Rock, Chalk, Jayhawk: See You In New York, Derrick Rose!

I'm so glad that the Kansas Jaykawks won the NCAA Championship.



You can make fun of me for hopping on their bandwagon after my bracket went down in flames (I had picked UCLA to win it all), or after reading my Facebook "ballad" to Stephen Curry after watching him torch the Georgetown Hoyas, or after hearing me predict a team that shot 59% from the charity stripe (Memphis Tigers) to win the championship on my radio show Real Talk: Sports Talk last week. Yes, go ahead and toss the laughter at the comment box below.

(Side Note: My boy Obi even caught me yelling out an audible "we won!" during the post game fracas. Ouch.)

While I was walking to watch the game on Monday in a packed KU alumni bar in downtown DC (we'll get to that later), I realized two important facts. First, if Memphis wins, then everyone in America (including all those draftniks and hyped-up websites...yes, I'm talking to you NBADraft.net) would undoubtedly be yammering on about Derrick Rose and his legendary performance in the title game. He'll immediately be catapulted above Michael Beasley to the top spot in the June draft, destined to ride on 24's in Miami while playing for the Heat.

If you haven't noticed, the NBA's has completely transformed into a league of extraordinary point guards. When Commissioner David Stern implemented his "new rules" back in 2002 due to the extremely agonizing '99 Finals (Knicks-Spurs) that had an extremely unfair amount of unwatchable games for the casual NBA fan. In the new rules, Stern made sure that NBA teams hoisted up a significantly greater number of three-point field goals, that fast break basketball became the standard, and defiantly established the "Defensive 3 Seconds" rule - a rule that prevented coaches from parking their big men in the paint to contain the proverbial "super-athlete" ('07 Lebron, '06 Kobe, '03 T-Mac) keeping them from running to the rim and dunking/getting fouled every single possession.

The use of a hand-check? Over. Guys like the legendary Charles Oakley policing the paint with body blows to the sternum? Done. Simply put, perimeter players now get the benefit of all calls. That's why players like Ben Wallace and the Pistons of '04 - a team without a recognizable superstar - were able to hang onto Shaq's arms during the entire NBA Finals without fear of fouling out. That's why a guy like Tim Duncan (who averages 20-10-3 blocks every year) will never again win the League MVP. That's why Steve Nash (an superior offensive PG but a utter liability on D) is winning MVP awards well into his 30's.

That's why "His Airness", MJ, will always be the G.O.A.T.

To test this PG theory, let's just look at the current NBA Playoff teams and their point guards, shall we?

Western Conference
1. New Orleans Hornets: MVP-candidate Chris Paul. He's averaging more than Steve Nash did in his two MVP campaigns. Between his season and all those New Orleans' vacation commercials he's shooting, it almost makes you forget that he's the college player that punched a guy directly in the balls. Almost.

2. San Antonio Spurs: Tony Longoria Parker. Even though Tony only missed two weeks earlier this season, the Spurs panicked and picked up a half-dead Damon Stoudemire for 20 cents on the dollar. When the Spurs hit the panic button - you know a PG is important.

3. Los Angeles Lakers: Derek Fisher. He serves as the coach on the floor (comparable to Ron Harper/B.J. Armstrong role during the Bulls three-peats), and is the only guy that Kobe truly respects.

4. Utah Jazz: Deron Williams. And they though this guy lacked speed and talent after college. Jerry Sloan's laughing from his office.

5. Houston Rockets: Rafer Alston. During Houston's 22 game winning streak last month Alston posted season-high stats. "Skip to My Lou" dropped 18ppg, stroking 38% from three, stepping up in Yao's absence. If he can keep this up, Houston's a real contender.

6. Phoenix Suns: Steve Nash.

7. Dallas Mavericks: Jason Kidd. Mark Cuban DESPERATELY wanted to hit RESET on his video game ownership season once he saw that an unstable PG (Devin Harris) was leading the Mavs down the road to disaster. Well, why not roll the dice with an aging J-Kidd to pair with your team MVP, Dirk? (Easy, because Jason's going to be 36 years old next year, that's why...yikes.)

8. Denver Nuggets: Allen Iverson...still the best pound-for-pound player at his size ever to play in the NBA. He was the first to really, REALLY exploit Stern's new rules. (See: '01 Sixers and the NBA Finals)

With a healthy but overused Baron Davis (40+ minutes in Don Nelson's system) leading the Warriors into playoff contention, we see that the league is top-heavy with PG talent. That's why the Celtics - a team that has led the league in victories since Day 1 - drooled over the prospects of snatching an aging Sam Cassell from the lottery-bound Clips. (You know that Sam-I-Am is due for a clutch dagger in at least one playoff game this year.)That's why I wanted Derrick Rose and "Los Tigres para Memphis" to go down in flames once I got to the KU bar in downtown DC. Well, plus the fact (Reason #2 if you were paying attention to my 3rd paragraph) that I was drowning in a sea of drunken Jayhawk diehards that piled into the tiny (but well-vented) establishment near Dupont Circle. It's never fun watching a huge fan base get denied on a national scale. That's why I immediately flip the channel when ESPN Classic decides to show "the bloody sock game" and Kevin Brown's historic Game 7 meltdown to cap off the debacle of October '04. Every fan bases deserves to enjoy some semblance of hope and joy, right?

Derrick, we've already set aside the #23 (take the jersey off, Quentin) for you. As Spike Lee would echo, do the right thing and come to the Big Apple.

David Stern, get to work on fixing the draft lottery. Thanks.

-TTK

For the Love of the Game...

I absolutely love sports.

Sure, I had my doubts. From a distance I saw Big Ben Roethlisberger tossing touchdown passes in Pittsburgh while the pimple-faced Eli Manning was slinging interceptions for scores at an unbelievable rate (see: Minnesota Vikings, Week 12). I, like most New Yorkers, wondered aloud about the draft-day decision the Giants brass had made that faithful day and believed that we had chosen the wrong quarterback. Our gap-toothed Hall of Fame pass rusher skipped the entire training camp fighting a long divorce battle and our coach was on pace to break every blood vessels in his scalp during the off-season press conferences. The franchise’s record-holding running back was busy dissecting the team for his national television audience while the team frantically searched for a replacement back, trading for a respectable guy from Cleveland (Reuben Droughns) and drafting some young kid from Marshall (Ahmad Bradshaw). With a rejuvenated T.O. and a loaded Redskins squad, the chances for Big Blue to come crawling out of the NFC East looked slim.

But Sunday – in front of a record-breaking 90 million viewers – our defense manhandles the greatest offense since the beginning of the salary cap era, our snot-nosed QB becomes a legend, and New York defeats Boston on the biggest of stages – Super Bowl XLII.

Man, it’s great being king. Now I know how Simba feels.

As most displaced New Yorkers, I woke up Monday morning dazed and confused. Did that just happen? Did someone spike the punch without my notice? Was this all a part of some diabolical plot similar to Tonya Harding's planned hit on American teammate Nancy Kerrigan? Forgetting that I had elevated my bed, I plunged headlong onto my area rug. After licking my wounds, I powered up the TV and flicked to the morning’s SportsCenter loop. Yup, the Giants had won.

As I sat in my dorm room and reflect on the excitement that enveloped the Super Bowl, I began to think about THAT question. I hear it when I walk through the campus, or climb up the hill to class, or drag my garbage to the trash chute. I’ve never known exactly how to answer it…and honestly, as I type this sentence into Microsoft Word, I’m still puzzled.

“TTK, why are you so infatuated with sports? Why do you love them so much?”

To answer, I usually counter by inquiring about their lack of love for sport, or ramble about the thunderous dunks that Shawn Kemp deposited on his victims during his career, or smile and tell them to watch another game. However, that’s never the real reason why I love sports. I just supply my textbook answer, understanding that time is short, that no one has twenty minutes to spare, and that a simple gesture or phrase would suffice. Since my definition will never give the feeling behind true love of sports justice, I’ll instead give a quick story.

I first started playing organized basketball in seventh grade on our neighborhood’s CYO team. My head coach was a tall Irish guy that always had a scowl adorning his face. During practice we would run suicides and wind sprints until our lungs felt like they’d collapse, like the ceiling was ready to bear down on our timid souls. On that team, I bought my minutes because of my tenacity and hustle. I loved when the coach roared with delight when I dove out of bounds in pursuit of a loose ball. I enjoyed glancing over to the bench and catching a grin curl across Coach’s face after I powered to the offensive glass for put-backs and garbage lay-ups. I knew my role, and embraced it for the benefit of the team.

During the course of the season, we had become recognized as one of the better teams in the league and gathered new rivals at other schools around Queens. On this day, we were playing at home against another basketball factory school, and needed a quick basket to keep pace with this team late in the fourth quarter. Our coach couldn’t make the game due to some extenuating circumstances and we were left with the assistant, an honorable gentleman, the late Coach George. When we came to the huddle after the timeout, Coach George pointed to me and made a simple statement.

“We need a basket right now. TTK, are you ready to make the shot?”

I immediately stared at my laces and tried not to make eye contact with the other guys in the huddle. I couldn’t believe it. Coach was asking me to not only take, but MAKE the jumpshot.

“I-I-I-I guess so,” I stammered.

The ref motioned to our bench, and the team knew that I was going to be the guy to take the shot and tie the game up. As I slowly make my return to our basket, Coach grabbed me and grinned. This is nothing for you TTK, he said. Once you make the jumpshot, just get back on D.

The rest of the story pretty much writes itself, but I’ll continue. My teammate "Jimmy" fed me a beautiful inbounds pass, and without hesitation I squared my shoulders, rose above the defender, and canned the jumper. As I sprinted back down court to play defense, I only remember touching the trail of tears that rolled down my face, dishing out high fives to the rest of my team, and hearing the din of an electric gymnasium crowd.

People love sports because of the feeling one gets after swishing that game-tying jimmy in front of a packed school gym. Or after snatching that catch in traffic across the middle of the football field while playing with your friends. Or after spiking that volleyball into the dirt during a friendly match at the family reunion against your loud mouthed relative who still thinks that they’ve got game. Those feelings explain why collegiate athletes lift weights during the heat of summer, why your kid brother smells like funk when he hugs your knees after a day at the YMCA, and why your dad still owns the pair of orange Chuck Taylor's he wore every day during high school.

While most people are fearful about the real world after college, the saddest part of college for most guys (and some girls too) is realizing that those dreams of hearing your name called on draft day are starting to fade fast. Sure, we know that we can yam a basketball through the net, but understand that there are thousands of guys in Division I, II, or III hoops that can do it a lot better than we can. Most of us shrug off that feeling of inadequacy and move on, but some don’t. That’s why you’ll always find “that guy” pumping extreme amounts of iron in the Bally’s weight room, buying cartons of protein shakes at your area supermarket, and fighting an addiction to those nutritional supplements sold at the local GNC. Sure, he’s glad that you noticed his tree trunk sized arms when he carried your groceries and hopes that he’ll cash in on a date, but he’s still hoping and believing that a conditioning coach will call his room phone and invite him out to Redskins training camp next summer, so he remains on alert.

Once we accept that the major leagues are out of reach, most folks latch onto professional athletics hoping that those figures on the television screen provide the same exhilaration that we once felt as competitors in sport. Becoming a die-hard fan glues that team’s passion to his/hers, allowing the fan to revel in their team’s victories and wallow in their defeats. As my friend "The Doc" once mentioned, sports are our soap operas. Sport is the straw that stirs our emotional drink. The fan wants to recreate those dramatic scenes in his/her mind, to appreciate and share with the members of future generations.

I realize that I’ve left out the casual fan in my assessment on our love for sports. Well, the casual fan joins the collection of sports fans in this instance. To the majority of its viewers, sporting events are one of those things in life – like great movies, TV shows, or special songs – that provide us with brief moments of time to experience unbridled joy. I’ll always remember David Tyree’s sensational catch in Super Bowl XLII not solely for Eli Manning’s flair for the dramatic and the Giants inevitable touchdown seconds later, but primarily because in that moment I jumped around the house like a unruly toddler, bearhugged my sister in front of a group of friends and strangers, and had a big smile plastered on my face for the rest of the game.

The casual fan has those same memories, like the time that a high school boyfriend rested his track letter jacket gently on his date’s delicate shoulders, or when daddy’s girl enjoyed her first ever father/daughter date at the ballpark, or that electricity in the air at grade school on the day that the Yankees made the playoffs for the first time. The casual fan may not watch every single regular season game or bother to fact check Wikipedia to make sure that I spelled Roethlisberger’s name correctly in the beginning of this “note”, but will always watch the biggest of games. Why? The casual fan wants to create a myriad of great new memories to attach to the old ones, and understands that on the biggest of stages – such as the Super Bowl, World Series, the Masters, or Olympics – the chance to experience a lasting moment of joy has a greater chance of occurring.

For me, besides that feeling of “greater love” (thanks, Fred Hammond!) that comes through a relationship with Jesus, a God that continually shows his unconditional love for his creation, sports – like marriage or new birth – is one of the tangible earthly elements that provides moments of unbridled joy in our lives.

That’s why I absolutely love sports.

-TTK

We Still Remember - Tony Dungy and Negro Bowl I

"Do what you can, with what you have, where you are."- Theodore Roosevelt

Like most Howardites entering the university in the fall of 2005, I had a smorgasboard of goals for college. I wanted to serve my community, live for Christ, gain acceptance from my new peers, and balance precariously on the unstable line separating my inner Steve Urkel and Stephon Urquelle. Basically, I wanted to leave my personal seal on Howard University. I wasn't looking to be greedy and tat up the political scene as a HUSA President, or dominate the press releases as the next Zora Neale Hurston over on P Level in the West Towers (The Hilltop). After my stroll across the red and blue stage in May 2009, I was determined that my legacy would impact the lives of others and cause a reverberating effect for the years to come.

Looking back at the declaration I made sitting in room 222 of Charles Drew Hall, I realize that with the help of Jesus, I've accomplished some great things in my life. I never would have imagined that scribbling a couple of jokes and catchphrases down about my life as an intern on a legal pad at my internship in the summer of 2006 would lead to an opportunity to work alongside a great company during the Summer Olympics in Beijing, China. My wildest dreams never caused me to envision entertaining an early December graduation over the expected May setup. (Don't worry, I'll be here until May 2009.) As I look at Super Bowl XLII and picture the younger Manning slinging darts against an undefeated Patriot defense, I realize that things in life don't always work out in the way you think they will.

Case and point: Last year in football, I didn't believe that the Indianapolis Colts had the ability to run the table and reach the Super Bowl. After all, the strongest teams in the AFC were the San Diego Chargers (following LT's breakout year) and the Baltimore Ravens (with an fierce defensive combination and a rejuvenated Steve McNair reliving his glory days as the catalyst for a Billick-coached offense). There was no way that a Colts team that lost after Mike Vanderjagt shanked a field goal on their home turf last season and allowed a pesky 5'8'' running back from Jacksonville to have a Herculean game leading up to the first round matchup was going to have success in the playoffs, especially with the league's second-best running attack (Kansas City Chiefs) poised to snag a victory in the RCA Dome.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

Over the previous five seasons leading up to the 2006 playoffs, I, like most obnxious journalists, had given the credit for the Colts' resurgence to their offensive surgeon, Peyton Manning. Manning stood atop a record-setting Colts offensive and consistently lead his team to victory, regardless of the faults of an inept defensive system. I never understood why Tony Dungy was considered by my peers to be an brilliant tactician. I mean, I knew he created an entirely new defensive system, the Cover 2 defense, and used a rotten initial core of talent to build a successful franchise in Tampa Bay, but still wasn't sold on the idea that he deserved a spot of the mantle of the great NFL coaches. Though I acknowledged Dungy as an successful African-American coach in a league that is controlled by a handful of "old money" owners with covert racist tendencies, I believed him to be the black Marty Schottenheimer...a guy who just couldn't win the big game.

As I sit in front of my computer screen and reminisce about my feelings about Tony Dungy and his career in the NFL, I realized that I suffered from the disease of indifference. I believe that as a community, black folks have also allowed the seeds of indifference and complacency to fester like a sore in our lives. As the majority of African-Americans slid into the unfamiliar waters of the middle class, we failed to notice the aura of complacency that took hold in our community. The strength that we garnered as a collective body during the Harlem Renaissance and the black movements of the Vietnam era was compromised when folks started asking the damning question..."What's in it for me?" Nowadays, people are too concerned with defining themselves as individuals amidst an era of confusion rather than uniting under one umbrella to champion great causes just as our forefathers did during the heat of our untelevised revolution. Basically, we've got too many punch line rappers and not enough cats ready to make global change.

As Peyton Manning's Tony Dungy's team deleted the
Chiefs, Ravens, and Pats en route to his first Super Bowl opportunity, I jumped headfirst into the bandwagon. Even though I was hoping Lovie Smith would tie Rex Grossman to a speedboat in the Everglades before touching down in Miami for the "Soul Bowl", I was elated to see two great guys represent African Americans in our country's single largest entertainment event of the year. I was grinning from ear to ear as Tony would later lift the Lombardi trophy and make his signature statement that will forever echo in the annals of history, "Two black coaches, doing it the right way, doing it God's way."

Tony Dungy's Super Bowl victory was not only an overt fight against the Chicago Bears in Super Bowl XLI, but an covert fight to allay the jeers of an unforgiving white world and to scourge the unbelief of a discouraged black one. In a confused society that looks to guys like Jay-Z as the new models of leadership, allow me to point in the direction of the honorable Tony Dungy. Though Negro Bowl I has now become a footnote in the essays of history, let's remember and apply Dungy's mantra of brotherhood, love for Christ, compassion, righteousness, and hope to our daily lives. As Sidney Deane (Wesley Snipes' character) profoundly stated at the end of White Man Can't Jump, "if [we] don't look out for [our] brothers, who will?"

Thanks Tony...for helping me to believe again.
-TTK

Unchain My Heart: Sean Taylor, Barry Bonds, and the NBA

To: Reader of this Blog Note
Address: Random College or University in the United States of America
1234 Zoinks Blvd. Washicagofornia, USA.
Attn: College Student, (that means you)

There used to be a time when Thanksgiving meant celebrating another Detroit Lions loss and Cowboys’ victory with friends, enjoying a slice of your grandma’s sweet pecan pie after supper, tying your Adidas Superstar II’s in preparation for the exciting terror of Black Friday, and using your dad’s ballpoint pen to check off every annoying December date until THAT DAY…when you’ll find yourself on the living room rug grinning as you unwrap that new Matchbox racetrack/Beanie Baby/Game Boy Color (with Pokemon Yellow) that your parents bought after they suffered through that outrageously long line at (insert Random Toy Store here). Well, watching you giggle hysterically in disbelief while rolling around on the kitchen linoleum made it totally worth it.

Don’t worry…I’ll wait for you to wipe that nostalgic twinkle out of your eye.
(If you weren’t thinking about the awesomeness of some past Christmas while reading the previous paragraph, well…I just feel bad for you. Next time we cross paths remind me to give you a bear hug and buy you a creamsicle, okay?)

On Friday, as I watched a huge group of kids play touch football in 35 degree weather without hats, gloves, or even bothering to zip up their coats, I realized that the magic of the holidays has started to fade as I’ve gotten older. Since I’ve arrived at college, my only concern during Thanksgiving has been to get a ton of sleep, hustle and get some work done, and give the patented college answer to every aunt/uncle/cousin that bothers to ask about life at school.

Aunt: “Hi, Throwback Kid, how’s life at Howard University in…where is it again?”
Me: “Washington, DC. It’s good. Two down, two to go.”
Uncle: (chuckles) “Yeah, that’s right. You ARE a Junior now, that’s right! You must be the big man on campus now, eh?”
Me: “Na, just trying to get through this semester, ya know.”
Cousin: “Any po-TEN-tial cuties down there, TTK?”
(Mistake #1…failure to suppress microscopic grin in corner of mouth)
Cousin: “I see you man. I SEE YOU! I remember when I was in college…”
Me (wincing and looking at watch): “Can you pass the pot roast?”

Even though my motto of “getting out of the month of October unscathed” has governed my actions over the past month, I have noticed that a lot of folks are starting to slip into full fledged panic mode over the last two weeks. During Junior year, everyone gradually comes to the stark realization that college is no cake walk. Personally, I despise the fact that I actually micromanaged my Thanksgiving break this year. I despise the fact that I left no room for pure fun and unadulterated holiday joy on my schedule, instead focusing on idiotic group projects and frustrating essay assignments. I despise the fact that I missed playing NBA ’08 with my kid brother over the holiday because the frustrations of school have served as the millstone tied to my waist, the purple elephant in the room that I wish I could ignore…but can’t. Honestly, the last two weeks BEFORE finals week are without a doubt the most brutal weeks for any college student to handle. If you didn’t get a lot of rest over Thanksgiving break, make sure to get a good night’s sleep at some point over this weekend. Pray. Eat a well-balanced meal. Laugh a little. But then again, because of the time you’re taking to read this blog note, you’ve already come to that conclusion on your own.

That’s part of the reason I love this blog space. I love hearing feedback from my readers. I love arguing the validity of Tony Romo as the next golden QB of the NFL. I love defending the Yankees, Jets…and Knicks. I love believing that Charnele Brown (Kim Reese) could have been a great black female actor if she wasn’t overshadowed by Jasmine Guy (Whitley) on THE show. I love turning up 97.1 (in DC) to listen to that Christmas music, staring into the blank space of a Microsoft Word Document…and getting down to business.

As I write this note, my biggest hope is that these words, phrases, quips, and jokes are always an encouragement to my readers. Before I hit “Publish” on my blog notes, I make sure that there is at least one heartening comment embedded in the text. As my friend Anand echoed last Tuesday, the drama, stress, and tension immediately enter my world “as soon as I step out of the door of my room in the morning.” For some folks, it’s even sooner than that. That’s why when I winced when my buddy Jayy said that I should write more serious blog notes. I’m not afraid to mention my disdain for ESPN’s lack of coverage on the Sean Taylor incident, choosing instead to show highlights of a 3-0 game in Pittsburgh – a game covered extensively by their family of networks – over a major news story featuring a high profile athlete clinging to life. I’m not afraid to yell “wild goose chase” after the feds indict Barry Bonds with their only proof hinged to the story of two San Francisco Chronicle journalists. I live in a city that sees 700+ Sean Taylor’s fall by the wayside each year due to reckless crime, and watch as thousands of my brethren fill up county and state prisons in record numbers. However, because these next two weeks of finals, projects, and exams has every college student in a vice grip…I think I’ll leave the commentaries to Jason Whitlock, and David Aldridge for now.

Since I’ve wasted too much time over the last month, I’ll rap up my NBA Season Previews. I mean, we’re almost a quarter of the way through the season and I STILL haven’t talked about all the teams in the NBA yet. Since there are a lot of sitcoms still left on the table, I donate my next blog note entirely to a show – this time, of your choice!
Here are the options for next week:
1. The Jamie Foxx Show
2. Family Matters
3. The Wonder Years

Let me know (either in the comments or in a message) which of the three shows I should analyze next week. Also, if you have any other show suggestions, you can add them in also after you let me know your choice from these three options above. (For the record…NBC’s sitcom Scrubs will happen, so don’t worry…I’ve got it covered.)

Now, play your Charlie Brown Christmas CD , snuggle into your favorite college sweatshirt, turn your TV’s up stop studying for the next 10 minutes, and get ready for my West Coast Breakdown!(I would have thrown Wild’n Out on the Pick List...but I did that already last year. And, yeah...I can put shameless plugs into my Facebook “notes.” Go Knicks!)

Southwest Division
1. San Antonio Spurs: Greg Popovich is hands-down, the smartest coach/GM in the NBA today. With one of the league’s smallest markets, Popovich has correctly used a top-10 player throughout his prime (Tim Duncan) and surrounded him with interchangeable talent to continue to win in the playoffs. Big men win championships...case and point. MJ’s Bulls were the last team to win a championship without a solid big man...in 1998.

2. Dallas Mavericks: After last year’s meltdown, Avery Johnson finally learned that every single game in the regular season isn’t important. The way Avery ran the team last year is equivalent to your friend keeping his/her foot on the throttle of your Honda Accord throughout an entire cross country trip. At some point, don’t you advise them to put the car on cruise control? Unfortunately, Cuban was too busy dancing with the stars to notice. Enter Golden State.

3. Houston Rockets : I’ve always liked Jeff Van Gundy. He’s one of the better color commentators covering the league right now (after Reggie Miller), and he brings enthusiasm to an otherwise dry (yeah, I’m talking to you Mike Tirico) broadcast booth. It’s a wonder how one smart move by GM Daryl Morey has transformed this Rockets team. Van Gundy is a chip off of the Pat Riley block, a theory that states “play defense and throw the ball to your big man at all costs.” During his tenure, Jeff never realized two important things – the league has become scoring guard heavy, and Yao is better when he’s facing the basket. With all that said, Houston’s only one T-Mac injury away from another disappointing season. (Note to Gilbert Arenas...get healthy.)

4. New Orleans Hornets: This is definitely my sleeper team out West. Chris Paul + Guys who can catch alley-oops (Chandler) and shoot (Peterson, Peja) equals...Buckets all day. Too bad their city hates basketball. Some analysts even aruge that if Hurricane Katrina never happens, they’d be making plans for Oklahoma City right now. Intriguing.(By the way, John Paxson must be kicking himself right now. The Bulls are stuck with an older, less effective version of Tyson Chandler at thrice the cost (Ben Wallace). Enjoy the bayou, Tyson.)

5. Memphis Grizzlies: With a new “no-name” coach (Marc Iavaroni), young players (Gay, Lowry, Conley), and older stiffs (Brian Cardinal) surrounding their “superstar” (Pau Gasol) this looks like a rebuilding year in Graceland.

Northwest Division
1. Denver Nuggets: This team is going to light it up this season. Iverson’s still a legitimate force, Carmelo is coming into his own (definitely a more polished scorer than Lebron), and Camby’s still guarding the paint to prevent the Nuggets from turning into another non-defensive team (see: Suns, Knicks). After they run away with the division, I think the K-Mart issue and the downgrade at PG over the summer (Blake > Atkins) is going to kill them come playoff time.

2. Utah Jazz: The Williams/Boozer connection is eerily similar to another super tandem that we’ve seen before (Stockton/Malone). Jerry Sloan is the best coach in the NBA without a Coach of the Year trophy in his office. Last year, the NBA rewarded a coach (Sam Mitchell) that watched a group of young, athletic guys (Bosh, Ford, Graham, Bargnani) dissect an extremely pathetic Atlantic Division. Once again, Sloan’s going to prove why the Jazz have been competitive since the early 90s. (Also, I love how the talks surrounding Kirilenko completely died off. Did the Mormons tempt him with their debauchery, polygamy and liquor?)

3. Portland Trailblazers: Did you know that this team is built around two players with knee surgeries? (Roy and Oden) Yikes.

4. Seattle Sonics: P.J. Carlesimo is the Norv Turner of the NBA. No wonder Latrell pulled a Wayne Brady and choked this guy.

5. Minnesota Timberwolves: No Big Ticket...no dice. Wolves’ fans better enjoy watching Antoine Walker do the shimmy. He reminds me a little of that fat kid from Waynehead...lol.

Pacific Division
1. Phoenix Suns: Though Steve and Co. can’t play a lick of D, they score enough buckets to make their usual stroll through the regular season. I pray that Amare learned how to guard a big man on the block over the summer...or we’ll see another Spurs/Mavs West final.

2. Golden State Warriors: Stephen Jackson is one of the best all-around players in the NBA. Since his return, the Warriors have gone 6-2. Since the league is extremely scoring guard heavy, every team needs a guy who will mix it up with the Lebrons and Wades of the league. The rest of the team will just play Nellieball and hope to play Dallas again in the postseason.

3. Los Angeles Lakers: Funny how a winning streak can cool off the trade demands of a superstar. Bynum, Farmar, and the rest of the rookies are playing great basketball, Phil Jackson just signed on for another handful of years, and Kobe’s Hollywood dream is finally starting to come true. Maybe if they can trade Odom for Jermaine O’Neal...

4. Sacramento Kings: While lounging around the Towers three months ago, I was watching Reggie Theus pretend to care about his daughter’s basketball career on an episode of Baldwin Hills. Reggie Theus is the West Coast version of Isiah Thomas. He should have stayed at New Mexico State…because once Bibby gets traded (hopefully to the Cavs for the league’s sake), he’ll be left with Brad Miller’s cornrows, and the craziest man in the NBA…Ron Artest…just looming, waiting to unleash his fury on the next drunk fan.

5. Los Angeles Clippers: My friend Mike James told me that he’d like to see Kobe in a Clippers uniform. Even though Molo and Marley are probably now slapping five, do you really think that Kobe enjoy a team with the cheapest owner in the NBA? Donald Sterling is the anti-Dolan (Knicks owner). He refused to sign Odom and traded him for 40 cents on the dollar, believed that his GM (Elgin Baylor) knew what he was doing with the franchise’s #1 pick (Michael Olowokandi?), let Brian Simmons stroll to the Bucks, and is ready to let Corey Maggette go after he’s proven to be the only consistent scorer for their club over the past five years. This team’s future is tied to an aging vet (Sam Cassell), a mediocre SG (Mobley), and two guys coming off of season-ending injuries (Livingston, Brand). If this doesn’t spell disaster, I don’t know what does.

Anyway, let me know which show to psychoanalyze next week, and enjoy finals week!

Peace!
-TTK

Why Black Guys (and David Lee) Need to Be In Sports: Family Feud (#4)

Really, kudos to Ufford at With Leather for digging up this clip with these NBA players on the feud. Two interesting things I picked up from the clip:
1. Richard Jefferson's mom's name is Meekness. Wow.
2. David Lee is the man...wait, I already knew that.
3. Grant Hill's mom is white. (Sound of Suns fans rushing to buy reams of #33 jerseys...)

-TTK

Why Black Guys Need to Be in Sports: Reason #3

Hakeem Olajuwon's famous move in which he proved that he was the superior big man to David Robinson. Basically, DR just got got.

I Love This Game!!

While You Got Distracted by Belichick's "Jedi Mind Tricks"...Vick Reminds You That He Still Holds Weight

BREAKING NEWS:

Mike Vick definitely just turned himself in and will start serving his jail time.

http://msn.foxsports.com/nfl/story/7466336?MSNHPHMA

"The order added that Vick was taken into custody "based solely on his desire to begin his period of incarceration prior to his sentencing hearing and not because of violation of any condition of his bond."

Wow. Looking at Bonds, Vick, Pacman, and Gary Sheffield this has been a terrible year to be a black athlete in America. Not that I condone the stranglation, castration, and electrocution of dogs, by the way.

In other news, let the Ookie jokes commence.
-TTK