January 30, 2005
Don't Believe the Hype: a Bunch of Hot Air on Nash and Delgado
I'll tell you what really has been chapping my ass lately -- all this talk of Steve Nash for MVP. Now, before I go any further with this, let me be the first to say that I love Nash as much as anybody. He's probably one of the 10 most entertaining players in The League -- a wild, unpredictable tangle of flailing hair, fade-away jumpers and no-look dishes. But an MVP, he is not. And you won't hear me echoing all of the Nash detractors who say he shouldn't be MVP because he isn't a very good defensive player, though I think that's a pretty valid point as well. My main objection to this whole thing is that virtually everyone in the pro-Nash camp wants to talk about how much he's done to improve the Suns. And yes, there is something to be said for that -- he's obviously made that team better; just look at the record. But what all of these people are ignoring in their eagerness to crown Nash The League's King is the fact that Nash's teammate, Amare Stoudemire, is fast developing into the NBA's most unstoppable player. Sure, Nash helps Amare a ton, just like he helps the rest of the Suns. But take Amare Stoudemire off that team, and they'd struggle mightily, just as they did while Nash missed some games recently with nagging injuries. In my humble opinion (and I sure wish this would someday get clarified for the voters), the MVP is supposed to go to a player who is more indispensable to his respective winning team than any other player is to his. There's no doubting Nash's value to the Suns, but how can you say he's more valuable than Amare Stoudemire? And I haven't even mentioned Shawn Marion, who's averaging nearly 20 and 10 a night alongside Amare. I'm not endorsing him as an MVP candidate, but he's just another guy who makes Nash look better. The MVP should go to a LeBron James, a Kevin Garnett, a Tim Duncan, even an Allen Iverson. These are guys who almost single-handedly take their teams to an elite level. What could have more value than that?
And while I'm ranting, has any one free agent signing (Carlos Delgado to the Marlins) ever been more overrated by one person (ESPN's Jayson
Stark)? I normally don't have much objection to Stark's work, but I think he's gone completely delusional here. According to Stark, by plugging Delgado into their lineup, the Marlins have all but clinched the NL East crown. Is this a joke? Delgado's obviously a big bat and will fit in nicely there, but before we get too carried away, let's remember that he only hit 32 homers and drove in 99 runs last year. And he's never reached the postseason once -- granted that's not entirely his fault, but quite simply, he's not the kind of player who is going to elevate a team to the next level. Especially in one of the worst hitting parks in baseball, and on a team that lost arguably its best starting pitcher (Carl Pavano), replacing him with a charismatic but aging and injury-prone lefty (Al Leiter). I won't even mention that the Marlins lost their ace closer (Armando Benitez), because their replacement (Guillermo Mota) is pretty good. But I will throw it out there that they have almost automatic outs playing right field and shortstop (Juan Encarnacion and Alex Gonzalez, who both had OBPs below .300 last year), are expecting 38-year-old Jeff Conine to produce, and that their two top pitchers (Josh Beckett and AJ Burnett) have a lot of trouble staying healthy. Now, if you know me well (and I'm guessing that if you've read this far, you probably do), you're likely to call me out here for having an agenda as a die-hard Braves fan. And your point there would be well-taken. However, all biases aside, mark these words: the Marlins will not win the NL East in 2005, and money thrown at Carlos Delgado will do nothing more than plant a solid citizen at first base and put some quality, but not mind-blowing numbers in the middle of Florida's lineup. And at least one person will remember that way back in January, Jayson Stark was way off base.
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January 27, 2005
Be Like Ike
Had a huge celebrity sighting yesterday. And unfortunately, I mean "huge" in the most literal sense of the word. Remember Isaac Austin, the former Miami Heat center who famously tempered a weight problem to win the NBA's Most Improved Player award back in 1996-97? Well, I happened to spot Ike yesterday at the Salt Lake City airport, and I regret to report that he's back on the sauce. And yes, that would be barbeque. Or Hollandaise. Or whatever his preference. The point is, I only caught a quick glimpse of him, but it was enough time to realize that the man doesn't exactly appear to be in playing shape. Covering his bloated torso was a sweatshirt with a Heat logo on the back, which, the more I think about it, strikes me as kind of sad. Because as quickly as Ike Austin hit the basketball world's consciousness -- I remember at what had to have been the apex of his career there was a feature story on him in Sports Illustrated -- he was gone. And now he trolls the depths of our nation's airports, a 7-foot, 350-pound ghost of the basketball underworld. I don't have any concrete reasons to feel sorry for Ike Austin, except for one: the Heat logo on his back. I'd like to think that he wears it as a badge of honor, but I can't help but wonder if, more than anything, he's just clinging to his nearly-forgotten past.
Interesting epilogue to this story: after it went to press, reader Brad wrote in to point out that Ike Austin is head coach of the Utah Snowbears in the ABA, which goes a long way towards clarifying why Big Ike was crusing the SLC Airport, and pretty much makes me look like an ass for saying how sorry I feel for the guy. Ike Austin and his Utah Snowbears are doing just fine. In fact, they're an undefeated 23-0 according to my calculations from the ABA's sub-par website. For the record, I couldn't find a page that listed the standings, and had to calculate Utah's record by going through the schedule manually. This was very enjoyable, as you can imagine. As a side note, one of Utah's key players is former Weber State star Harold Arceneaux -- remember him from the 1999 NCAA tourney? -- who's averaging 17.8 ppg for the Snowbears. Next week's discussion topic: Snowbears -- stupidest team name ever?
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January 25, 2005
Fun with Names
You had to think that even if the NHL season were to be entirely lost because of the lockout (which it appears will be the case), there would still have to be something noteworthy, if not truly monumental that would take place in Hockey Land this year. And finally, it has happened: news hit the wire today that Colorado Avalanche forward Peter Worrell identified himself as teammate and friend Andreas Lilja when he was pulled over by police last month for driving a car with expired plates.
Okay, it's one thing to get pulled over by the cops, completely panic, and do whatever you can to avoid guilt. Making up a story that you're rushing to the animal hospital to donate a kidney in a last-minute effort to save your dying pet yak? I've heard of crazier things. However, it's treading dangerously close to "Bad Idea Jeans" territory to lie about your name, and teetering on the brink of downright evil to sell out your friend by assuming his name in the process.
But when it just so happens that you are a 6-foot-7 black man with a shaved head and your friend is a 6-foot-3 Swede with heavily-moussed locks atop his dome, well...you're officially an idiot. In Worrell's defense, it's not like his claim to be Lilja was completely random -- he was, after all, driving Lilja's car when he was pulled over. But seriously, this incident is so absurd -- and so inexplicable -- that it's tough to think that Worrell isn't completely insane. Here in the modern age of picture ID's, the police have a shocking ability to find out if you're lying about your name, particularly if you look absolutely nothing like the person you say you are.
The worst thing is, I can just picture Worrell and Lilja's conversation before Worrell borrowed the car:
Worrell: Hey Andreas, mind if I borrow your car?
Lilja: Yeah, no problem. Oh, hey -- one thing. It's got expired plates. I keep forgetting to get new ones!
Worrell: Oh, alright. Well, what should I do if I get pulled over?
Lilja: Dude, just tell the cops you're me!
Of course I have no way of knowing if anything like this happened, but somehow I can't help but wonder if Lilja -- the silent partner in this whole thing -- wasn't the mastermind behind the whole plot. But that's purely speculation. And I suppose, all things being equal, it's better to leave his name out of it.
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January 21, 2005
Slim Fast
And so it has begun. You had to know this was coming, didn't you? Rockies' first baseman Todd Helton has just become the first player, to my knowledge, to up and announce: "You know what? I think just for the heck of it, I'll shed a few pounds for this season. I think I may have done a bit too much 'weight training' last year, and ended up with about 25 excess pounds of human mass."
Hmm...think this could possibly have anything to do with MLB's new steroid testing policy? I'd say it's almost a certainty. Last year Todd Helton reported to spring training suddenly looking oddly like "The Bug" from Men in Black. Helton, like so many other players before him, had decided to try a new weight training program in an effort to hit for more power. (For the record, it didn't really work -- Helton hit just 32 homers, a disappointing total for a hitter of his caliber playing in the thin air of Coors Field.)
Here's what I don't get about the whole thing -- quite frankly, while I hate the fact that so many players appear to have been juicing over the past several years (and that many will probably continue to do so if they can get away with it), I understand that, in essence, baseball's steroid testing rules have been so ridiculous up until now (and some think they're still pretty ridiculous), that it's tough to completely write a player off for hitting the 'roids considering how easy it's been to break the rules. Don't get me wrong, I'd much rather see players clean, but you won't see me flying to Denver to pickett Helton's house or boycotting the Rockies when they come to the stadium nearest me. What I can't figure out is why Helton -- and soon to be so many players after him -- would openly announce that they've decided to lose weight for this upcoming season. When I was in first grade, I was so afraid that people would think I had peed my pants when I went to the bathroom and accidentally splashed water from the sink on my pants, I would come back into the classroom and openly announce to anyone I came in the vicinity of, "That's not pee. I didn't pee my pants. It's just water." And what Helton is doing here isn't that different. He's apparently so paranoid that people will notice how much weight he mysteriously lost that he feels the need to explain why he lost it. But such tactics certainly aren't doing him any good. Those of us watching, whether right or not, will automatically assume the worst: Helton has been peeing himself.
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January 16, 2005
Star Search: Discovering Underappreciated Talent in the NBA
Early on in Boogie Nights, grizzled old "filmmaker" Jack Horner, played by Burt Reynolds, approaches impressionable young busboy Eddie Adams (Mark Wahlberg) deep in the bowels (so to speak) of Horner's favorite night club, Hot Traxx, where Adams spends his nights washing dishes. After closely appraising Adams for a couple of minutes, Horner declares, somewhat out of the blue, "I've got a feeling that behind those jeans is something wonderful just waiting to get out..."
Jack, of course, was correct. There was something "wonderful" just waiting to come out, and from those modest beginnings, Dirk Diggler (not to be confused with Dirk Nowitzki) was born.
But Nowitzki is not without his relevance here. Part of the reason Dirk is a star in today's NBA is that Mavs' coach Don Nelson saw something in the young German several years ago, even declaring at the start of Nowitzki's first season that Dirk would win rookie of the year. Turns out, Nellie was wrong on that prediction, but one thing he was right about: given a chance, Dirk Nowitzki became be a star.
Along those same lines, lately I've found myself thinking that in the NBA, perhaps like no other league, talented players can and do get buried on the bench, frequently behind players who aren't as good as them. For whatever reason, be it coaches preferring players who fit into their system or play the game a certain way, disciplinary issues, attitude -- whatever -- there are a slew of super-talented players in The League who simply need a chance. Sometimes they get that chance, sometimes they don't. No matter what the case, with each passing season, a number of players end up stuck inside of the proverbial pair of trousers, and spend the season dying to break out. As the 2004-05 NBA season nears its halfway point, I can think of no better time to figuratively don my white beard and Hawaiian shirt, and go hunting for submerged talent, Jack Horner-style. Without further ado, I present the All-Eddie Adams Team, in honor of those players just waiting for a chance:
Point Guard -- Juan Dixon, Wizards: I saw it again last night for what seems like the hundredth time since he joined the NBA -- give Juan Dixon a chance to play, and he gets it done. Sure, he's kind of a tweener (he's not really a point guard or a shooting guard), but that shouldn't matter. Dixon is, and always has been, a baller, plain and simple. In college, he was so ridiculously scrawny you wondered how he could possibly get to the basket, let alone survive a 30-game season, but somehow he did, and he led Maryland to a national title. In the pros, he's a man without a position, in a crowded backcourt with Gilbert Arenas and Larry Hughes. But when he gets a chance, the results are undeniable: last night, as happens on occasion, he played significant minutes, and lo and behold, he dropped 26 points in a Wizards' win. I firmly believe that if Dixon ever got a starting gig somewhere (wouldn't he look nice on the Hawks?), he could be a stud.
(Note: word just came out of Washington that Hughes is out 4-to-6 weeks, and Dixon is expected to take over his starting job.)
The honorary back-up point guard spot goes to Hornets' point guard Dan Dickau, because not only is he finally emerging as a pretty decent NBA player after three years on the bench, but he actually bears a slight resemblance -- at least in terms of the general aura he presents -- to Eddie Adams. If there was a remake of Boogie Nights made with NBA players -- something I've actually sort of pondered in the past -- you'd have to think that Dickau would get a long look for the part.
Shooting Guard -- Dajuan Wagner, Cavs: Wagner got his chance to play early during his rookie year in '02-'03, and early indications were that he was going to be a force (in December of '02 he had a 33-point night against Toronto, and for the season, he averaged 13.4 ppg). But since that promising rookie season, a slew of problems, including a bladder infection (which should ensure his inclusion on the Eddie Adams Team all by itself) took Wagner out of Cleveland's rotation, and he has yet to return. But you get the feeling that if Wagner, who once scored 100 points in a high school game and is still only 21, ever could get healthy and get a chance to play 35 minutes a night, he could develop into a pretty potent scoring guard.
Small Forward -- Luke Walton, Lakers: His play during last year's postseason was essentially the inspired cry of a man disperate for minutes. When Walton led the Lakers with eight assists in a Game 2 Finals victory, It appeared as though his time had finally come -- without too much competition at small forward, Walton could be the man for the Lakers at that position for years to come. But then, in the offseason, Shaquille O'Neal was shipped out of town, and in return came (among others) Caron Butler, another small forward himself in need of substantial minutes. Back to the bench Walton went. With someone like Walton, I firmly believe that coaches have a tendency to overlook the intangibles. Sure, he isn't super-quick or insanely athletic, but he's the kind of player who would put numbers on the board -- and more importantly, make his teammates better -- if given the chance to contribute.
Power Forward -- Darko Milicic, Pistons: I have a hard time discussing this one without getting angry. Sure he's only 19, and hopefully a couple of years from now this sentiment will be long since forgotten, but you can't help but get the feeling that Darko Milicic is wasting away. I just read in the most recent Sports Illustrated that Darko says he doesn't even really get excited about suiting up for Pistons games anymore because he knows he isn't going to play. This is sad. And ridiculous -- Larry Brown gives nearly 11 minutes a night to Elden Campbell, more than seven minutes a game to Darvin Ham, and just 6.9 to Darko. Surely, for the sake of developing a guy who many think could become one of the next great big men in the league, Larry could sacrifice some, if not all of, Campbell and Darvin's minutes. The most frustrating thing is, you get the feeling that Brown is burying Darko mostly because of his well-documented, stubborn and steadfast refusal to play young players, which is completely absurd. In the case of Darko, L.B. needs to find time for him because he's young. He's not going to turn into a star just by practicing, and by burying him on the bench, the Pistons run the risk of ruining his passion for the game. You keep hearing that Larry Brown is getting old, feeling tired, and thinking about retiring. Seeing what he's doing to Darko, it's tough not to think of him as a curmudgeonly old man with an irrational bitterness towards young players. And that, in and of itself, is a tired act.
Center -- Samuel Dalembert, Sixers: Yet another case of a coach (in this case Jim O'Brien) liking a lesser talent (in this case Marc Jackson) better. I will admit, having watched Dalembert play a fair amount, he does find himself out of position with some regularity on the defensive end, which must infuriate the obsessed with playing perfect defense O'Brien, but when O'Brien has given Sammy a chance to play big minutes, the Haitian Sensation has put up big numbers. And considering the young seven-footer is a free agent that the Sixers might not be able to afford this offseason, O'Brien might want to think about playing him 30 minutes a night to boost his trade value, if not because he's clearly got much more upside than the solid but limited Jackson. (As a side note, Dalembert would look really nice in a Hawks uniform...)
Sixth Man -- Donyell Marshall, Raptors: The one grizzled veteran among this bunch, Donyell is also unique in that he's already had a few very solid NBA campaigns. In other words, his "breakout," if it could be called that, has already happened. But after averaging a career-best 16.2 points and 10.8 rebounds last year following his early-season trade from Chicago to Toronto, he's been back on the bench this year, for whatever reason unable to break into new coach Sam Mitchell's starting lineup. The fact that about five teams seem to be seriously interested in trading for Donyell prior to February's deadline makes you think that Mitchell doesn't really know what the hell he's doing. Sure the Raptors are committed to developing young power forward Chris Bosh (who plays Donyell's position), but you'd think that Mitchell could find a consistent 30+ minutes a night for arguably his second-best player.
Also receiving votes (yes, I am aware that, technically speaking, no one really "voted")...
Tony Allen, SG/SF, Celtics -- There's not enough room for him on the Celts because of a glut of swingmen, but C's coach Doc Rivers has openly said that he needs to get Allen more time. I remember watching a Celtics' game earlier this season and seeing Allen string together a number of jaw-dropping plays in a matter of minutes. He's shown the ability to put a lot of points on the board in a short period of time, most recently dropping 16 points in just 20 minutes in a win over Orlando. Doc's real problem here is that he's far too afraid to bench Ricky Davis, who will start breaking things if he doesn't get enough minutes.
Maciej Lampe, PF/C, Suns -- I haven't seen him play a ton, but Isaiah Thomas basically gave him away in the Stephon Marbury trade last year (word has it that the Suns would have done the deal without Lampe included, but Isaiah pretty much insisted they take him), which tells you he must be a pretty good prospect. (And no, I don't think that highly of Isaiah's management skills, though the Knicks are at least looking like a playoff team this year despite Isiah's best efforts to acquire some of the most undesireable players in the league.) All my own biases aside, Lampe is close to 7 feet and can shoot. You get the feeling the Suns like him a lot, but there aren't a lot of minutes to go around behind Shawn Marion and Amare Stoudemire.
Stromile Swift, PF/C, Grizzlies -- 17 and 8 and a nightly highlight reel waiting to happen; all he needs are minutes. Are the Hawks reading this?
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January 10, 2005
Marvelous Night for a Moondance
No matter what your reaction was to Randy Moss' end zone celebration yesterday -- in which he ran over to the goal post and pretended to drop his trousers before showing what would be his bare butt to the home crowd at Lambeau Field -- I think we can all agree that Mr. Moss took things to another level with his "Moondance." I can't ever recall an athlete in any sport invoking the moon, and he elevated his display yet another notch by throwing in some Chippendale's-esque hip gyrations as an added bonus.
There's not really any denying that Randy made an ass of himself on some level yesterday, but that's clearly what he set out to do. I would argue that the biggest buffoons in this whole episode were FOX's studio commentators -- James Brown, Terry Bradshaw, Howie Long and Jimmy Johnson -- who, with their stuffy and unequivocally disapproving reaction during the post-game show, clearly belied what a large part of their audience had to have been thinking -- namely, that Randy Moss' display was nothing short of hilarious. Yes, I'll admit it, when I saw Randy unleash the fake moon on the Green Bay crowd, I was grinning ear to ear. It was risky, entertaining, and in my opinion, all in good fun. You think the fans at Lambeau who were looking directly into that lunar eclipse didn't get a kick out of it? I know that a large part of the American public must have been horrified by this -- after all, every single one of the FOX studio commentators acted as if Randy had just taken out his member and mictorated on the crowd. How horrible! The FOX commentators exclaimed. Talent only takes you so far! This is classless and shameful! They cried. Well, to them, and to everyone else who had a similar reaction, I say, lighten up. Why are you watching sports in the first place? Isn't it supposed to be slightly risky and controversial at times, and therefore entertaining? Don't we watch it because it's raw, often un-edited emotion on display? Like or dislike Randy Moss -- and I'll admit he's given people plenty of reasons to dislike him over the years -- if you didn't find his little display amusing on some miniscule level, you need to re-think why you're watching (or commentating on) sports in the first place.
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January 7, 2005
Smoove Operator
My hometown Atlanta Hawks' forays (or should I say "follies") into the NBA Draft over the past decade and a half have been nothing if not embarrassing. It all began in 1992, when they drafted Stanford forward Adam Keefe -- think of him as Mark Madsen, version 1.0 -- at number 10, passing on Latrell Sprewell, among others, in the process. "Georgia O'Keefe!" read the front page of the stunned Atlanta Journal-Constitution that day. Okay, no it didn't, but it would have been a clever headline. At any rate, by selecting the shockingly pale and equally ineffective Keefe, the Hawks set off an epic run of poor scouting, horrendous player evaluation and generally wretched decision-making that I now refer to as the Era of Poo. Take a look:
THE ERA OF POO: YEAR-BY-YEAR BREAKDOWN (asterisks denote Hawks draftees no longer in the NBA):
'93: At #15, Hawks select Doug Edwards*. Still on the board when the Hawks picked: Sam Cassell, Nick Van Exel
'94: No 1st round pick, but at #34, Hawks select Gaylon Nickerson*, leaving Voshon Lenard on the board. Gaylon Nickerson? Sounds more like the name of a medieval knight than a potential franchise savior. Sir Gaylon! Mount thy steed!
'95: At #16, the Hawks select Alan Henderson, leaving Theo Ratliff, Michael Finley, and, much to my chagrin, Bobby Sura, on the board. (I'll admit I was wrong to be so angry about Sura, but I still love him for some reason.)
'96: At #28, Hawks select 7-3 behemoth Priest Lauderdale*, the posterboy for the Era of Poo. Jeff McInnis and Malik Rose are still on the board, but really, it doesn't matter who the Hawks passed up here. The word "Lauderdale" comes to mean for Atlantans what "Munson" means to the characters in the film "Kingpin."
'97: At #22, Hawks select Ed Gray*, leaving Bobby Jackson, Marc Jackson, Stephen Jackson, Alvin Williams and Mark Blount on the board. In fact, before Blount went off the board in the second round, the Hawks managed to snatch up some French bozo by the name of Alain Digbeu* with their second pick. Brilliant.
'98: At #20, Hawks select Roshown McLeod*, leaving Ricky Davis, Brian Skinner, Tyronn Lue and Al Harrington (both now moonlighting for the '04-'05 Hawks masterpiece), Nazr Mohammed, Rashard Lewis (ouch), Rafer Alston (double ouch), Cuttino Mobley (dagger through the neck) on the board. The worst draft of a wretched bunch.
'99: At #10, Hawks select Jason Terry. Probably the best pick of the Era, though he's proven he's not a winner, and Corey Maggette and Ron Artest were still on the board. This one, I'm willing to forgive, because despite his shortcomings, I liked JT with the Hawks. However, any good karma that existed after this pick was immediately erased when, at #17, the Hawks selected Cal Bowdler*, with James Posey still on the board. At #20, the Hawks completed the trifecta by taking Dion Glover* (who I'll admit I was excited about at the time, but as of this writing is out of the League). Kenny Thomas and Andrei Kirilenko were still on the board at the time. Not to mention Manu Ginobili. Did I say '98 was the worst draft of the bunch? Leaving Kirilenko and Ginobili on the board is pretty bad.
'00: At #6, the Hawks select DerMarr Johnson, a move that anyone could have seen would be a disaster. And it was. Johnson couldn't play a lick for the Hawks, and then was in a gruesome car accident that nearly ended his career. Now he's back, playing for the Nuggets, and of course is actually showing a pulse now that he's left ATL. When the Hawks selected Johnson, Jamal Crawford, Desmond Mason, Quentin Richardson, Jamaal Magloire, Speedy Claxton, Morris Peterson, Marko Jaric and Michael Redd were still available. (This exercise is far more infuriating than I thought it would be.)
'01: This was the year I finally thought the Hawks had it right. At #3, they drafted unknown Spanish forward Pau Gasol, and then made him the centerpiece of a deal that landed them hometown favorite Shareef Abdur-Rahim. In the same deal, they got Jamaal Tinsley. Of course, they unloaded Tinsley for a future draft pick, and he's quickly becoming one of the best PGs in the League. Shareef never did anything in Atlanta, and Gasol ended up being a younger, more athletic, more exciting version of 'Reef, who still isn't done developing as a player. Whoops.
'02: No first round picks for ATL in a draft that saw Amare Stoudemire fall all the way to #9 (not that the Hawks would have had the vision to take him). With their first pick, #36 overall, they take some dude named David Andersen* out of Europe. At least in this case they only left Ronald Murray, Darius Songaila and Rasual Butler on the board. Fortunately, Carlos Boozer went two picks before they took Andersen, though they surely would have passed on Boozer if given the opportunity.
'03: At #21, Hawks select yet another Frenchman, Boris Diaw (as a sidenote, shouldn't there have been an official ban on drafting players out of France after the Knicks drafted Frederic Weis in 1999 and he became the recipient of the greatest posterizing of all time at the hands of Vince
Carter?) When the Hawks select Diaw (I'll admit, he could still become a solid player), Leandro Barbosa, Josh Howard, Luke Walton, Keith Bogans and Kyle Korver are still on the board. I fear that every single one of those guys will be better than Diaw, if they're not already.
From 1992-2003, of the 12 players the Hawks made their first pick in the Draft (some were second-round picks when they didn't have a first-rounder), seven are out of the league. Which brings us to 2004. Once again with the dreaded #6 pick that brought them Dermarr Johnson in 2000, the Hawks made a classic Era of Poo pick, taking Stanford forward Josh Childress. Childress, like Keefe, Henderson, McLeod and so many others, did some nice things in college, but just didn't clearly have a game that translated to the pros. When the Hawks made this pick, Luol Deng and Andre Iguodala were still on the board. I felt at the time, and am feeling more so every day, that the Hawks made a tremendous mistake by passing on Iguodala. He's only averaging 8.5 ppg in the early going, but his on the ball defense is incredible, and he's got the kind of all-around game that could make him his generation's Scottie Pippen (though obviously he probably won't be as good as Pippen). Meanwhile, Childress wasn't yet good enough to consistently play on a team that has given heavy minutes to Royal Ivey and Jason Collier this year. It looked like the 2004 Draft would be another disaster for the Hawks.
But at pick #17, something happened. I didn't realize it was happening at the time. And I have to admit, I wasn't too thrilled with the Hawks' second pick of the first round, some high school kid named Josh Smith. But as I'm ecstatic to realize even more vividly with each passing day, I was absolutely dead wrong about this guy. He hasn't yet become a national phenomenon, but rest assured, the man whose shoes bear the moniker "J Smoove" will be on everyone's radar soon enough. With Dominique Wilkins now prominently involved in the Hawks' decision-making (he's the VP of Basketball Operations), the front office appears to have unearthed the heir apparent to the Human Highlight Film. And though I'm prone to doing so, I'm not certain that I'm exaggerating here.
Probably the best compliment I can pay Josh Smith right now is that he reminds me a lot of Kirilenko, the Utah Jazz dynamo the Hawks once passed up in order to draft Dion Glover and Cal Bowdler. Mind you, on a superficial level, Kirilenko and Smith couldn't possibly be more different. Kirilenko is Russian; Smith is African-American. Kirilenko right-handed; Smith shoots lefty. Smith is heavily tattooed; Kirilenko is not. Smith's hair is closely cropped; Kirilenko wears a bizarre mohawk. Kirilenko is married to a Russian pop diva; Smith, as far as I know, is not. All of these differences aside, on the court, their games are quite similar. Both have incredible hops, a penchant for throwing down wicked tip dunks, and an incredible ability to block shots from the weak side, usually on a man they're not supposed to be guarding. And both are capable of putting jaw-dropping numbers on the board without needing to score a ton of points. Before he went out with a knee injury this year, Kirilenko was averaging a game-changing and league-leading 4.4 blocks per game. On November 20, in a win over Atlanta (naturally) he had his best line of the season: 11 points, 14 rebounds, 7 assists and 7 blocks. He only scored 11, but single-handedly demolished the Hawks that night. Smith had yet to emerge as a force when that game was played (in fact, he was a DNP -- coach's decision that night), and some would probably argue that calling him a "force" is going a bit too far at this point. I won't get into semantics; I'll just say, it's coming very soon if it's not already here. In a loss to Dallas last month, Smith put a Kirilenko-esque 9 points, 7 rebounds, 4 assists and 10 blocks on the board. Though only 19 years old, J Smoove is starting to make an impact, and before long, I have a feeling that the entire hoops nation will know who this guy is.
What hoops fans all over and Smith himself probably don't realize is that this 19-year-old has the potential to make an era of bad memories fade away.
Here's hoping he never realizes he's a Hawk.
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January 5, 2005
Fun in the Sun
I'm normally not particularly sympathetic to the plight of professional athletes who have run-ins with Johnny Law, because oftentimes they are doing something completely assanine that could be avoided if they just used common sense. Professional athletes caught driving under the influence? Hire a driver! You've obviously got the money. Behavior like this I just have a hard time forgiving. But in the recent case of Orioles' pitcher Sidney Ponson, I'm finding myself willing to make an exception. Because honestly, who among us hasn't hauled off and sucker-punched a judge on the beach in Aruba? Judges are irritating enough as it is, what with their "enforcement of the law," but when they're on the beach, parading around in their bathing suits, they can be downright infuriating.
Okay, all sarcasm aside, is this not one of the most bizarre collision of elements ever? Sidney Ponson...and a judge...on the beach together? I didn't even know that judges went to the beach. Was the judge wearing his robe while walking barefoot through the sand? Do judges own bathing suits? And I don't even want to know what kind of circumstances led Ponson to unload a haymaker on His Honor. But if you look at Ponson's photo, he just has "angry, sunburned guy at the beach" written all over him.
My guess is the judge's frisbee hit Ponson while he was sleeping...
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January 1, 2005
As far as conventions of sportswriting are concerned, I'm not the biggest fan of people making predictions. That, I'll admit, is partially a function of the fact that I'm rather horrendous at making them myself, particularly when it comes to foreseeing the outcome of sporting events. There's a reason I haven't gotten hopelessly addicted to sports gambling, and it's not because I'm not interested. I simply know my limitations.
But the above do not constitute the only reasons I don't really care for predictions. I'll also add that a substantial part of my distaste for the whole concept of attempting to say what will happen when you don't have the foggiest clue what actually will happen is that it's awfully presumptious to assume that people will have any interest in listening to you. Who are you to tell me what's going to happen when you clearly don't know? You're just making it up. And you expect me to waste my valuable time reading your predictions?
With that said, I've got a feeling that if you find yourself here, you might be looking to kill a couple minutes anyways. So without further ado, and with complete disregard for the two paragraphs I just wrote above, here are instant-replays.com's 10 boldest, baddest and brashest predictions for 2005:
10. The Atlanta Braves will win the World Series. Okay, I just wanted to grab your attention. Even I, blindly loyal Braves fan that I am, don't believe that this will happen. But I do think that the Braves will, without a doubt, win their 15th straight division title. I mean, seriously, Mets, Phillies, Marlins, Expos/Nationals fans -- look at your teams. They're all running around desperately trying to improve themselves (okay, the Expos and Marlins aren't really trying that hard, but you get the point), and then with a couple of brilliant moves, Braves' GM John Schuerholz remakes the Braves into the frontrunner yet again. (As a side note, if the Mets manage to land Carlos Beltran after I post this, I'll officially be a bit afraid of and intrigued by their team). As of now, however, with John Smoltz and Tim Hudson at the top of that rotation, no one in the East is going to dethrone the Braves. And this year, they may just have the pitching to make a run. If somehow they could win another Series, it would be 10 years since their last, and in my opinion, would seal this squad as one of the great dynasties of all time. One more prediction: I was in attendance at Fulton County Stadium when Marquis Grissom caught that final out in Game 6 a decade ago, and I'll wager to say that if the Braves have a chance to do it again, I'll be there.
And just in case you weren't yet sick of this ATL lovefest...
9. The Atlanta Falcons will reach the Super Bowl. Much like my Braves prediction, this one is obviously influenced by my roots. But beyond that, I've got a strong feeling that the Dirty Birds have what it takes to get to the NFL's title game, and I don't think I'm crazy. Think about it -- an opportunistic defense with the potential to put points on the board at any moment, a strong three-pronged running attack (the shiftiness of Warrick Dunn, power of TJ Duckett, and unbelievable X-factor of Michael Vick), and their top obstacle (the Eagles) crippled by the loss of Terrell Owens. Yes, I've got a strong feeling the Falcons will be there at the end, and unlike their sorry showing in 1998, this time, they'll have a shot to win. While we're on the subject of that 1998 team, did you know Jamal Anderson rushed for 1846 yards and 14 TDs that year, never to reach those lofty heights again? He was out of the league less than 4 years later.
Sorry, I can't help it. I gotta keep the perfect year going for one more prediction...
8. The Yankees will come up short, again. Is this just wishful thinking on my part? I hope not. They did just pick up Randy Johnson, which makes them pretty darn scary. But their other offseason pickups leave a lot to be desired. Jaret Wright? Think there might be a good reason the Braves made basically no effort to re-sign him? There is: they know they caught lightning in a bottle. Two years ago, this guy was released by the Padres mid-season because he couldn't get anyone out, and his arm wasn't exactly 100% sound when the Yankees checked it out. Without Leo Mazzone's tutelage, he'll be a 4.50 ERA guy, at best. If he stays healthy. Carl Pavano is fine, and may still be improving, so it's a nice signing. But he's not a big strikeout guy, and a good hitting team like the Red Sox will be able to get to him. Of course, the silliest move the Yankees have made is bringing back Tino Martinez to play first base. He's a 25 home run-hitter, at best. I guess they wanted to restore some integrity to the first base position, after the embarassment of Jason Giambi. It's an understandable gesture, but not the kind of move that wins you a pennant. Nor is the signing of Tony Womack, who had a very good year for the Cardinals last year, but to me just doesn't seem like the kind of player the Yankees had during their glory years. And now I'm officially reaching. The Yankees will be really good, but I honestly believe that this latest chemistry experiment won't lead to a title. But I fear it will come frighteningly close.
7. There will not be a great sports movie made this year (or ever again). I hope that I'm wrong here, but in my opinion, there hasn't been a truly great sports movie (documentaries excluded) made in a decade. Sure I liked movies like "Bull Durham" and "Major League" (yes, I know that both were filmed much longer than a decade ago, but please don't remind me of that fact or I'll start weeping uncontrollably), but the fact is, there hasn't been a true classic like "The Natural" thrown down in many moons. And there have been so many steaming piles of feces masquerading as sports movies in the interim that it makes me nauseous (or perhaps I'm just nauseous because of the image I now have in my head). Seriously, though -- what was the last great non-documentary sports movie you saw? Was it "Hoosiers"? Was it "The Natural"? Think about it. (Note: if you say "Blue Chips," this will be the last time we ever speak to one another.)
6. Something bad about LeBron James will come to light. Of course I'm not rooting for this one to come true, but the jaded sports fan in me can't help but think that some time soon there's going to be some kind of negative revelation about LeBron. I mean, seriously, could his first couple of years in The League possibly have gone any better? Could he possibly be any bigger of a star at age 20? Is there any player you'd rather have to start your team? With all of these positives, am I the only one waiting for the size 15 to drop? Because there's obviously something wrong with this guy. Though there's nothing wrong with me, it's my understanding that just about every other human being has flaws of some kind. And while we've basically deified LeBron, something is bound to come out that we won't like. Hopefully it will just be something like he has horrendously long toenails that he never cleans nor clips, as opposed to the revelation that he's an immoral swine. But truth be told, LeBron's going to have to do something awfully offensive for me to vacate the bandwagon. Honestly, I think he could probably go Najeh Davenport on my laundry hamper at this point, and I'd still be inclined to forgive him.
5. No one will notice whether the NHL comes back from its lockout or not. And you tuned out from that sentence the moment I wrote "NHL." See what I mean?
4. The dodgeball craze will fade away quicker than it emerged. If you're somewhere between the ages of 20 and 31, you most likely know one of your enthusiastic male peers who watched the film "Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story" and was immediately inspired to run out and join a dodgeball league. Of course, as far as I know, most of these dodgeball leagues really didn't exist before the movie, which, by the way, was total crap (see item #7, above). I've enjoyed a number of films featuring Ben Stiller and/or Vince Vaughn, but these two mailed it in so badly in this particularly movie it's not even funny. And I mean that quite literally. The only truly comical sequences in the movie involve the bizarre utterances and gesticulations of Rip Torn, who plays the underdog dodgeball team's coach, and throws wrenches at his pupils and has them run out in front of moving cars to toughen up. Pretty clever writing, eh? Yeah, it's tough to get a laugh out of me. And somehow "Dodgeball" basically failed to do so. And I just don't see an athletic craze based on a flimsy movie lasting too long, especially considering that this sport has been around for ages without hitting the mainstream. I'm not trying to be a poopy-pants here -- I'm sure suiting up in a goofy outfit and playing dodgeball is more than fun. I just have a feeling the fad won't last.
3. We will discover that Freddy Adu is actually 37. Seriously, look at this guy. I'm obviously exaggerating about 37, but do you really believe that he's 15?
2. Another year will pass without me, or you, dunking a basketball. But a guy can dream, can't he?
And now, really taking a deep look into the crystal ball...
1. Instant-Replays.com, taking after "Kramerica Industries," will hire a blindly enthusiastic and readily exploitable intern. However, unlike Kramerica Industries, which presumably folded as a viable enterprise the moment that Kramer and his intern Darren dropped a rubber ball of oil on Jerry's girlfriend's head from an office window, the hiring of an intern will propel I-R.com into the national spotlight. Or maybe not.
Truth be told, I'm really just looking for someone to clean my apartment for free...
-Matt Stroup 
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