Okay, so apparently/allegedly that impressively awkward display of shortness was in response to this...
Now, to be crystal clear, there's absolutely nothing that Brad Marchand could have said that would have intrigued me more than him saying...well...absolutely f'n nothing. Other than filling dead air, I hardly even understand the point of rinkside interviews during which players go out of their way to explore every page of the big book of bland cliches. For that reason, I am in no way annoyed by a professional pest's spiteful refusal to offer anything more than two to three words in response to questions whose actual answers would just as uninteresting had they been more wordy. That said, I do find it odd that the type of player who goes around snapping opponents' sticks with his skate blade can't take a harmless joke about...snapping oppinents' sticks with his skate blade...
Maybe the warmup prior to a pivotal playoff game wasn't the most appropriate time to deliver some contrived comic relief, but if you're going to proudly be a shameless prick then have some self-awareness in entertaining any potential punchlines that might come as a result of your actions. I really, really, really don't care what Brad Marchand has to say before or after a game, but if he's going to keep making a joke out of himself by doing beyond stupid shit, like blatantly punching people in the back of the head, during the game then he should bring a sense of humor with him to any interviews he might agree to after he fact. After all, the only thing worse than an unforgiving asshole is an unforgiving asshole that can't take a single second to laugh at himself.
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That play, the dramatics that followed, and the postgame delusion regarding them might not have been what anyone would consider a compliment to the game basketball. However, as the summation of a series whose theme should be vocalized by 'Drowning Pool' with how many bodies have been loud and proud in letting themselves hit the floor, it's absolute perfection. I'm not one to diminish head injuries or the impact that causes them, so I won't say that Draymond Green laying on the court in obvious pain was the result of the type of acting that would get him killed off of the soap opera the NBA has modeled itself after during the pilot episode. I will, however, say that whatever pain he was feeling was ultimately caused by him stiffening his body and plummeting to the hardwood as if the player he was defending had shot him in the neck with a stun gun as opposed to lightly grazing his face on a fairly liberal follow through. Simply put, what we watched above may have been proof that Draymond Green has been fouled on a few James Harden 3-pointers, but it was definitely evidence that neither the Warriors nor Rockets are done embellishing contact to prove a point at the expense of their sport's integrity. Thankfully, our prayers were answered and there hasn't been as much bitching about officiating since Game 1, but the same can't be said of the flopping designed to get its attention. Of course, you need not look further than the person who drained a three over his presumably deceased body for a reminder that Draymond Green isn't the only guilty party. However, he who nearly clawed the eyeballs out of James Harden's face just happens to be the perfect example after appearing to suffer a brain aneurysm and still having the wherewithal to play through to the podium where he was all-too-quick to non-ironically tell the media "told you so". At least a highly anticipated series is now competitive, but its potential to truly be seen as great is being pissed away one entirely shameless spill at a time.
— OsamaBin Leaning (@JmakWilliams) May 7, 2019 Look, I'd imagine there's nothing in PJ Tucker's contract that demands he treat lower level employees like equals, just as I'd imagine there is nothing in an equipment manager's contract that guarantees him a baseline level of respect from the athletes whose lives he tasked with making easier. Therefore, I'm not going to overreact to the former showing the latter a level of appreciation fitting of a drunk college kid's bedroom floor without displaying so much of a hint of humor in doing so. The uncomfortability that might arise while trying to convenience those dealing with the frustrations of partaking in heated competition, especially when the stakes are at their highest, is an occupational hazard of serving as the NBA equivalent of the help, so there's no reason to make this a bigger deal than it is. What there is reason to do, however, is suggest that PJ Tucker is kind of a prick whose superiority complex might be highly disproportional to the power he has throughout the Houston Rockets' organization. That's not to discredit what he brings as a veteran, hard-nosed, three-and-D hustle player, which is quite a lot, but it is to say that he'd have to average about 35 more points per game to even come close to justifying his use of another human being as a hamper. It's a hell of a lot harder to work your way through the ranks to reach the pinnacle of professional athletics than it is to be a half-decent person, so there's really no excuse for PJ Tucker to not offer basic human decency towards a colleague. If not because it's simply the right thing to do as someone who is constantly being catered to while making millions upon millions of dollars to play a sport then because it would make me feel better about initially laughing at the clip of him throwing his rags on some poor bastard that has nowhere near as many riches.
While I find it awesome that the end of a hard fought series saw a level of forgiveness presumably found between two players involved in the type of hit that, in a much more ignorant era, would have signified the true start of a series, I'm not going to go the "you just gotta love this sport" route on this. Due to the inferiority complex of many hockey loyalists, that all-too-familiar path always comes off as more of a desperate plea for universal approval than a genuine appreciation of the coolest moments during a time of year that's hardly dealing from a deficit in providing them. Instead, I think that show of mutual respect between professional athletes who let bygones be bygones immediately after being embroiled in a two-week long clash of body and competitive spirit, emphasized by a dangerous and dirty collision, serves a better purpose. It makes for the perfect opportunity to remind those same fans to start showing some genuine appreciation, as opposed to dwelling on every single dumb call. If Josh Anderson can shake his head clear of cobwebs and do so then surely you can just shut up and enjoy the volatility, unpredictability, and - yes - even the oft-questionable officiating of the Stanley Cup Playoffs. Of course, that wouldn't be the takeaway from a handshake that wouldn't even have taken place if Charlie McAvoy caused Josh Anderson to be stretchered off with a foggy memory and a sensitivity to light. However, the fact that he easily could have been and still understood that not only does shit sometimes happen but that it is also sometimes difficult to quickly clean up gives us no excuse not to do the same. This isn't meant to let off the hook perpetually porous whistle blowing that has somehow found new and idiotic ways to draw attention away from the actual talent, but the way it has predominantly been discussed has this postseason feeling like less of a showcase of the absolute best that the NHL has to offer and more of a nightly indictment of its rulebook. That's a massive disservice to the players who, as evidenced above, don't let the unfortunate circumstances of sport linger nearly as long as those bitching their way around cyclical arguments that don't take into account that the beauty of a seven game series is that all the constant controversy comes pretty damn close to shaking itself out in way that allows everyone to call it even in the end.
Now this, this is funny. I suppose you could consider my laughter proof of a double standard, since I found it exponentially less hilarious when the quarterback who was being pushed to try out at a position he's never played before was an obvious example of a damn near prehistoric racial generalization still being shamelessly stuck to despite us having plenty of empirical evidence that it's bullshit. Fact is, there is something both inherently different (i.e harmless) and purely comedic about the kid whose body might as well be the mannequin on which we dress up prototypical passers being asked to run routes because one organization found his tape to show that odds are he had to be better at something than he is the position that ultimately got him (over) drafted at 6th overall. What's different is that Lamar Jackson had an illustriously accomplished college football career that saw him collect a Heisman Trophy, whereas Daniel Jones could have easily been confused for a role player on the Duke lacrosse player as little as two weeks ago. What's comedic is that this ridiculous suggestion, as is so often opposite of the case, was the product an NFL team breaking free from the imprisonment of the tall and nondescript looking white dude stereotype and seeing absolutely nothing more than a developmental tight end in watching the tape of the second quarterback off the board. Whether or not they were remotely close to being accurate in doing so is a question for years down the line, but it even being asked shows Dave Gettleman's unprecedented potential as a punchline.
There's one thing, and one thing alone, that's stopping me from referring to Dougie Hamilton's retaliatory pat on the head of Brock Nelson as a perfectly petty troll job and that one thing is redundancy. You see, since the very second the Islanders' forward overconfidently celebrated a game-tying goal that he didn't even score during a pivotal game in which only his own team was in desperate need of a win, all the Carolina Hurricanes did was return the favor fifty-fold in putting the finishing touches on the sweep. Metaphorically speaking, if that initial invasion of personal space was an emasculation of Curtis McElhinney then what immediately followed for the next four periods and change was a non-competitive infantilization of the entirety of the New York Islanders. What was a close series up until that exact moment quickly became one team slowly putting their competition down for an offseason long nap. Never mind a consoling head pat, because the Hurricanes might as well have put a dab whiskey under their offensively impotent opponent's tongue, gave them an extensive back rub, tucked them into their team-licensed bedspread (a la 'Pajama Boy'), and sang them a lullaby with how systematically they put them down for the count throughout the remainder of the shortest of series. If we're talking spiteful symbolism in its most fitting form then what Dougie Hamilton should have placed gently on the head of Brock Nelson in the handshake line was a goodnight kiss, because the Islanders had been successfully put to sleep far prior than the conclusion of Game 4. Of course, that would have been super awkward way to incite a very literal line brawl, so I'm glad he instead went with the head pat in condescendingly returning the salt to the gaping wound from which it originally came.
You know, I can't help but think Matt Nagy saw that exercise playing out a little more...um...accurately when he drew it up. I get why he made a call back to the traumatizing end to his team's season, being that he was testing the focus and fortitude of those attempting to replace the guy who, with the help of a lightly grazed fingertip, somewhat sabotaged it. However, in retrospect, perhaps he would have sent a similar enough message by having them kick 42 or 44 yard field goals had he known he'd be giving a relatively unchanged roster frightening flashbacks six (out of eight) times over. I don't know. I very well could have a misunderstanding of the mood during NFL mini-camps, but I think you'd want to do everything possible to introduce your rookies into a slightly more favorable environment than one of doom-and-gloom in which the sky is falling. Just seems like the wrong...::cringe::...foot to get off on. Of course, in a perfect world, going 8-for-8 would have been a hell of a way to immediately wash themselves clean of the stink they've worn since being double-boinked into despair. Unfortunately, as they learned the hard way, the world of placekicking is about as perfect in it's predictability as a game of Russian Roulette. Speaking of, let's hope that's not Matt Nagy's plan to drain the kicking pool of debris on Day 2, for if there's a group that currently needs not gun nor bullet to shoot themselves in the foot then it's the unlucky legs of the Chicago Bears.
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SI- At Sunday's Mercy Health Glass City Marathon, Manning finished the race at 2:52:52 to win the women's division. As she approached the finish line, race workers held out the tape for Manning to break through, except Christian Floyd, who finished 36th in the men's group, ran through it instead.
Manning finished just behind Floyd and quickly shouted at him for running through her tape. "I was a little upset not to get to break the tape because I’ve never gotten to do that before," Manning told The Blade. "But in the grand scheme of things that doesn’t really matter." -------- Now, wait just a minute. Have we considered that it might have been ignorance? Far be it for me to offer any benefit of the doubt to someone who was accurately described as an asshole. However, how can we be 100% positive that the presumed Harvard grad isn't just some Ivy League douchebag that legitimately thinks that on the 7th day Jesus actually woke up early to set up the whole damn world to celebrate his, and only his, literal and figurative personal milestones and checkpoints? He is named after the religion that tends to spend a lot of time stuck up its own ass, so if the birth certificate fits then you might as well act like it's the only one ever printed. Now, I'm not so sure that makes for a solid defense of his personality, but him being an insufferable person would at least let him off the hook as a terrible person. The distinction might be slight, but the alternative is that he knew damn well what he was doing in maliciously stealing the moment from a much more accomplished runner after 26.2 miles. If I were him, I think I might put my hand up as the type of guy that has the tendency to forget that other people actually do exist outside of his universe, for it's much worse to be an insecure dude that needs the self satisfaction of running through a fucking ribbon to reinforce the type of delicate ego that can't handle coming in 36th place. Whatever the case may be, good on Amy Manning for crushing an entire marathon and managing to save one last breath to explicitly call it like she saw it. I wouldn't have even known of her accomplishment if it weren't for the gloved goober earning himself the attention he may or may not have been desperate for with the most unhonorable of mention, so maybe all is well that ends well...
LBS- Anthony Morrow played with the Thunder for two and a half seasons between 2014-2017 and was there before and after Durant left. He talked with Sam Amico of AmicoHoops.net about the situation and said Westbrook was not the reason for Durant’s departure.
“It wasn’t as much to do with Russ as the media made it look like at all, I know that for a fact,” Morrow told Amico Hoops. “He wanted to build on his legacy, he wanted to win. He felt like we tried, 10 years, it ain’t work… I could tell you that that’s how he was thinking about that.” ----- First and foremost, I can't believe this is still being discussed. We're in the midst of the 2019 playoffs. There is more than enough topical...well...topics for a reputable basketball personality and a former NBA player to fill a full podcast without having to circle back to a feud that's been put though the news cycle so many goddamn times that the main point has been faded beyond recognition. That main point, for the record, isn't that Kevin Durant broke up with Russell Westbrook after eight years like his relationship with a high school sweetheart finally soured or some shit. After all, with his passive aggressive reaction to his teammate's aggressively passive departure, Russell Westbrook made it more about Russell Westbrook than KD ever did. That being said, you can't leave your running mate in the dust after damn near a decade together to join the championship team whose heels you just fell short in nipping at and not have him take it personally, especially when said running mate takes literally every perceived slight personally. I guess the question I'd ask in response to a subject that's been beaten to death 300x over is whether or not basic human nature is some media-spun narrative? Kevin Durant's decision to hook a quick left on the easy road without so much as putting on his blinker as a warning to the guy who was riding in the lane alongside him was bound to piss off said guy. That guy happened to be Russell Westbrook, who got slapped in the face by the implication/reality that he wasn't seen as a good enough architect to help build upon KD's legacy. So no, it wasn't as much about Russell Westbrook as everyone made it out to be, but it was pretty goddamn close.
We're not really going to do this, are we? I'm all for the preemptive manufacturing of storylines ahead of the time of year in which the NBA really proves its pageantry, with that being the offseason. That said, Kawhi Leonard giving us a laughable lack of verbal communication on which to judge his intent and mindset is not a rationalization for us to start judging his non-verbal communication. If he looks exasperated it's probably because he was physically exasperated, since the guy who will have been the target of every robot joke possible by the end of this sentence is more likely to be in need of an overnight re-charge than to be the type to wear hypothetical emotions on his sleeve. To be clear, I'm sure Kawhi Leonard was made frustrated by having to drag around the dead weight of a fellow All-Star whose most notable Game 3 contribution was tea-bagging Ben Simmons...
As someone who has never not thought he was more likely to head somewhere sunny in impending free agency, I hardly think the following stat is the type that's going to keep him in Toronto long-term...
However, I also hardly think his posture in a postgame press conference is proof of that, or really anything for that matter. Kawhi Leonard's body language doesn't speak volumes, because volumes of any kind, be they literal or figurative, are his sworn enemy. Hell, I'm half certain you'd faster find him speaking in tongues than in anything that could possibly be translated by the media. If I know Kawhi Leonard, which is perhaps the most ignorant start to a sentence in the history of typed word, then those slumped shoulders and unamused expression had more to do with being in front of a camera than being behind in a series. So, let's just fall back and see how the rest of a postseason that is far from over plays out, since trying to read Kawhi Leonard is a fool's errand the likes of trying to read a doctor's signature immediately after he/she gave you LASIK surgery. USAToday- Brooklyn Nets All-Star point guard D'Angelo Russell was cited at a New York airport Wednesday night for marijuana possession, a spokesperson for the Port Authority of New York/New Jersey told USA TODAY Sports.
Russell, who was flying from LaGuardia Airport to Louisville International Airport, was questioned by police after a routine search by TSA workers flagged what at first glance appeared to be a can of Arizona Iced Tea in a checked bag, a person with knowledge of the incident told USA TODAY Sports. Upon further inspection, the can had a hidden compartment where marijuana was discovered. Russell received a summons to appear in court for marijuana possession of less than 50 grams, according to the Port Authority spokesperson. The citation Russell received is a violation under New York law and is punishable by a fine of $100 or less. -------- Excuse me, what? Am I reading this right? TSA went through a checked back thoroughly enough to find a little greenery inconspicuously concealed in a fake Arizona Iced Tea can, presumably making a scene and causing a commotion that disrupted hundreds of others traveling, only to hand out a citation that maxes out at $100? I personally think he's played his way out of pesky pot citations, but I suppose the angle I should take is that weed is readily available everywhere, especially to connected professional athletes, so D'Angelo Russell is dumb for packing it while trying to travel out of a city in which it's still illegal. However, if the punishment for doing so is basically that of a parking ticket then I am not so sure he was all that dumb. Hell, considering his financial standing and the NBA's general willingness to join the proverbial smoke circle, who's to say the risk of getting caught wasn't worth the potential reward of conveniently having his recreational drugs delivered to him on a conveyor belt upon arrival. Honestly, the price D'Angelo Russell will reportedly end up paying is probably nothing more than equal to the wages attached to the man hours that were wasted going through all his crap. I guess my point is that the facade that people still give a shit about misdemeanor marijuana possession isn't even profitable anymore, so why in the hell is anyone - much less professionally detached TSA workers and airport cops - still trying to keep it up? I'm going to need to speak to their manager, and I say that being 89% sure that's he/she is, in some form or fashion, related to Roger Goodell.
TheAthletic- “I just watched Boqvist play against the Fins (last week),” Fitzgerald said. “I went over to watch the (Kaapo) Kakko kid and both Jespers (Bratt and Boqvist) played. It was a good game to watch. (Boqvist) has made tremendous strides from where he was a year ago. Just his speed is incredible. In-flight speed, I don’t know if we have anyone in our organization faster, and that includes (Taylor Hall). He effortlessly moves around the ice. He’s made some great strides.
“He became a top player in that league as a young player. It says a lot about his ability and a lot about how, maybe, lucky we are by getting him in the second round.” ------ Well, alright then. I guess the tempering of expectations is not part of this summer's plan. Personally, I think I would have to see it to believe it, but even being the most heavy-footed student in the same class of speed as Taylor Hall speaks volumes of the potential of a player whose hands are certainly capable of massaging out some of the kinks atop the Devils' lineup...
After solidifying himself as the consensus best offensive prospect in the system by proving productive beyond his years in Sweden, Jesper Boqvist was already getting his fair share of hype amongst the fanbase. Tom Fitzgerald, however, basically just fed that offseason optimism some ecstasy by mentioning his feet in the same fleet as the superstar that wheeled his way to an MVP award while carrying the whole damn franchise on his back. Of course, being fast is becoming more and more of a requirement to succeed in a league that both figuratively and literally caught up with the Devils this past season. That said, Taylor Hall-type quickness will never not be a huge asset when attached to players with high-end puck skills. Jack Hughes has both, and - unless Tom Fitzgerald is blowing the type of smoke that makes you a...ahem...hit at parties - so does Jesper Boqvist. If training camp shakes out as many expect it to then we might get a glimpse into how bright New Jersey's future is as soon as this upcoming year, but it's starting to feel like we might have to retrain our eyes to keep up before we do.
Take a good look at Anton Khudobin during this clip. I mean, take a good, hard look at Anton Khudobin during this clip. Now commit his endless stare and forced chuckle to memory and replay them, either in your mind or on your phone, in order to suppress your own anxiety and annoyance the next time an extroverted Uber driver ignores the headphones he/she can clearly see in the rearview mirror and decides to spark up some small talk and take the scenic route. You know that helpless feeling when a friend's untimely bathroom visit leaves you stranded in talking to a relative stranger. Well, imagine if that bathroom visit came after dinner at a lowly rated and highly suspicious Indian restaurant and that relative stranger had the social graces of someone who was home-schooled by PeeWee Herman, because that's what Anton Khudobin just lived through in sharing an enclosed space with Pierre McGuire for an extended period of time. By all accounts, the Stars' backup goaltender provides the comic relief in the locker room...
Unfortunately, there is nothing funny nor alleviating about being left to potentially interact with the NHL's most awkwardly artless analyst at a moment's notice. For that reason, Anton Khudobin deserves even more credit for doing nothing more than just sitting there than we typically give backup goalies throughout a league in which being the starter makes you a primary scapegoat.
At least he chose the right sport, I guess? I suppose it could be worse than having his life-altering decision to pursue basketball reinforced by a pitch gone so wild it would make the underage girls half-nakedly inhabiting late-90's Spring Break hotspots seem under control. At the very least, it's about the only bright side he can look to in distracting him from the dark memory of throwing a breaking ball that'll be sure to get his balls broken for the foreseeable future. I've always been amazed by how hard a time other professional athletes have in doing something that, in front lawns all across the nation, stereotypically serves as most kids' first foray into sports. I find the idea that grown adults could be so embarrassingly far off in throwing a ball 60 feet at a velocity of their choosing is baffling enough in its own right. Therefore, a former MLB pitching prospect seeming as though he was trying to intentionally walk a beer vender really lets those with no baseball background off a hook that pales in comparison to the one on that schizophrenic slider. So, here's to hoping Pat Connaughton continues contributing consistently off the bench as a complimentary player on a quality Milwaukee Bucks' team. Not only only because I have no reason to root against him, but because the Baltimore Orioles just lost his number after he damn near kneecapped an innocent bystander with his last chance at considering anything above tee-ball pitcher to be a sensible backup plan.
I don't know that it's fair to say that the main difference in a hard fought second round series is one team being far more likely than the other to make you say "whoa", as it kind of feels like that analysis is a little too overly simplistic. However, considering we've now seen three relatively evenly played games featuring great goaltending at both ends of the ice, the only reason I can think for the same team coming out on top in all of them is said team's flair for the dramatic. Of course, that flair is comparatively amplified by their opponent displaying an inability to score that compares favorably to that funny and flirtatious college friend whose sexual frustrations were caused by drinking his way out of fornicating at the worst possible time. I mean, the most memorable finish an Islanders' skater has been responsible for this series was this cheeky celebration of a goal that wasn't even his own...
Still, credit has to go to Carolina for making timely additions to the old highlight reel when the games are at their most high-stakes. Perhaps I'm being a prisoner of moment. The touch pass that allowed for Justin Faulk to come out of the box and make a redemptive, Randy Moss-esque play on the puck and touch down in the goal column for the first time in his postseason career was incredible. Yet, it was only to be outdone by the visual stimulation of Sebastian Aho casually corralling a waist-high clear with the type of hand-eye coordination that would bring a tear to Mr Miyagi's eye in setting up the game-winner. Those high-level plays that are far from fundamental are burned into my brain in a way that leaves the big picture slightly blurry. That being said, you need not look further back than a 48 second span at the beginning of the third period in Game 2 to see fortunes flip on a dime due to momentous goals that were worth exponentially more than that by dozen...
The Islanders, quite literally, can't score to save their playoff lives, despite now having faced two goalies whose postseason resumes leave a lot to be desired. Maybe that's really the story to a series that isn't as lopsided as the ticker might tell you. However, I'd much the prevailing plot be the Hurricanes happening upon the type of clutch, game-breaking moments that get you out of your seat and remind you of the eye-popping skill necessary to succeed in the Stanley Cup Playoffs in 2019. That's a much more appetizing angle for the audience, if you ask me.
I'll admit, it initially took me by surprise too. At the very least, Eli Apple proved himself a quality starting corner after being granted a change of scenery that is basically the NFL equivalent of going from the inside of a volcano to...well...New Orleans. It stands to reason that the Saints, if given the option, would extend the stay of someone who helped change the fortunes of what was, at points, a pathetic pass defense opposite Marshon Lattimore. What said reason didn't take into account, however, is price...
With that $13.7 million figure in mind, a much more shocking headline would be "Saints opt to give an 11 million dollar raise to a #2 corner who struggles with consistency a year in advance of seeing what he's able to provide during his first full season in the organization". Fact is, New Orleans simply isn't in a position to prematurely commit that much money to a complimentary player. At 23 years old and having penned half a chapter of his redemption story, Eli Apple still falls into the category of "young talent". He just not the youngest or most talented on a roster that's largely in need of a raise. As much as emotionally abused Giants' fans don't want to hear it, that doesn't mean the midseason trade that aided the Saints as much as it aided his confidence was a failure. Hell, it doesn't even necessarily mean his departure is imminent. It just means that his future is a negotiation for another day, as the price to be paid for consecutive seasons of incredible drafting takes priority over hindering their forward flexibility by paying a premium for a non-premier player in a salary capped league.
I don't want to underestimate the impact that one of Draymond Green's eternally unpredictable limbs can have on the vision of an opponent that was unfortunate enough to have one of those massive mitts raked across BOTH eyeballs. Oddly enough, all you need is sub-average eyesight to see that James Harden was forced to finish the game with nothing more than sub-average eyesight...
That being said, we are talking about a guy that went on to score 29 points on 9-16 shooting in a road playoff game against the back-to-back defending champs, all of which came after being made to look blunted beyond belief. I don't mean to nitpick after a tough loss whose outcome could very well have been flipped had a superstar scorer been operating with 20/20 vision, but I'd imagine there's some legally blind people that would have 'Spalding' imprinted on their forehead if I passed them a basketball ball that might take umbrage with his claim that he could "barely see". I'd probably exaggerate an injury too if my chances of winning a championship had just been dramatically diminished due to no fault of my own, but James Harden legitimately looked like he was in the process of applying for a seeing-eye dog during his postgame press conference..
While he was clearly impaired, not having the athletic ability of Michael Jordan isn't the only thing that stopped Ray Charles from having a similarly successful career in sports. I guess what I'm saying is that battling through a sensitivity to light while on a stage as bright as that of an NBA arena is unbelievably impressive, but willing your team to within a few possessions of the Goliath that is the Golden State Warriors while the most necessary of your five senses is rapidly degenerating is impossible. Everyone already knows it's shitty that such an important game was affected by the poking of some of the most important eyes participating, but that postgame prognosis just seemed a wee bit excessive. Then again, what reaction from James Harden doesn't?
Ironically, you'd have to be living in a world with the WiFi of a Subway car to lack familiarity with the Ty Smith hype train. His domination at the Junior level, that makes it all but a forgotten conclusion that he'll soon be making a leap to NHL level, is far from a new phenomenon. It's just the accolade that has most recently, albeit unsurprisingly, came along with it that has him both literally and figuratively at center stage of the Devils' immediate future. With Nico Hischier, Jesper Bratt, and - to a larger extent - Jack Hughes having already taken their turn in the spotlight early in the offseason, it was about time Ty Smith got awarded the type of accomplishment that can temporarily make last year's 17th overall pick (::slowly rubs hands together so as to spitefully celebrate such a heist::) the apple of Devils' fans collective eye. And look, the preposterous point total is enough to tighten your pants if you just spent this past season watching a Devils' blue line that was constantly in the red, but my favorite aspect of Ty Smith winning 'Defenseman of the Year' is that it's a semantically accurate achievement. The production is all well and good, but what makes the kid a stud is having an impact on both ends of the ice that can't solely be measured in stats. The proof of that can be heard in the excitement of Tom Fitzgerald's voice...
While fans get giddy over goals and assists, Assistant General Manager's go gaga over game managers whose physical and mental understanding of what's happening on the ice makes everything unquantifiably easier on their teammates. It speaks to what's been a dark, dark period for a franchise that once prided itself on being impenetrable defensively, but Ty Smith at least has the early potential to be a new age version of one the likes of which the New Jersey Devils haven't called their own since they were hoisting Stanley Cups. If you don't think that's yet another reason to be excited about the organization's future then just ogle at his PPG and clap while he takes his proverbial lap as the Devils' standout prospect of the day.
I try to limit the amount of feel-good stories I write about because they typically do a better job speaking for themselves than I ever could, but - given the NFL's checkered past and present of all types of assaults on the fairer sex - this particular one is too refreshing not to take a second to, no pun intended, sip on. Of course, the football angle aside, it's always nice to hear tales told of people doing the right thing, as it's far often easier said than done, especially by teenagers in a substance-infused social setting. That said, the fact that an incredibly grateful father was hesitant to even tell this overwhelmingly uplifting story due to it featuring a college athlete who was, god forbid, at a party tells you everything you need to know about the disingenuous character dissection that goes into the NFL Draft. If i had to put a number on it, I would say approximately 90% of anecdotal evidence to the personality of prospects that comes to the light when it is at its brightest and most interrogative is overwhelmingly negative. I mean, look no further than the laughable amount of stereotyping that has been done of Josh Rosen and Lamar Jackson over the last 18 months for proof that NFL executives and analysts are like a jealous girlfriend going through a phone that isn't theirs when it comes to finding something incriminating about potential employees. So, I think we should all take a minute to sit back and smile while enjoying a thread of tweets that does something incredibly rare to this season of the NFL schedule of year in reminding us that the intimidating size and strength of future professional football players can actually be used for good off the gridiron. At the request of a forever grateful father, I will actually root for Dre Greenlaw for, on a night that could have altered an innocent life forever, he proved something that the draft process often makes not as obvious as it should be, which is that there are far more good people than bad eggs entering the league on annual basis.
Let me start by saying that I'm neither surprised nor offended that Brad Marchand isn't being suspended for the sucker punch he delivered to the back of the otherwise unaware head of Scott Harrington. It was scummy. It was dirty. It was calculated (albeit by the mind of a moron). It was to a vulnerable part of the body that the NHL insists they are being more cautious in protecting. What it wasn't was overly violent in a way that makes me view letting him off the hook to be as inexcusable an act as the insanely unnecessary incident itself. That being said, considering the source of controversy, should that last part even have to be true for supplementary discipline to be on the table anymore? Brad Marchand wearing the fucking crown as 'Most Repetitive Offender' means the scale on which we judge his stupidity is weighted heavily relative to the one on which we judge the inherent uptick in physicality during the postseason. Him being suspended NINE times, and narrowly avoiding a handful of other suspensions due presumably to the league being too sick of seeing his unsightly snout to fully review the tape, means precedent doesn't need to be followed in disciplining a relatively run-of-the-mill rabbit punch. Admittedly, a relatively run-of-the-mill rabbit punch was all it was and no one should even feel the need to exaggerate that reality in making it sound worse than that. I say that because the name of the gutless prick who snuck behind an unknowing opponent like he was about to perform an ISIS-style execution being as tarnished as the horseshoe he has up his ass already makes it worse than that. The ice Brad Marchand skates on has long been understood, by everyone other than him apparently, to be about 100x thinner than that of the average NHL player. Therefore, I personally think he did enough to crack it based solely on the sheer stupidity of a guy whose most recent act of unrelenting idiocy was the equivalent of marching across the deepest of frozen pond once the thermometer hits 45 degrees fahrenheit. Let's put it this way, if the NHL's Department of Player Safety is the equivalent of a high school principal then Brad Marchand is the rebellious detention dweller who "accidentally" knocks the coffee out of hand while walking down the hall once a week. At this point, he should just be heavy-handedly punished based on the negative amount of benefit of the doubt that he's due. The hammer shouldn't be brought down in the name of Player Safety. It should be brought down in the name of player intelligence, as Brad Marchand is clearly not anywhere near smart enough to stay out of the type of trouble that puts the health of others at risk. If the best defense against him being suspended is that the Stanley Cup Playoffs are a hard fought grind that's meant only for the toughest of the tough then, ironically, he should be suspended for being a weak-willed coward in scurrying away from any retaliatory danger like the rodent he is. We're at a point where Brad Marchand is actively and intentionally going laughably out of his way to let everyone affiliated with the league that employs him know that he somehow still hasn't learned his lesson. Therefore, said league shouldn't even need a good, by-the-book reason to sentence him to a luxury suite, and it took me all of five minutes to think of plenty of mediocre reasons why he fled far enough from the framework of a physical sport to cost himself the privilege of playing in the next postseason game. Again, I can certainly understand those reasons not being good enough for Bruins' fans and/or the NHL's Department of Player Safety, but how about this one?
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