Welcome To The 2006-07 NBA Season
It's a humble experience for every sports fan recuperating from the the greatly depressing World Series between the Cardinals and the Tigers, but your misery is officially over. You can now sit back, relax, and enjoy LeBron, Kobe, and Dwyane.
By the way, if you are voting tomorrow, leave a note that you want David Stern in 2008. Trust me, I have my reasons.
Well, we are now a week (a week!) into the 2006-2007 NBA season, and if you are not watching the games, then shame on you. You have already squandered the opportunity to witness what could be the highlight of the regular season — the defending champions Miami Heat losing their opener to the Chicago Bulls by (put your guess here and then look below).
Not just lost. Beat. By 42 points! That's four times ten plus two, folks. That's an achievement which is insured against all odds, even the acts of terrorism (and by the way I was going through my new home insurance policy and I noticed something that I didn't notice before; which is, my apartment is not insured against terrorism or anything related or remotely related to it and the insurer gave a damn fine definition of terrorism too — but that's a different post altogether).
Kudos to Pat Riley and his boys, because not always you can end your previous season and begin your new one poles apart from one another.
At this point you can almost start feeling sorry for those hapless (and whining) Dallas Mavericks fans who took the pain to watch the Heat-Bulls game and felt the pinch one more time. It's one thing to watch the Bulls dismantling the Heat — and it's another thing to watch the Bulls dismantling the Heat and realize that the Bulls' game is clearly where the Mavs' are ostensibly better.
Yes, the Mavs came close to winning it all, but the truth be told, (if you missed it last year), the Heat were clearly the better team (for the record I picked Heat in six) in the 2006 finals.
The Los Angeles Lakers — the glamor boys of the NBA — currently hold a 3-1 record. Which is good at first glance, but once you break it up it's even better.
The Lakers won their first two games back to back — without Kobe. The first one was at home against the Phoenix Suns (the same Suns who dispatched them after falling behind 1-3 in the first round of Western Conference playoffs), the next one on the road against the Golden State, — yes, they did somehow show up without Kobe.
Makes you wonder why they didn't show up when Kobe didn't show up during the Game 7 at Phoenix in the first round of the playoffs last year.
In their next two games, with Kobe, they are a mediocre .500 team at 1-1. I know, I know, two games and a 1-1 record doesn't make for a strong case about a team being statistically mediocre on the road, but don't blame me because I am only using the available data!
So, trade Kobe. Send him to Minnesota (a lot less attention will do him a lot more good) in exchange for Kevin Garnett (he deserves the attention he never got in land of forgotten prairies). This is probably not going to happen — but if it does, just remember you heard me say it first.
New arguing rulesLike every new year, there's a new Stern rule in place. Briefly, the rule is this: if you whine at Bob Delaney, you are T'd up. If you cough at Joey Crawford, you are T'd. If you bitch at Dick Bavetta, you are T'd, and I suspect if you cringe from Violet Palmer, you get a T as well.
The conspiracy theorists say the rule is aimed at Rasheed Wallace and hopes to slow, rather calm, him down. But Rasheed is simply the sideshow. In effect, and without fail, the new rule is going to cut the crap down almost universally and that's where the game will start looking more and more different.
And here I beg to differ with everyone who thinks the rule is welcome. Once you start taking the human elements away from the game, it also takes away the fun elements. I know bitching is a universal problem but handing out T's like sweet candies is a bit too much.
My suggestion: fine them heavily. If money talks, then money can spank too. Since they can't feed their family with their millions as Sprewell once famously said, making their wallets a bit lighter wouldn't be so bad.
On a similar disciplinary note, Mark Cuban promises to be in his best behavior. Really — this is not a joke. There's a new rule for the owners which allows Stern to suspend any owner who behaves and handles himself like Mark Cuban of yesteryear. Needless to say, we will miss Mark Cuban when he used to be Mark Cuban.
That's why I think David Stern is simply not fit for the NBA. I mean, he's just too good to stick around in the NBA 'til someone starts building a pyramid for him. He should be more ambitious — daring, if you will — and instead of schooling Ron Artest, Stephen Jackson, and the Mark Cubans for the rest of his life he should set the bar high. Yes, he should run for higher offices and he can forge partnership with Stu Jackson (senior VP of Basketball operations). This looks very promising. Believe me.
What about the Knicks?Only one more thing remains to be said, which brings me to the Mecca of basketball (Madison Square Garden) currently the haunted home of the laughingstock of the league.
In the off-season the New York Knicks fired Larry Brown after a 23-59 season and refused to pay him a dime on what was left in his contract (about $50 million).
My question is, why all the divorces, especially when one party is Larry Brown is always messy (remember his fall out with the Pistons was equally bad)? Clearly Larry and his "playing the right way" approach works on the court (didn't work with the Knicks, although you can make solid arguments why he should have been retained) but it's a no-brainer that he's still searching the right way to play off the court.
Stern stepped in and the next thing you know, both sides are riding back home smiling pretty. Again, how can you not root for Stern in 2008?
To make matters worse — or fun, depending on how you look at it — Isiah is back as the coach of the Knicks after screwing up immensely in the front office.
The good news is Isiah now has the opportunity to find out first hand how badly he actually screwed up. The bad news is Knicks will remain as bad as before. (I always thought the billionaire businessmen are smart people — they value money and all that and they make smart business decisions, so it's inexplicable how and why Isiah continues to feature within the Knicks in some way or the other).
Finally, Nellieball is back. Don Nelson is again coaching the Golden State Warriors. Does he have the right ingredients? No. But will the Warriors be more fun to watch? You bet.
With all that said, here are my predictions for the season. Just remember I actually predicted once upon a time that Miami would win in six (for that matter I also predicted Lakers to win over the Suns, but little did I know Kobe had other plans).
The NBA Finals Champion: San Antonio Spurs
Eastern Conference Champion: Miami Heat (I trust D-Wade but can his teammates earn his trust?)
The MVP: LeBron James. (Enough sin had been committed by giving the award twice, and back to back to that guy Steve Nash from Canada).
Labels: Basketball, Sports
NCAA Has No Moral Authority To Penalize Reggie Bush And USC
Reggie Bush is in the news again, this time for all the wrong reasons. A Yahoo Sports
investigation going on for eight months uncovered evidence that Bush and his family "appear to have accepted financial benefits more than $100,000 from prospective agents while at USC."
Please help yourself with the details from the above link, but the evidence is enough to convince me that Reggie violated the NCAA rules beyond reasonable doubt.
I'm interested because Reggie Bush is an ex-Trojan, and since I was once a UCLA Bruin, I can't keep quiet on the topic of the crosstown rival's Heisman running back.
Reggie Bush is a now a Saint — not a Saint defined by the Pope, who, unfortunately, is also facing the flak these days for spelling out the truth from some obscure book written during the hay days of Christian brutality.
Before Reggie became a New Orleans Saint, he helped the Trojans to a national championship in 2004. Then he won the Heisman in 2005.
Now we are retroactively dealing with a situation. Had he taken the favors then, should the NCAA make him and USC suffer now?
Take away his Heisman? As if the financial benefits made him the most amazing running back in the recent memory.
Take away the national championship from the Trojans? Please — I beg you. (But that was just the Bruin in me talking.)
I say, don't touch the championship. It doesn't make sense. There are tons of gift showers happening in college sports. We all know that. The coaches know that. The colleges know that. Every damn two-legged football junkie knows that.
This inquest shouldn't be just about Reggie Bush. All the college superstars, in all sports, have a skeleton or two in their closets.
According to the NCAA rules you cannot accept favors — not even from Don "make him an offer he can't refuse" Corleone. To make matters worse, the celebrity studs of the college get as much press as the pros and yet we expect them to live like ordinary freshmen and sophomores and remind them and their family of their responsibilities. How unfair is that?
I am not saying NCAA doesn't have the right to hypocrisy. By all means, they should feel free to be one, but they should stay away from crucifying their bread and butters for not being Jesus.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Hoops Don't Lie
A wise man once said, "To those who can dream there is no such place as faraway." To USA basketball, such faraway places include Indianapolis, Athens, and Saitama.
The onus was on Coach Mike Krzyzewski and his chosen band of hoopies (if hip is to ... you get the point) and the hoopla that went along with it. It made a strong cocktail — rich in taste, but poor for health. Few, if any, question the dream of recapturing the throne the U.S. hoops team lost four years ago, at the world basketball championship in Indianapolis.
The dream, once again, was squashed away on the sweaty floors of Saitama as Team USA finished third at the world basketball championship.
Somewhere in Los Angeles Bill Simmons is grinning with his trademark I-told-you-so face. He was spot on unlike other experts who dreamed along with Dream Team 7.2. For the record, that includes me (but the catch is I'm not an expert, unless you are making the comparison with my
editor at
Blogcritics).
Indianapolis in 2002 was ugly. The Athens Olympics in 2004 weren't pretty either. In fact, Athens 2004 marked the beginning of the downward spiral for coach Pound (Larry Brown). He made the mistake of not playing stars like Carmelo Anthony and LeBron James. Now we know it wouldn't have made a difference.
This time, however, was ear-marked to be different. The kickass attitude was back. Coach K was at the helm although I was furious (there's no tangible evidence) when he cut Uncle Bruce Bowen, but I convinced myself that it was a small sacrifice to be made for the bigger goal.
This time we had a bagful of chosen ones, LeBron James--the original chosen one, Carmelo Anthony--the chosen one chosen after Darko Milicic, and Dwyane Wade--the chosen one who was chosen 2 spots after Darko, all destined to prove a point and not warm the bench. But the chosen ones, our bad, choked.
The good news is we lost to Greece - name the starting five - my salary's on the table. Thanks to Hoops God it wasn't Ginobili led Argentina, or Gasol led Spain, or Darko led Serbia and Montenegro (coughs again), or else David Stern would be calling "Houston we have a problem".
The bottom line is: you can take the chosen ones to Saitama, but you cannot take the pajamas out of the chosen ones. And that's how they played, in pajamas.
But, it's not their fault — yes, you heard me right. It wasn't their fault. It was, if any, the fault of the NBA bubble where accolades rain in every 30 seconds, where the cushy cushions and hypo-hypes make the mortals feel immortal. Do we must send them to face the pins?
There's nothing wrong with our hoop. If you say it's international game, you are simply fooling yourself. NBA games and international games are not basketball in Earth and Mars (seriously if you look at the gravity you will see what difference it makes).
The wrong is in the culture of overselling. As long as everyone makes money from the hype, everyone is happy because in the end, it's not so much about the fans as we are made to believe.
So, every two years when you put them in the same cage with people who value their game, their country and make one thousandth of the dollars that you pay the people here for the same or lesser skills, you get, what you got. A bronze for the show.
Since basketball is never played one-on-one (unless it's in your backyard) the 10,000 synonyms for putting that damn ball in the hoop from point blank range actually carries zero substance. Call it AC 360 or Tomahawk or Kid Rock. The net points you get is two, minus the Tarzan cries and chest thumps.
It's good for advertising and selling shoes and power drinks and making tons of money. As it turns out, not good enough to carry the dreams of 300 million on the spoiled shoulders.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
T. J. Simers Talks to The Big Lead
He's a funny man. And he's always rubbing it on the BIG FAT sports egos. Love him, or hate him, he's right there with the wits of Woody Allen albeit in the world of sports.
The guy, officially known as
T. J. Simers, is a sports columnist of the
Los Angeles Times.
The Big Lead did a terrific job
interviewing him, although I'd have probed more on Simers' daughter who doesn't get dates. But I guess that's a small matter of taste.
I don't know how the
interview was done--whether it was a face to face with a tape+video-recorder or just an exchange of emails, but if there's a video recording, I'd love to see Simers' face when asked "Is
Scoop Jackson a hack or just an assclown?" Infact I'd even pay to see it.
Of course, like any other reasonable (do you think by using reasonable and Simers in the same sentence I just committed a felony?) journalist, Simers simply noted that he doesn't read or listen to Scoop to comment on him.
I'm sure there's a good deal of athletes and managers out there who'd love Simers to apply the same standard when it comes to sports.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Darrell "The Flippin" Hair
Had there been a competition of the most dubious cricket umpire in our lives, Darrell Hair would be a runaway winner. When I say "runaway winner" I mean no one, not even Steve "please ... please slooooooooooooooooowly give the finger a raise" Bucknor would come close.
I agree with the most aggrieved minds who think Bucknor had been brutal recently, and the cricketers from the subcontinent were the worst victims of his reckless decisions. I know some of the wounds are still fresh in our memory, like the one in Kolkata test (coincidentally it was also Bucknor's 100th Test match) when Bucknor adjudged Tendulkar leg before leaving the modern Don of cricket in tears.
If you remember, the ball missed Tendulkar by miles and no one but Abdul Razzaq, the bowler, appealed. Yeah, Bucknor is horrible, but don't forget that the victims of poor cricketing decisions in cases as above have also been the recipient of numerous benefit of doubts. Okay, Tendulkar walks but he's an exception like Adam Gilchrist and Brian Lara while majority of the cricketers don't.
No matter how insane it sounds now, there used to be a time (if you were too young then, ask your dad) when Steve Bucknor was widely respected. People who survived through the golden age of Shakoor Rana and Khizar Hayat would vouch that the mere sight of Bucknor would bring a sigh of relief. Those days are well past us.
Back to Darrell Hair. He's the longest running comedy soap in the cricket fraternity. He's not only ahead of Bucknor in goofing up, he's also the most versatile. Yesterday, the Guardian ran a
story on Darrell Hair's long and illustrious bungling history.
The late Shakoor Rana (you are not forgiven if you cannot recall Rana and Gatting working out together) at his peak would have given Hair a run for his money. But Hair beats him by sheer longevity — his vitality is Viagra-esque. Never in the history of cricket an umpire has been so consistently incompetent over a span that extends more than a decade. Unbelievable!
It boggles mind that he continues umpiring at the highest level despite a steady production of tragedy of errors that has only brought disrepute to the game and to everyone concerned. The reason why he's still around despite a stellar resume of screw-ups is because he's as competent as his ICC bosses. For all practical purposes I honestly think there should be a reality TV show where the ICC chief Malcolm Speed would interview Hair. For good fun we can also have all his past victims including Inzamam and Murali in the audience. I know I will be watching.
Once again Hair is at the focal point of a needless fiasco that anyone with an I.Q. of 23 (give or take 5) would have handled like Einstein. Since we have been fed the details to death, I am not going to bore you repeating the same sob story. We know how it began, how it ended, and what went in between, up to five decimal places.
The only poor guy who's caught in the cross fire and has nothing to do with the entire thing is Billy Doctrove, Darrell's on field partner. The guy is from the West Indies (and he might as well be suffering from Bucknor Syndrome) and he's so junior to Hair, he nodded at everything Darrell said. He's going to be remembered for just being there, at the wrong place, wrong time, although his role at best was marginally marginal. I feel bad for him.
The other aspect is that something truly novel happened. Pakistan forfeited the match — the first of its kind in the 129 years of the history of test cricket. Apparently there's not even an iota of evidence supporting Darrell's ridiculous actions — no TV camera catching a footage of ball tampering, despite 26 of them positioned to capture the moles on your right elbow and nose hairs. So I am just guessing here when I deduce Darrell must have been on crack when he hallucinated the entire episode.
Darrell Hair is the man of choice if we would like to have controversy for fun. Nobody does it better than him. And keeping with tradition he is in a mess, rather everyone but him in a mess for reasons that begin and end with him.
And, Darrell Hair is an obvious idiot — the Graham Poll of cricket — a class by himself, benchmark of all aspiring wannabes of mental disorder. If there was ever a shed of doubt, Darrell's latest cameo should put all doubts to rest — he's now officially dethroned the late Shakoor Rana as the most dubious umpire ever.
Labels: Cricket, Sports
Sourav Ganguly: One Last Fling
Sourav Ganguly is back. Not quite. He has found his place in the 30-man preliminary team for the Champions Trophy, selected by our four wise men. After all the rumors about how the team management has insisted for a shorter list of 22-25 to keep Sourav out of contention, his inclusion must have raised a few eyebrows here and there.
Whether Sourav is going to make the final cut is a trillion dollar question. If the past is any indication, and Greg Chappell still serving as the commander in chief, he's a long shot by miles. For committed Sourav worshippers, this seems to be the beginning of a new episode of a Salim-Javedesque drama, the familiar script ending in a forlorn fashion.
To the selectors, I say, you could have spared him the trouble. You never gave the man the respect he deserves. The least you could do is to leave him alone. How I wish.
The man himself makes no bones about his wishes to play in the next year's world cup. Of course if wishes are horses beggars would ride. That doesn't make Sourav exactly a beggar, that puts him in the not-so-glorious family of cricketers who never quite made it to the big stage but have always been picked to fill the last couple of slots only to be dumped later. Which is a shame, for he should have known better. He's a smart guy. I find it hard to believe he failed to read the writing on the wall. The only explanation is his failure to keep his gargantuan ego under check.
But hey, we've been through this charade before. So much so, it became comical till he got unceremoniously dumped after playing a few fighting knocks. He must have kicked himself goddamn hard when he failed to build on the starts during the Sri Lanka and Pakistan series. At least a couple of fifties would have ensured his place in the squad and the obituaries written since then would have been put on hold, for the time being.
Never mind. That he's back again in the form of probables is already making the headlines. He may not be good for cricket any more, but he's still good enough for grabbing the attention. The funny thing about probability which works so well for the casinos in Vegas, is, you are considered a winner till you become a loser. And Sourav--the last optimist standing, might have started looking for flight tickets to the Caribbean next summer.
When he was dropped after the Pakistan series, I felt bad for him because he looked assured and confident. He didn't go on to score big but was hitting the ball well.
Now, he's playing pathetic. He has failed miserably in the county cricket. It might as well be a rough patch for all I know but the timing of his inclusion makes no sense at all. For one, he's out of form, and secondly, this doesn't quite endorse the looking forward theory the selectors so wanted to us to believe.
But of course, it is only a list of probables. Not the final cut. Not even the playing eleven. And make no mistake--he's not going to make it to either sparing a divine intervention, which is why seeing him on the list made me very confused. And disturbed.
We are not talking about anyone who can be picked and dumped at will or wisdom or under influence. We are not talking about a Joe Nobody. We are not even talking about any freaked out, pig-head piece of tripe.
We are talking about the most successful skipper in the history of Indian cricket and therefore I have a problem.
I love him. I adore him. He's one of the best things that ever happened to the Indian Cricket — give credit to Chappell and Rahul if you must, but the truth is, they are building on the solid foundations laid by Ganguly and Wright. I will go as far as saying that he saved cricket from the match fixing scandal by invoking the much needed naked passion and love for the game on the playing field.
Love him, hate him. There is no middle ground. He's no fake. He's the anti-hero of the Indian cricket, as much as big B was in the 70s hindi movies.
The record speaks for him. History speaks for him. You will tell your grandchildren the stories of the holy trinity - Sachin, Sourav and Rahul. That says a lot about the man who has been mercilessly vilified by the mainstream media except those from Kolkata where he is still a dear icon.
He's even few months younger than me - so technically he always had my blessings.
I didn't want to see him back. His legacy is secured. He's been a terrific servant of Indian cricket. And he cared. He deserved a better farewell into the sunset. It is not his fault that he didn't get one. We failed to bid him a grateful goodbye.
We moved on. Now tell me again--why is he here?
Labels: Cricket, Sports
Dynamic Duos
Steve Harmison and Monty Panesar
Accolades are not enough for the English pair who clinically assasinated the hapless Pakistanis. They shared all the 19 wickets (one was run out in the first innings) between them and returned with individual match figures of 11/76 (Harmison) and 8/93 (Monty)--a fitting tribute to the 50th anniversary of Jim Laker's 19 wicket haul against the Aussies here at Old Trafford.
With happy times all over, there's is always someone to feel sorry for -- Ashley Giles. Kumar Sangakkara and Mahela Jayawardene
The two batsmen bulldozed the South Africans, breaking Test and First Class records on their way. Importantly, the Test is still alive, and with two days left the Sri Lankans have ample time for a sweetly deserved victory. Sangakkara and Jayawardene amassed 624 runs in the third wicket, highest ever partnership for any wicket in Test or first class matches.
For more details visit
Cricinfo.
Labels: Sports
Flawed Landis: Victim of a French Conspiracy?
Floyd Landis. Or shall we call him
Flawed Landis?
Much has been written about the disgraced cyclist who briefly flirted with fame, then made that tortuous journey to the
blackhole of cheaters. People familiar with black holes will tell you crossing the
event horizon even once seals your fate. There's no coming back. That's how nature works.
Asterixed, forever. Sorry Landis.
For a sport tarnished with doping scandals (last year's elites ranking second to sixth were pulled out of this year's race because they were implicated in a Spanish doping investigation) this is a major blow. I am, however, more concerned about our storybook hero turned villain--
Flawed Landis.
His sample A has indicated a higher ratio of testosterone and epitestosterone than the permissible 4:1. For ordinary mortals like us, the ratio is 1:1. He believes, like most other informed people, the second sample will not indicate anything different which means he has to relinquish his
Tour de France title. From now on, he is going to be remembered as just another bloke who doped and got caught in the process.
He's in good company:
Tim Montgomery,
Marion Jones and
Tyler Hamilton, the former skipper of his current cycling team, and the list goes on.
Landis vows to clear his name. Good luck with that.
He also claims this is a natural occurrence. As
ESPN reports:
"We will explain to the world why this is not a doping case but a natural occurrence," Landis said from the Spanish capital.
The problem is, a natural occurence must show up naturally every time Landis gets medically tested. It is fair to presume that in his entire cycling career he was tested at least dozens of times. Is there any corroborating evidence to support his "natural" proposition? Methinks not.
The final twist to this already bizzare scenario comes from none other than the legendary
Lance Armstrong who questioned the authenticity of the Lab that carried out the tests. Needless to say, Lance enjoys little or no love with the testing labs. If you recall, when he wasn't pedaling he was busy suing people to clear himself from the allegations.
Lance was quoted in
ESPN as saying,
"Secondly, I can't help but be aware the lab that found this suspicious reading is the same one that was at the center of the 'L'Equipe affair."
The French newspaper, L'Equipe, said samples taken from Armstrong during the 1999 Tour de France and then frozen tested positive for the blood-booster EPO. The International Cycling Union commissioned a report that later cleared Armstrong of the doping allegations.
"When an independent investigator contacted the lab, they wouldn't answer the simplest of questions, wouldn't go into their testing ethics, who did the tests, etc., etc.," Armstrong said. "I don't personally have a ton of faith in that lab. I think they should lose their authorization and the report pretty much supports that."
We haven't heard the last as yet.
Labels: Sports
World Cup Finals Prediction and No-blogging Notice
I will be away for two weeks. Postings will resume from 25th July onwards. Enjoy the World Cup Finals and cheer for the Azzurris.
Italy is going to win. I have no reason to believe otherwise. While it is true that I have consistently discounted France and they have proved me wrong for four straight games, it is also true that Italy is srtictly superior in every department of the game.
Italy enjoys a bit too much firepower in every position on the field as opposed to France who are severly short of proper back-ups once their stalwarts start having a bad day.
I would like to see Del Piero in the starting line up and Totti coming off the bench keeping up with the Italian tradition (goalscorer from the previous game always starts the next match).
It is also heartening to see the torch bearers of the loathed catenaccio system is playing breathtaking attacking style without compromising their defense led by the masterclass Cannavaro, who's as solid as ever.
Prediction: Italy wins 3-0.
Labels: Soccer/Football, Sports
Today: Portugal vs France
Prediction with accuracy limited to my brain size:
Portugal:2 France:1
Don't get me wrong. I love the crazy Gauls and I love
Asterix and
Obelix. But we are way past the days of
The Gaulish Supermacy. It seems a bit too late to work the magic again with a group of ol' bones (that was my theory proved wrong twice but they say third time lucky).
Anyways, don't forget to check out
Paul Kelso's in-depth probe of the loving relationship between the French and Portuguese.
Labels: Soccer/Football, Sports
NY Knicks fire Larry Brown
ESPN reports that NY Knicks fired Larry Brown, and Isiah Thomas, the president and general manager has taken over as the new head coach.
Larry's dream job lasted only one season.
According to the report, no financial settlement has been reached with Brown -- in other words the break up gonna be nasty in the coming weeks.
If you remember Larry's messy divorce with the Detroit Pistons and now with the Knicks, you must be wondering why Larry always ends up in a muddle -- must have something to do with his right way of playing ball.
More on this later.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Parting Thoughts on the 2006 NBA Finals
I will keep this short because when it's over, it's over. We're left with plenty of empty beer cans and not many words. And yet we start getting incoherent as if Mr. and Mrs. Profound are waiting to show up.
Slowly, the queer feeling of a sense of emptiness continues to engulf our passion, our rooting for the team we thought we care so much about.
Then we are sipping coffee with our friend(s) in one corner of Starbucks, our eyes searching, and just like that the flash is on.
That was one heck of a post-season.
We scream inside. And that's it — done and over with. See you next year.
So, what else to say? Well, just few more bits from here and there.
Before any series when I turn on my crystal ball, I don't stay objective. There is hardly any point to stay neutral and making an objective assessment. It takes away all the energy for a sports fan.
In principle it is possible. Then again Ann Coulter behaving with an acceptable degree of civility is a possibility too.
The teams playing for the holy grail of basketball may or may not be your teams, and most likely they are not. The probability that a randomly picked NBA or basketball fan is a legit one (to qualify as a legit fan he/she must be in some way genuinely connected to a team in the finals) is somewhere around one in 10 million or so (okay, that's an educated guess). It's a lot easier to find a bar date on a Friday night.
The funny part is our loyalty is not entirely to a team, whether or not they are in the finals. It is, for a conceivable portion, to the game we love. As the series progresses, the orphan fans, without a team to cheer for, soon find themselves coming out of the zone of indifference and swearing one way or the other.
That's the truth in the game. It brings out the Mark Cuban in you.
Since not everyday I get a chance to gloat, I might as well remind you that I picked Heat in six. And this was my reason:
Make no mistake, Wade is not going to let this slip away and there's just enough Diesel left in Shaq's tank to win 4 games.
I was wrong, in part. Without Udonis Haslem, Gary Payton, James Posey, and Antoine Walker (the unsung quartet), there wouldn't be any champagne flowing in Miami. No accolades please. Their contributions are beyond that.
The Dallas fans didn't see this coming. They believed they had a better team. Now the suffering. Hard to reconcile. Harder to make it through.
Now pause for a moment. In every season, there is a best team and a championship team. Sometimes the best team wins the championship and sometimes it does not.
The best team is only better than the rest.
The championship team sweats that extra drop to get it done. A talented group who refuse to die till they are dead.
Congratulations to the Miami Heat, the 2006 NBA Champions (sorry I cannot bring myself to say world champions - the memories are still fresh)
Congratulations to the Dallas Mavericks, for being there. Sorry, Mark. You tried.
And did I say I will keep this short?
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Reality Bites the Dallas Mavericks
After another disappointing loss to the Miami Heat in the NBA finals, the Dallas Mavericks have metamorphosed into the Dallas Crybabies; the official announcement is awaiting David Stern's approval.
The perennial whiners of the NBA are boiling with anger and ferocity, knocking off anything and everything that's within their kicking length, doling out curses for anyone willing to listen. Not a useful form of chivalry but in the kingdom of Mark Cuban you don't abide by rationale or common sense.
The Miami Herald reports:
The night ended after midnight with the angry Mavs kicking and knocking things over on the way to the locker room, and raging, rabid Dallas owner Mark Cuban, security keeping him back, screaming an endless string of obscenities at officials. Mavs guard Darrell Armstrong picked up the loud, angry cursing in the locker room after the obligatory cooling-off period, and he didn't even play.
All hail Mark Cuban — he shows the way — the rest of the flock follows. Not quite sheepishly though.
They are angry because Dwyane Wade was 21-25 from the freebies matching the output of the entire Mavericks clan. The blame, if any, must lie with the referees because Wade was taking it to the hole all night long while Dirk and company were hiding under the blanket.
Not Gatoraded enough — Mark?
The theatrics are all too familiar. For the Mavericks, winning is somehow considered to be a birth right protected by the Cuban Constitution — anything else is a sinister conspiracy to degrade the organization.
To this I say, grow up. Get real.
They were grounded from cloud nine once their trip to South Beach was over for this season. The fall was hard and painful. Reality bites.
Scoop Jackson of ESPN heard some angry notes:
"We were already mad after Game 4," Dirk said after Game 5. "They suspended one of our players … "
As if Jerry Stackhouse was suspended for distributing cookies.
Josh Howard, who's sealed his place in history next to Chris Webber for his infamous time out call responded to ESPN's Chris Sheridan's question on the dumb act of the day:
"What am I saying to you right now, dog? Please, don't come off on me right now because I'm going to come off on you, and I'm not in a great mood right now. Get out of my face, man. Get out of my face."
Only if anger wins the game are the Mavericks on the right track. Too bad it doesn't. It never has and never will.
Now they seem to have crossed the line of civility too. That's not surprising, though - when the collective thought process is in infancy, the individuals usually follow suit.
As an owner, Mark Cuban is always the biggest fan of the Dallas Mavericks. He's every bit a die-hard fan, only with a lot more money. He's a straight talker, sometimes with sense, sometimes without, but you have to appreciate his approach — there's no hiding, all out in the open.
Cursing is not an unchartered territory for him. He cursed Bruce Bowen for which he later apologized. He did it again which he candidly describes in his own blog:
then someone asked “Is this your worst loss ever” ... ..So I told the reporter to “Ask me a real fucking question”
Mark, what were you thinking?
Reporters have a job to do. They ask questions that you may or may not like. If you don't, then politely refuse. It is not so complicated.
He has his justifications though:
Apparently some folks have taken exception to me cursing in my response. Well in this case, the reporter was using my time, we were in a locker room and I was trying to provide a response that had no value to me, but could only help him. If he doesnt think enough of either of our time to invest the brainpower and minutes it takes to come up with something different than has been asked a thousand times.
Fuck em.
Attitude aside, the Mavericks have a bigger problem at hand. Burned by the Heat in Miami, they are now a bunch of dwindling confidence and slumping shoulders.
Now they have to gut it out.
Here's my suggestion: Have fire? Bring it on — that's how the game is played. Last time I checked, Kleenex was not a recommended option in the NBA..
Or else keep turning the whining wheel.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Dwyane Jordan
How good is Dwyane Wade?
Pretty darn good.
He's playing at a level right there with MJ. Don't get me wrong. He's not there yet in terms of a total player. But if His Airness is watching, he should also be feeling nostalgic.
Wade is that close.
He's got that killer instinct going — willing his way out through the defenders and lighting up hopeless situations — like MJ.
He can bring a dead game alive, seal nerve racking games with clutch plays. He makes tightrope walking look easy. For what it is worth, greatness cannot be measured only by numbers or by championship rings but by the moments of living it up when the dead has long left the arena.
MJ had both rings and moments. Rings surrounding the moments, moments surrounding the rings, the two intertwined and inseparable.
Wade is living in the moments. The rings will come.
Sunday night Wade was struggling. But he found his way to get involved, going to the foul line umpteenth times. It was a staggeringly slow rise but when his shot started falling Avery Johnson could only yell at his defenders and Mark Cuban started drafting his protest letter to David Stern.
Now that the sweeping theories have been swept altogether, we are going to Game 6 and a highly probable Game 7, both at Dallas. Fireworks are welcome.
I don't know who's going to win it all. I predicted Heat in six. Now I don't care. Really. I am just glad to watch him play, regardless. If the Heat win, cool, because I always wanted them to. If they don't, no big deal, you cannot take away Games 3 and 5.
You can take the ring, I will take the moments. I won't complain.
When Mavericks literally tore apart the Heat in the first two games, it left me dizzy. I will admit, I was shaken and even started to believe Heat might not be able to get back into the series.
In Game 3, with six minutes left and the Heat down by 13, I felt like switching off the television. It was too painful to watch them disintegrate before my eyes.
And there was Mark Cuban's elated face. Nothing personal but he's one damn smart guy who has got into the heads of the referees.
But I hung in there, glued and quiet. The Heat crawled its way back holding Dwyane's hand to win the game.
Sunday's game, a shamelessly seesawed one, dragged every bit of sweat out of my pores. No, it wasn't about how Heat sneaked out a victory leading the series 3-2. Nor it was about Wade's 43 points and how he came through for the Heat single-handedly carrying them to the victory — again. Because we have seen guys doing that before.
Tonight was about a guy who embodied No. 23 from North Carolina.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
NBA Finals: Preview
I am under the impression that you are already familiar with our own
Blogcritics expert picks for the NBA Finals. If you feel confused, don't take it too hard on yourself, because everyone's feeling that way.
But don't lose hope as yet because I am here to take you out of the misery of confusion as our experts are now pitted against each other.
Matt Sussman pitched whitewash of Dallas Mavericks. In a wishy-washy way I agree with the spirit although I will never know what led him to predict Heat a 4-0 favorite instead of a more conservative 4-2. Though I can think of possibilities, I would rather leave it to the comments section for you to come up with your own. But I like the way he came out aggressive.
If numbers are any indication, our own numerologist
David Barbour has the number of Mark Cuban in his pocket. His
clinically analyzed conclusion points towards Cuban's point of no return to sanity. Stern bless.
Unless you are from Miami or Dallas, in which case you've already made up your mind, the rest of us need to make a decision before we watch the finals with our companion grasshoppers. The call of the moment is to make up our floating minds, unlike the floaters in Florida, and it better be quick because the finals begin today. You don't want to go to a pub with your relevant body parts rooting for different teams, it hurts.
Suss is Hollywood. He's all glitz and glamor. He thinks the cast of Pat Riley's Twelve has enough star-power to take the Heat to the land of glory. David is cut and dry, more numeric and less turmeric, sheer powered by Gatorade-driven numbers.
Suss is eyeing the showtime with wrinkles,
Pat Riley, whose last ring is now an antique commodity. David is all over
Avery Johnson, the new generation coach, the coach who fits better in the value added world than the world of tabloids. Think of a quick tabloid heading for Avery if you can, I dare you.
While Johnson enjoys the reputation of turning a bunch of crybabies into ruthless executioners, Riley enjoys the reputation of backstabbing his loyal follower Stan Van Gundy, who took Riley's job in day's notice when Riley stepped down three seasons ago. After SVG went through last year's heartbreak, Riley asked him to spend more time with his family.
Memo to Pat: if Mavericks win, it's good karma.
Talking of Karma, Mark Cuban is finally getting the respect from the referees. If you noticed the insane number of game turning calls that went to the Mavs in the playoffs, you know Cuban has successfully got into the heads of the NBA officials. You'd think Cuban, from his courtside seat when he is not hugging his teammates, averages a solid 8 ppg.
Memo to Mark: if Miami wins, it's good karma.
So, who's going to break open the champagne? Make no mistake,
Wade is not going to let this slip away and there's just enough Diesel left in Shaq's tank to win 4 games.
My prediction? Heat in six.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
LeBron
The NBA Finals are on Thursday. A good three days of wait and I haven't started feeling the heat yet. My editor at Blogcritics, bless his soul, boldly
predicted sweep by the Heat, and if you keep in mind that he's the same guy who advised against watching the NBA conference finals, you know I will be there to watch his prediction getting swept.
Speaking of predictions, I'm done for the season. I think am running a negative balance.
Coming back to the current lack of excitement in the world of sports — well, that's not exactly true because the world of cricket is full of toasts and champagne — with India, the favorites recently lost the one day series 4-1 to the West Indies (don't bother if you are wondering what I'm talking about) and England managed to draw the Test series against Sri Lanka at home for which they are sure to get a stick in their backside. Can't wait to see what headlines the British tabloids come up with.
OK, this post is about LeBron. LeBron James.
Preamble:
Two weeks ago, one Monday evening, the Spurs lost and so did the Clippers. You all know about it and probably don't give a damn. Fair enough.
I headed off to the Rockies soon after the double heartbreaks began to trickle down my senses. And by the way, Canadian Rockies are cool, cooler than the cool places you plan to visit this summer. Where else on earth can you take a stroll on Glaciers and shake hands with grizzly bears? You tell me.
The disappointment came later in the day, when I stumbled on Skip Bayless whose cleverly written column on LeBron James didn't make any sense. He essentially blamed James for the loss to the Pistons, throwing his age out of the equation:
I mean, look at pictures of Jordan and Magic and Bird at the age of 21 and you'll laugh at how skinny and baby faced they look.
LeBron? No, this "kid" is a man now, and he must be treated as such.
Here's something worth recalling: Einstein, in a letter to Dr. M. I. Cohen, dated March 19, 1940 wrote: "Great spirits have always found violent opposition from mediocrities."
Bang.
The Gospel:
Give the kid a break. He's 21. Granted, he looks 31 but I repeat — he's 21. He's freak of nature. Admit it, appreciate what he offers and move on. Skip, if you are wondering why he doesn't have a baby face like most of us do at 21, then I suggest you consult an expert on genetics. And last time I checked, Jose Canseco wasn't seen lurking around the Cavaliers locker room.
Apparently people are ready to cut him a slack only if he looked like a Tayshaun Prince. That's where the last drop of intelligence evaporated.
He should be treated like a man. Sure. But not because at 21, he looks like a man, but because he plays in the league of men. And like every other man he must accept responsibility, particularly of failures. If he doesn't he's doomed but then again, it's his problem.
Correct me if I am wrong, but I haven't heard LeBron referring to himself in third person like he used to. He's showing maturity.
At 21 he speaks all the right things. On the podium he looks composed, poised and responsible. If it sounds contrived, so be it. He's not an embarrassment.
Just because he looks 31 doesn't empower him the wisdom of 31.
On the court he's led the Cavaliers to the East semifinals. The series was widely speculated to be a whitewash and another learning step for LeBron towards greatness. Five games into the series, the Pistons were facing elimination.
It shouldn't have happened, but it almost did. We witnessed.
Yes, the Cavs wilted when it mattered. The inexperience was too much to overcome. They were simply overwhelmed. The Pistons knew it, felt it and turned the screw. Game over.
LeBron was clueless and he found a friend in Mike Brown, the Cavaliers coach. When guidance was needed for a 21 year old mind, Mike Brown came a cropper. So a 21-year-old did what a 21-year-old would do when aggressively double teamed. He put his trust on his teammates. He got them looks, good, bad and ugly. They bricked all the same.
Yes, LeBron is not a pure shooter. The amount of impurity in his shot could only be found in the tap waters in Iraq. But look at his FG percentage. He has steadily improved from 41.7% in his rookie year to 48% in his third. He knows his weaknesses better than anybody and he works on them. That's sign of greatness.
He's doing amazing stuffs since he came to the league. Think about all the coincidences: that you were born and that you are now grown up enough to watch him play and soak in it all. If Nature's pendulum swung few degrees more (or less), you wouldn't be here.
So, thank yourself for being in the right place at the right time.
Like I do.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
Cooled Heat
The
Miami Heat, squandered a golden opportunity. Now they must close out the series at South Beach, or else, go home because they have absolutely zero chance of winning game 7 at the
Palace of Auburn Hills.
Tonight's loss may prove costly for the Heat. The
Detroit Pistons, had their back against the wall showing signs of shaked confidence, and rumors surfacing that the players are in disagreement with their coach
Flip Saunders. The stage was set for the Miami Heat to take over and reach the NBA Finals for the first time in their franchise history.
The road to the Finals remains open. Just keep in mind that the Pistons have come back from a 3-2 deficit to win a series in four previous occasions. I won't be surprised, if the Pistons manage to sneak past the Heat again, although it seems quite unlikely.
Two reasons why the Pistons won (rather than why the Heat lost):
1. Detroit started playing D, something sorely lacking in the previous games and robbed them of the identity they are most comfortable with.
2. The Heat went 6-20 from the free throw line. Even Ben Wallace would have done better by himself.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
The Ambrosian Days
I happened to come across this
interview of
Curtly Ambrose in Times of India. It made my day.
One of my cherished memories in Cricket happened a good decade ago, in the second semifinal of 1996 Cricket World Cup, between West Indies and Australia at Mohali. With Australia put to bat,
Mark Waugh, the Australian great who's in a dazzling form, took strike as
Curtly Ambrose, the opening bowler for West Indies started his run-up to bowl the first over the match.
The first delivery, a banana outswinger pitched just outside the off and carried to the second slip, setting up Waugh perfectly for the gem that followed--a killer in-cutter caught Waugh plumb in front of the off and middle--
Ambrosed.
Eventually West Indies lost to Australia by 5 runs. It was tragic because at one point, they were cruising at 160+ for 2, chasing what seemed to be a very attainable 207.
Thanks to
google video, you can still get a
flavor of the Ambrosian days.
Labels: Cricket, Sports
Why The Phoenix Suns Lost Game 3
Vanessa Casalegno felt that the game 3 between
Phoenix Suns and
Dallas Mavericks was weird. She also thought the Suns were pretty careless with the ball leading to their downfall. Now that's part of the story.
In my response, I explained why the Suns lost (her comment and my original one can be found
here). Below is a reproduction, edited for clarity and details.
I don't think it was just a weird game. In fact it was less weird and more
Avery Johnson. Give credit to Dallas-they contested every shot and their transition defense took away the offensive explosiveness of the Suns.
I thought, the Suns just stopped running and when they tried they didn't have a clue. Shawn Marion was particularly miserable on the offensive end. Right now, with a thinner than the thinnest bench, they have to get balanced performances from everyone who shows up. Anything less, they are looking for another defeat in the next game.
I think it has been pretty much clear that Dallas is a superior team. Admittedly they got favorable breaks in the last minute calls against the San Antonio Spurs, but they showed they are more than capable of holding onto their own which is why they are now going to win the current series. Once you get past the Spurs, you get that confidence, that swagger, to challenge anyone, anytime and anywhere. The Mavericks are happily riding on the gains from the Spurs series.
Labels: Basketball, Sports
715
We have a problem. The problem is, we don't have a clue what to do with 715. We shrug. We blink. We move on. We fail to rise from our seats. We fail to cheer. There isn't much to care about. Not when 715 defines Barry Bonds.
Meanwhile the moment is gone. Our reactions are well past the moment of 715. Let the brickbats continue.
Patrick Hruby of ESPN Page 2 recently came up with 616, the number of home runs Barry would have hit had he remained Barry and not a BALCO product from the laboratories of Victor Conte. Well, now we have a number, give and take a few, but still nowhere close to Babe. Babe is safe. We feel better.
715 is not a milestone. It is just another step towards the Hall of Shame.
Because Barry is a cheater. So we have been told and told pretty convincingly. Even for a skeptic, the platform of trust becomes shaky;
Malcolm Gladwell sharing his thoughts, on "Game of Shadows",
"When the book first came out, and several baseball writers predicted that Bonds’ reputation was destroyed and his chances are getting in the Hall of Fame seriously damaged, I thought they were overstating things. Now I’m not so sure. “Game of Shadows” is a death sentence for Bonds. More to the point, it’s impossible to read the book and accept that Bonds has a right either to the single season home-run record or, assuming he keeps playing, the career home run mark."
We have been fed a story. Nonstop. Without a break. From everywhere, every corner, every street, every lane and from every house. We cannot but believe it. Somewhere in the continuum, allegations became the truth. And the truth, whatever it is, yet to be found.
We believed the story, because we wanted to. Patience for truth is not our virtue when it comes to Barry Bonds because Barry's a threat to Babe. No, we never wanted Barry to come even close, and him going past Babe was our worst nightmare. Steroids or no steroids.
Because Barry is a jerk. We know, we've seen him being a jerk. We never liked that chap. He's obnoxious. He stinks. He is not fair. The steroids injected reasonable doubts in us. He's now dirty. The appreciation, if ever there was any, turned into disgust.
We asked for a "rat", we got Jose Canseco. We asked for proof, we got a book. So take him down. And we did.
A job well done. Let's now talk about who's next.
Labels: Sports
