Awesome. Just so damn awesome. I wish I had a more eloquent word, but I'm not even sure there's a more accurate way to describe Ryan Saunders following in the first few footsteps of his fallen father, Flip Saunders, as the legacy to one of the most beloved coaches in NBA history. In the wake of as cool a moment as you could possible experience immediately following the firing of your head coach, a team that's been as tumultuous as the Timberwolves actually has been me questioning whether nepotism gets a worse rap than it deserves.
Of course, the answer is obviously irrelevant, as Ryan Saunders is clearly qualified and respected beyond his years regardless of the legendary loins he's a product of. Still, him confidently leading a professional team full of his peers to victory at the age of 32 was made as tear-jerking as it was impressive by the fact that it came in the building for which his father's memory hangs eternally. The smile that shot across his face as the clock hit zero on his first head coaching victory was a picture of pure happiness. The reverence in his voice as he talked about starting his career as a superintendent of the sideline by drawing up his dad's favorite play was instantly recognizable. From the court to the locker room, the excitement and energy we saw from the players was unlike anything we've seen from a roster who last came together to cower in fear of Jimmy Butler. Ryan Saunders galvanized a Timberwolves' team that was in desperate need of a emotional reboot, and - in doing so - he created an unforgettable memory for himself, his family, the entire organization for which they'll forever hold a kinship, and its fans. We'll see if he can continue hitting the ground running under the interim tag, but no matter what Minnesota's immediate future holds, they'll always have the night in which they did Flip as proud as he would be of his son. And what an awesome night it was.
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In stating the blatantly obvious, it certainly sounds like Andrew Wiggins decided to throw it back to the early 2000's by casually and shamelessly referencing something entirely unrelated to genital preference as homosexual. There's just absolutely no denying that. I went into it trying to hear "gay" then I re-watched it trying to hear "getting", and the audio simply ain't on the side of the man who swears his innocence.
Fortunately for him, however, the context kinda is. It's easy to look past that, as nuance has basically gone the way of the landline, but there's nothing else preceding an attempt at speaking that was as questionable as his career arc that leads me to believe that Andrew Wiggins used "gay" (or meant to say "gay") in a derogatory fashion. As someone who is being paid like he's not a wildly laughable lackluster 1st overall pick, Andrew Wiggins has probably used up his full allotment of benefit of the doubt. That being said, I still feel inclined to offer him some, for if that was an insult then it was the most unimpassioned insult in the history of spoken word. In my limited interactions with the homophobic, they don't typically half-ass their feelings on gender fluidity. Of course, it would be quite fitting of Andrew Wiggins' career if he did regrettably say it, as he's unimpressively offensive while showing very little effort on the defensive, but I can't help but think he either misspoke or we misheard him. Especially since he'd have be guilty of the type of venomous verbal vomit that would make Derrick Rose hold his nose to accidentally send an opponent off on a stretcher and follow it up by inciting the ire of the LGBTQ community in a way that made his 40-point night a complete footnote.
Full disclosure, I rarely find hockey fights intriguing enough write about. I'm not about to parade down to NHL HQ and demand they be banished from the game, but - in my humble opinion - YouTube's endless supply has put a huge dent in the demand for watching people fall all over themselves while flailing fists in each other's direction. I'm not offended by their existence, nor do I find them entirely unnecessary, but - from an entertainment standpoint - I think hockey has a hell of a lot more to offer than something I could witness first-hand by sitting on a park bench outside a dive bar at last call. In this instance, however, I can't help but feel captivated by Ryan Reaves' zen-like approach to pummeling faces. Like, prior to the heaving of a single hand I already knew his opponent was in trouble, because someone displaying that level of calm in the face of absolute chaos is a flag that's more red than whatever the hell the Knights' heavy-fisted forward was seeing as he froze himself into a subtle striking stance that would force a proud tear to the eye of Bruce Lee. Credit to Adam McQuaid for having the personal pride to go through with what appeared to be a somewhat inevitable pounding as soon Ryan Reaves locked onto his target with focus of...well...a jungle cat. As tough as he is in his own right, I'd have to question his sanity if a small part of him didn't immediately regret dropping the mitts with someone that instantly transformed into a fully-fixated beast of prey. Good job. Good effort. Bad decision. Joel Embiid Took To The Stands And Let A Young Fan Sit On His Lap During The Sixers Game Last Night1/9/2019 
You know, I'm starting to think that Joel Embiid simply hasn't been on American soil long enough to be a cynical asshole that takes sports too seriously. Impossible to know whether or not that's the case, but it's as good a reason as any for him embracing his role as a fan friendly entertainer as well as almost anyone else in professional sports. Humble might not be the best way to describe him when he's on social media and/or in front of a microphone, but he's certainly not too big for his custom-made britches when it comes to appreciating his celebrity and using it for good. Granted, I'm not sure how often the Sixers feel comfortable with the lynchpin to 'The Process' taking on mascot duties to enhance the in-arena atmosphere during games for which he's active. Still, it's pretty cool to watch him play Santa in offering up his lap and giving a priceless, once-in-a-lifetime gift to a young kid who will forever be a Joel Embiid fan. I'm not so much of a sap to say that moments like that are what it's ALL about. However, due mostly to crazed, jaded fans with big mouthes and the sense of security provided by their seat, it's become far too easy to forget that sporting events are supposed to be a welcoming, enjoyable experience that bring together people from all walks of life. 
It might not seem like it, but I say the following with upmost respect for USC Head Coach Clay Helton. Boo...fucking...hoo. Sorry, but with the amount of talented kids whose career paths are wildly rerouted due to - shall we call them - professional mistruths, I'm just not about to shed any tears on behalf of a once problematic program that was mildly inconvenienced by the tenure of an assistant coach who terminated his own contract within a tick and a tock. Granted, Kliff Kingsbury probably should have known that an NFL offer or two might have been en route to his doorstep, and he definitely should have been well aware of how alluring they would be when they eventually (inevitably?) arrived. Still, college football basically rewards its coaches for stepping on the backs of those underneath them in the process of most efficiently advancing their career. Am I supposed to act like I'm appalled during the rare instance in which that same not-so-hidden agenda makes those already padding their pockets off big-time college sports look stupid? Short story shorter, Kliff Kingsbury isn't the first coach to lie and show a laughable lack of loyalty in paving his way to the pros as fast as possible. He's just the first one to use instant asphalt in doing based off of flavor-of-the-year affiliations with Sean McVay and Patrick Mahomes. Color me shocked that college football's Ryan Gosling wasn't exactly faithful when a better deal hit the table.
SportingNews- The truck driver involved in the fatal bus crash with the Humboldt Broncos junior hockey team has pleaded guilty to all 29 charges against him.
Jaskirat Sidhu was charged with 16 counts of dangerous operation of motorized vehicle causing death and 13 counts of dangerous operation of motor vehicle causing bodily injury. He appeared in court in Melfort, Sask., on Tuesday to deliver his plea. The Saskatchewan Junior Hockey League team was bound for a playoff game on April 6 when the bus and a semi-truck collided at a rural intersection between Nipawin and Tisdale. Sidhu was not hurt, though 16 died and another 13 were injured. Sidhu was arrested in July and held in custody before being released on $1,000 bail with conditions. ----- Oddly enough, in a way that pales greatly in comparison to the sympathy I feel for the countless lives lost or forever negatively altered by his actions, I actually feel a bit bad for Jaskirat Sidhu. Maybe that's an admittance that I, like most, have regrettably been recklessly inattentive behind the wheel for time to time, or maybe it's an understanding that waking up every single morning with that much on your conscience makes not for a life that most would even want to go on living. Whatever the case may be, while someone in charge of that much freight simply has to be more aware of the road, it's tough to look at him as some sort of villain when one stupid mistake cost him a lifetime of peace of mind. Of course, the list of actual victims is hundreds upon hundreds of people long before you come upon the name of the guy whose inattentiveness resulted in a tragedy that irreparably tore apart families and friends. Still, regardless of them serving as the long overdue upholding of justice, I don't find any of the 29 guilty pleas that have almost certainly been weighing on Jaskirat Sidhu to be particularly absolving of the heartbreak caused. In reality, they are just another painful reminder of how flawed even the best of us are as humans and how fragile any of our lives can be proven in a single instant. If The Dropped Jaw Of This Fan Sitting Courtside Is Any Indication Then LaMarcus Aldridge Is Packing1/8/2019 
You know, I've always said that sitting closer to the action gives you a whole new level of respect for professional athletes as physical marvels. Typically that respect isn't measured in the dampness of drawers, but - after twelve straight years averaging around 20 points a game as a nightly double-double threat - it's about damn time fans found themselves in awe of LaMarcus Aldridge's full package. There was that period where the Spurs' faithful wanted him run out of town, but - though that appears to be well in the past - I have a sneaking suspicion he'll never ever be worried about finding a place to stay pending the circulation of this video. I always thought of LaMarcus Aldridge exuding a quiet confidence of sorts, and apparently now I know why. Dude could have "speak softly and carry a big stick" tattooed across his forehead and it would still be the second thing prospective sheet-sharers noticed about his appearance from up close. No wonder his demeanor has been so calm, cool, and collected despite criticism. He doesn't even need to face up a defender to take someone aback or leave a forward-facing impression. That's just the long and overstuffed compression short of it. As for the guy that may or may not be accompanying the nice young lady whose eye found an apple in the form of forbidden fruit, I'm not even sure it makes much sense to embarrassed. Just got to tip your cap and appreciate the art of it all, as that picture is of a priceless gift from God more so than anything he could even dream about considering competition. 
On one hand, I suppose it's tough to train yourself how to be a gracious loser when you've been given very few, if any, reps in losing. On the other hand, FORTY-FOUR to SIXTEEN. THIRTY unanswered points. An early curtain call that saved freshman quarterback Trevor Lawrence from having to wipe his forearms clean of the juice from the first delightful bite of a fully formed 50 burger. For Alabama to "beat themselves" as badly as Clemson kicked the ever-loving shit out of them it would have had to look like something about 100x worse than this... I get being hesitant in taking a slice of humble pie when you've never really tried it before, but you might as well lick it off after it's already been smashed right in your damn face against your will with the entire nation standing witness. Tua Tagovailoa basically had crust caked to his forehead with how often the Clemson defensive line had a Heisman Trophy candidate looking like a lost fucking puppy that found himself in traffic. With the help of his wide (ranging) receivers, Trevor Lawrence absolutely dissected Alabama's defense. For Quinnen Williams to think he was just blindly launching balls that happened to repeatedly find open receivers he must have been watching the game with apple tart dripping out of his eyeballs. A previously undefeated team lost by FOUR touchdowns and it could have easily been even more. Something tells me their still undefeated opposition may have done a thing or two right over the course of the game in which they were forced into a full season's worth of mistakes. Just a hunch. 
Look, I'd argue that too much has already been made of just how much Clemson shifted the entire state of recruiting by taking Alabama out behind the woodshed and whipping their ass rawer than whatever Crimson Tide fans skinned alive in frustration. Nick Saban can still walk into a living room on any old Sunday afternoon, point at the TV screen during any old NFL game, and pretty easily pick out a half dozen players that propped up their pro prospects in Tuscaloosa. For that reason, it's nothing short of insane to think we saw the beginning to some harrowing end to a dynasty by watching a previous undefeated team get waxed in the National Championship game of which they'll more than likely be a participant again next year.
That being said, it would be nice if we witnessed one of the most snarky, condescending, and stick-in-the-ass coaches in all of sports get humbled by a peer who is able to to take a saliva-soaked finger in the ear in stride while giving a nationally televised interview. I think it's accurately assumed that SEC country would declare a state of emergency if a finger so much as grazed one of Nick Saban's follicles (that looked to be fading fast in the postgame, as if he was degenerating in defeat). Therefore, I'll consider it a win for college football as a whole if just one 5-star freak was watching the inner-ear penetration seen 'round the world, and thought "ya know what, all else being equal as an unpaid laborer, I'd rather be able to bust my coach's balls than get constantly berated". Of course, in the same way that people are making too much of one bad loss, I am probably making too much of one wet willy, but I'm not going to apologize for wanting the ability to laugh off a lubed up ear canal to be as much of a part of Dabo Swinney's legacy as his emasculation of the college football equivalent of Goliath. Also, special shoutout to the Suge Knight shoutout. Alabama will undoubtedly be back with a vengeance, but if there is a program whose coach, quarterback, and culture could make a dent in the 'Bad Boy' of college football and have the dynasty dying nasty then it clearly resides in Death Valley...
Annnnd that, right there, is why there was a substantial percentage of basketball fans calling for the pumping of the brakes on Derrick Rose's redemption story when he propped himself out of the NBA equivalent of a coma and put forth a 50+ point performance earlier this year. Okay fine, not exactly "that", as being mixed up in a sexual assault trial (during which he casually questioned the definition of the word 'consent') at the height of the 'Me Too' movement makes him far more of a villain than a facetious use of the phrase "kill yourself". Still, even halfheartedly encouraging suicide as an oft-mentally discombobulated member of a league that's recently placed an emphasis on taking positive steps to promoting mental health is just another example of his, for lack of a better word, stupidity. The story of Derrick Rose as a basketball player will inevitably be a sad tale of a transcendent talent whose body betrayed him, but the story of him as a person will inevitably be a problematic tale of an unlikable (if not criminal) idiot whose mouth and/or brain betrayed him. I don't want to throw stones from the moral high ground on which my glass house has been built like "kill yourself" didn't rank a close third behind "what up" and "peace" on my list of overused forms of address during my formative years. Still, there is a time and a place. That time is most certainly not 2019, and that place is definitely not in front of an NBA-affiliated microphone when otherwise respectably answering a run-of-the-mill question about the firing of his favorite coach. It shouldn't have required all that much thinking to come to that conclusion before he let a suicide suggestion slip from his tongue...twice. Good on Derrick Rose for apologizing (after having the following tweet crafted for him by 10-20 Timberwolves' employees that damn near pass out holding their breathe whenever he opens his mouth), I guess, but someone who is no stranger to having his head play tricks on him should really no better at this point.
Ran up the score? House money? Different team? Any other fabricated narratives the reigning Super Bowl champions care to pin up on the bulletin board as they ready themselves to head into a building in which their dignity got driven into the artificial dirt less than two months ago? I doubt the dog masks have even been put away for long enough to have collected dust, so might as well break those clean out while they are in the process of proactively putting a brand new face on what took place in Week 11. Now, I understand the need to recycle every cliche in the book when trying to hypothesize away a 41-point differential without referencing the actual X's and O's of what was as thorough a domination as you'll witness during an NFL game. Unless they are trying out Nick Foles' magical touch at defensive back, his paranormal presence alone wasn't going to be enough to leave them feeling confident in their ability to exact revenge from a football standpoint. I just thought a increasingly confident roster with their Super Bowl MVP back under center would have more pride than to talk about themselves like they are the 'Little Giants', even if IceBox would be a welcomed addition in the middle of their defense. Credit where credit is due, because no team in the history of sports has gotten more mileage out of self-proclaiming themselves disrespected. Unfortunately, my intelligence feels disrespected by the tight end who is less than a year removed from securing the game-winning grab on the biggest stage in all of sports. Simply put, for a team that's done a hell of a lot of winning as of late, claiming "house money" is quite the loser's mentality. Much like every other Sunday during the NFL season, this upcoming one will be of the "any given" variety. The Eagles could very well have Saints' fans leaving the SuperDome to sit shiva for their season in six days. That said, the lengths that a championship team is going in trying to talk into existence their chances of winning is extremely telling. I'm all for the manufacturing of motivation, but the Saints didn't "run up the score" as much as they ran over the Eagles' pride in late November. A Pro Bowl-caliber safety got roasted by a "running back" on a go-route with basically an entire quarter left to play (13:20). While going for the jugular on 4th down from just outside FG range might not be the most sportsmanslike thing to have ever take place place on a football field, it's about 100x more respectable than quitting. That's exactly what the Eagles did the last time they were in New Orleans, so maybe the Birdies should focus less on chirping and more on playing a more competitive brand of football this time around. After all, invented inspiration only goes but so far on the field. Especially when the team that calls it home undeniably feels more slighted, scorned, and sparked by the heartbreak they experienced in their last postseason appearance of which the spite stirred up during a 40+ point regular season drubbing pales in comparison.
To be honest, it's somewhat impressive. In all the wrong ways, of course, as 'what-about-ism' has become an exhausting epidemic throughout society as much as it has sports analysis. That said, Steph Curry deflecting from his own blatantly obvious infraction by calling out someone who is more fluid in getting away with it, despite the latter not even being present, is perhaps the most cowardly act of finger pointing I have ever come across. I say the following while finding James Harden's overly dramatic and oft-illegal antics to be a huge drain on the NBA's product. Steph Curry has no room to talk, for if a previous opponent were to follow his lead they might set a moving screen that lasts longer than most Uber rides then mockingly lift their jersey to reveal a Warriors' t-shirt after inevitably being called for an offensive foul. James Harden doesn't just straddle the line as it pertains to traveling; He hop, skips, and jumps over it more shamelessly than those that are still publicly stepping in the name of R. Kelly's love. That said, he's far from the only elite NBA player that had been waved on by the roadblock of the rulebook by referees. For Steph Curry to act like he's never scored a single bucket that wasn't enabled by intentionally absent-minded officiating isn't just laughable. It's also a pretty obvious and salty response to James Harden compromising not a single guideline of the duel when putting a bullet between the eyes of the Golden State Warriors no more than four days ago. So while I appreciate the pettiness of professional athletes, I can't endorse such an elementary reliance on it. Steph Curry basically got caught playing ball in the house and blamed the neighbor who most recently beat him in it for giving him the idea. Somehow, that's even more childish than cocking back four full steps in loading up your jump shot. 
Off the upright and, for good measure, the crossbar. Like it was a conclusion that was written in the stars for a kicker whose attempts have appeared nothing short of magnetized all season. Certainly not the same set of stars that Cody Parkey helplessly pointed up to after losing the most high stakes game of Plinko with a postseason advancement on the line, but almost cosmically inevitable nonetheless. Simply put, the Bears season ended in the only possible way the universe would let it end, but that doesn't leave the leg from which the disappointment came as the only place to point the blame. For one, regardless of his obvious religious affiliation, it's not Cody Parkey's responsibility to part the seas and allow a clean flight path for his own fickle foot...
More so than that, however, it's not Cody Parkey's responsibility to do damn near all the scoring for a team whose dominant defense was given a chance to live up to their billing as its strength and failed at the most inopportune of time. Consider this, the kicker who had absolutely no business retaining his job through December had more successful touches of the football than the Bears' most explosive and versatile offensive weapon did yesterday. During a game in which they scored a single touchdown, Tarik Cohen (ya know, the guy whose incredible return set up the potential game winning kick) had all of 27 yards from scrimmage on the four plays in which he was involved throughout four quarters. Cody Parkey probably should have had the football on a higher trajectory, seeing as it was only a 43 yarder, but he was still more accurate on the evening than the quarterback who routinely launched the ball into triple coverage. The Bears didn't just refuse to replace their weakest link, they also leaned the most heavily on him at the most crucial of time. It kinda goes without saying that that's not how you win playoff games in the NFL, and that's on the organization, the coaches, and the rest of the players. It's the easier thing to do so people will undoubtedly continue to blame Cody Parkey, but - tip or no tip - he wasn't the one who put himself in a position to fail. 
If the question is "fair or foul?" then I'm going to have to side with the former on this one. It's definitely of ill intent, but it's so well executed that I can't even find any real fault. Trolling a country that has hard enough time taking a loss in hockey as is, but doing so in a clever and somewhat inconspicuous way that's nice enough not to take aim at any failures on the part of the teenage players themselves is about as praiseworthy as pettiness gets. So long as PAMA doesn't plan on expanding their business to Canada anytime soon, I see nothing wrong with offering a prop as a present in an attempt to pour salt in the wound with an obvious marketing ploy. Don't take kindly to your team being made sport of in a way that's somehow only seems mildly condescending? Well, make sure they aren't taking the ice with shoddy equipment during must-win games that aren't anywhere near as important as the fans think they are. I have it on the good authority of their own kindly worded note that PAMA hockey would never do something so reckless. 
Well, whew. I say that not because it's a big deal to me that Michael Thomas was recognized for his undeniably elite efforts as the only consistent (and a historically efficient) option that the Saints routinely utilized outside the numbers in the passing game, but because anyone with WiFi knows it's a big deal to him. I suppose heading into the playoffs with a scorned Michael Thomas wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world, but try telling that to an online timeline that would have been inundated with #13's animosity. The truth is that Mike lived up to his handle in proving himself unguardable and earned every ounce of his first All-Pro honor, but if the voters didn't view it that way then the only thing less guardable than his hands would have been his keypad...
We're talking about a guy who yearns to sleep on the wrong side of the bed and wakes up feeling underrated before there's even any ratings to go by. You can tell by him crafting only two original tweets on the matter that the concept of taking a little time during a bye week to take a deep breath and appreciate his accomplishments is one that's foreign to him. It would have felt far more natural for him to unleash fingers of fury on every voter with a slightly different viewpoint, and - considering his importance and trustworthiness in one of the league's best offenses - I wouldn't even have blamed him for doing so. He's as good at seeking out disrespect as he is at attacking both his primary defender and the ball, so I'm sure that smile will have been subsided come next Sunday. For now, however, he should take a minute and follow the NFL's lead in acknowledging his record setting season. Though I'm certain he's already made himself irritable by checking his odds to win Super Bowl MVP.
Not everyone agrees with how much spite DeMar DeRozan had invested in the grudge he continues to hold against the Toronto Raptors and, more specifically, their General Manager for making a business decision in trading him as the face of a franchise he helped to resurrect. The truth is, seeing as they weren't the ones scorned, they probably shouldn't. Loyalty can't be considered a lost art in professional sports, because that would mean that those in professional sports were looking for it to be found. The business of winning has become far too cutthroat for emotions to be prioritized, so any pledge that wasn't put in writing is one that's liable to be broken. The Raptors owed DeMar DeRozan nothing more than what he was contractually inclined to, and he wasn't contractually inclined to...well...respect. Regardless of how you feel about feelings, that's just a fact. All that being said, if you had to pick a sympathetic party in the battle of friends-turned-foes then it absolutely had to be the player that inherently understands the concept of sympathy as opposed to the one whose idea of interpersonal relationships was poorly learned through computer programming. Simply put, watching DeMar DeRozan derive the sweet, sweet joy of revenge out of his successful pursuit of his first career triple-double was cooler than anything Kawhi Leonard could have delivered through a dead-panned expression. Whether or not that means the latter deserved to be booed in his return to a city he both helped bring a championship and basically ghosted is certainly up for debate, but whether or not the former was playing with a profound and palpable purpose in cranking back and hammering down dunks like the following was undoubtedly not...
As far as who won the trade is concerned, the Raptors are in the lead with Kawhi Leonard quietly (as if there were any other way for him to do so) returning to freakish form and Toronto looking like an Eastern Conference frontrunner. However, DeMar DeRozan won last night, both statistically, vindictively, and - if you like the players you root for to have a familiar emotional attachment to the teams you root for - deservedly. Especially as he compares to the guy that proceeded to point the finger at the media for the heat he took after mutedly going MIA...
In a word, cocky. Being fully aware of how often they worked out the kinks of that play in practice and the amount of times they rewound the game tape to see if it might work against a particular opponent, risking an icing while on the powerplay by blasting a slap pass off the back boards from your own blue line is as arrogant as it gets. As Dorothy might say, there is no place like home, because you have to know your rink better than you know your own bowels to even attempt a type of wizardry that wouldn't even fly in the land of Oz if you're not trying to catch shit when you get back to the bench. Fortune, as it tends to do, favors the bold, but bold doesn't even do a good enough job describing the fortitude in Torey Krug's testicles as he casually wound up from an area of the ice that would make Fulton Reed feel like a phony. The timing and execution of geometric excellence on a pinpoint laser beam from 150+ feet away was absolutely awe-inspiring. However, I still think that aspect is less impressive than having the casual confidence to unleash it (after having already surrendered a shorthanded goal in the game) like being off by a mere inch or two wouldn't make you look like a complete idiot. Credit to David Pastrnak for doing what David Pastrnak does by finishing off the filthiest of feeds, but I'm surprised they didn't need to bring out the stretcher to help Torey Krug haul his balls off the ice after that one. 
Blessed be the ball for having integrity (and for ending up in the hands of someone who is churning out 40+ point performances like they are regularly scheduled programming, I suppose), for had it lied we'd only be talking about jamming an entire NBA officiating crew into a confessional booth to absolve them of their sins against the sport of basketball. James Harden fighting through a double team and squinting through the gleam off Draymond Green's teeth to drive a dagger into the team that watched his own miss 27 straight 3's en route to the demise of their dream season a little over 7 months ago was pretty awesome. Not having to solely discuss Warriors-related conspiracy theories after Kevin Durant set up a go-ahead bucket by somehow legally saving a ball while having his feet planted in Lot Z of the Oracle Arena parking lot is even more awesome. Due to how often they even themselves out, I hate focusing on individual missed calls, and that's especially true when it goes against the guy who is so notorious for playing the officials like a fiddle that if they had a mouthpiece it would be worn through. Unfortunately, if that game had ended after Kevin Durant tightroped the shoulder of the nearest freeway while using the entirety of his mutant wingspan to smack back in a loose ball that that was inches from the sideline then I'd have no choice but to whine incessantly about the most egregious non-whistle in NBA history. Therefore, thanks are in order for James Harden. It would have been nice if he had one of those bullets in the chamber last postseason when the Rockets were helping the broad side of the barn breath easy in Game 7, but - at least for one night - he made it so that the team that needs absolutely no help didn't feel as though they got plenty of it. Never mind justice, because it's undoubtedly a lot more fun to laugh at NBA executives referencing topically terrible (or terribly typical?) NetFlix films than listening to them bitch about the shitty supervision of their product... — Daryl Morey (@dmorey) January 4, 2019 
If we're being totally honest here, that reaction seems a bit overdone. I don't mean that as a slight to the absurdity of serving up 30+ points and 25+ boards with a hearty helping of blocks, assists, and steals on the side, but I was entirely certain I was going to find gaudier numbers when I looked to see what had Theo Pinson summoning his inner Chris Tucker.... 
By just about any standard, 34/26/4/1/3 in an awe-inspiring NBA stat line, but the standard of Anthony Davis is unlike any other standard. Were talking about a human pterodactyl with a scoring touch that could heal the sick. As far as I am concerned, that type of production is just the manufacturing output of his standard operating procedure in doing it all for a Pelicans' team that absolutely needs him to on any given night. I don't want to discredit the meme-worthiness of one professional athlete being moved to taking the Lord's name in vain by the efficiency of another, but - in my humble opinion - it's misleading. Though, upon further inspection, I probably should have expected as much from a player whose court-side mannerisms are about as exaggerated as the street-side mannerisms of everyone's favorite character in Friday...
Leave it to Sidney Crosby. The guy goes on for over a decade being a painfully boring person when he's not being anything but boring as a superhuman hockey player, and what does he do the first time he decides to show both a personality and an ability to laugh at himself? He gives some loud mouth a signed stick as if the self-satisfaction of hearing his own stupid voice wasn't enabling enough. Couldn't show the slightest hint of a sense of humor in a postgame interview. Just had to give a heckler a happy ending as if that won't spawn a nauseating about of unoriginal imitations. As if an unjustly entitled fanbase needed even more incentive to talk directly out of their ass in stinking up the experience for those around them, now one is taking home a damn trophy for having the gall to talk shit throughout the entirety of a 7-2 stomping? Allegedly some of these chirps were harmless, innovative, and even funny, but I promise you the same won't be able to be said about the idiots that try to recreate them. Gee, thanks a lot Sid. Next time you think it's the right time to show your presence in a room isn't that of wallpaper away from the ice....maybe just don't. Signed, everyone that's every met a single New York Rangers' fan. |
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