Git On Up, Youngblood!

I was streaming Game Three of the Thunder-Memphis series on my computer, and I kid you not, when Sam Young threw down this old skool powerjam, my computer froze.

Barkley Was Right

You know how it smells when rain first starts coming down, in that brief, quaint pitter-pattering stage that occurs before regular downfall?  You know, when the gritty but beautiful aroma of asphalt, dust, and microscopic rubber tire fragments is unlocked by fresh drops of precipitation making their landing?  That is what Southern California smells like after the Lakers gave up a fourth quarter lead to the Mavericks to lose Game Three and go down 3-0 in the Western Conference semi-finals.  Tonight, the falling drops hitting the pavement are Laker tears.

On paper, it doesn’t make any sense.  The Lakers are the most talented team in the NBA, no question.  Their five best players (Kobe, Gasol, Bynum, Odom, Artest) are far, far, far more talented than any other NBA team’s five best players—and they’re all in their prime, or slightly past their prime.  On paper, the Mavericks are a team comprised of former all-stars, have-nots, a “soft” German, and Jason Terry.  Yet, they’ve dominated the Lakers in a way that’s not been outright, but gradual, winning all three games of the series in the fourth quarter.  Ironic, isn’t it?  The Mavericks beating the Lakers the way the Lakers are used to beating them. 

If you’ve been watching the series, what you’ve seen is the Lakers total inability to make defensive stops at key moments.  And then you’ve seen Dirk Nowitzki taking over late in the games with his repertoire of bootleg moves.  Or five-foot-nine J.J.Barea bustering fools, getting into the paint at will, like he's Derek Rose.  I hear a lot of chirping coming from Laker nation, about how the Lakers are not hustling.  That’s kind of what people say about a team anytime a team is playing bad defense.  But watching Game Three tonight, it was painfully obvious—or sometimes just painful—that the Lakers were playing as hard as they could.  For the love of god, Bynum was more impassioned about playing basketball during Game Three than he’s ever been.  Did you see him yelling murderous threats at Phil Jackson when Phil sent Gasol to check in for him after he picked up his fifth foul mid-way through the fourth quarter?  The Zen Master was forced to take Odom out instead, because in all his mystical clairvoyance, he knew that Bynum would knife him in the throat if he came back to the bench.  There were players yelling at each other, players yelling at Phil Jackson, Phil Jackson accosting Pau Gasol.  Those flare-ups occurred all game, but the Lakers intensity was there.  The frustration never let up, because the Mavericks never let up, and the Lakers ran out of answers.

There were a lot of us who watched Game Three thinking the Mavericks are still the Mavericks, they can still lose, the Lakers are still the Lakers, they can still win, a 2-0 series lead isn’t concrete, even if the Mavs are back in Dallas for the next two games.  I’ve always discounted the Mavericks because of my belief that they’re merely a regular season team.  But now I see what has been clear all along, what Chuck Barkley loftily proclaimed even before the Mavs won Game One.  Regardless of how they’ve played on a game-to-game basis, the Lakers were never capable of beating the 2011 Mavericks.

Rick Carlisle’s offense is too sophisticated for the Lakers’ straight-forward defense that’s predicated on their physical superiority.  The Mavs, aside from Nowitzki, took few contested shots in Game Three, even though most of their possessions were well-contested by the Ron-Artestless Lakers.  The Mavericks have too many options, and they use all of them.  They all pass well, they don’t over-dribble, they play the pick-and-roll with all positions, they have iso options with Nowitzki and Jason Terry, they don’t go off on self-righteous shooting tangents or take heat checks, they're smarter than the Lakers, and most importantly, in the fourth quarter, they get Nowitzki the rock on the wing, where he wants it, where he knows what to do with it, no matter how ugly it looks.
 
It was brazen of the Lakers to walk into the playoffs without knowing how to realistically defend the most basic, most utilized offensive strategy, the pick-and-roll.  Now, the Lakers have until noon on Sunday to devise a plan for defense by committee.  My suggestion is that they watch tapes of the Mavs swarming defense and copy that.  But most likely what will happen is that the Lakers will lose on Sunday, or maybe Tuesday.  Then twenty minutes later, everyone around me, here in Southern California, will become obsessed with Dwight Howard.

Eulogy of Brandon Roy

The Mavericks win over the Trailblazers in Portland last night ended the Blazers' season.  But with Brandon Roy's knees making him mostly a footnote to the Blazers now, I worry that much more has been lost, and much more has ended.  In this series against the Mavericks, the Blazers were a Brandon Roy shy of winning.  They may always be a Brandon Roy shy.

I didn't know much about him when he first came into the league.  By appearance, he seemed like little more than a standard 6'6" shooting guard.  To an extent, it's true that he's standard, in that he's never been the quickest player, or the best jumper, or even the best shooter, but Roy quickly became unignorable.  Though it was subtle, Roy definitely had the Jordan-quality: a command of the game, sometimes just through presence.  His stats were good, not phenomenal, but Roy's greatest stat is his win percentage.  That's what he does better than he does anything else: wins. 

Before this year, I thought for sure the Blazers would one day win a championship with Roy leading them, even without Oden in the mix.  Then Roy came back from surgery this February, and I thought this year might be the Blazers' last chance to win a championship, period.  I watched this last series against the Mavericks with the understanding that it would be Roy's last playoffs—or at least his last playoffs in which he was still recognizable, to some extent, as Brandon Roy.

It was obvious that he was limited physically, especially on defense.  Still, I thought the Blazers had a better chance with Roy, even if he was playing limited minutes.  Because he's the type of a player with an aura.  A guy whose teammates respect him more than anybody else does.  The type of guy, like a Willis Reed (or even a Mateen Cleaves, if you will), whose mere presence makes a profound difference in his team's subconscious. 

Game four is one of the best games I've ever seen.  Brandon Roy almost single-handedly erased a 23-point fourth quarter by scoring 18 fourth quarter points to win the game.  He was more than aura on that night.  He was bordering on supernatural.  This was Brandon Roy's greatest game.  And maybe the last great game he will ever play.  Knowing Roy's character—a humble, team-first player to the core—he would say he was just trying to do whatever he had to do to help the team win.  But I think that maybe game four was Brandon Roy's swan song.  Like he played that game, not like a wounded animal, but like a beautiful bird with still a little flight left, to give us a lasting memory of how great he was.

There's no bigger Brandon Roy fan than me.  His injury, if it has the ramifications that the experts say it will, is truly, truly heartbreaking.  Because it's so difficult for me to accept that such a beyond great player, with such profound competitive fire, intellect, and humility, was cursed with such horrible knees.  A player as true as Brandon Roy deserved better knees.  If there's one thing Brandon Roy has ever lacked, it's cartilage. 

Photo Summary of the the Knicks-Celtics Series.

I've been meaning to write something about the Knicks-Celtics series, but I haven't been able to because the Knicks made it too difficult to care.  Thankfully, my friend, John Dodson, accurately summarized the series for me:

Transcription of the Conversation Between Mark Cuban and Security Personnel at the Rose Garden

I read this dubious report about Mark Cuban saying he was hit in the face by an unidentified projectile during Game Three of the Mavs-Blazers game.  Believe it or not, I've gained exclusive access to the conversation—recorded for quality assurance—between Mark Cuban and the security personnel whom Cuban promptly alerted in regards to the "incident."  Here's the transcription:

CUBAN:  Sir.  Sir.  Excuse me, sir.

SECURITY:  Yeah, what?

CUBAN:  Look, it's not a big deal, it's really not, and I'm really not trying to make a big deal over this, and I don't want to make any extra work for you guys, I really don't, but I just think I should bring it to your attention that an object hit me in the face.

SECURITY:  What object?

CUBAN:  You know, I'm not sure, I didn't really get a good look at the object.  I don't want it to seem like I'm making a big deal about this, because I'm really not.  The security has been great, you guys are all doing a great job.

SECURITY:  Was it big or small?

CUBAN:  Again, I didn't really get a good look at the object.  It struck my cheek, then ricocheted off my chest, to the floor.  I looked under and all around my seat, and didn't really see anything that looked like something someone would've thrown.

SECURITY:  Are you hurt?  Do you feel unsafe?

CUBAN:  No, absolutely not.  I'm perfectly fine.  I mean, yeah.  I'll be alright.  I'm not worried.  I just don't want anybody else to get hurt.  The fans in Portland have been great.

SECURITY:  Did you see anybody throw the object?

CUBAN:  You know, I didn't.  It was just a bang-bang play.  The object, I'm not sure what it was, hit me in the face, but I didn't really see anybody.  I'm not even completely sure the object, which I never actually saw,  was even thrown by anybody.  It could've just fallen from somewhere, I don't know.  I really don't want to make a big deal about this.  I just want to say—what's your name?

SECURITY:  Jerry.

CUBAN:  Jerry, you guys have been great.  I only wanted to let you guys know about this, becuase I know you have procedural things that you have to follow.

SECURITY:  Alright, Mr. Cuban.  We'll, I don't know, keep a look out for any fans who look like they're throwing objects.  Is there anything else I can help you with right now?

CUBAN:  Hey, thanks a lot, Jerry.  The security in Portland has been great.  I ordered a milk, and I still haven't gotten it.  I don't really want to make a big deal about it or anything...

Direct Addresses, RE: Frustrating Friday Game Threes

Friday’s Game Threes were frustrating.  Good, but frustrating.  Good, not great, but frustrating.  I have some things I want to say to some people regarding these frustrating games.

Mike D’Antoni, if Jared Jeffries is creating his own shots in the fourth quarter, you got problems.

Jamal Crawford, what the hell is wrong with you?  Jamal, have the gee dee decency to shoot the three in its proper, designated area!  I know the shot banked in to effectively end the game, but it was a remarkable result to an asinine play.  Jamal, you don’t go behind the back, ten feet above the three-point line, when there are less than five seconds left on the shot clock during the most vital possession of a playoff game—or any game.  And you don’t shoot a ridiculously contested three from five feet behind the line, when you’ve been standing around with the ball for half of the shot clock before that.  You don’t do that unless you’re Kobe Bryant or someone who’s intent on coming off the bench for the rest of their career.

Zaza Pachulia and Dwight Howard, you are morons.  I’m not one of those will someone please think of the children, fighting has no place in the game type of NBA fans, who were probably also proponents of parental advisory stickers going on CD covers.  I love NBA fights, especially real ones.  Dwight Howard, you are a fake tough guy.  You maloned Pachulia, then averted your eyes and walked away from the scenario with a really indignant it’s not worth it recoil.  You can only do the it’s not worth it stroll if you’re the recipient, not the perpetrator, of a maloning.  That was very Garnettian.  And then you especially can’t let a smaller teammate step in and get ejected over a fight that you started.  Pachulia, you are a fake tough guy too, not that you’ve ever been mistaken for a real tough guy.  I mean, I liked the headbutting, it’sbeen awhile since I’ve seen that.  But, Pachulia, it was obvious that you wanted absolutely no part of any fight…until a guy six inches shorter than you got in your grill.  Then you turned into De Niro, provoking Jason Richardson into a fight, all while you had unfettered access to Dwight Howard—the guy who actually did something—who stood next to you without any partition.

Hornets, this was the only time during game three (and maybe even the entire series) that any of you had the appearance of players who were legitimately interested in winning the game.  

Chris Paul, you do not want to win.  Chris, if you’re down ten points or less in the fourth quarter, don’t wait until there are only seven minutes left before you get your ass into the game.  And no Monty Williams this, or Monty Williams that.  Get in the game.  And then when you do finally get in the game, don’t keep letting Jarrett Jack take unassisted jumpshots.  Go get the gee dee rock and take it to the lane.  You are the ONLY advantage the Hornets have in this series.  I know you’re the type of guy who wants to get your teammates involved, but understand this: the only shot in hell that the Hornets win this series is if you take 30 shots a game and drop 15 dimes.  And make your gee dee free throws.

Kobe Bryant, my cousin, visiting from Australia, loves you and your Lakers.  After The Dunk in the first quarter, he left the room without saying anything and came back wearing a shirt with you on it.  The next time Okafor got Bynum’d, he started yelling, “All you can eat!  All you can eat!”

Two Things Worth Noting from Bulls vs. Pacers Game Two

1.  Of course, there was this:


This is worth noting, not because it ended the third quarter in a tie (who cares about that?), but because I, personally, knew that T.J. Ford would make this shot before it even left his hands.  T.J. Ford—whom I figured was probably dead—got some of Collison's second-half minutes, thanks to the camera man sitting too close to the court.  And he was playing to win.  The box score won't show it, but T.J. was the most impassioned player on the court, during the limited time he was out there.  Exile or not, get the man some minutes.

2.  Thank god basketball courts get mic'd for the TV broadcast.  Because of this, we know that every time Carlos Boozer rebounds the ball (even if it's an uncontested defensive rebound that comes off of a missed free throw), he yells, "Gimme that shit!"   

Game Ones

Every single one of them was awesome this weekend. I've always loved the first round of the playoffs in theory, because you finally get to see good teams that you hardly get to see on TNT, ESPN, or ABC (which doesn't care about any game that's not Lakers vs. Heat, or Celtics vs. Heat, or Lakers vs. Celtics). Then again, the first round series usually feature superpowers, like the Magic, beating sub-.500 playoff teams so bad that you wish the first-round was still following the best-of-five format. But through all of the game ones this weekend, there have been no superpowers, just a lot of good, evenly-matched basketball teams. Here's a quick, somewhat biased, recap of all the game ones (in order of appearance):

Indiana 99 - Chicago 104: Tyler Hansbrough may or may not be the Pacers' best player. I mean, after getting an eyeful of KURT THOMAS'S ELBOW, he walked off (what I'm pretty sure was) a minor concussion (though I have no credentials which qualify me to make that statement). But Derrick Rose.

Philadelphia 89 - Miami 97: During the game, I forgot Chris Bosh played for the Heat, despite him putting up a double-double and leading the Heat in scoring. Thaddeus Young was rampant. The 76ers played well (for the 76ers) and could've won that game, but didn't for the same reason—whatever it is—that they lost half of their games this season.

Atlanta 103 - Orlando 93: Atlanta played the best tactical game of the playoffs so far on both offense and defense. They let Dwight Howard fall in love with himself in the first half by not double-teaming him, so that they could instead shut down the other four positions. Howard set selfish screens all night—him rolling to the basket before his teammate rubbed off. The Hawks' offensive routes were disciplined and well-timed. They got (and usually made) whatever shot they wanted. Kirk Hinrich—defensive stopper.

Portland 81 - Dallas 89: Nowitzki looked like a fool all night. He was getting all huffy, because he couldn't make any shots. Somehow he was deemed the Mavericks' game one hero. Thirteen-for-thirteen at the line makes him the biggest beneficiary of the NBA's sissified foul-calling policies. Jason Kidd lit it up. Man, he's old. The Blazers blew it. Gerald Wallace played Dirk well, but also played like a Bobcat on offense.  Dallas seems like a hard town to win in, with Mark Cuban weirding everybody out on the sidelines with his caring too much.

Memphis 101 - San Antonio 98: Sunday ended with Marc looking like the least soft Gasol, despite that he's one of those centers who lays the ball up off the glass instead of dunking it when he gets a dime dropped on him near the rim. It’s good to see Battier back in a Grizzlies uniform. Forty bucks says Ginobili grimaces (more than usual) all throughout game two, while wearing some sort of unignorable elbow wrap.

New Orleans 109 - Lakers 100: Chris Paul did his thang. Everybody hates Gasol again. There’s nobody for Artest to shut down in this series; 2-for-13 is an average shooting day for Ariza. Will the Elias Sports Bureau please produce the +/- statistic for the subtle dominance that ensues when the Hornet twin-towers, Aaron Gray and Jason Smith, are on the floor together? Witness.

New York 85 - Boston 87: How’s Billups going to go out like that? I love watching Kevin Garnett actually have to guard somebody now that Perk is gone. The offensive foul on ‘Melo in the last minute of the game was an NBA call. If you even just let Ray Allen catch the ball in the last minute of a game, don’t bother contesting the shot. And don’t watch to see if the shot goes in. Just walk straight to the locker room immediately after he catches it, even if there’s still time on the clock.

Denver 103 - OKC 107: Best game of the weekend. Back-and-forth scoring runs all game. Gallinari threw down an alley-oop, which seems like something that needs to be mentioned. Kevin Durant became George Gervin.  And I want to mention an unmentionable, Eric Maynor, who took over the eleven minutes that he was in the game.  I would give you some of Harden's minutes were I the newly-spiked-hair Scott Brooks.

The Sacramento Kings of Sacramento

I'd thought the Kings moving from Sacramento to Anaheim was all but done (and maybe it is) but then I just read this article about my favorite King, Chris Webber, getting into the mix, aiding the effort to keep the Kings in Sacramento. If there's one snag in the Maloof brothers' in-progress plans to move the team to the Honda Center, it's the great, great Sacramento fans, whose energy has been so unrelenting for the last 20+ years that maybe their roar is to blame for the deteriorating arena that everything seems to be hinged on. I showed a friend of mine—a native of Sacramento and a fan before there was anything to reasonably cheer about—this Webber/Kings article about the possible move, and he gave me a great, great recollection. Here it is, Sacramento Forever!


Never did i think Chris Webber would give me goosebumps OFF THE COURT.


I hold this to be true: "Even when the team sucked, they (fans) were great. I mean, they were raising hell every night."


Minus one year, the Richmond era Kings never got to... the playoffs, and every game I went to was packed and filled with screaming fans.


One game in particular, if I may reminisce, was against the Trailblazers--Kings were down by one point (86-87) with 1.8 seconds left on the clock. Kings had the ball (passing it in mid court on their side). Billy Owens passes it to Richmond, who, as if an acme rocket were strapped to his back like Wile E. Coyote--bloodthirsty for a righteous slaughter and a bird blood smoothy, drove to the hoop and laid it in for 2 at the buzzer. And that buzzer, well, it was instantly drowned out by the fans' cheers of glory and shouts of victory. Babies were birthed, the lame were healed--yes, the Kings had pulled off their first victory in nine games.


And afterward, walking back to my Dad's truck, people were literally crying and wrapping their arms around each others' shoulders in comradery. I'd hate to think that die-hard passion has waned in Sacramento (I haven't been back in a long time), but I doubt it has.


If the Kings were to move to Anaheim, it'd be officially telling all those and underdogs in Sac (which is stricken with poverty and loserdom) that they truly are worthless.


I'm glad to hear Webber is saying: not while I'm around. In fact, I forgive Webber of any and all clutch-time choking habits. For, it is written: He is inherently a King.


                                                                                                              —Kevin Colpean

Ode to Chris Webber

This past Sunday night, it appears that all of us basketball fans tuned in to watch ESPN’s awesome documentary The Fab Five, about the University of Michigan’s all-frosh starting five that went to the NCAA Final Four in both ’92 and ’93.  For me, this documentary didn’t serve as a reminder of the theatrical legacy that those five dynamic individuals, and friends, created during their short, but bombastic, time playing together.  I never forgot about the Fab Five—my favorite college basketball team of all-time, and also 85% of my inspiration for applying twice to the U of M for grad school, which I didn’t get into, twice. 

I was seven years old and in the suburbs in 1992 when the Fab Five commandeered college basketball with an artistic style of game that was unapologetically black, and drenched in personality.  My middle-aged, white father and I watched them ardently.  We were enraptured by the black sock, baggy short street sensibility that seemed so fresh, so beyond modern, that watching their games, you’d think they were five guys from ten years into the future playing guys from ten years in the past.

I’d been waiting for this documentary, albeit unwittingly, for the last fifteen years, and it delivered on all fronts, but one.  There was one obscenely noticeable omission in the film, the principal element of the Fab Five.  My favorite player from his time at Michigan up until the time he quit playing, which was really when he was traded from the Sacramento Kings to the Philadelphia 76ers in 2005.

            Webber was the only member of the Fab Five to not do an interview for The Fab Five documentary.  I’ve been thinking about why that was, but I think it seems pretty obvious now…The Timeout. 

            I’ve always been blatant in telling people that C-Webb is my favorite player.  Nine times out of ten, my declaration will be followed by the unintelligent, giggling rebuttal by whatever jagoff I’m talking to at that moment, as they wish to discredit Webber’s genius entirely with the mere mention of his infamous calling of the timeout at the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans on April 5, 1993 at approximately [TIME OF GAME UNKOWN]  P.M. (EST), with 11 seconds left in the second half of the NCAA Division I Championship Game, Michigan trailing North Carolina 71-73 with no timeouts remaining, which resulted in a technical foul on Michigan, giving North Carolina two shots and the ball, effectively ending the game.

            After the game, Chris Webber said little to clarify his cognition at the time of The Timeout, and has said little to nothing about it, publicly, since that game ended nearly 18 years ago.  But still, The Timeout is what Webber seems destined to be remembered for.  Type his name into the search bar on any search engine, and “Chris Webber timeout” will be in the dropdown bar that archives popular searches.  A summary of that single play, almost as detailed as my transciption above, is on his Wikipedia page.  It is the defining moment of his career.

Well, I call B.S. on that.

            Chris Webber may never have won the NCAA Championship, or an NBA Championship, but he’s always been a winner.  And he’s always turned teams into winners.  Not teams that already had superstars on them upon his arrival, but losing teams with little recognizable talent, where Webber would obviously be the best player, but still would gain success by excelling the game of his teammates.  For my money, that’s an attribute of a superstar. 

After being drafted into the NBA as the #1 overall pick in 1993, he played on a Golden State team coming off a sub-.500 season.  In Webber’s rookie year, the Warriors made the playoffs, while he put up Blake Griffinesque numbers.  After just one year, the Warriors traded him to the Bullets, who’d been worse than the Warriors had upon Webber’s arrival.  The Warriors crumbled after the Webber trade, while he re-united in Washington D.C. with Fab Five teammate, Juwan Howard, and they turned the Bullets into a playoff team.  Then the Bullets became the Wizards, then traded Webber to the lousy Sacramento Kings for the one jewel they possessed, an aged Mitch Richmond.  The Wizards then crumbled on cue, while the Kings started a steady assent to greatness.

In Sacramento, Webber dazzled.  Statistically, his numbers were always astronomical—with the exception of his free-throw shooting—and he’d always played hard, but in Sacramento, Webber played at another level as he took a team of Europeans, Doug Christies, and shoot-first point guards to that next level with him.  All players with the Kings during that time, minus Gerald Wallace at the end of the bench, played their best basketball behind Webber. 

The Sacramento Kings during the ’01-’02 season were the pinnacle of finesse basketball, and the best all-around passing team I’ve ever seen, led by Webber, the best passing big man I’ve ever seen.  Webber was good at everything during that season.  Post defense, offensive/defensive rebounding, shot-blocking, steals, making defenders look foolish.  I still feel robbed and hoodwinked of that later-controversial Western Conference Finals series against the Lakers, in which the Kings were up 3-2 before losing at home in game seven—a series which would later have footnotes to it that referenced disgraced referee, Tim Donaghy.

            The Kings continued to make the playoffs after that, but Webber’s knees started to fail him.  In the prime of his career, he was injured nearly half the time, though he’d always come back as a major contributor to lead them, come playoff time, even as his defensive prowess became antiquated.

When the Kings traded Webber to the Sixers in 2005, because they thought they were better off with Peja Stojakovic at the helm, the Kings entered into the denouement of the franchise, still declining. 

Webber was the kind to be heartbroken over getting traded.  He was heartbroken when he was traded to the Kings.  I imagine he gave up after being traded by the Kings, as I imagine anyone forced to go play in Philadelphia with a twenty-five-shot-a-game-taking Allen Iverson would give up.

            Still, after a storied NBA career in which Webber led nearly every team he played on, by example, I wonder why typing his name into the search bar on Google turns up “Chris Webber timeout” as the fourth most popular search option.  I can’t answer that question.  But I think I know why Webber wasn’t on that Fab Five documentary.  Because he knew what doing the interview would force him say. 

            The Fab Five inevitably covered The Timeout, I knew it had to.  Everybody involved had a say about the derailing lapse in Webber’s otherwise extraordinary basketball IQ.  There were several accounts, one from career benchman, Eric Riley, that allege Webber heard shouts from the Michigan bench when he neared, in-game.  The shouts instructed him to call a timeout, which he did in the confusion and pandemonium of the ugly sequence, despite that he had to have known full-well that they had no timeouts left.  You can actually see a couple players/coaches motioning for timeout with the t-gesture on the right side of this video’s frame at precisely 1:31. 

I’d known about these sideline calls before the documentary.  I wasn’t stirred by any of that.  I can’t argue that Webber’s actions—or maybe just that singular action—sealed the loss for Michigan.  There should never be any reasonable excuse for the best player of any team.  I think Webber knows that.  I witnessed him knowing that in the documentary on Sunday night.  His recognition layered the truly heartbreaking footage of his lengthy walk, shown in its entirety, from the court to the Michigan locker room immediately following the final buzzer.  Webber intensely silent, his head down the entire way, a myriad of photographers and cameraman all floating and snapping repeatedly, several feet in front of Webber’s unremitting gait, the desperation in the voice of an unseen security guard, commanding the photographers and cameraman out of the way.  Also, in the press conference that followed that game.  Webber answered nearly all questions posed to him by recounting what millions of viewers had already seen live and then in slow-motion replay again and again.  He offered no insight into his mindset at the time of The Timeout, and only blamed himself.

To me, that’s a leader.  Someone who accepts fault, and continues to accept fault even when the blame keeps coming for an inordinate amount of time.  Someone who refuses to sell-out a teammate for their part in a team’s failure.  Someone who denies themselves the euphoria of participating in, quite possibly, the last re-hashing of some of the most glorious of glory days, because of an 18-year loyalty.  So maybe I will ultimately remember The Timeout as the defining moment of Chris Webber’s career, but I will remember it as that because of the leadership he displayed even after arguably one of the worst mistakes a player could make at inarguably the worst time.  Chris Webber has always led his team by example.  He still is. 

The Nets have won five games in a row

Sure, they're in no immediate danger of making the playoffs, but a five-game win streak for the Deron Williamsed Nets is a worthy—or relative—feat that deserves recognition. It’s mainly, however, an excuse to show you Williams's wondrous provocation of corybantic bedazzlement:

What I think about John Wall, in reverse chronological order

Dwyane Wade is the best player on el Heat, not LeBron

Miami's clamorous home win against the Lakers tonight was ugly, but a beacon of hope.  The NBA critics have been merciless with the Heat this week since their tear-stained, barn burner loss to the Bulls on Sunday, in which LeBron James nearly threw the ball through the glass on a go-ahead lay-up attempt with Joakim Noah guarding him.  Personally, I believe Joakim Noah is the best center in the league (yeah, I said it), but up until that brick sailed so high above Noah's enchanting locks, cached in a rubber band or scrunchy, I'd been telling people LeBron was the best player in the NBA.  After tonight's win, in which Dwyane Wade led the Heat in the fourth quarter, I now believe he is a better player than LeBron, and probably has been all along.  Here's why:  he's smarter.

When you’re asking yourself who is the best player in the game, it’s hard to not think in terms of W.W.J.D.  Jordan’s default was always to attack the rim.  And when he got older, he was always looking for something towards the basket, trying to get in the paint, which is exactly what you’ll see Wade doing on any given night.  Because when you’re that talented of a player, with a Jordanesque knack for finding an opening, you probe and probe until you force the defense to give you a high-percentage shot.  A guard in the NBA doesn’t shoot 50% for their career, like Jordan, unless they’re relentless in their quest for quality shots, which don’t include fall-aways from the perimeter.  Already through his first eight seasons, LeBron’s taken almost 800 more threes than Jordan did in his entire career, though they shot about the same percentage.  It’s an issue of shot selection. 

LeBron still is, and probably always will be, the most impressive/intimidating physical specimen the league has ever seen.  At the size of a legitimate NBA power forward, he is as fast/quick as anyone in the league, jumps as high as anyone in the league, takes it to the rack as good as anyone in the league, and drops a roll of dimes as good as anyone in the league.  But he's a showtime player, not a primetime player.  LeBron will win a game in the first three quarters, but not the fourth—a symptom of a style of play that is seemingly predicated on his penchant for catching fire, as opposed to staying hot on an even flow.  His decision making is to blame.  When the game’s tight and LeBron’s at the helm, the question is, will he make the fade-away three-pointer or not?  You don’t ask whether or not he’s going to take it, and you’re not surprised if it’s on a fast break or early in the shot clock—I don’t understand a lot of things about the NBA today, like how a spontaneous three-pointer early in the shot clock can ever be a good play. 

Watching Wade with the ball in a half-court set when the game is tight, is like watching an angiogram.  Like dye, he passes through the defense’s artery, searching for whatever’s there, then taking it.  Breaking down the defense like that metaphor just broke down. 

LeBron may be the best transition point guard there is.  I say better than Steve Nash, because, half the time, LeBron doesn’t need to pass to anybody to produce a thunder jam.  But in the half-court set, I’ll take Wade, because he’s always looking for a high-percentage shot.  A lot of times, I don’t what LeBron is looking for.

There was a great play late in the game against the Lakers tonight.  On a vital possession with under a minute left in the game, LeBron set a pick for Wade in the high-post, which freed Wade to take it to the cup.  The two defenders on that play, Kobe Bryant and Ron Artest, were utterly confused by that pick-and-roll combination.  That's against two of the league’s most decorated defenders, need I remind you.  Had LeBron rolled to the basket, as opposed to standing disoriented at the top of the key when Kobe and Artest both followed Wade, he would’ve been the recipient of a Sportscenter-Top-10-caliber alley-oop.  What if LeBron set picks like a power forward all the time?  What if he was a power forward, who lived in the paint?  It’s hard to imagine the painted area not becoming his very own Dunkin’ Donuts franchise. 

I don’t know if I’m ready to say that Dwyane Wade is the best player in the NBA right now (I'm more inclined to agree with this guy), but I think he's better than LeBron and I'd definitely place him above Kobe, who's the inverse of LeBron—he’ll lose the game for you in the first three quarters, or win it in the fourth.  But I do feel rather comfortable saying that in order for the Heat to win big games, Wade’s gotta be their closer, their half-court guy.  LeBron has to be the best number two option of all-time.  Chris Bosh?  Chris Bosh was last seen at the Air Canada Centre on April 6, 2010.  If you have any information regarding his disappearance, please contact the local authorities.

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