Attacks N.J., Democracy, and the Chinese way of life
Vitruvius Truth has made love to many women. At turns graceful and elegant, perverse and nasty, my truly international collection of lays, spanning four continents, has made me a cosmopolitan man of high standards and exquisite taste.
That’s why, when the New Jersey Nets fired Byron Scott, I was nauseated, as though someone had gifted me an edition of Boccaccio’s Decameron in the modern Italian.
That’s why, when the All-Star starters were announced, I felt uneasy, like after paging through Mad Magazine’s vaguely sexual cartoons before I had ever ejaculated, standing under the all-seeing CVS fluorescents on trembling legs. Yes, I got that “funny” feeling all over again, as my initial excitement gave way to confusion, bodily weakness, and an obscure feeling of injustice.
That’s why, when Jim O’Brien resigned from the Boston Celtics, I felt more than a twinge of melancholy. The fact that O’Brien was not only Irish, but looked the spitting image of the Celtics’ leprechaun logo, only made the saturnine humor let flow its bile more freely.
Some say the dual departure is a veritable serpent in the eagle’s left talon; that the East needs to purge itself in order to wake up, happy-fresh and clean from its enema, and compete with the West. Some say we should blow up the moon, because it can only be done once, and we can’t leave this glory to the degenerate future, a future which may never materialize; that we should, no—that we must concentrate all our energies on destroying the moon now! Before the iniquitous Iraqis, the traitorous North Koreans, the plentiful Chinese—or even the Great Sleeping Russian Bear—beat us to it. Though such advice seems divine, upon closer scrutiny it shows itself to be only deceitful folly in rags of wisdom. The true interpretation of the coaching moves follows:
Both moves were symptomatic of the East Coast’s greatest ill: organizations that kowtow to players. Jason Kidd Super Star (and wife beater) fired Byron Scott. Scott took the Nets to the NBA Finals each of the last two years, and the Nets were in first place when he got the axe. This after New Jersey had gone 5.2 lustrums without a Finals appearance. But a couple of pompous malcontents mutinied, and the yellow-bellied organization staved-in to their stars’ demands. Although, in the short term, I expect the Nets to thrive, that kind of craven surrender on the part of the organization is not going to win basketball games in the future.
The same kind of perfidy occurred in Boston. O’Brien wanted to play defensive ball, but the players apparently don’t get paid enough to play defense. GM Danny Ainge wanted to go the way of the world, acquiring athletic, imbecilic players (like Ricky Davis), who have vertical leaps and no idea how to play basketball. Idiots. At this pace, the East won’t compete with the West until the players are twelve-fingered.
As an NBA columnist, I am biologically compelled to discuss the All-Star Rosters this time of year. Yes, as the chrysanthemums blossom in the spring, and the cute, fluffy squirrels bury their little nuts in the autumn, so I complain about the choices of the “fans” and critique their butchered, Mengele-like assemblage, the All-Star starting lineups.
As usual, the same hollow men, who think they’re big shit because they shoot-up villains in video games, who think they’re on a foot with the greatest men in the land because they got V.I.P. special advanced screening tickets to Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, who think that “dress-down Friday” is akin to the privileges of kingship, so utterly fucked up the balloting that there’s little I, the Media, can do to rectify it. Here are the always-reliable masses’ choices, with my comments. Alas.
G Tracy McGrady: Should feel lucky to be a reserve. Learn to pass, McGrady!
G Allen Iverson: Love him, but too many tattoos to be on the team.
C Ben Wallace: The only center in the East. Congratulations, fans!
F Jermaine O’Neal: Deserving enough.
F Vince Carter (leading vote-getter for the 4th straight year): For the fourth straight year shouldn’t be on the team.
G Steve Francis: Shouldn’t be on the team.
G Kobe Bryant: Shouldn’t be on the team.
C Yao Ming: The Chinese are indeed an abundant people. Shouldn’t be on the team.
F Tim Duncan: The best player in basketball. Fans got confused or something, I don’t know.
F Kevin Garnett: Two of five does not justify democracy.
So now that the creative American fans (and Chinese armies) have maddeningly succeeded in voting for the exact same starting lineup as last year, I offer the remedy of sanity.
G Jason Kidd: Unfortunately, Kidd must content himself as a player, not a coach. Best point guard in basketball. Megalomaniac All-Star Supreme.
G Lebron James: Like that asshole, Kidd, he deserves to start.
C Dikembe Mutombo: Better than “The Lame,” Ilgauskas. Is playing really good D.
F Ron Artest: Maybe the East’s MVP.
F Paul Pierce: First he gets stabbed, now this.
X Michael Redd: Wasn’t even on the ballot.
X Baron Davis: Pretty good player.
G A Half-Gary Payton, Half-Bobby Jackson Hybrid: The greatest scoring point guard in history.
G Sam Cassell: Best non-hybrid scoring guard in the game.
C O’Neal: Just smile, wink, and hold out the product, Shaq.
F Peja Stojakovic: Best player who shouldn’t start on this team.
F Brad Miller: Putting him here instead of his listed center.
X Zach Randolf: Plays better stoned than almost anyone.
X Pau Gasol: Swears in Spanish when he dunks.
My apologies to Carmelo Anthony, Andrei Kirilenko, Jason Richardson, and five Dallas Mavericks, who should use their enormous wealth to mass-murder the fans for fucking up my lineups.
Ahh, at last, the seizures have ceased. O blessed sleep, tired nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep!