Fast forward three days.... USAToday- By Wednesday afternoon, Randall's tweet had been retweeted 869,000 times. "Honestly, I didn't think it was going to get over 100," Randall said after practice. "I didn't think people were going to actually view that as a serious tweet from me. But obviously it got the whole world excited about it, and I mean now I'm actually excited about it. It is a great, great opportunity to interact with the fans and we're just going to watch the series and just see how everything folds out." "I definitely didn't think it would go as viral as it did," the 25-year-old said. "I definitely didn't think the Cleveland fan base would go this crazy about it. Obviously, it was a joke, but just to know how passionate this fan base is, I mean, it's just really encouraging." Randall wouldn't say he planned to pay off his promise if the Cavs win. "We'll talk about this after the series is over," he said. -------- Well folks, we've just witnessed history, and by that I am not referring to the record number of retweets (now at well over seven figures) that Damarious Randall got for his 'all risk, no reward' vote of confidence in the Golden State Warriors. Instead, I'm talking about the record amount of basketball not played between the time someone went from doubting LeBron James, to doubling down on that doubt, to self-doubting their original doubt. Zero seconds. Not even a lost tip-off. Now granted, I'm sure the hundreds of millions of dollars he would have unofficially owed played a part in a preemptive backpedal that was even unbelievably quick for an NFL defensive back. After all, it suspiciously only turned into a "joke" (that was more unfunny than obvious) when the Browns' safety apparently became the last person on the internet to learn that the people there enjoy both free shit and making successful people look stupid with the click of a button. Even without taking into account that he went against the pride of Cleveland while employed by their red-headed step-child, that number was guaranteed to be astronomically large. That said, considering the innumerable amount of people that have had to swallow their words and empty their wallets following the thankless quest of questioning the most dominant athlete on the planet, it's still impressive to own an award-winning amount of fickleness in regards to LeBron James. Biggest underdog in the history of the NBA Finals, and a professional athlete already made sure to renounce his off-the-books bet against them for no other reason than how goddamn frightening it would be to, even hypothetically, have your entire net worth banked against the best basketball player ever. Just goes to show that while LeBron more than likely won't win, he's the only person in the league who could show up with a dumpster strapped to his back and it still wouldn't be worth it to gamble against him.
0 Comments
LBS- Washington Capitals head coach Barry Trotz called out Ryan Reaves for his “vicious” hit on Tom Wilson in the second period of Game 2 of the Stanley Cup Finals on Wednesday night.
Midway through the second, Reaves saw Wilson in the crease and delivered a shot to his face, knocking the winger to the ice. Reaves received a penalty for roughing after the hit. Trotz was asked about the play during an interview with NBC Sports in the second period and did not mince words. “I thought it was pretty intentional; he went right at him,” Trotz said. “Tommy (Wilson) brings a lot of attention to himself, but so does Reaves. That was pretty vicious.” ------ I'd love to sit here and go on and on about how selectively blind Barry Trotz must be to act as if Tom Wilson was victimized by some sort of brutal attack, but the truth is that I pity the position he has been put in by rostering someone who can be productive...when he's not causing as many headaches as he is concussions. It's a head coach's job to have the backs of his players, so - in this case - desperately trying to defend the indefensible was merely an occupational hazard. Still, being forced to sound so staunch in support of obvious stupidity is a plight I wish on no man. Barry Trotz got stuck between a rock and such a hard place trying to convince himself that a quick bop on the nose was a reprehensible assault that he may as well have been trapped in the bedrock that exists between Tom Wilson's "brain" and his thick skull. If you can't show any mercy for a professional that has to endure that type of neurological nightmare then, well, it's probably pretty likely that you own a Tom Wilson jersey. To be clear, it's not often that I find myself excusing the random acts of aggression by a glorified goon like Ryan Reaves, but that just speaks to the persistence of the NHL's most preeminent prick. I have no problem with it being called a penalty, but - in the interest of accuracy - I would like that reactionary jab to be changed to two minutes for self-defense in the box score. After all, no matter what biased Barry (literally) has to say, beating to the punch the comically extended cross-check that was coming his way out of the corner of his eye was as instinctual and primal a strike as whatever bite gave Tom Wilson his undiagnosed rabies. 
I not only understand, but appreciate Braden Holtby providing the perfect example of the forced humility of hockey culture by choosing to keep a forward thinking focus as opposed to reflecting back on one of his most timely and awe-inspiring displays of athleticism. That being said, I just hope he understands that even we, as a viewing audience with a historically short attention span, have yet to get over this GIF...
You see, to take a good look at the present state of this series, it is nothing short of a requirement to take time to discuss an important part of the past that will be remembered for the foreseeable future. The fact of the matter is that only in instinctual execution did Braden Holtby desperately reach back to deny access to one puck. In theory, however, he offered a lifeline to a group of players that were stuck treading water throughout the majority of the third period. The following isn't to express even slight disbelief in a Capitals' team that has already overcome a lot throughout the postseason, but to blow a two goal lead on a late, fluky bounce only to head into overtime sans momentum in a raucous building that's home to the first playoff opponent that's been able to match their tempo could have had them heading home in quite the predicament. Maybe they would have won regardless, but managing to avoid the potential for a sudden loss that would have compounded the abrupt absence of their leading scorer was crucial given how close to a coin flip each one of these games is proving to be. To put it comparatively, the odds of digging out of an 0-2 hole against a team as unrelenting as the Golden Knights are a lot less favorable than those that the Capitals beat in bombarding the Blue Jackets. As an observation, it's more clichéd than it is groundbreaking, but - as back-and-forth as the first two games have been - situational goaltending could very easily be the difference in this series. With all due respect to Marc-Andre Fleury, it certainly was last night. It's definitely not fair to say that Braden Holtby's well-placed paddle (or the casual killing of the two-man advantage that came before it) saved Washington's Stanley Cup hopes. However, with the availability of Evgeny Kuznetsov currently up in the air, it certainly threw a proverbial life preserver to a team that was at a clear and present risk of having to swim up the most unforgiving of stream. 
Let me make one thing clear, until the 76ers publicly address the elephant in the room with something other than a loose translation of "huh, how did that mastadon sneak in here?", I am treating every mildly substantiated theory regarding the ruthless roasting of their own roster as if it is undeniably factual. Partially because it's more fun that way, but mostly because the organization isn't offering me any other alternatives with their silence. Therefore, given the above Clue, I have no choice but to conclude that the wife in the washroom with the WiFi is the solution to the mystery of who anonymously murdered Bryan Colangelo's job security. That is my truth for the time being, and I'll be damned if it doesn't make false the notion that even the deepest and darkest insecurities should be shared between life partners. If absolutely nothing else, this is an irrefutable reason why men in even the most loving of heterosexual relationships suppress their sensitivities. It's not just that we, as a gender, are too hyper-masculine to show vulnerability, although that's definitely part of it. It's also because with every good woman comes her inherent fixation with fixing things (which is evidenced by the formation of every doomed relationship), and the damage that can be done by most hard feelings is sometimes beyond repair. Honestly, I don't have all that much of a problem with most of the viewpoints that were originally expressed anonymously through those burner accounts. If I were Bryan Colangelo, I too would be upset that Jahlil Okafor went from a lottery pick to the type of dead weight that couldn't bait the most famished of fish on the trade market. I'd be absolutely pissed that Joel Embiid was dancing on stage at a concert on the brittle legs that, to that point, couldn't bounce up to grab three consecutive boards without incessantly aching. Frustration wouldn't even begin to describe what I'd feel if the first overall pick I unnecessarily traded up for flat-out forgot how to play basketball over the summer. Imagine the amount of resentment that was built up inside the common ass carpenter that had to take over for Jesus Christ. That had to be comparable to what was bubbling inside Bryan Colangelo as his fanbase was fawning over a fired General Manager turned martyr. I see all of those as completely understandable grievances to grip to, as long as they stay buried in a place in which they never see the light of day. By swapping marital roles to use his wife as a sounding board for his self-doubt in the workplace, the Sixers' President compromised the safety of his secrets. Behind every successful man is a strong woman, and strong women will stop at nothing to protect the nest. Apparently, not even secretly-run social media accounts that reflect their loved one's inner-most insecurities in a futile and counterproductive effort to alter a nationally accepted narrative. The good news is that Bryan Colangelo is in a loving relationship with a wonderful woman that will literally do anything to defend his honor, but the bad news is that he's inevitably out of a job because he either knowingly or unknowingly gave her enough defensive responsibilities to overwhelm an entire army of Jahlil Okafor clones. He trusted his wife with insider info, and she trusted her ability to use it to make everything better. That's at least one reason why the most common male response to "how was your day?" is a flat and uninformative "fine". 
It's not even necessary to enjoy the hilarity that ensues, but for contextual purposes, this is the controversial play that ultimately resulted in the two polar opposite view points from the opposing managers that followed...
That led to such an outlandishly absurd addendum to one of the above quotes, that no one in their right mind could possibly take it seriously...
....right? RIGHT?!?!
The truth is, I can't be too critical of a Major League announcer that was probably just mindlessly reading off whatever screen was put in front of him throughout the 3-4 hours of dead air he's tasked with filling on damn near a daily basis. It was definitely a Ron Burgundy moment, but give me a microphone and the responsibility of engaging an audience for the running time on Titanic and after about 30 minutes I'd be more likely to sound like Brick Tamland than Jim Brockmire. For that reason, I give Pirates' play-by-play guy Greg Brown a pass here. That said, it is quite the comedic reminder that sarcasm, much like every other language, is not one that is universally understood. The internet can be a confusing place, and that's in large due to the fact that some people are too dumb to decipher things like hyperbole. Again, I'm not saying that Greg Brown is one of them. I am, however, saying that there was easily a handful of followers that were able to put their full focus into the reading of that tweet and still came away questioning whether or not Joe Maddon had ever put in the time-intensive work necessary to plant a tree or build a sand castle. We should get our laughs, because the sincere tone behind the cry for a catcher to instantaneously dig a foxhole to provide himself protection from an errant, unsafe slide is hilarious. Unfortunately, learning the surprising amount of people that had a hard time catching up probably wouldn't be as funny as it would be concerning. h/t AwfulAnnouncing Carlos Gomez Shared A Cool Moment With The A's Fan Who Let Him Borrow Sunglasses To Combat The Sun5/30/2018 
I can promise you I don't say this often about mid-game fan interactions that feature a grown adult that made the decision to bring his or her own baseball glove out with them in public, but that was a pretty cool display. As evidence of just how pleasant it was to catch the rare instance in which a professional athlete and an opposing fan treat each other as people, I'm not even sure I have another snarky comment to add. That was just some good, old fashioned mutual appreciation of sports. One person with a dramatically different rooting interest showing selflessness in gladly giving up his shades, and a much more prestigious person showing gratitude in returning them in addition to a souvenir tip for offering his services as a Sunglass Hut. As long as you are able to suppress how sad it is that an increasingly combative society makes something so simple seem so seldom, I'd say it's worthy of a non-sarcastic smirk. 
Look, I'm not here to blame the result of Game 7 on the guy whose retirement night is merely a few months removed from getting rained on by the unrelenting monsoon that was LeBron James' post-trade deadline reminder that he still owns the Eastern Conference regardless of roster...
I am saying that someone that's his rival in resentment alone knew a hell of a lot better than to make matters worse for the young, inexperienced team that already wasn't prepared for the storm that the greatest player on the planet had brewing with his NBA Finals streak on the line. I'm sure he already had plenty of motivation being back in the city in which his first stint as a Cavalier was brought to an unceremonious end, but I'm also pretty confident he made a little more room for fire in his belly when one of the players that helped facilitate that initial departure got in his ear. Chances are that had Paul Pierce just sit down and shut the hell up, as opposed to apparently ignoring all the other times in which trying to chirp LeBron ended miserably for him, then Jayson Tatum would have filled the void of that missing fuel by going with the man-on-machine chest bump to celebrate his late-game posterization...
That said, it's a lot more excusable for a wet-behind-the-ears 20 year old to feel froggish following a leap than it is for the 40 year old first-hand witness of greatness to continue to run his mouth from the same sidelines where he's long been left similarly speechless. With how often he messes with the bull, I'm starting to think he's got a fetish for getting the horns...
SportsIllustrated- During Briarcliff's Section 1 baseball quarterfinal playoff game, fans spotted a small plane sporting a banner that read, "Fire coaches Schrade & Kowalczyk."
The banner referred to the team's head coach John Schrader and assistant Walter Kowalczyk. What's so bizarre about the anger is that Briarcliff has been the No. 1 seed in Class B for the past two seasons and finished the regular season at 17-3 this year. "Although there are some detractors out there, I feel we have the best kids and best parents in Section 1," Schrader texted The Journal News/lohud.com. "I would not want to coach at any other district. ... I love it here." According to The Journal News, a woman paid Fly Signs Aerial Advertising $1,250 to fly the sign over Briarcliff High School for 30 minutes. Although the identity of the women remained undisclosed, Justin Jaye, owner of the advertising agency, said such requests are common. ------- In theory, a parent couldn't possibly be more pretentious, biased, and intrusive than one that pays four figures to fly a banner bemoaning the coaching of a first place team due solely to her own son's (presumably) limited role on it. You're not going to get an argument from me that this particular mother isn't some meddlesome, made-of-money maniac. That said, I kind of appreciate the way in which she chose to go about her perfectly literal execution of helicopter parenting. As obnoxious as it to send your misguided message by way of aircraft, it's almost certainly more bearable than any other way in which she would have approached bitching Billy into the batter's box. Flying a plane that demands the firing of high school coaches might be a little too aggressive to be considered passive aggressive, but I'd imagine it's a hell of a lot easier to ignore than a constant berating from the bleachers. Trying to finance your first-born up a lineup, that is presumably merit-based, by trying to write a completely unnecessary coaching change into existence in the sky is an insufferable move. However, I can almost promise that it's one that's preferable to the auditory abuse that would result from Miss Daisy actually being enough of a proactive parent to drive her ass on over to the field. 
TheRinger- In February, The Ringer received an anonymous tip that Bryan Colangelo, the Philadelphia 76ers’ president of basketball operations, had been secretly operating five Twitter accounts. Since then, we have scrutinized and archived those accounts in an attempt to verify the source’s claims that the longtime NBA executive has been using them as a platform to:
------- To be honest, I'm not even sure where to begin. I guess I would start by telling you to indulge yourself in the entirety of that extensive article from The Ringer, in which Ben Detrick (aka the media member who experienced a rush unlike that of any other NBA insider) receives an anonymous tip and gets sent down a rabbit hole that draws about a baker's dozen blatant connections between Sixers' President Bryan Colangelo and a fistful of burner accounts that both crapped all over members of the team he is currently in charge of as well as released inside information about said team. It's a long read that not only makes Kevin Durant appear self-assured by comparison, but will also leave you clutching your head so as to make sure your mind hasn't actually been blown from your skull. That said, if only because I can't possibly do it justice, it is totally demanding of your time. We're talking about an USA Basketball-affiliated executive whose appointment was league-influenced spending his free time anonymously responding to his team's beat writers and bloggers on a public forum, by way of five of the worst twitter handles you'll ever come across, in effort to pump his own tires by taking air directly out from under his franchise. Taking into account that the NBA is the greatest soap opera in sports and that 2018 is the golden era of idiotic internet usage, this story still feels so unbelievably surreal that it would take the most creative of minds to conjure it up while penning their Philly sports' fan-fiction. Oh, and the "anonymous source" might just be the part of this story that takes it from an instant classic as a '30 For 30' to the type of diabolic tale of vengeance that's fit for a full length feature film. The following speculation might be of the reckless variety, but it seems awfully coincidental that both Sam Hinkie and the unnamed person who lit the fuse on this bombshell have a vested interest in the Sixers' management and an expertise in artificial intelligence...
Conspiracy maybe, but you don't exactly need to be wearing a tin-foil hat to see why someone who was undeservedly disgraced might choose one month prior to his masterpiece potentially reaching completion under the supervision of someone else to sabotage his replacement with evidence of a fireable offense. We're mere weeks away from thee most fruitful of free agency period (LeBron James, ever heard of him?) that could, at long last, take a promising young team to a conference powerhouse. To not consider the person who got axed just prior to reaping the rewards of putting that promising young team in place the lead suspect in the leaking of these undeniable links when he clearly has the wherewithal to make them would just be insanely ignorant. Dare I allege it, but it's damn near likely that Sam Hinkie is the anti-hero involved in choosing the worst (or best, it's all a matter of perspective) possible time to make the man that was given his job look like an insecure and unemployable jabroni. A vindictive and online-based undercutting of a trusted process by someone who knows it as well as anyone? Whew, that's not only one of the greatest potential sports' plots of all time, but also something that Edward Snowden would probably go see in theaters for educational purposes. It's a pipe dream at best, but imagine Sam Hinkie playing the long game only to resurrect the basketball career he was dishonorably discharged from and reclaiming the right to the throne when 'King James' could be looking to upgrade his. Those are the type of absurdly dramatic circumstances that daytime television is made of, and who produces better soap operas than 'The Association'? P.S. If nothing else, this was a decent attempt by the Sixers to preemptively wave a set of car keys to distract us. Not successful, but it's the thought that counts...
I just have one question for Mark Davis and the front office of a Raiders' team that's still technically wed to the loud and proud city of Oakland for the time being... HOW COULD YOU BE SO HEARTLESSSSSS?!? Much like an extremely pointed Instagram post embracing the honeymoon stage of a new relationship right in the face of an old one, this is an enormous kick in the dick to the loyal lunatics that filled The Black Hole for years on end despite it being a place that, until two seasons ago, sucked all forms of football-related optimism into its unforgiving oblivion. I get that it behooves the Raiders, as an organization, to cozy up to those with which they'll eventually share a development, but the divorce is still two full years away from being finalized. Is it really too much to ask to show some respect for the family dynamic by not pulling open the shades during the middle of a holiday weekend and tickling the balls of the newest neighborhood hunk in the bay window that faces the entire sports' community? Couldn't they have at least poorly pretended to save their extramarital flirtation for behind closed doors like damn near every other unhappy participant in a doomed marriage? It's a credit to the fanaticism of Raiders fans that they'll continue to show up despite being publicly emasculated by their team's affair with the Las Vegas, but even encouraging them to do so is as superfluously sinful as asking friends and family to pay to attend a destination wedding between pathological cheaters. 
------- Much like every person who is spiteful of the Patriots' prolonged prosperity, I'm willing to overlook a lot of things in the desperate search for ways in which to be critical of how Bill Belichick and company go about their business. For an obvious example of how inclined almost everyone outside of New England is to take even the most misguided of aim at a franchise that has defied the inherent pitfalls of the salary cap era, look no further than the 18 months that the sports' world devoted to bitching about the amount of pressurized air in the football used during a complete blowout. Therein lies the undeniable truth that success breeds contempt. It always has and it always will. Unfortunately, while I did get a bit of a kick of Lane Johnson rubbing salt into the wound that his Eagles inflicted on the Patriots' extensive playoff resume, I can't take seriously a journeyman linebacker with an obvious agenda speaking to the same type "fun-less" work environment he was gladly let go from. Hate to rain on the parade that Cassius Marsh is apparently willing to throw himself for the one sack he went on to have after getting signed mid-season by San Francisco, but he hasn't quite earned the cachet to go around calling out Bill Belichick, regardless of how boring he finds him. Let's just say you were able to look past the fact that the organization that has proven most prolific at evaluating NFL talent found very little use for the person that's now crapping on their culture despite him playing a clear position of need (See: the eventual pickup of James Harrison). To take this assessment at all seriously, you'd still have to sympathize with a professional athlete who just, more or less, retrospectively whined about how un-amusing he found his limited role playing football for a living. The truth is, I have very little doubt that the New England Patriots run a relatively uptight operation in comparison to their competitors. After all, their coach is about as susceptible to comedy as their quarterback is to carbs. That said, organized violence shouldn't necessarily be "fun" unless it's of the winning variety, and the team whose collective personality is being questioned has done quite a bit more of that than the passed around player that has only recently found himself scorned...
Alexander Ovechkin Treated A Puck To The Face Like It Was An Annoying Insect, Because It's The Cup.5/29/2018 
— Sportsnet (@Sportsnet) May 29, 2018 As if his play throughout the postseason hasn't provided enough of a reminder, let that Terminator-esque robotic reaction to taking some vulcanized rubber to the teeth serve as the ultimate sign that Alexander Oveckhin is currently more locked in than Putin's bet on the professional league he made sure to have fixed. Keeping in mind that we aren't exactly talking about someone whose money-maker was working with a positive profit margin as his dental didn't quite qualify him for a Crest commercial, it's still pretty damn intimidating to eat a puck to the face only to be transfixed on the following face-off. It's one thing to abuse your adrenaline in absorbing a shot to grill during gameplay, but to remain indestructibly dialed in while on the bench? Headlined by Braden Holtby having the rebound control of someone who dates a stripper to get over a breakup, the Capitals have some mild concerns headed into Game 2. Their annually criticized captain's unfazed focus, however, is most definitely not one of them, as it appears his switch has been flipped into high gear and this particular Russian machine never breaks. 
Ahhh, foresight. Such a fundamental concept that's used in keeping discipline the decision making in even the most simply run of businesses and/or professions, but yet another in the long line of obvious crap that only the NHL (or more specifically, their officials) could manage to helplessly struggle with even more on their biggest stage. I don't want to make it sound like setting the precedent that the whistles had been put away by allowing Reaves to summon his inner 'Wreck-it Ryan' en route to a game-tying goal is what triggered Tom Wilson's rabies, seeing as they always seem to have him frothing at the mouth while in a predatory search for the nearest potential victim. That said, it certainly opened the goddamn door for excuse-making and finger-pointing when he chose to crush Jonathan Marchessault with a blindside hit that served little other purpose than putting at risk his safety...
As much as I despise Tom Wilson and think his absence is more likely to result in the entertaining hockey between the two best teams in the sport going uninterrupted of both concussions and controversy, even I can't argue that the most obvious of open-ice interference penalties is deserving of supplementary discipline. That's partially because there was no head contact or harm after what took a comical amount of time to be determined a foul, but also because the NHL's most trusted referees kinda brought it upon themselves by simply refusing to make the easiest of cross-checking calls due to the toughness of going against a raucous building in replacing a game-changing goal with a penalty. After what was an enthralling, back-and-forth contest between two highly skilled teams that apparently reached a mutual agreement to bypass any sort of feeling out process, those least deserving of attention are those that supervise the ice as opposed to those that use it as their canvas. Unfortunately, the officials didn't even come close to fulfilling their responsibility on a play that couldn't have had a bigger impact on the outcome of the game, and - somewhat ironically - it either directly or indirectly led to their job becoming more difficult. Even without taking into consideration Tom Wilson's propensity to be given an inch only to take a mile-long run at an unsuspecting opponent, that was a predictably dangerous way for play to trend once the officials made it clear that the only grip they had on their whistles was between some tightly clenched butt cheeks. I'd really like to focus more on plays like the following, so it would be fantastic if they could just call penalties free of circumstance throughout the reminder of a series that looks as though it's ability to entertain can only be stifled by striped sources...
Sixty five. Houston constructed a team that, despite being without one of his top two players for sizable stretches throughout the season, won 65 games to Rocket a top a conference that's also home to one of the most dominant teams in NBA history. For that reason, it feels weird to sit here listing off the predictable problems that ultimately concluded a playoff run that, on back-to-back occasions, was within 24 minutes of ending with them being favored in the NBA Finals. Alas, here we are, talking about a Mike D'Antoni-led team forcibly missing enough threes to defy Daryl Morey's arithmetic as their best player reverted to the playoff pushover he's proved himself to be in year's past. If one were searching for an excuse for the Houston Rockets then the easy place to start would be with Chris Paul's unfortunate absence in Game 6 and Game 7, but it takes but one look at his past to realize that was only as unlucky as it was expected of a player whose proneness to injury is historically untimely. Not to put a damper on their hypothetical claim to a reward, but that's an obvious risk that the Rockets accepted when they traded for a 33 year old with damn near millions of miles on his tires...
Now, to be fair, the officiating was suspiciously one-sided towards an away team that sold more moving screens than Anderson Windows, but even the complete lack of ticky-tack calls that James Harden was unable to draw from three-point range highlighted just how disproportionally dependent his team can be on them at times. The deciding game of the Western Conference Final was an extremely, extremely weird time for the officials to start getting strict on what constitutes a shooting foul, but that fact alone doesn't explain one of best scorers in the NBA leading the way to yet another disappointed locker room in stacking eleven straight bricks of his own in helping his team compile 27 consecutive misses from deep...
You need not do anything more than simple addition to see that the Houston Rockets were clinging to the mildly flawed formula of an objectively un-clutch superstar, a fragile second option, and an inherently volatile offense. All three factors failed them in the worst possible way when it mattered the most, though it probably shouldn't be all that surprising that your math needs to be perfect to beat a team as talented as the Golden State Warriors, even when they are spending full halves looking hapless. Daryl Morey shouldn't need the help of Billy Crystal to Analyze That.
What Does Draymond Green Think About The Warriors Chances Of Advancing To The NBA Finals? "Book it."5/25/2018 
TheBigLead- The Golden State Warriors lost Game 5, yet gained a great deal of confidence. They seem certain that, despite falling into a 3-2 hole, they’re headed to the NBA Finals.
“We still winning this,” Draymond Green told The Athletic after Friday’s 98-94 loss to the Houston Rockets. “Book it.” ----- Guaranteeing victory has become the lamest, most overdone, and consequence-less practice that currently exists in professional sports. That goes ten-fold for doing so while playing from the position of the heavy favorite as a member of one of the most talented teams in the history of sports. Draymond Green preemptively announcing the "booking" of the Warriors' potential advancement to their 4th straight NBA Finals ahead of time is laughable not only because most still believe that's where they are headed regardless of unofficial reservation, but also because the person who put that path in immediate jeopardy left last night's game with a hamstring injury that's at least keeping him sidelined for one more game...
All that being said, I can still see why he did it. You're not going to not exude confidence in a group that has four All Stars in its starting lineup. You're not going to not think the first bit of adversity your organization has faced since the addition of yet another transcendent talent is too much to handle, and even if you did then you'd be an idiot to put it in words. You're not going to not continue to be obnoxiously loud and proud when that, as well as testicular trauma, has become your status quo when things are going well for your team. If Draymond Green answered humbly in hushed tones there would me more reason to doubt Golden State than there is now that he showed zero signs of deviating from his off-the-court norm. Therefore, I get why he said what he said. I just hope he put his priorities in order first. You see, to make sure those words don't end up empty, there are quite a few appointments that should take precedence to the booking of a Game 7 victory in Houston. For one, he should probably meet with his lawyer to discuss the copyright issues after having his likeness put in a compromising position while plastered on a poster...
Perhaps his trainer is also available for the scheduling of a calisthenics workout so he doesn't end up forcibly jamming two guaranteed points, in what ended up being a one possession loss, into the front of the rim...
Last, but definitely not least, I'd imagine the Oakland Raiders are also awaiting his call, as their JUGS machine could be invaluable in the avoidance of another embarrassing display of clumsiness. After all, there is no more margin for error, so fumbling away a final possession could prove fatal to his forecast...
Again, him being brash and boastful can only be good news for the Warriors going forward, but if putting together an itinerary for a comeback is his prerogative than he's better off carving out a couple time slots for things other than merely speaking it into existence. He'd be a fool not to believe that...
TheComeback- C.J. Harris, a walk-on safety at Auburn, was told by Auburn officials that he couldn’t play football because he takes prescribed cannabis oil to treat his epilepsy.
Harris had been suffering seizures since his sophomore year in high school, where he was diagnosed. After finding unsuccessful treatment methods, his doctor prescribed cannabis oil and that has kept him from having a seizure for the past year and a half. Because the THC in cannabis oil would show up on a drug test and it’s against NCAA rules to have any trace of THC in your body. According to WGXA, Harris’ medication contains 0.3 percent THC. And Auburn broke the news because they knew that would make Harris ineligible to play. -------- I don't even know what to say about these stories anymore, and by that I mean both the over- legalization of a drug that even our incredibly dumb and stubborn society has deemed both harmless and helpful, as well as the NCAA's continued incompetence as an organization. I could go on and on about how mind-numbingly brainless it is to deny C.J. Harris the opportunity to showcase the type of talent required to successfully walk-on to an SEC football program because the only thing that happens to save from having life-threatening episodes is a doctor prescribed medication that offers him exactly fuck-all benefits as a football player. Unfortunately, the lack of common sense necessary to come to that conclusion is commonplace for the greedy garbage people banking billions off the backs of unpaid student athletes. It's truly unfortunate, because I think that allowing the use of marijuana as medicine - or simply a meal enhancer, for that matter - is one that's worth backing, but I've just become desensitized to the shameless stupidity of the NCAA. If there were to be change in how they much slack they provided in these situations then they would have long let it out given the backlash of the millions upon millions of well-deserved detractors they've tallied up over the years. Therefore, screaming about C.J. Harris being ruled ineligible for having only slightly more THC in his system than the average high school sophomore isn't even worth it. The NCAA's higher-ups may completely lack prowess as free-thinking people, but they are so insanely adept at being more deaf to the development of civilization that they'd contribute more if they were melted down and repurposed as soundproof walls. 
I'll tell you what, I think it might be time to talk to a particular high school coach about becoming a little more open-minded in the utilization of his talent. I know that Todd Peterson had very little to lose by stepping up to the plate for the first time in five years so his confidence was definitely aided by a lack of risk, but the disproportional reward was being treated to one of the most picture perfect swings these eyes have ever seen. What I just witnessed might have just been a freakish, once-in-a-college-career occurrence, but you can't tell me that diabolical weight transfer wouldn't have paid dividends against still developing arms. The story isn't so much that he hasn't hit since 2013 as much as it is that he lied his way into being given the green light in 2018, but there should definitely be a high school coach out there that's currently counting the amount of runs he cost himself by looking out for the health of his ace. As for LSU's coach, I think he could benefit from taking a class on how college kids communicate. If Todd Peterson had made such an over-the-top proclamation to his teammates then he would have been taken about as seriously as the kid that spends so much time talking about the sex he's having that there's not enough time left in the day for him to be having half as much sex. The phrase "I hit bombs in high school!" is an absolutely hysterical thing to drop on a coach mid-game, but it's also as clear-cut an exaggeration as almost every freshman's overly statistical breakdown of how much many shots they totally took at their graduation party. On second thought, maybe it's best that Paul Mainieri isn't hip to how his players hide insecurities, because playing baseball by the book wouldn't have worked out nearly as well as letting Todd Peterson swing away did. Still, it's a testament to the generational gap that such an egregious overcompensation sounded sincere to him. h/t TheComeback  FTW- The Sixers guard joined the The Bill Simmons Podcast this week and detailed an in-game interaction he had with the Celtics’ Jaylen Brown. At some point during their game in London, Brown threw an expletive in Redick’s direction.
Redick’s response managed to draw an apology from Brown. Redick said: “When we played them in London, Jaylen was guarding me for that game. And at one point in the second half — I’m gonna cuss on your show, I’m sorry — but he called me a 'bitch'. I looked at him, and I was like, ‘I don’t play that.’ And he was like, ‘Oh, oh, OK. I’m sorry.’ That was my only interaction … We played them 11 times this year, and that was my only negative interaction with anyone on their team.” ------- As hilarious as it is to picture a confident young NBA player going from challenging an opponent by hurling one of those insults that's typically followed by the flying of fists when flung outside the framework of sports to humbly apologizing in a manner of seconds, I don't find this story the least bit surprising. Obviously, a veteran reminder to respect his elders played into Jaylen Brown sticking his toe into muddy waters before quickly bringing his personality back to dry land. From his years as the poster child for privilege to now, J.J. Redick has taken more shit than the most seasoned of waste management professionals. We're talking about someone who almost certainly had threats made on his life when he was a damn teenager, so if he tells you that you haven't earned the right to talk trash then you best bag it the hell up. However, I also think that Jaylen Brown is the type of player who flips a switch when the whistle blows. Think "mamba mentality", but without the constant need to have his fangs showing at all times. Almost as if he'd be a cobra that's short for the profession of snake charming, as he's too easily snapped out of his trance. I wholeheartedly appreciate the image of J.J. Redick (presumably) looking a 21 year old lottery pick dead in his eyes and schooling him to the game by basically telling him he has to raise his hand before talking out of turn. That said, I also think it's a credit to how quickly Jaylen Brown can go back and forth between being a modest kid and a ruthless competitor that he apologized for calling someone a 'bitch' faster than a rapper dropping the mic only to run into his beef backstage at the BET awards. 
I say the following knowing full well that we, as fans, are typically treated to very few completely candid mid-game conversations between NBA coaches and their star players. That one wasn't anywhere near as mind blowing as some are making it out to be. As an open and honest moment between Steve Kerr and Kevin Durant? That was cool to witness. As an anecdote? Hearing that even the GOAT was occasionally inclined to being reined back into the herd packed a little profoundness to the punch. As a piece of advice? Well, if we're to believe that merely suggesting that a player facilitate the early offense as opposed to becoming it is some otherworldly act of coaching then we should probably turn up the heat on the search for interplanetary lifeforms if only to find someone capable of turning Russell Westbrook into a true team player before it's too late. Not for nothing, but Kevin Durant might as well have been rolling weed in a port-a-john with how badly he stunk up the joint following that teaching moment. If the goal was to capture his inner-MJ then Steve Kerr might have been better off fitting him with a white glove and a red leather jacket during that break in the action, because he was just about the furthest thing from a Thriller when it mattered most last night. Does that not play in to how we view an interaction whose impressiveness was almost entirely comparative? I'm not one of Coach K's graduate assistants so I'm not quite bilingual in the intricate language of basketball, but you don't exactly have to go from Spanish-to-English to translate that message as "don't only show trust your teammates out of desperation". Seems like a pretty basic tune to follow if you ask me, even if was preceded by the ultimate "this one time, at band camp...". 
As if we needed yet another reminder that the Eastern Conference is a complete circus compared to the Western Conference, both the Cavaliers and Celtics have made it blatantly obvious that they are basically in contention for the NBA equivalent of a pity prize as the away team constantly looks as though they are playing on a carnival rim. While the theory that role players tend to shoot better at home was probably hypothesized after years of watching road teams stacking up enough bricks to build themselves a beautiful AirBNB for their time in town, the disparity that currently exists between the Cavaliers and Celtics splits is one that's causing me second-hand stomach pain. Like, at this point, I'm liable to believe that we'd be looking at a final score that resembled that of 4th graders playing on a ten foot hoop if Game 6 were moved to a neutral sight in which the stands were filled entirely with fans of other Eastern Conference foes. We're five games in and if your body instinctively crept into the prone position every time the point differential hit double digits then you probably need to set six alarms to catch a second half. LeBron James, still playing at the height of his powers (at least offensively), versus the franchise that loves loathing him more than their own drunk uncles and all we've got to show for is a handful of match-ups that could easily pass for Globetrotters Vs. Generals? The Warriors and Rockets are exchanging haymakers regardless of venue, and the best the East has to offer is beating whatever team has to leave the confines of their own home like a blow-up toy. The Celtics shot 36% from the field last night and to say they pulled away in the second half would give far too much credit to the competitive, or lack thereof, in the first half. I'm all but certain this goes the distance with each team abusing it's home court advantage, but would it kill the basketball gods to sneak a fly in the ointment that I now assume to be NyQuil so that a probable Game 7 can be as good in execution as it is in theory? |
Categories
All
Archives
January 2020
|
RSS Feed
