Suit Shopping With Rip Hamilton

Rip Hamilton, 34-year-old professional basketball player, took his daily stroll though downtown Chicago. He noticed the little things; cracks in the pavement, children strapped to large backpacks on their way to school, and the fearless pigeons, ready for all challengers of their 5x5 sidewalk space. These pigeons reminded Rip of the vaunted Detroit defense he was a part of not too long ago. He missed those days but was anxious to get on with his new life in Chicago. Life, however, was unwilling to cooperate.

On beautiful days like these - 65 and clear skies - Rip did not mind walking a mile to his tailor. Walking allowed for him to rid his mind of the injury concerns that plagued his first season in Chicago and the pressure of being the final piece to a championship puzzle. Bulls fan who noticed Rip walking alone down the street would react differently. Some would ignore him all together as if to say, 'you aren't shit if you aren't playing.' Others would slyly pull out their iPhones and snap pictures. Some would be bold enough to ask for an autograph or to pose for a photo. Rip accommodated all requests, always with a smile. He enjoyed the banter and good-natured inquiries about his mask but withdrew when the conversation took its predictable turn.

"When are you coming back?" someone would inevitably ask.

"I don't know. I just don't know. Hopefully soon."

Truth be told, no one was more disappointed than Rip himself. He'd recommitted himself to basketball after spearheading a team-wide insurrection of then-Pistons coach John Kuester. Were his injuries the result of his past transgressions? Perhaps karma rearing its ugly head? He sure hoped not.

Rip escaped the mob as quick as he came and continued on to his favorite tailor's shop [name retracted]. He trusted Christopher for more than just fashion advice. Christopher to him was an honorable man with his best interests in mind. He valued Rip's friendship as much as his wallet and would occasionally delve into more personal matters such as Rip's marriage or his mental health. These conversations, albeit brief, were revealing and only strengthened the bond between the two. Christopher was Rip's only acquaintance allowed to call him Richard.

Rip swung open the door only to find Christopher, arms already perched on the counter. He had a sixth sense when it came to Rip's arrival.

"Richard! So great to see you."

"Good to see you too, my man."

"I read in the papers that you're finally able to lift you arm above you shoulder."

"Yeah, well I've been able to do that. We just have to make it look like I'm making progress. As of now, I'm still a game-time-decision."

Christopher knew what game-time decision meant.

"I have just the thing," he said as he went scampering to the back. 

Christopher came out with a grey suit, already tailored to Rip's exact measurements.

"This suit exudes confidence and class. It speaks to your ability, even at an advanced age, to remain fit and sexy. People will see you in this suit and think, 'That's a man who isn't letting his injury get him down. He'll be back in no time, better than ever! Ready to score all the baskets!'"

"Ok. I'll try it on."

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning."

"I'm not sure," Rip said with some hesitation. He felt very uncomfortable challenging Christopher's opinion. "It's not exactly what I'm looking for, ya know?"

"Sure. What are you trying to convey?"

"I'm trying to be on some High School Reunion shit. Like, 'Look at me Now'-type shit. We're playing Detroit on Friday. That's a big one for me. I spent seven years there and won a championship. I want to show them how good I'm doing now. Like I don't need them. I'm good, ya feel me?"

"I have just the thing."

Christopher rushed into the back for a second time and came out with another suit, this time in black. 

"This suit says, 'You can't tell me nothin'.' This is a suit typically reserved for red-carpet events. With this, you'll be the sharpest-dressed man in the room! Make sure to keep that wedding ring on! You will be the envy of Detroit and might even be offered the mayoral position on the spot. Bow ties are all the rage right now!"

"Hell yeah. Alright. I'ma get into this."

"Impeccable!"

"Yep. This is it right here."

Rip pulled out his American Express black card and handed it to Christopher. He continued to look at himself in the mirror, admiring the fit. He had never looked this good in his life, he thought. Tayshaun Prince would surely be jealous of his situation. And the bow tie! Christopher really was a genius. Never in a million years would Rip have thought to wear a bow tie on the sideline and it absolutely worked. He was thankful for this suit. He was thankful for Christopher and his good fortune. He couldn't wait to bring it home and show his wife.

Christopher approached Rip cautiously. " Umm, Richard. There's a problem."

"What is it?"

"Your credit card. It's...it's been declined."

"That can't be right."

"I thought the same thing. I tried multiple times and they all came back declined."

"Shit. Let me call these people up."

Rip spoke for an hour with a representative of American Express. She assured him they would resolve his problem, but there had been problems with many accounts nationwide. They were working on it, she promised in broken English. She gave him no guarantee as to when he would be able to use his card.

Rip knew what this meant. No suit, at least not today. "I don't know what to do, Christopher. I have no means of purchasing a suit for the game."

Christopher thought for a second and smiled. "Don't you see, Richard? This is a sign."

Rip looked at him bewildered.

"It's a sign. You must return to play against your former team on Friday."

"But it's been so long. I can't do this."

"You can, Richard. You can. Believe in yourself and you will make all the baskets!"

He knew Christopher was right. This was something he had to do. He had to prove he could play to the city of Chicago, his teammates, and most of all, himself. At that moment, the pain in his shoulder temporarily subsided. He thought of the pigeons and the current Bulls defense. And it dawned on him, he was home. Different city, but home nonetheless.

"I'll be here Sunday," Christopher reminded him. "Just in case."

Inside JaVale's Head

To call JaVale McGee a talented knucklehead would be as insensitive as it is correct. JaVale has quietly suffered through a very difficult period of his life in which he hears voices inside his head. These voices, while high-pitched and well-meaning, make it incredibly difficult for him to concentrate on a basketball court. His trade to Denver is thought to offer him a clean slate and hopefully an escape from his inner demons. Here are some examples of what JaVale had to go through in Washington.

Hi there! Face here! I'm making a sandwich! Do you want to help me make a sandwich? Great! Let's make a sandwich!

First, we need two pieces of bread. Now, two pieces of turkey to put on the bread. Do you like lettuce and tomato? I sure do! Let's pile on one piece of lettuce and one tomato slice! Almost done! A little bit of mayo to top it all off! 

Did you put your second piece of bread on top? Yay! We've made a sandwich. Let's eat here at Nick Jr.!

[makes trumpet noise with mouth]

[laughs]

RESULT:

* * *

Hi there! Face here! Oh no, JaVale, it's raining! I better come inside before I get all wet!

[sneezes]

I think I'm developing a cold. I don't like being sick! I should have worn my rain jacket like my mother told me! Do you always listen to your mother?

I'm going to be a well-behaved boy from now on at Nick Jr.!

[makes trumpet noise with mouth]

[laughs]

RESULT:

* * *

Hi there! Face here! 

Knock Knock!

[Who's there?]

Orange!

[Orange who?]

Orange ya glad you're watching Nick Jr. instead of that knock off Disney stuff?

[makes trumpet noise with mouth]

[laughs]

RESULT:

* * *

Hi there! Face here! Look who decided to stop by! It's Blue!

We are gonna play Blue's Clues. We are gonna play Blue's Clues. We are gonna solve Blue's Clues because we're really smart!

Do you want to help us find Blue's first clue, JaVale?

Ok, it's somewhere on the other side of the court. All you have to do is shoot a bad shot really quick and come running down to us on the other side. OK? Let's play, only on Nick Jr.!

[makes trumpet sound with mouth]

[laughs]

RESULT:

Baby, Even The Losers Get Lucky Sometimes

CJ Watson: The play called for me to inbound the ball to Luol and get it back. I kind of stopped listening to Thibs in the huddle after that. Once I heard the ball was going to be in my hands I was good. My play, my time. The other guys didn't know it yet, but there was no way they were seeing the ball.

Luol Deng: Thibs drew up a nice little play in the huddle to get me rolling to the basket, with an option for an open jumper for either Kyle or Luke. CJ was to inbound the ball to me around the three point line and then come around to receive it back. Then it was my job to roll to the basket. If I was open, CJ would hit me. If not, it was up to him to create off the dribble. I thought it was pretty curious to hear "CJ" and "create" in the same sentence, but I trusted Thibs' vision.

Carlos Boozer: Thibs is a great dude, man. His reputation as a hard ass couldn't be further from the truth. He loves all of his players, especially me. He just has a weird way of showing it. Like, for instance, he barely acknowledges I exist during a timeout. He'll glance at me real quick and then start swearing under his breath. [laughs] My job was basically to set a down screen for Kyle and then try not to get in the way. 'Think of yourself as a highly paid decoy' Thibs said. He's a funny guy.

Kyle Korver: I don't like the ball in these crunch time situations. I get nervous and my hands start to clam up. When my hands start to clam up, it's hard to get a good feel for the ball. Anyway, I saw CJ start to trend to his right, kind of getting himself into a tough situation. I ran from the corner up to the top of the key. I kept thinking 'Please don't give me the ball. Please don't give me the ball. Please don't give me the ball.' My hands felt like I'd dunked them in a tub of ice water and then I remembered it was CJ handling the ball. There was no way he was going to pass it to me, or anyone, for that matter. I was able to calm down and get myself together after that.

John Lucas III: I wanted the ball in my hands. I always do. I'm John Lucas. Why shouldn't I want the ball with the game on the line? Thibs relegated my to the baseline and gave CJ the opportunity to make a play, which is pretty shitty if you ask me. I've been in this league long enough to know that if you want something done, you have to do it yourself. If you're intent on taking a shot, you damn well better put it up when the ball is in your hands. There was a chance I would get a look, but with CJ making the decision, I knew the ball wasn't coming my way. I would have done the same thing if I was in his shoes so I can't really blame him.

CJ Watson: James Johnson switched on to me and I liked that match up. To tell you the truth, I hate the guy. He was always playing pranks with our toothbrushes on road trips last year. He's a real asshole. He's always jacked up to play us and was treating this game like Game 7 of the NBA Finals. I wanted to beat him with a nice crossover. I knew I could.

Luol Deng: Jose [Calderon] switched on to me when JJ picked up CJ. That turned out to be a pretty big development.

Carlos Boozer: I'm not eating without hot sauce.

Kyle Korver: I watched CJ attempt a fadeaway over JJ, who is like, five or six inches taller than him. I knew it wasn't going to end well. I even removed my mouthpiece thinking the game was over. 'We just lost to the Toronto Raptors,' I thought. 'Ain't that some shit.'

John Lucas III: CJ put that shot up and I couldn't believe he didn't float it more. I know he's a bit taller than I am, but c'mon man. You gotta throw that thing way up there and give it a chance. Come to think, if that was me, we would have lost the game. I would have at least hit the rim. John Lucas has never airballed a shot. [Editor's Note: CJ Watson's shot was partially blocked by James Johnson]

Coach Thibs:  GUAH WOOF RATATA AJFDLGHAOD AHDOAHDG GHAOGHAIJIAJDNCVAHE 

Luol Deng: God bless Jose Calderon. I have no idea what he was thinking. For some reason, he decided to jump backwards at put his hand up for the block like that was going to make a difference. He left me all alone to corral the rebound and I just let it go as fast as I could. I didn't even know if I got it off in time.

Kyle Korver: Pure elation. It's nice to get a win when you've already resigned yourself to a loss.

Carlos Boozer: You've seen me play. I enjoy celebrating athletic exploits whether I've taken part in them or not. I just started yelling 'Dunk that shit' because it felt right. I knew it didn't apply in that situation, but it still felt right.

John Lucas III: I found Luol and jumped on his shoulders. He didn't even feel me there, I don't think.

CJ Watson: I was extremely pleased with the way I was able to create and get our team the victory.

Coach Thibs: I spent our off days locked in a Motel 6 with nothing but a 2 liter bottle of mineral water and a large bag of Smartfood popcorn. Lesson learned. I won't be drawing up out-of-bounds plays in that sort of environment ever again.

Bo Knows, What Exactly?

I want to congratulate wisconsin's mvp, the refs.(especially anthony jordan).Vandy had no answer for you

— Jay Cutler (@JayCutler6) March 18, 2012

It's that time of the year again when I dedicate one post to Wisconsin men's basketball. Over the years I've come to enjoy their brand of basketball, much in the same way that others enjoy glaring at the mangled wreckage of a car accident or clicking on that YouTube video of a bear collapsing from a tree to a trampoline after taking a tranquilizer dart to the neck. I just can't look away. If every other year is any indication, this season is going to end badly, to the point where I'll feel embarrassed for even caring. Twenty percent shooting from the field, 48 total points, 15-point loss, nothing is off limits for the Badgers when it comes to losing an important game in spectacularly bad fashion. To use an NBA analogy, picture your team as a perennial 4 or 5 seed in the Eastern Conference. They finish every season with about 50 wins, either win in the first round of the playoffs (or put up a good fight losing), and then get smashed by a superior team in the second round. Every year. The consistency, lack of down years, consecutive playoff appearances is great, but your team is never a contender. This is the dilemma Badger fans, some of us anyway, struggle with every year; is it better to be a consistently good team or trade in some of those good years for down years if it means occasionally fielding a great team?

The tweet above, courtesy of former Vanderbilt quarterback Jay Cutler, was more entertaining than anything that happened in Wisconsin's 60-57 victory over Vanderbilt in the round of 32. 'Boring' is the most popular adjective used to describe the Badgers and only the most defensive of fans would disagree. Which is why Cutler's tweet struck so many people as funny. Why Cutler, who even called a ref out by name, or anybody else would even care about a Wisconsin-Vanderbilt game is beyond the neutral observer. So what, they're playing to lose to Syracuse? This matters why? It matters because Wisconsin and Vanderbilt are two schools who can never reasonably expect to advance further than the Sweet 16. This was the national championship for both schools, and Cutler reacted accordingly.

     

Every year around tournament time another writer wants to schoomze up to Bo Ryan. They write about how he doesn't get the national recognition he deserves, his team's sparkling home record, and how quietly, he's one of the winningest coaches in college basketball. Ryan isn't mentioned with the Izzos, the Krzyzewskis, the Williams, and the Boeheims because he has had nowhere near the tournament success they have. In Ryan's 11 years with Wisconsin he has taken his team to the NCAA tournament every year. Remarkable when considering the history, or lack thereof, of this program. Five Round of 32 appearances, four Sweet 16s, one first round loss, and only one Elite 8. No Final Fours. Back to the same old question: does at least one guaranteed tournament win every year outweigh the fact Wisconsin is never able to make a deep tournament run? Some concede Wisconsin will never be a basketball powerhouse and are happy this program is having any success at all. Others aren't satisfied with being a great regular season team and a mediocre tournament team. And really, both sides can present convincing arguments. It does seem like cruel a joke, however, that Dick Bennett, Ryan's predecessor, coached for five up-and-down years, culminating in a Final Four appearance in 2000, his last full season on the bench.

So Wisconsin and Syracuse play tonight. Fab Melo is out. I have never seen Fab Melo play, but I don't underestimate what a loss to a key player can do to a team psychologically, even if said team is littered with talented players, as is the case with Syracuse. Wisconsin lost Brian Butch to an elbow injury before the 2007 tournament and completely unraveled. That team had Final Four talent and probably should have lost to 15-seed Texas A&M - Corpus Christi before succumbing to UNLV. Syracuse plays a 2-3 Zone and Wisconsin has five players on the floor at any given time that can shoot the three respectably. All five shooters are either hot or cold at the same time. Intrigue. We all know how difficult it is to rebound out of a zone and Syracuse certainly had their troubles against Kansas State. Should Wisconsin track down some offensive rebounds, they'll be able to drain even more time off the clock and limit Syracuse's possessions. Those will be the two keys to the game: Syracuse's rebounding and Wisconsin's three point-shooting. On paper, this looks like the best possible matchup and timing Wisconsin could have asked for to face a No. 1 seed. Davidson in 2008 and Butler last year looked like pretty favorable Sweet 16 matchups too. *runs head first into a brick wall*    

I'm the Badger fan on the side of the fence that expects them to do more. Part of this, I admit, is because I was not around during the dark years. I'd probably feel different if I'd watched them miss the tournament for 45! straight years. I don't particularly like college basketball and especially don't like 34-second possessions, but familiarity did not breed contempt in my case. Winning basketball games if more fun than Wisconsin's style of play and that is something I think all Badger fans have come to accept. There is a certain beauty to watching Bo Ryan's teams though. Five players playing without a set position, all five getting the most out of their abilities, taking care of the ball, rotating on defense perfectly, frustrating the hell out of more talented opposition, etc. The 'fun' things about this team are the fundamental aspects of the game that most fans either aren't aware of or pay no attention to. You'd convince yourself of the previous sentence too if Wisconsin was your alma mater.

While the swing offense is ideally suited to a 30-game regular season, it tends to be a hindrance in tournament play. The swing offense is built around milking the clock for about 30 seconds before finding an open shot. Sometimes there will be an open shot and sometimes Jordan Taylor will be one-on-one jacking up a fadeaway three. In the swing offense the only bad possession is a missed shot that doesn't take time off the clock. It is a system predicated on making less mistakes than your opponent (not turning the ball over, shooting a high percentage from the free throw line). The problem is, in a win-or-go-home tournament, there is no room for an off shooting night. An off shooting night gets a team sent home and it is almost impossible to put together six straight good shooting nights while running the swing offense. Maybe three or four, but not six. When that off night comes in the third or fourth game, Wisconsin is up against an opponent they can not afford to waste possessions against -- and wasting possessions is a big key to their success.

I can't look away. My fault and nobody else's.

Derrick Rose: Demigod or Child?

Click To Enlarge

Derrick Rose broke his week-long silence to the press yesterday. Not surprisingly, the topic of his 25K fine for criticizing the officials and his more vocal demeanor this season came up. From SLAM Online via ESPN:

'[The fans] still look at me as a little kid,' he said with a laugh. 'A little kid or ... I don't know how you would say it, like a demigod or something like that, where I can't say anything, man. For me to say something (about the officials), you know that I had to be thinking it. It's been four years; I was just frustrated at the time...'

You're probably thinking -- "little kid" and "demigod" -- those two things are nothing alike, and you'd be right.   They are nothing alike and serve as perfect foils for the complicated way Bulls fans view Rose. On the one hand, Rose will forever be thought of as the humble and shy Chicago kid who couldn't have looked more uncomfortable speaking to reporters. The kid who needs to be coddled and protected into adulthood the same way his brothers did for him growing up. Then there's Rose the basketball player who, seemingly every night, makes an impossibly difficult basketball move look routine. Sometimes these highlights aren't even basketball plays in the traditional sense because Rose is the only player who could pull them off. We watch in awe and believe wholeheartedly that he can accomplish whatever he wants to out there, often describing him in otherworldly terms. The thing about demigods is, they know they're badasses. They're going to show how much of a badass they are, and then remind the refs lest they forget.

Bulls fans are still trying to reconcile these two competing ideas of Rose. The 'humble superstar' is an appealing and novel idea, just not very realistic. With his maturation as a person and player, Rose acknowledges his inability to live up to his carefully crafted image -- an image he probably feels costs him some free throws because he's not in the ref's ear from the opening whistle.

In a rare instance where he didn't speak in cliches, Derrick Rose, in unintentionally hilarious fashion, gave us a glimpse into the life of a city and basketball team's favorite son. That is to say, those who can do no wrong usually want to do wrong once in a while. He's sick of hearing about his sheepish nature, and seeing as it is not a tangible basketball skill, we should be too.

Monta Ellis Is Going To Love Milwaukee

The Warriors have traded Monta Ellis, along with Ekpe Udoh and Kwame Brown to the Bucks for Andrew Bogut and former-Warrior Stephen Jackson. As Bulls fans, we know none of these trades are going to involve our team, and thus, are left with rooting for the most potentially hilarious combinations for other teams. This deal fits the bill. Monta Ellis and Brandon Jennings are going to be great for each other. They're going to take turns launching fadeaway 20-footers over 6'7 defenders. They're going to be responsible for a broken blood vessel on Scott Skiles' face the first minute they try to play defense together. They're even going to invent something -- a handshake or pregame celebration -- which no one besides them understands. Scott Skiles just had another brain aneurysm thinking about what hasn't happened yet.

Skiles, the one dwelling in the fiery pits of hell, is finally rid of his oft-injured center. He inherits Kwame Brown, another former no. 1 overall pick who shouldn't have been the no. 1 overall pick. Brown is also injured and likely out for the season, but unlike Bogut, is more effective while sitting on the bench. Epke Udoh figures to be the saving grace of this deal for Milwaukee. Pray for him.

MONTA: Yo Chuck, we did it! I've finally been traded. We getting the hell outta here. Contender! Say it with me.  Don't think I forgot about you, Chuck. I'm going to a contender and I'm taking you with me. You're going to be the biggest name security guard out there. They'll know our names, Chuck, in whichever big city we end up in.

CHUCK: Umm about that...

MONTA: What is it? Where are we going, Chuck? LA? Chicago?

CHUCK: The location ain't important yo. We're going to a...a potential playoff team.

MONTA: [very serious now] Where are we going, Chuck?

CHUCK: Milwaukee.

MONTA: ....

CHUCK: You're going to play with Young Money and that James Franco-looking mother fucker.

Monta is going to love it there.

The Jeremy Lin Q & A With Bob Dylan

"The Answer My Friend, Is Blowin' Lin The Wind."

What are your thoughts on Jeremy Lin, Bob? Linsanity. He's causing quite a stir in the States, we hear.

Linsanity? Linsanity? C'mon man. I don't know anything about a Linsanity, man. Would you ask The Beatles that question.? Well, would you?

I'm genuinely curious. The people in London have been fascinated by this story. We've never heard anything like it. Who would you liken Lin's rise to?

Jeremy Lin moved at his own speed, man. He rolled down the broad highway as the milkmen were sleeping. He built the machine too and by the time everyone figured it out they wanted to know his secret. And he was using the same tools that the artist before him neglected. It was more about what the free mind could see.

Many basketball fans have been skeptical of Lin's impressive numbers. Is there any way he can keep up this production?

Could Ezra Pound write couplets? Or better, would the blind man volunteer to scorch Ezra's lawn with his own rake. Men will chase the flashing lights in the distance, given the beauty of the light. Only to find out the light is the spark of the rifle and the rifle is the Bill of Rights.

How much of Linsanity can be attributed to his race? Does race play a factor in the way we perceive an athlete's ability to succeed?

Does it matter if the spaceship is Russian? Would you soak your father's boots in communist waters? The young virgin will unknowingly pick the poisonous flowers as the horrified audience looks on. It's all worthless, man. It's made up is what it is. We've all been fooled and the biggest dupes are those sitting alone in a dark room with the pillow over their heads.

Is Jeremy Lin really an underdog? He's been on an NBA roster the last two years and is an Ivy League graduate. His is not the typical profile of the down-and-out.

No one thought Fidel Castro could do it either. People want to see it one way and then are unable to see it the other. Age is a fixed race. Experience is cruise control. In Cambridge, do you think Jeremy Lin did what they always said? Take this test, take that one, and meet this recruiter, you'll need to know his name when you graduate. You'll need to drink the water without the sugar. He still found a way to hoist up 500 jump shots. The most difficult tests are the ones without a time limit.

What role has the media played in the shaping of Lin's narrative? What has this story revealed about the power of the media?

The downtrodden shake hands with the curious youth and are still not fit to wash the politician's hands. Rivers of blood appear red when your loved ones trudge through puddles to get to work. I'd leave with her but I'd also leave without her, not wanting to hurt her, of course. Judgement is bestowed upon everyone. It depends on whom you place the label of "God." Pass that man his umbrella. It's raining and he hasn't a jacket.

How would you characterize the American public's reaction to Lin?     

What else is there to write about, man. Who are you with anyway? You're just buying your time. Waiting for Time Magazine or the Washington Post to call.

You think lowly of me and my profession, I see. I'll have you know I work very hard at my craft. 


That very well may be, man. Don't let me deter you. You can be whatever you want to be. I believe you. You can conversate with Shakespeare in a New Orleans cafe while wearing a three-piece suit. I'm sure the deer and the antelope will be impressed with your stapler and your no. 2 pencil. Allen Ginsberg would hate you, man. Have you ever even known a real poet, man? A poet who recognizes the faulty logic of the moving sky?

Do you think Lin will ever be able to coexist with Amar'e and Carmelo?


Geese never fly alone. I've skimmed through the Bible, you know. I've thrown a baseball off the tallest building. I've shoveled dirty snow. Jeremy Lin needs the time and respect only present in his mind. He needs to find the elusive Allen wrench and tune the water clock. When he completes that everything should fall into place. He'll sing songs to the oak trees and pass the golden staff to his grandfather.

Chocolate Shoulders

Somehow this went virtually unnoticed during the 2011 All-Star festivities. Playful, yet unsettling metonymy or: 

Raymond Felton is figuring out a way to get Dwight to Portland. It's the hardest he's worked in years.

Scott Skiles' Twisted Abode

SKILES: WELCOME TO THE FIERY PITS!! STONES HOT ENOUGH TO BURN A HOLE THROUGH BOGEY'S SURGICALLY REPAIRED ANKLE!! THIS IS WHERE I CALL HOME!!

THIBS: Well I'll be...Milwaukee was never much, but it sure has went to shit recently.

SKILES: MILWAUKEE? NO, TOMMY!! THIS IS HELL!! STONES HOT ENOUGH TO GRILL YOUR OFT-INJURED CENTER OVER!!

THIBS surveys the area. He admires each worker's efficiency. They all appear to have specific tasks, odd jobs -- so to speak; all of which they are executing to perfection.  

THIBS: I've never seen an operation run so smoothly.

SKILES: THE GUYS DOWN HERE KNOW A THING OR TWO ABOUT WORK ETHIC. THEIR SPIRITS HAVE BEEN BROKEN. THEY PUT THEIR HEADS DOWN, GET TO WORK, AND WAIT FOR THE END THAT IS NEVER GOING TO COME. NO BULLSHIT. NO COMPLAINTS.

THIBS: Sounds morbid.

SKILES: SOUNDS LIKE A DAMN GOOD BASKETBALL TEAM. GIVE ME 12 OF THESE GUYS AND I'D WORK WONDERS. HAMSTRING TEAR? THAT'S A SUCCESSFUL DAY IN THE FIERY PITS.

THIBS: Players today think the game is about them. They fail to realize they are replaceable pieces, only there to act out our vision.

SKILES: YE---

THIBS: Except Derrick. Derrick is not replaceable.

SKILES: YESS!! REMINDS ME OF A FAMOUS QUOTE FROM MY BIGGEST COACHING INSPIRATION, SIR ALFRED HITCHCOCK. HE SAID ACTORS SHOULD BE TREATED LIKE CATTLE.

THIBS: Yeah, OK. In a roundabout way, I kinda see where you're going--

SKILES: HE ALSO SAID 'GIVE THEM PLEASURE,' THEM BEING THE AUDIENCE, 'THE SAME PLEASURE THEY HAVE WHEN THEY WAKE UP FROM A NIGHTMARE.'

THIBS: .....

SKILES: NO ONE ENJOYS MILWAUKEE BUCKS GAMES. I TAKE GREAT PRIDE IN THIS!!! THE BUCKS HAVE NOT BEEN FUN TO WATCH FOR OVER A DECADE!!

THIBS: Are you OK, Scotty? Is the pressure getting to you?

SKILES lifts up from the table. His face is covered in cocaine.


SKILES: PRESSURE!? WHAT PRESSURE?! UNDER PRESSURE. DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DA DA. UNDER PRESSURE.

THIBS: You're starting to scare me. Your temples--they've exploded out of your head. They're just floating down a hot lava stream. Jesus, aren't you going to pick them up? Your eyes--they're next. I see the blood coursing through them. I can't be here for this. Where is the Bradley Center?

SKILES: [to no one in particular] ERSAN. ERSAAAAAAAAN. NOT THE DOUBLE SWITCH. NOT THE SADLHFAODFHAIDHFADJFLAD!!!!!!!!!!!!


THIBS stares off into the distance. He notices a pile engulfed in flames, growing larger by the minute. Through the bright orange tint, THIBS makes out the dismembered head of Vinny Del Negro.


THIBS lets out a terrified scream, the first time he's been scared since Derrick Rose rolled his ankle in last year's playoffs.


SKILES: MUAHAHAHAHA. I DID IT!! YES IT WAS ALL ME!! THE WORKERS DISPOSED OF THE BODY YOU WILL NEVER FIND IT. THAT SECOND-RATE SUNAVABITCH LUCKS INTO DERRICK AND THEN CP3. WHERE IS MY SUPERSTAR?! I NEVER SMILE. I CAN'T SMILE. STEPHEN JACKSON.

THIBS: Where is the body, Scotty? Vinny might not have know how to draw up an inbounds play, but goddamnit, he deserves a proper burial. That is the least we can give him.

SKILES: I'LL NEVER TELL.

THIBS: How about we play for it?

SKILES: Continue.

THIBS: We have a game tomorrow, right? So we play for it. I'll spot you 20 points. I win by more than 20 and you tell me where the body is. You lose by less than 20 and the motherfucker burns.

SKILES: DEAL.

The two shake on it.


THIBS: Now tell me how to get out of here and back to Milwaukee.

SKILES: SOMEONE ONCE TOLD ME THAT EVERY MINUTE A MURDER OCCURS, SO I DON'T WANT TO WASTE YOUR TIME, I KNOW YOU WANT TO GO BACK TO WORK. MUAHAHAHAHAHA MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA

THIBS walks in the opposite direction and asks the nearest slave laborer where the exit is. The slave laborer points him towards an elevator 56 miles east. THIBS begins his solitary journey and contemplates the evening's matchup. This is more than a potential 33nd regular season victory. This is about sending a man off honorably.

The Mighty Derrickles, Road Warrior

Brooding on the sidelines, a dark and lonely inhabitant of the aptly-titled Underworld, Douganos Collins watched as his men squandered away a fourth quarter lead. "Underworld" his coaching mentors called it, better  known as "NBA Purgatory," is where Douganos finds himself. He is struck with the realization that his men, though spirits high and judgement swift, do not possess the strengths of one thousand NBA Champions. This is what he lives for, for this very moment, to take a group, many of whom were discarded by the previous regime, and have them competing with the best. Douganos is no idiot. He understands the limitations of his men. He pleads with them to get out and run, fearing the contest will become a half-court game -- a game he knows his men are unequipped to win. 

Douganos favors his point guard Jruedeus. In Jruedeus he sees himself. A dedicated young man, willing to put the team on his back for stretches, and a man who possesses no conscience. Any shot is a good one and any shot can fall given the right balance of skill and determination. For all his offensive exploits, Jruedeus lacks size and defensive valor. He fronts his opponent but is unable to alter his desired path. He withstands the crushing blows presented by cross screens but eventually relents. Douganos has to do something. The game is getting away from him. He admires Jruedeus' heart in the face of adversity, but can stick with him no longer. It is time to make a change.

Douganos reaches back into the depths of his memory. He remembers his decorated collegiate career, Illinois State Redbirds in the faraway town of Normal, a town that was anything but. He still checks up on his former university, in fact, they named their gymnasium after him, the only such Division I university gymnasium named after a former player. Douganos recollects the 1972 Olympics in which his men were robbed of their gold bounty. The bad taste never left his mouth. Some lifetimes later in Normal, they revealed a statue of him and his former mentor, coach Will Robinson. The statue looked most unsavory when viewed at the right angle. Some might say it was built in the Greek tradition.

Douganos knows his past glories count for very little in the current NBA landscape. A man's prestige is only worth what he has done the previous day. His mentors warned him of the coach's life -- the sleepless nights, the stress upon familial relations, and gradual loss of one's mental faculties. It was not a life for everyone, and had led many great men to their early graves. Douganos willingly accepts the possible side affects. He simply loves coaching too much to ever leave it behind. He once lived a life of leisure, providing simpleton analysis for the dolts watching at home. The job was pleasurable and afforded him the opportunity to stay close to the game he loved, but the job was not coaching. Nothing was. He knew one day he would return, and return he did to Philadelphyus. 

Douganos sits helpless as the mighty warrior Derrickles carves up his defense. Douganos' past success, three straight wins against Derrickles, worries him. He knows the humble warrior to be of keen memory. Surely Derrickles will find it within himself to bring a little extra to this battle. And then the idea dawns on him. Yes, yes, that is it! That was it all along! Douganos calls timeout and rallies his men.

"MEN," he shouts. "We shall commence a new strategy. Thadysseus, Andronis, Evanthea, come forth!"

The three men, Douganos' boldest defenders, step forward, welcoming the task at hand.

"I need you three to blanket the mighty Derrickles. What say you?"

"YAY," the three defenders chomp in unison. 

"Very well then. CERBERUS COMMENCE!"

On Douganos' word, Thadysseus, Andronis, and Evanthea morph into one hellish creature. Their body becomes that of a maddened hound and their tale a poisonous serpent. 

"It is your duty to protect our basket," instructs Douganos. "Now GET!"

The beast unleashes its fury all over the court. Derrickles is powerless, forced to give the ball up to his teammates. His teammates, though well-seasoned and supremely confident, lack the composure of Derrickles. They turn the ball over and take bad shots. Douganos lets out a bellowing laugh. I've done it, he thinks to himself. I've reenacted the strategy many have used before me. But THIS! No one has seen anything like THIS!

Douganos rests on his good fortune. He possesses three men, all 6'7 or taller, athletic, with long wingspans and quick feet, who can combine and make battle difficult for Derrickles. He knows no other team possesses the resources he does. Two players, yes maybe, but not THREE. The lead once 13 points in Derrickles' favor, has now dwindled to two thanks to the effort of Douganos' three-headed monster.

91-89. 37 seconds left. Derrickles dribbles the ball at the top of the key, milking the game clock. Douganos' beast lurks. Evanthea had been inexplicably discarded. The beast, Thadysseus and Andronis, stand alone. They force Derrickles left, his weaker side. Derrickles progresses undeterred into the lane and leaps with the grace of a spotted tiger. Thadysseus and Andronis have been left behind, the job of basket protection now lies squarely on the shoulders of their teammate, Eltonia. Once a feared warrior in his day, Eltonia no longer inspires fear as he did in his youth. Derrickles contorts his body midair, as only the truly battle-tested can, and floats a shot with his right hand over the outstretched arm of Eltonia. The shot is good! The most beautiful of songs ring out from the gymnasium sky and a single phoenix perches itself on the top of the backboard. The remaining seconds become a free-throw shooting contest of little regard. 96-91 Derrickles.

On his way back to his battle gathering, the normally stoic Derrickles lets out a beaming smile. He relishes in the victory the Gods have bestowed upon him. On the other side, Douganos rests his head in his hands, grief-stricken. He longs for the day he gets another chance. "Derrickles must fall," he tells his men. Even his three-headed beast has failed him. What more could he have done?

Some Ideas For Joakim Noah's Second Tweet

Joakim Noah joined Twitter last week very unceremoniously. Word slowly trickled out and at the time of me writing this, Noah had amassed just over 18 thousand followers. His profile reads "Stick stickity" and he has composed a single tweet, simply reading: "General Tso." This is the out-of-context babble that has fueled so many funny Twitter accounts over the years. What is General Tso? The chicken, one assumes, or could Joakim be a Chinese military history buff? We'll never know because athletes do not have to explain tweets unless they are offensive. It's better that way to leave some things up to the imagination.

Noah has been one of the few players the basketball fans on Twitter have been clamoring for. He's a weird guy, weird enough that he'd probably have something interesting to say. And unpredictable, as in inventing a new and elaborate form of celebration midway through the season for no reason whatsoever. His Twitter ceiling is somewhere between Gilbert Arenas-like tangents and accidentally tweeting a picture of his weed a la Micheal Beasley. 

"General Tso." has stood alone since February 22, making it a full week since Joakim last tweeted. At this point, his account seems like a cruel trick meant to squash every last bit of anticipation we had for this day. Noah may never decide to tweet again, in which case, his experiment would still be a strange success, but if he does, here are some possible ideas for his second tweet.

Looking like une petite fete. How u

Breakfast Burrito. 

Just complimented Thibs on his polo shirt. He made me run suicides.

Gator Boyz!!! Go see Ahmad at 7th and 112

@KingJames Nice All star game bro lol

@KingJames @DwyaneWade @chrisbosh Ya'll looking real Hollywood from where i'm tweeting

The vengeance was mine. the pleasure was all mine.

Subway Fresh Fit Meal.

If i'm stopped at a Traffic light, can I be a traffic cone?

Six steps. One step. red step blue step

We caught John Lucas napping. twitpic.com/1o8y9

Hey, I just added you to my Mafia family. You should accept my invitation! :) Click here: http://pmw.es/1se87 

SOAKING WET. RT @swirsk054: Noah bringing out the guns and they are WET

Pop pop pop booyakasha

Stop. Just Stop. Like They'd Trade Me.

Fine thanks for asking. RT @JimmyRunsTrains: How's your sister doing?

You're spiritual plain. Get on my spiritual plane.

the real poet remains calm and lies within us.

Haha i just autographed me third pair of tits. TODAY

Only u can hold u back. It broke the camel's straw after all.

Malted Milk.

Ima keep shooting.

John lucas throws up some funny looking shots. RT @ChiBullsRox23: Who's the funniest guy on the team?

These were awful. RT @RenaissanceFan: Some Ideas For @JoakimNoah Second Tweet therenaissanefan.blogspot.com/...