“Transdermal celebration caused a slight mutation in the rift…”
I’d expect something like a Ween song to play with my imagination, but never like that—much similar to the NBA playoffs thus far.
We’ve seen title hopes altered in Chi-Town with Derrick Rose going down for the remainder of the second season in the Bulls’ inhalation of Philly in game one of that one, Caron Butler out 4-6 weeks for the Clips by fracturing his hand thanks to his attempting to play defense, Iman Shumpert’s knee going sour trying to do the same thing for New York, fellow-Knick Amar’e Stoudemire punching a fire extinguisher after last night’s loss and therefore hurting his hand for who knows how long, Jordan Hill celebrating the Lakers’ first of four victories over the Nuggets by allegedly beating his ladyfriend in Houston—the whole thing makes my head spin.
And then, Rajon Rondo getting suspended from playing game two in Atlanta for the Celtics…
(But remember: This one most likely guarantees 40 from Paul Pierce tonight—out of anger above all else—so I hope you get NBATV.)
I think my head’s going to explode, but ne’er fear, for we can wander out of this tomfoolery to discuss the themes and teams of Cali, as well as several other far more important things than those with which I plagued this column’s lead.
The State of LA
Did you know that there are three teams from Los Angeles as of right now vying for center stage right now? Okay, maybe putting the Kings in the same discussion as the Lake Show and the Clippers is a bit much, but they scored five goals last night; and they are an eighth seed for crying out loud. Somebody should be paying attention!
Anyway—the Lakers took game one (a real shock, right?), but it wasn’t behind Kobe’s 31 points: The purple and gold were led by Andrew Bynum posting the first triple-double from someone in a Laker uniform during the playoffs since Magic did it in 1991.
And if that’s not enough look at how he did it…
His line was 10/13/10 blocks, and we all thought the block-aholic of these here playoffs would be Serge Ibaka—no dice.
The Clippers stole one in Memphis, that’s for sure, but they did and didn’t entirely earn it. The comeback was all theirs, I’ll give them that, but that bogus call on Tony Allen giving LAC the game; that they cannot have—even if it was a gift from the so-called officials (more on this later; I promise you).
So, Californians, you all can pick your poison with whom you wish to route for in the NBA playoffs, but turn on LA’s finest story, the Kings, too. You’ll be glad you did.
Bill Simmons
Simmons is just the man—maybe better than him in all actuality…
The playoff preview he did had a Bad Santa clip—and that thing’s a classic—and it featured a few shots that cut too close to the bone: About none other than Andrew Bynum and the artist formerly known as Ron Artest. Read it; you’ll understand. (Unless you don’t see things about Bynum that everyone should, or you’ve never witnessed or known anything of Mike Tyson.)
Highlights from the piece on other matters include: “Anyone who doesn’t devour every minute of the Grizzles-Clippers doesn’t truly love the NBA”; however, it does get better: “…the odds of a Lakers-Celtics Finals are 50-1….Why are you laughing?” Good point.
Then, Simmons’ take on the Kobe/MJ debate is beyond enlightening, yet the thing’s unfinished—as we all know by the fact that Mr. Bryant has yet to retire—but everyone knows where this one is going to end up, a fact Billy Boy certainly has to be aware.
Nonetheless a good point is made…
And the last two sentences on LeBron are some of the greatest on him: Ever.
The whole piece is too much fun to carelessly pass by—even if he did end the thing (penultimately) by speaking of my arch nemesis, The San Antonio Spurs. Yuck
Officially Infuriating Officiating
Foul calling is never something which I wish to discuss, until I found out it wasn’t just me while I was listening to Scott Ferrall on Sirius the other night.
Sorry NBA, but there should be a time you swallow the whistle—maybe the ref would die, but I’d be able to watch a game without being able to say, “Why did I just put my head through the ceiling for a team I’m not even wanting to win?”
Please. Too much time has been wasted fixing the marks I make letting out the anger over the officiating: In Round One nevertheless!
Contraband…
It’s Guns N’ Roses—except with Scott Weiland signing, so enjoy it.
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