the write-up of the game on ESPN's site.

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Dejuan Blair's pregame warm up routine reminds me a lot of that fat kid who was infinitely more interested in postgame sno cones than the actual game itself...

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When I initially agreed to take on the responsibilities that came with Spurs media credentials, I accepted each and every one as a single unit, then I quickly dismissed them all in lieu of discussing more current projects. The season was still very much in doubt, and I've never been one to over-think any sort of responsibilities I undertake. I prefer to let the chips fall where they may on any particular occasion, and genuinely feel more uncomfortable if I actually prepare for any kind of speaking engagement. Taking that mindset with me to Spurs Media Day was, I felt, the best way to go about things, bearing completely in mind that I had previously had no experience whatsoever with the undertaking for which I'd volunteered.

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I just wanted to shoot something over to you guys and let you know you haven't left my thoughts. I've just been really busy and have chosen to neglect you like children from a new wife's previous marriage. Don't worry though. It looks like I'll be running into some free time here soon, and I'll be back like the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th reinventions of WCW's Stinger. 

It's getting too damn serious around here, anyways.... Seriously. I thought I was in church for a few seconds when I got here. 

Being the first to admit that, for as much as I've loved baseball over the past 4 years and change, my sports intellect is still firmly seated somewhere on the basketball front, I have some questions about the Rangers' offseason options and was hoping you guys could help me along. 

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I suppose it's best if I introduce myself first. My name is Justin Biehle, and I'm one of the Editor/Admins for the SB Nation site for the San Antonio Spurs, PoundingTheRock. Around those parts, we've been known to delve into all sorts of asinine, if not completely occult superstitions concerning the large games we've had there in the past. Coupled with my own admittedly bizarre insistences on game day, it makes for a tidal wave of good luck charm hunting that probably resembles the floor in a teenage girl's room, as clothes are feverishly strewn about as she attempt to decide what to wear to the mall in a panic. 

Most recently, we co-opted a peculiar ritual from our friends running the Detroit Pistons site (which was probably stolen from somebody else, because they're from Detroit), and began posting images of red pandas whenever we needed a big shot, or simply for Tim Duncan's decrepit body to not give out. The trickle quickly became a flood, and most definitely reached a point where I, myself, was unable to discern whether or not our success was met because of the Red Pandas, or because of the myriad other rituals I was busy distracting myself with. Whatever the case, we've gotten a championship out of the deal, so I figured it was worth it. 

I'm throwing some Red Pandas onto this post, in part because I'm at least sure it maintains a Sex Panther-esque rate of effectiveness, which is definitely better than 0%. I'm also doing it because, since this is my first post here (depsite being a member for a long time, and a lifelong Ranger fan), I'm not entirely certain the pre game speech I texted to my friends before gametime radio silence would be seen as acceptable. To put it bluntly, it was an immaturely and perhaps violently hostile rant, littered with needless (and therefore humorous) profanity. That though, as they say, is neither here nor there. 

Here's a Red Panda:

Note how he appears sad and even forlorn, sitting alone, as if he were the last fan to leave Busch Stadium after the Rangers won their first championship. 

The deafening silence of defeat rings in his ears. 

Yes. Let us project the personifications of a defeated Cardinal fan upon him and mock his pain. His tears taste like Joy!

Have at it, LSBallers! 

Where "hundred bajillion" is an actual number, if we're talking about how hot it is in Texas.

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Editor's Note: Front-paged for snarky awesomeness and a good chuckle.

From the front page over at PoundingTheRock, to help you guys pass time during a long lockout.

New York, NY- National Basketball Association Commissioner David Stern let slip in a Monday morning phone meeting that he has been in contact with several genetics programs around the country, discussing the possibility of filling arenas with the clones of former NBA greats during this coming season.

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Bringing another story over from my home base at PoundingTheRock to help pass time during the lockout

New York, NY- National Basketball Association Commissioner David Stern let slip in a Monday morning phone meeting that he has been in contact with several genetics programs around the country, discussing the possibility of filling arenas with the clones of former NBA greats during this coming season.

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New York, NY- National Basketball Association Commissioner David Stern let slip in a Monday morning phone meeting that he has been in contact with several genetics programs around the country, discussing the possibility of filling arenas with the clones of former NBA greats during this coming season.

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That's right. This is trademarked now, and even if you've seen it somewhere else before I used it, I still trademark it. This isn't the real world. This is cyberspace, and if cyberspace is anything like real space, then I just put my flag on the moon. It's my moon now, and it's also a space station.

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The following is an uncut series of answer to questions that I, via JRW, was asked by Dane Carbaugh, who recently wrote an article for Dime Online. The article focused primarily on the travails that tend to be unique to the smaller market teams of the NBA, and seeing as how the Spurs have become a paragon for basketball excellence in general through those small market confines, it made sense that the relevant opinions were gathered. Thanks to Dane for the opportunity. His article can be viewed here.

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Day 73-  Somewhere between Colorado and finding out that I couldn't talk to my guys, I lost track of time. It's been pretty nice. 

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I thought for about two seconds that I might call my weekend sports and life review something else, but the laundromat kind of makes sense if you spend your weekends like I imagine you all do. Don't ruin my incredibly cool imaginary perceptions of each of you by telling me you went to Barnes and Noble or something this weekend. Quick hits inside.

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New York, NY- Orlando Magic guard Gilbert Arenas is on punishment until further notice as of Saturday evening, when he and a group of his cohorts were caught trying to sneak into the NBA. Forbidden from playing with anybody until further notice, the league offered only the curt response that the parents of Arenas, as well as those of Vince Carter and J.J. Redick, had been notified, and that it hoped the fruits of the rascals' behavior would not go unnoticed by any other potential troublemakers.

Though details surrounding the mischief have been scarce, rumor has it that Arenas was intent on getting a look at Old Man Stern's collection of basketball cards and other memorabilia. Stern, the crotchety neighborhood elder, has been reported to possess a veritable mountain of nicknacks despite the complete lack of evidence as to whether he even likes basketball. Though Arenas was immediately whisked away by his noticeably irate parents, who collected him while still dressed in their pajamas and robes, he was heard loudly asserting that "he had to do it" because Mavericks guard Jason Terry had triple dog dared him. 

As the other remaining members of the ill-fated excursion waited for their own parents to arrive, light was slowly shed on how the evening's events had played out. Vince Carter had adopted the stance that neither he nor Redick had wanted Gilbert to do it, but had come along anyways, just to make sure that nothing bad happened to him. Clad in an oversized baseball jersey and coonskin cap, and with a diligently crafted slingshot hanging from his pants pocket, Carter was found to be disarmingly cute, if not entirely believable. He supported Gilbert's claims that the misadventure was begotten of a triple dog dare, before turning to console Redick, who had begun to cry in fear of what his parents might do to him when they arrived. 

Leaving the two players alone, we turned to League Vice Principal Stu Jackson, who once again displayed his almost extra-sensory knack for smelling trouble and had arrived on the scene shortly after the local authorities. Sensing yet another opportunity to take the pulpit, Jackson announced loudly to the gathering crowd of neighborhood denizens that mischief makers would not go unpunished. "Let this be a lesson to each and every one of the slackers out there." He proclaimed, before stating to various members of the press that he had "always had a bad feeling about that Arenas kid" and wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in Juvenile Hall one day. Though Jackson didn't directly answer questions about the night's events, he assuaged the throng of concerned individuals, assuring them that he would redouble his own efforts to curtail the trouble-making efforts of the League's ruffians.

We turned away from Jackson's growing audience just in time to notice JJ Redick's parents arriving on the scene. Exiting the family Chevy station wagon with such haste that he nearly caught his nightshirt on the door handle, Redick's father rushed to his son's side and appeared to abandon all desire to punish his son when he saw him in tears. Though JJ was nearly unintelligible from beneath his sobs, Carter stood by his friend and explained everything to Redick's patiently understanding mother, who nodded at each and every assertion that neither he nor JJ had wanted to tag along with Gilbert. Though each parent received the claims with an air of practiced caution, they appeared to have a revelation once Carter assured them that Terry had indeed dared Arenas to do it. "That damn Terry kid's parents just let him run wild in the streets." Redick's father announced to no one in particular, before turning toward us. "He just hangs out at Higgins' Pharmacy all day, stealing candy and trying to look up womens' skirts. And of course he's not here now." He shouted, waving his arms in the air. "Somebody needs to give that damn kid a taste of his own medicine." 

As Redick's parents ushered JJ and Vince into the car, they were interrupted by Tiago Splitter and Tim Duncan, who had come running from down the street, wondering aloud what had happened. Duncan broke through the crowd while announcing that he had seen everything from his room via the homemade periscope he had constructed from shaving mirrors and Ritz boxes. Splitter, who'd been spending the night at Duncan's house, couldn't claim to having seen anything, though he did assure onlookers that he had been in the middle of making "the ultimate hot wheels track." 

Though Arenas remained indisposed at the time we went to press, both Redick and Carter were seen riding their bikes in the safety of the neighborhood cul-de-sac the next afternoon, firmly in agreement with one another that it would be the last time either one of them tried to sneak into the NBA. After witnessing their contentedness with life after Duncan firmly affixed baseball cards to their rear spokes, we found ourselves inclined to agree. 

More from my home base over @ Pounding...

New York, NY- Orlando Magic guard Gilbert Arenas is on punishment until further notice as of Saturday evening, when he and a group of his cohorts were caught trying to sneak into the NBA. Forbidden from playing with anybody until further notice, the league offered only the curt response that the parents of Arenas, as well as those of Vince Carter and J.J. Redick, had been notified, and that it hoped the fruits of the rascals' behavior would not go unnoticed by any other potential troublemakers.

Though details surrounding the mischief have been scarce, rumor has it that Arenas was intent on getting a look at Old Man Stern's collection of basketball cards and other memorabilia. Stern, the crotchety neighborhood elder, has been reported to possess a veritable mountain of nicknacks despite the complete lack of evidence as to whether he even likes basketball. Though Arenas was immediately whisked away by his noticeably irate parents, who collected him while still dressed in their pajamas and robes, he was heard loudly asserting that "he had to do it" because Mavericks guard Jason Terry had triple dog dared him. 

As the other remaining members of the ill-fated excursion waited for their own parents to arrive, light was slowly shed on how the evening's events had played out. Vince Carter had adopted the stance that neither he nor Redick had wanted Gilbert to do it, but had come along anyways, just to make sure that nothing bad happened to him. Clad in an oversized baseball jersey and coonskin cap, and with a diligently crafted slingshot hanging from his pants pocket, Carter was found to be disarmingly cute, if not entirely believable. He supported Gilbert's claims that the misadventure was begotten of a triple dog dare, before turning to console Redick, who had begun to cry in fear of what his parents might do to him when they arrived. 

Leaving the two players alone, we turned to League Vice Principal Stu Jackson, who once again displayed his almost extra-sensory knack for smelling trouble and had arrived on the scene shortly after the local authorities. Sensing yet another opportunity to take the pulpit, Jackson announced loudly to the gathering crowd of neighborhood denizens that mischief makers would not go unpunished. "Let this be a lesson to each and every one of the slackers out there." He proclaimed, before stating to various members of the press that he had "always had a bad feeling about that Arenas kid" and wouldn't be surprised if he ended up in Juvenile Hall one day. Though Jackson didn't directly answer questions about the night's events, he assuaged the throng of concerned individuals, assuring them that he would redouble his own efforts to curtail the trouble-making efforts of the League's ruffians.

We turned away from Jackson's growing audience just in time to notice JJ Redick's parents arriving on the scene. Exiting the family Chevy station wagon with such haste that he nearly caught his nightshirt on the door handle, Redick's father rushed to his son's side and appeared to abandon all desire to punish his son when he saw him in tears. Though JJ was nearly unintelligible from beneath his sobs, Carter stood by his friend and explained everything to Redick's patiently understanding mother, who nodded at each and every assertion that neither he nor JJ had wanted to tag along with Gilbert. Though each parent received the claims with an air of practiced caution, they appeared to have a revelation once Carter assured them that Terry had indeed dared Arenas to do it. "That damn Terry kid's parents just let him run wild in the streets." Redick's father announced to no one in particular, before turning toward us. "He just hangs out at Higgins' Pharmacy all day, stealing candy and trying to look up womens' skirts. And of course he's not here now." He shouted, waving his arms in the air. "Somebody needs to give that damn kid a taste of his own medicine." 

As Redick's parents ushered JJ and Vince into the car, they were interrupted by Tiago Splitter and Tim Duncan, who had come running from down the street, wondering aloud what had happened. Duncan broke through the crowd while announcing that he had seen everything from his room via the homemade periscope he had constructed from shaving mirrors and Ritz boxes. Splitter, who'd been spending the night at Duncan's house, couldn't claim to having seen anything, though he did assure onlookers that he had been in the middle of making "the ultimate hot wheels track." 

Though Arenas remained indisposed at the time we went to press, both Redick and Carter were seen riding their bikes in the safety of the neighborhood cul-de-sac the next afternoon, firmly in agreement with one another that it would be the last time either one of them tried to sneak into the NBA. After witnessing their contentedness with life after Duncan firmly affixed baseball cards to their rear spokes, we found ourselves inclined to agree. 

New York, NY- Orlando Magic guard Gilbert Arenas is on punishment until further notice as of Saturday evening, when he and a group of his cohorts were caught trying to sneak into the NBA. Forbidden from playing with anybody until further notice, the league offered only the curt response that the parents of Arenas, as well as those of Vince Carter and J.J. Redick, had been notified, and that it hoped the fruits of the rascals' behavior would not go unnoticed by any other potential troublemakers.

Continue reading this post »

With the NBA heading toward a league-wide lockout this week, many NBA players are taking advantage of the impending free time by scheduling extra vacations or changing their names to political statements in order to stoke their own jersey royalties. With limited time available before his international schedule begins however, Spurs Guard Manu Ginobili has begun filing preliminary paperwork on a lawsuit indicting Apple over the constant auto-correcting of his name by the company's best selling products.

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Self Explanatory. Guy seems to be doing what he can to hide that he's upset about it. Some brief opinions after the jump. 

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If basketball is anything like the stock market, you'd have to think that San Antonio getting the draft rights to Kawhi Leonard, the 15th overall pick in exchange for George Hill, the 26th overall pick in 2008, was a payoff. Despite the Spurs giving up a fan favorite, my initial reaction is that Leonard's particular style of defense, and his commitment to it, represents a desire by the Spurs to make a move toward the team oriented defense that was the calling card of each of their championship runs.

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I'm on borrowed time this week, so I'm keeping this brief, but I've heard enough to feel like I should weigh in on why I like this potential deal.

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Editor's Note: Front paged because someone said it ought to be.

Dallas, Tx- Arriving in Dallas Monday afternoon to congratulate former teammate Dirk Nowitzki and owner Mark Cuban on winning their first NBA Championship, Former NBA All-Star Michael Finley inadvertently sparked a brief scare and subsequent riot when passers-by, believing Finley to be a zombie, panicked and assumed that the undead had begun walking the earth.

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Dallas, Tx- Arriving in Dallas Monday afternoon to congratulate former teammate Dirk Nowitzki and owner Mark Cuban on winning their first NBA Championship, Former NBA All-Star Michael Finley inadvertently sparked a brief scare and subsequent riot when passers-by, believing Finley to be a zombie, panicked and assumed that the undead had begun walking the earth.

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As both James and Wade sat, rapidly searching for answers to the questions the press were asking them, there was an almost palpable sense of desperate frustration hanging over them. Trained over the course of the season to answer such questions as standoffishly as possible, the duo seemed finally to show the cracks from a season's worth of prodding and examination. Whereas back in November, or even in March the two were easily able to deflect the attention raised by those questions to the fact that the goal was "to win a championship", they each instead found themselves in a place where that time had simply run out. Rather than remaining on the court to celebrate a championship with their fans, James and Wade were relegated to having to answer the same questions they'd been asked for the better part of the year, while hearing the cheers from the Dallas Mavericks just a few rooms away.

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Editor's Note: Front Paged For Your Enjoyment

{I originally wrote this for the front page of PoundingTheRock, but I felt it belonged here too. Enjoy.-J}

My friend Jake sent me a text this morning. 

"If you ask Lebron for a dollar, he'll only give you 75 cents, because he never gives you the fourth quarter."

"This is no time to joke." I replied. "I'm still betting he goes for 50 in one of these next games. It'd be very 'Lebron' of him."

While that was a bit of my old "sports superstition" dictating what was said, Jake soon replied that he harbored the same idea, though for him, a longtime Mavericks fan, it's likely more of a fear than anything else.

Fear that real life never seems to be as agreeable with the Good Guys as those old stories were growing up.

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My friend Jake sent me a text this morning. 

"If you ask Lebron for a dollar, he'll only give you 75 cents, because he never gives you the fourth quarter."

"This is no time to joke." I replied. "I'm still betting he goes for 50 in one of these next games. It'd be very 'Lebron' of him."

While that was a bit of my old "sports superstition" dictating what was said, Jake soon replied that he harbored the same idea, though for him, a longtime Mavericks fan, it's likely more of a fear than anything else.

Fear that real life never seems to be as agreeable with the Good Guys as those old stories were growing up.

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Because some people just need to read this, and that's all there is to it. 

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