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.

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?

Great Moments In Troll History: Rose Says 'No' To Big Macs

One Big Mac - ~$3.49

Average Bulls Ticket - $66

Rose's New Adidas Deal - 14-years worth up to 260 Million

Letting the air out of 20 thousand people legitimately excited to save three bucks and change - PRICELESS

The better your team, the longer the regular season seems to drag, especially for a team like the Bulls on the cusp of a Finals appearance. Truthfully, there is nothing, save for three more games against Miami, that will tell us anything new about this team. The season begins in the Eastern Conference Finals; the rest is just satisfying filler. In a slow-moving season, where the Bulls return almost an identical team and will win a ridiculous percentage of their games, it is necessary to cling to the peculiarities. Luol Deng's mohawk, CJ Watson's beard, Carlos Boozer's spray-on hair -- all inconsequential details that serve the purpose of breaking up the monotony surrounding the team. Mike James joins the team to a unexpected outpouring of support. Joakim Noah develops a new Finger-Gunz celebration. Derrick Rose sinks another game winner -- a different game winner. Anything to pass the time until mid-May.

Another such peculiarity occurred in yesterday's 99-95 Bulls win. In what looked to be the makings of a fourth quarter blowout, the Hornets clawed back and actually took a four-point lead with 1:25 to play. Derrick Rose did Derrick Rose things to push the Bulls back into a four-point lead with ten seconds left. The Hornets turned the ball over on their last possession and rather than let the time run out and take the loss, Jarrett Jack inexplicably prolonged the sting of a hard-fought loss by fouling Rose with four seconds left. Rose needed to convert only one of his two free throws to give the Bulls 100 points and the fans free Big Macs.

The Big Mac cheers are something everyone is a little sick of, on par with Kingisms and Scalabrine chants. Giving away free food as a way to entice people to show up seemed like a viable plan when Ron Mercer and Eddie Robinson were big free agent draws. It's an outdated promotional tool. The Bulls are one of the best two or three best teams in the NBA, have one of the league's top-five players, and practically are guaranteed to win at home. There shouldn't need to be any incentive to get people to show up to games. Nevertheless, the Big Mac thing has cemented itself as a UC tradition and isn't going anywhere. 

For a little context, Rose had made all nine of his free throw attempts before the Jack foul, including seven in the fourth quarter. He was shooting 82 percent from the line going into the Hornets game. Averages would tell you he'd miss BOTH free throw attempts to keep in line with his season average. One miss maybe, but two appeared unlikely. He clanked the first free throw, to add drama, we all figured. Then he clanked the second. The crowd reacted like the Bulls had lost and slowly exited, heads down, aiming to purchase their own disgusting 30-grams-of-fat from the nearest McDonald's. 

With this performance, Derrick Rose carved out his spot in "Great Moments in Troll History." He performed to the highest level, took over the game down the stretch, did just enough to secure the win, but not enough to secure the coma-inducing slop. Hey, people need to be alive to buy his shoes. He knows this. An impressive feat all around. In any other season, this moment would qualify as a blip on the radar. In 2012, as the Bulls chug their way to the playoffs and us fans are spoiled with wins, this moment qualifies as memorable.

All Around The World The Same Song

"Give me that stupid hat and take off your shirt!" Or something along those lines.

All of the worst things people say about Valentine's Day are true. It is a made-up holiday, no doubt, manufactured for the purpose of selling candy, flowers, and Hallmark cards. It puts unnecessary pressure on guys who feel they've done a pretty good job up to this point. Worse yet, Valentine's Day plays on the insecurities of (mostly) women whose existence is validated by a man in their life. You are not single and have not been for some time. Being the pampered soul you are, you bemoan the yearly difficulties of impressing someone who is going to love you regardless.

Valentine's Day is not all anxiety and depression. In a long-term relationship, you, and everyone really, have the tendency to take your partner for granted. Valentine's Day, if nothing else, is your yearly reminder to show them you care, even though you don't always show it. You'd prefer something less traditional as a Valentine's Day warm-up, but your girlfriend wants to see The Vow. You think of hundreds of things, some of them very unsavory, you would rather do, but your girlfriend wants to see The Vow so The Vow is what you're going to see. You've subjected her to the Washington Wizards and the Portland Trail Blazers and Tony Allen enough to understand relationships even things out. You recall a recent conversation:

"Who's playing?"

"The Knicks and Timberwolves."

"Gross. Who do you want to win?"

"Oh, I don't really care."

"Why are you watching if you don't care who wins?"

You have no good answer for this question. It isn't normal to watch a six or so hours of basketball a night? Normal people do other things on Saturday night? You watch basketball because that's what you enjoy, and you cannot explain why you get so much satisfaction from sitting idly and watching others achieve athletic greatness. It isn't easy to love you, you understand, and realize the least you can do is sit still for two more hours and watch The Vow instead of LeBron.


The Vow transports you to a world where you are supposed to believe Channing Tatum is an underdog, overdue bills are paid with LOVE, and a near fatal car accident is ultimately beneficial. Tatum wears a goofy hat in the beginning and ugly sweaters throughout--a deal breaker for most guys, but Channing Tatum is not most guys. He made the women in the theater (about 80 percent of the crowd) swoon when he appeared in a        
non-frontal nude scene. His love interest, Rachel McAdams is a well-dressed coat rack, serving mostly to get Tatum naked and to help him set an impossible "good guy" standard. Despite the plot being structured around McAdams' ability to remember, you get the feeling a hour-long loop of Tatum in his underwear reciting a sappy monologue would have grossed the same.

There is no need to get into the story because you know how the story ends. This does not stop you, however, from becoming immersed. You try to deny it, but a part of you says "Fuck Jeremy," and wonders why it's taking so long for McAdams to make the right decision. This can't possibly be a true story like the opening credits say it is, and if so, how much money are these real people making off this? The actress playing McAdams' sister is fortunate to look like her, you think, helping time move by. You want to feel above this, but you know you aren't. Deep down, you know every basketball season is no different from the worst chick flicks.

The ending, storylines, and drama are the same, played by different actors/players and shifting circumstances based on story/team. You know the year will end with a champion being crowned. You know there will be surprise team and a surprise rookie or two. You know this team will come up short in the playoffs and these breakout player(s) will regress to the mean. You don't care. This is your preferred form of entertainment. The difference being, those who enjoy chick flicks always root for the winner. They know they will leave happy. It's not like that in sports. You don't want your team to be Jeremy or the douchy future-brother-in-law who, in his big scene, questions the profitability of a recording studio in today's day and age. You want your team to be Channing Tatum and there can only be one.

To borrow an English phrase, the Bulls seem to be losing the plot a bit. At full-strength they're the best team in the NBA. Will they ever be at full-strength though? This is not meant to be a panicked reaction to a regular season road loss to Boston without Derrick Rose. This is a legitimate concern come playoff time. The Bulls will finish with the top seed in the East and face Miami in the Eastern Conference Finals. This is the predictable part of the movie. Nagging injuries or not, as long as Rose and Deng play, the Bulls are good enough to get past the first two rounds. Rose and Deng's injuries seem like they aren't going away and Rip Hamilton has literally went away somewhere. No one has seen him in weeks. Twenty-point road wins against bad teams are nice and all, but Miami is the only real competition to get the girl.

It feels like the Bulls are descending into supporting role territory or even worse, one of those woman who hosts an Anti-Valentine's Day Party. That's probably too extreme you're thinking, but remember, you sat through The Vow last night--you're not thinking straight. Your bewilderment and inherent pessimism knows no bounds and you just want the Bulls to be Channing Tatum because The Vow did its job and made you feel oh so inadequate.

See how none of this makes sense?        

To All The Przybillas and a Hundred Dollar Billas

"Disappointment never looked this good."

I happened again. The Bulls dropped their third in the last five after only losing three of their first sixteen games. It's obviously time to panic. You can only place the onus on Deng's return for so long. The Bulls need to make a move and they need to do it now. Dwight Howard recently said he'd be interested in playing in Chicago. He also unknowingly agreed to a long-term deal with the Beirut Bandits, so take his word for what it's worth. Howard to the Bulls isn't happening and Bulls fans know it. Think smaller, more under the radar, but big impact implications. Consider a different 7-foot shot-blocking machine who used to grab 20 boards when given the playing time. Think Joel Przybilla. He's been waiting patiently. He's wants back in. He has plenty to prove and he needs to prove it in a Bulls uniform.

Przybilla was the 9th overall pick in the 2000 Draft--a draft renowned for its legendary awfulness. This alone makes him a particularly suitable candidate to play 10 minutes a game every tenth game. The oft-injured center was seen jiving on the bench with Greg Oden during his six-year stint in Portland. The duo made the best of a frustrating situation. They compared suits, often leaving the price tag on because who wants to pay for 55 different suits a season when they can just take them back? They chastised Andre Miller's haircut from a distance and exchanged sweet potato pie recipes. Occasionally Przybilla would be forced to leave his friend and play in a game that night. Oden, sulking and lonely, watched as Przybilla developed into a defensive force. He blocked shots and grabbed rebounds with the ferociousness of a descending turkey vulture. He did all of the things (besides score) that Oden was supposed to do better and more frequently for the Trail Blazers.

The Sixers scored 46 of their 98 points in the paint (47 percent) against the Bulls last night. That number is entirely too high for a perimeter-oriented team. Now I ask you, would Przybilla's presence at the end of the Bulls' bench not help in this department? Would his acquisition not put the Eastern Conference on notice like Rasual Butler's did last year? At the very least, Przybilla provides insurance should one of the bigs go down with an injury, assuming Przybilla doesn't go down with an injury first. Przybilla's arrival would also allow Brian Scalabrine to return to the familiar 'victory cigar' role he excelled at last season. In a lockout-shortened season bereft of continuity, Przybilla's arrival could change everything.

As much as I would like to suggest differently, my newfound support of Przybilla is motivated by a case of 'Keeping up with the Jameses.' Przybilla is currently mulling over offers from the Bulls and Heat and expected to make a decision sometime this week. If the Bulls don't get Przybilla, then the Heat do, and I don't want the Heat to get anyone. Envy has its limits. The Heat can take Eddy Curry and place whatever hopes they feel comfortable with on his ability to not register on the Richter Scale. Eddy Curry at best is a resealed driveway. Przybilla could potentially be new siding. I don't care if you can't afford it. You dip into the savings, call up your father-in-law crying, do whatever you have to do to make sure your asshole neighbors aren't the only ones in the neighborhood with new siding.

In summation, Joel Przybilla will contribute very little to the Bulls. He won't play unless someone is injured, but he will designate Scalabrine back to the bench. He may be the secret weapon to clogging up driving lanes in the playoffs or he may pull up lame his first game back on the court. He certainly will not have a problem elbowing a driving Derrick Rose in the head, and I would much rather it be a driving LeBron James or Dwyane Wade he is elbowing in the head. The Heat could use a goonish big man and thus, should not be allowed to have one.

Make it happen Bulls. Send someone else out on the recruiting trip if Derrick Rose doesn't want to go. Joel Przybilla cannot land in Miami. Where he goes will shift the balance of power in the East or make no difference at all.     

John Lucas III's Historic Night

John Lucas III made his first NBA start Wednesday night in place of Derrick Rose. The game was everything you would expect from a contest between the Wizards and the Rose-less Bulls playing their third game of a back-to-back-to-back. That is to say, a perfect game for Lucas to make his NBA debut. There were plenty of bad shots, sloppy turnovers, and JaVale McGee goaltends to go around. Lucas' teammates were noticeably frustrated at his attempts to play isolation ball and reach the 40 shot mark. But who cares? The Bulls won and Gail Fischer interviewed Lucas after the game. Wiping the sweat from his forehead he panted, "I was just trying to contribute out there. My teammates have confidence in me." I don't know about all that but his performance was certainly a cause for celebration in a less than illustrious NBA career.

With increased playing time comes the ability to rack up personal achievements, and John Lucas did just that. Interestingly enough, his record numbers corresponded with some lesser known numbers relating to the evening.

POINTS - 25

25 - Number of minutes it took for Lucas to gain clearance into the United Center. Lucas was stopped by a security guard three hours before tip-off and asked for identification. "What for?" he responded. "I'm on the team." The security guard did not believe he was a member of the team. Lucas' calls to Tom Thibodeau, camped in the film room since the end of last night's game, were unsuccessful. An unidentified employee of the UC was finally able to interrupt Thibs' masturbation session to a clip of a perfectly executed pick-and-roll defense by pounding on the door loudly. Thibs vouched for his starting point guard and Lucas was allowed to enter.

FIELD GOALS MADE - 11

11 - Number of times a Chicago sports columnist led today's piece with, "It's a good time to be a three. Only one month removed from Robert Griffin III's Heisman Trophy acceptance speech, fellow Texan John Lucas III ... (and later) It's safe to say, there's a new sheriff in town.

FIELD GOALS ATTEMPTED - 28

28 - The number of dirty looks Ronnie Brewer gave Lucas during the Wizards game after Lucas opted to fling up a difficult shot rather than pass to Brewer for the open mid-range jumper. Also, the number of minutes (+1) Joakim Noah was on the bench.

REBOUNDS, ASSISTS - 8

8 - Number of "cousins" who called or texted Lucas after the game asking about tickets for "that Thunder game." Lucas was a star player for the Oklahoma State Final Four team in 2004 and gained a number of fans and admirers along the way. He does not, however,  recall having any cousins by the names of Ohcumgache and Buster.    

MINUTES PLAYED - 46

46 - Mike James' original jersey number. The Bulls signed former NBA journeyman and current D-Leaguer Mike James hours before tip-off to back up Lucas. The equipment staff acted quickly and were able to secure a number 46 jersey for James with his name etched on the back. Sensing he may pick up some garbage time minutes, James decided it would be best for any future basketball endeavors if he was not associated with this game in any way. He snuck into the locker room and replaced his jersey with a nameless number 14 and entered the game with 42 seconds to play.

The Inevitable Tandems

Superstars change teams. A year and a half ago, following The Decision, 'pundits' tried to convince us otherwise. The most popular and definitive of statements to come from the mess: "Micheal Jordan never would have done that." 'That' being the most vile and disgusting atrocity one man could commit against another, verbalized in an all-too-serious tone. LeBron James' arrival in Miami was supposed to signify the end of competitive balance in the NBA and usher in an era were the league's superstars placed money (even though James took a pay cut), a desirable place to live, and playing alongside friends above winning. Winning, supposedly a player's sole concern in the good ol' days, is an easy concept to trumpet when players aren't making as much money or afforded the same less-restrictive free agent policies. These buzzword-driven discussions in the summer of 2010 didn't mean much. They all became different ways to say, I DON'T WANT THE BEST PLAYERS IN THE LEAGUE PLAYING FOR THE SAME TEAM, unless these players happen to collude their way on to the team I root for, in which case, I'm all for it.

Carmelo Anthony was last year's high profile player attempting to switch teams. Rather than wait for free agency, he sped the process up. He demanded a sign-and-trade because he could make more money signing the Nuggets' extension than signing as a free agent with the Knicks under the new CBA. Despite his selfish motives, I still thought he was doing the kind thing. He made it be known he wasn't going to resign with the Nuggets so they could get something in return for him. Denver did acquire a nice haul and to this day, various people on Twitter brings up how successful the Nuggets have been since they traded Carmelo. Cleveland was left with Antawn Jamison and no 2010 draft picks when LeBron left. Anthony to the Knicks was viewed as another instance of superstars teaming up.

Chris Paul was this year's Carmelo. He never explicitly stated where he wanted to go, but made it known he wasn't resigning with the Hornets. When news broke he was heading to the Lakers, the same outrage directed towards LeBron and Carmelo was not there. Part of this was probably due to the fact Kobe was no longer in his prime. David Stern, by vetoing the trade, also took plenty of heat and discussion away what the Lakers team would have actually looked like. When the Paul deal with the Clippers was finalized, the reactions were anything but disappointment. People were excited. LOB CITY! This excitement, no doubt, was motivated by the potential to see exciting basketball. But why not the same complaints of superstars teaming up? Is Blake Griffin not viewed as a superstar, or did the Clippers franchise, the NBA's model of futility, ease the burden? They're the Clippers, how much of a threat could they possibly be?

Dwight Howard has always been a popular target for criticism. He smiles too much. He's too nice. He can't control his temper. He's too mean. He doesn't have a post game. His entire persona is contrived, in the same way Shaq's was. He's bolting to LA to follow in Shaq's footsteps. Like Shaq, despite dominating the league, we'll speak of Howard in terms of what he could have been. Well, Howard developed a post game. He's curbed his on-court temper. For what it's worth (nothing), he's not smiling as much anymore. Unlike LeBron, Howard and Paul have been absolved of the blame surrounding their team's shortcomings. Where LeBron is typically accused of not getting it done with a good enough bunch, Howard and Paul are victims of incompetent front offices. For this reason, in addition to the general public's desensitization to superstar movement, Howard isn't being killed for wanting to switch teams.

I can't help but laugh at the talk surrounding Howard, though. No one is mad about Howard wanting to switch teams, but they are mad about which teams he wants to go to. His wish list is reportedly limited to the Nets, Lakers, and Mavericks. In IDEAL-NBA, where winning is everything, Chicago seems like a no-brainer. The Bulls have tradeable assets, including a center to replace Howard in Orlando. They have the best point guard in the league to complete a duo that makes more basketball sense than any of the other superstar pairings. But Howard doesn't want to go to Chicago. Speculation ranging from Howard's ego to Adidas' secret motives to Rose's disinterest in recruiting have all been used to explain away Howard's 'faulty' decision-making. We're back to square one. People cannot comprehend that a basketball player could be motivated by something beyond winning a championship immediately.

Save for his free throw shooting, there is very little observers can criticize about Howard's game anymore. He's developed the low post game his fans and detractors have been clamoring for. His mere presence practically guarantees a Top-5 defense. He is the NBA's best rebounder and at times its most dominant player. All that is left to bitch about are his team choices, which feels funny looking back to the negative feelings surrounding superstar movement only two summers ago. It seems that fans of the sport have accepted that superstars will change teams to play with other superstars. Then question becomes, how entertaining will these partnerships be for me, the fan? Fans, I think are no longer falling for 'good ol' days' sentiments that were never true to begin with. They feel superstars teaming up in desirable markets is almost inevitable, and just ask that these tandems make basketball sense.

Mom, I Finally Made It

Derrick Rose signed a 5-year contract extension worth 94.8 million today. He turned to his mother and proclaimed, "Mom, I finally made it." Just when you thought you couldn't love him anymore he goes and says something like that and makes your heart melt. He plans on putting some of this money into the Englewood neighborhood he grew up in. Of course he does. It has always been my belief that ONE championship from Rose -- because of his humility, already-legendary work ethic, and Chicago roots, would mean more than the SIX championships the 1990s Bulls brought home. I don't think we'll ever see another athlete this beloved by the city of Chicago. His extension is well-deserved, obviously.

Here are some photos to commemorate the event. Click to embiggen.

Prodigious Chicago emcee Common introduces Derrick Rose at a promotional event for his new adiZero Rose 2 basketball shoes.

Meanwhile, LeBron James could not hold back his excitement as he nuzzled up to 'rapper' Drake.

Opening Of The Flood Gates, Part III

Around this time last year, I affectionately dubbed A Pack To Be Named Later the "Best Blog Ever." I've come to realize this proclamation was a bit hasty. In the last year, I've come across many blogs I would consider better. So in the spirit of highlighting a really great blog -- and jacking their idea a second time -- I'd like to crown "A Pack..." as the "Best Blog You've Probably Never Heard Of." Their mission is simple: purchase a pack of sports cards, open said pack of sports cards, the scan and post the cards for their readers to see. Anyone who loved cards as a kid (or still does) could easily lose themselves for an hour on this site.

I bought two packs of the 2009/10 Upper Deck Greats of the Game series -- a set dedicated to the greats of the college game. I bought them at a Dollar Store. Don't laugh. The Dollar Store is an untapped gold mine for card collecting. Firstly, there is no purchasing competition because no one knows they can buy basketball cards at the Dollar Store. Second, $1 for a pack of relatively new cards is cheaper than anywhere else. The big drawback, of course, is selection. What's there is there and sometimes what's there sucks.

Not the case this time, as the Greats of the Game set is a pretty good one. I looked up the set's details when I got home and am kicking myself now. The retail price for a box of these cards is $65 and contains 16 packs of 8 cards (128 cards). Each box contains TWO AUTOGRAPHS and ONE MEMORABILIA card (jersey swatches, etc). Each pack at the Dollar Store contained only five cards, so I could have bought 26 packs (130 cards) and ended up with the equivalent of a box. It would have been $39!!! cheaper and the odds say I would have driven home with three (sentimentally) valuable cards. Oh well. Here were the ten cards I pulled. No autographs, no memorabilia, just some damn good basketball players.

   

We'll never even see a middling NBA player from the Naval Academy in today's game, let alone a player as talented as Robinson.

Here's something fun to do in college: drunkenly argue with your roommate about whether Magic Johnson or Oscar Robertson is the greatest NBA point guard. You both will inevitably agree on one of them -- then some one at the party neither of you know will throw John Stockton's name into the ring.

Pulling a Michael Jordan from the pack is and always will be a big deal to me. He is incapable of taking a bad action photo.

And to follow Jordan up with Rose, almost too good to be true! Not much to say except I still can't believe he plays for the Bulls, I still can't believe he's one of the League's best players, and I still can't believe he's going to get better. Rose's career thus far is like going from 0 to 60 mph in 0.7 seconds.

George Gervin was listed at 6'7 and 180 lbs. in his playing days. He looks even skinnier than that in every picture I've seen of him. Think Kevin Durant but two inches shorter, 30 pounds lighter and less range. I would love to see if he could score on today's bigger, stronger players. Also: the American flag in the background is the stuff of legends. What a shot!


For Part II of the 2009/10 Upper Deck Greats of the Game pack opening, click here.

Jimmy Butler and the Heroic Journey

David Stern stepped to the podium. With the 30th overall pick the Bulls select Marquette senior Jimmy Butler. Before mentioning physical attributes, collegiate accomplishments, or anything basketball-related, the ESPN analysts tripped over themselves to peddle "The Jimmy Butler Story: Great Kid, Great Story." Butler's childhood adversity, happy ending and inimitable spirit were the talking points. Similar to Derrick Rose during his MVP campaign, Butler's demeanor will probably take on a life of its own. Chad Ford even took the time to recommend Butler's story to all of his Twitter followers -- the story he wrote.

At first glance, Butler's transition from homeless, to adopted family member, to professional athlete seems like the basketball version of The Blind Side. But look closer and you'll find the elements of Joseph Campbell's monomyth, often referred to as the "Hero's Journey."

In his seminal 1949 work, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, Campbell argued that all cultural myths share the same fundamental structure. The monomyth also holds up when applied to contemporary works of fiction. Campbell describes three sections of a hero's journey: Departure, Initiation, and Return. Each section includes a number of stages that need to be completed in order to move on to the next section.




http://www.whatmyworldslike.com/


We're currently at the end of the "Departure" section of Jimmy Butler's journey. The lumps he takes against NBA-caliber talent will serve as his "Initiation" stage. Employing Maricopa Community Colleges' nice summary of Campbell's "Departure" section, here's how Butler's life parallels the Hero's Journey.

DEPARTURE

1. The Call to Adventure: The call to adventure is the point in a person's life when they are first given notice that everything is going to change, whether they know it or not.

Butler's mother kicks him out of the house at age 13. A hero's journey cannot truly begin until he or she is separated from their comfort zone, which in most cases, is family.

2. Refusal of the Call: Often when the call is given, the future hero refuses to heed it. This may be from a sense of duty or obligation, fear, insecurity, a sense of inadequacy, or any of a range of reasons that work to hold the person in his or her current circumstances.

Butler initially has trouble finding a home to harness his abilities. He bounces around from friend to friend. Extraordinarily, to his credit, Butler's refusal of the call is not due to his own fears or insecurities, but of those around him.

3. Supernatural Aid: Once the hero has committed to the quest, consciously or unconsciously, his or her guide and magical helper appears, or becomes known.

Butler meets Jordan Leslie and develops a friendship with him. After much hesitation, Leslie's mother decides to take Butler in. With a roof over his head, support system, and structure in his life, Butler is afforded enough stability to harness his basketball talents. Depending on your perspective, Leslie or his mother could be the supernatural aid, or both.

4. The Crossing of the First Threshold: This is the point where the person actually crosses into the field of adventure, leaving the known limits of his or her world and venturing into an unknown and dangerous realm where the rules and limits are not known.

Butler leaves behind the high school and Juco scrubs and heads to Marquette University. He finds it isn't as easy to score at the next level. He struggles to find playing time and his coach Buzz Williams is harder on him than any coach he had ever played for. Butler wants to come back home.

5. The Belly of the Whale: The belly of the whale represents the final separation from the hero's known world and self. It is sometimes described as the person's lowest point, but it is actually the point when the person is between or transitioning between worlds and selves...By entering this stage, the person shows their willingness to undergo a metamorphosis...

The transition from amateur to professional basketball. Butler's possible rookie struggles will likely serve as the "low point," and continue into the "Initiation" section. His metamorphosis is from an orphaned teenager to a solid NBA player.

* * *

Butler spoke to reporters about his defense after the draft, "I'm going to guard. I think that's where I'm going to make my mark in this league. I'm going to put in that work to be able to guard LeBron and Dwyane Wade." A heroic endeavor indeed. 

"That's It."

Peep the relaxed pose. I thought we had Game 5 in the bag.

Shock would be the appropriate word. The manifestation of "shock," especially amongst a large crowd will often turn raucous, and even violent. No such uprising occurred within the one hundred or so people filing through the Madison St. exit via the Third-Level United Center seats. Replace the Bulls jerseys with sports coats and fedoras, and you have an atmosphere reminiscent of the opening scene of Modern Times. Only one major difference: the figurative sheep in the movie are heading somewhere (to their grueling, soul-sucking factory jobs), and Bulls fans are leaving. Essentially walking away from the 2010-11 season.

In stark contrast to the ending of any sporting event, the mass is mostly silent, save for a few murmurs. Even if they wanted to discuss the game, it's unclear if they even knew what just hit them. Probably not. A teenager at the bottom of the stairs digs into his black backpack. He pulls out a Dirk Nowitzki jersey and throws it on. One guy begins to chant, "Nowitzki, Nowitzki..." He doesn't know the "W" is pronounced as a "V."

The symbolism is clear: Dirk Nowitzki will save us from validating the Miami Heat's season. They were good enough to beat the Bulls, but if they choke in the Finals? That would be almost better. One year down, five more to go. But Dirk Nowitzki isn't adding to the Bulls trophy case and the mass knows that. The Mavericks can win the title and it might make some of them feel good momentarily, but it won't change the fact the Bulls will end the season with practically every trophy except the one that matters.

The Nowitzki chants slowly fade as the man realizes no one is chanting along with him. But perhaps most amazing, is the teenager wearing the Nowitzki jersey expects no acknowledgement. He didn't try to play to the crowd or search for approval. He simply put the jersey on and continued to walk. His own one-man protest. But did he think the Bulls even had a chance at Game 5? Was the Nowitzki jersey just a precaution or the acceptance of an inevitable defeat?

After about ten minutes of silent waiting, my girlfriend and I squeeze into the #20 bus. We grab the two available seats closest to the driver. A massive woman with sad eyes and a shower cap atop her head sits across from us. She takes up two seats.

"Who won?" she kindly asks me. I can't tell if she's a sports fan, but I detect a tone of indifference in her voice.

"Not us," I mumble. I have the tendency to do that.

"What?"

"The Heat," I say.

"Oh," she responds softly.

In a strange way, her presence is very comforting. If anything, she reminds me that this isn't the end of the world. There are people, in the city of Chicago, on the bus outside of the United Center at that, who could care less about the outcome of this game. We don't say another word to each other for the rest of the ride.

"It's alright, we just need a little help," a man who steps onto the bus a few stops later says. "We just need to get rid of Boozer and we got three picks this year. We just need to get that boy [Rose] a little help." If it was only that easy.

As I step off the escalator up to the second floor of Ogilvie Train Station a man in a suit approaches me from my right. He takes one bud out of his ear and asks if the Bulls won. I tell him they didn't. "What?" he screams, as shocked as he is angry. A man to my left confirms, "The Bulls lost?" I nod my head. They both go on their way.

I'm the bearer of bad news. The guy in the Rose jersey intent on bringing everyone's mood down. Kill the messenger. Tomorrow is Friday for God's sake.

My girlfriend is in line at Dunkin' Donuts. I lean against a trash can. The confident, "I'm with the GOAT" swag from the picture above has disappeared. I feel like an extension of the trash can. A woman sitting near me is bundled in blankets from head to toe. She must have at least three blankets wrapped around every inch of her body. She has three blankets, a small coffee, and a beige handbag. It takes her a moment, but she is able to adjust the top half of her first blanket enough to peek her head out.

"Did we win?"

"No," I smile.

"So that's it?"

"That's it."

It took uttering those two (three?) little words to finally accept what had happened an hour ago. This was it. I remembered back to last summer when this current roster was being constructed. I remembered scouring the Internet, hoping for the latest news, or amusing myself with some of the rumors. I remembered, as the season drew on, feeling the Bulls would win every game they played. I hadn't felt like that since 1998. I remembered thinking, sometime in February, that the Bulls were good enough to win it all.

I realize now that I've never felt so strongly about a team as I do this one. The 1990s Bulls were an inheritance. I wasn't alive during the down years and too young to remember the battles with the Pistons. I was lucky enough to be born in 1987 in the state of Illinois. My childhood coincided with the second half of Michael Jordan's career and some of the greatest teams in NBA history. My childhood was the Bulls and I did nothing to deserve it. I was simply born in the right place at the right time.

The 2011 team felt more like a well-deserved promotion. I continued to support the Bulls through the 2000s and this year's team felt like repayment for the ups and downs (mostly downs) endured over the last decade. If any fanbase could claim to have paid dues, it's Bulls fans born into the glory of the 1990s who continued to stick around through the 2000s. On the Jumbotron before the game they showed a mix of highlights from the Championship teams and juxtaposed them with the 2010-11 highlights. Knowing already this wouldn't be they year, I nearly cried. A successful Bulls team, to me at least, is more than just having fun and watching good basketball. A successful Bulls team is a large chunk of my childhood and it's that feeling that I always hope can be recreated.        

On the train ride home I pondered the different ways to write about this game. I thought about what I believed to be the slanted calls in the third quarter, the deja vu moment when Rose missed his second free throw to tie the game (I was at the December 18th game against the Clippers when Rose missed the game-tying free throw with less than a second left), fuckin' Boozer, our lack of 4th quarter offense, the unbelievable way LeBron took over the 4th, etc. It wouldn't occur to me until the next day that the only way I could appropriately write about this game was to relay the moments after and the interest this team garnered, even amongst people who probably didn't watch a game all year.

I attempted to give the Bulls a standing ovation moments after the game ended. I stood and clapped alone. Maybe it looked too much like I was applauding the Heat, or maybe others weren't willing to follow the lead of a man screaming obscenities all game. Either way, I felt the Bulls' season-long effort deserved to be recognized. This was never supposed to happen. But somewhere along the line, all of us became so convinced this was the year.

My girlfriend and I stepped off the train and made our way to the 7-Eleven across the street. Dark and nearly one in the morning; the traffic lights were turned off. All we saw were a bunch of flashing red lights. Kind of fitting. My brother had parked the car in the 7-Eleven parking lot. He sat against the hood smoking a cigarette.

"How did ya like that third quarter?" I asked.    

Remembering 1.7 Percent

Let me preface this post by stating, with the exception of the statistics, I don't believe a word of it. If that makes me less of a Bulls fan to the blind faithful, then I'm OK with that. Unable to sleep last night, I began thinking of ways to curb the sting of being down 3-1. This was the best I could come up with. They are a bunch of numbers that have no bearing on the outcome of a basketball game, but I'm hoping they can put things in perspective for some fellow Bulls fans. They didnt' help me sleep at night, but they may make someone feel better about the situation.

1.7

Let's start with the most glib number of all: 4 percent. Teams down 3-1 in the Playoffs have a 4 percent chance of winning the series. Of the 200 teams that have been down 3-1 in a series, 192 of them went on to lose that series. But there have been eight to pull of the impressive feat, and here they are (the home teams are bolded):

2006 - Suns over Lakers (Western Conference First Round)

2003 - Pistons over Magic (Eastern Conference First Round)

1997 - Heat over Knicks (Eastern Conference Semifinals)

1995 - Rockets over Suns (Western Conference Semifinals)

1981 - Celtics over 76ers (Eastern Conference Finals)

1979 - Bullets over Spurs (Western Conference Finals)

1970 - Lakers over Suns (Western Division Semifinals)

1968 - Celtics over 76ers (Eastern Conference Finals)  

1.7

While the odds aren't good, 6 of the 8 teams to come back from 3-1 were the home team, just as Chicago is. Obviously, 2 home games of a possible 3 remaining would seem to be an advantage. But notice that only 3 of the 8 comebacks were from either the Western or Eastern Conference/Divison Finals. One would suspect coming back in the later rounds would be more difficult, considering the competition would likely be tougher. This actually isn't the case. 

1.7

Let's start with the glib again. For nine straight years, the NBA has seen a Conference Finals series start 3-1. In each year, the team down 3-1 has lost. Five of those teams have forced a Game 6, and four have lost in five games. None were able to force a Game 7. Since the NBA began playing Conference/Division Finals as a "Best of 7" format in 1958, 47 series have started 3-1. Of those 47, 25 ended in 5 games, 14 went to a Game 6, and 8 went to a Game 7.

1.7

Three of the 47 teams (1981 Celtics, 1979 Bullets, and 1968 Celtics) were able to defeat their opponent after falling behind 3-1 in the Conference/Division Finals: good for 6.4 percent of the time. Two of those three were the higher-seeded team, even though 5 of the 8 who forced a Game 7, were the lower-seeded team.

1.7

To recap, teams down 3-1 in the Playoffs win their series 4 percent of the time. Teams down 3-1 in the Conference Finals win 6.4 percent of the time. Higher-seeded teams are less likely to force a Game 7 in the Conference Finals, but more likely to win a Game 7 if they can force it.

1.7

Bringing us to 1.7. You most likely knew the significance of the number, but if you didn't, here's why I've typed it at every paragraph break. In 2008, coming off a disappointing 33-49 season, the Bulls finished with the 9th worst record in the NBA, and were given a 1.7 percent chance of landing the 1st overall pick. The Bulls, of course, won the pick and drafted Derrick Rose. The improbable occurred and the future of our franchise was forever transformed. Had the odds held up and the Bulls received the 9th pick, they probably would have chosen between D.J. Augustin, Jerryd Bayless, or Brandon Rush. Try to imagine how successful the Bulls would have been the last three years substituting Rose for either of those three.

The moral of the story is the odds don't always hold up. Bulls fans should know better than any NBA fanbase about pulling off something deemed impossible. If a dream with a 1.7 percent chance can come true, 4 or 6.4 percent doesn't seem all too bad, does it? The games need to be played, just as the lottery balls needed to be chosen. Sure, there are hundreds of thousands more factors that go into how a game can be decided, versus basically the luck of the draw in the lottery. But if 1.7 has taught us anything, it's that "ANYTHING IS POSSIBBBBBBBBLE." Am I really going to end the post like this? Yes. Yes, I am.          

Dueling Banjos

The weekend is here, both Conference Finals have come to a 1-1 stalwart, and magnificently, feature what may be five of the NBA's six best players (Dwight Howard has been fishing a while now, someone rock the boat and wake him up). Kevin Durant dominated summer headlines, as Team USA ran their offense through him while slowly crunching international competition beneath their feet. LeBron, Wade, and "The Decision" took over from there. Derrick Rose received MVP honors and NBA writers penned one thousand different articles on the meaning of humility and how Rose is saving the NBA -- and the world. Lost in the fracas, as he usually seems to be, was Dirk Nowitzki.

Nowitzki is everything I've loved about this year's Playoffs. Heading into this season he was an immensely talented player, but a perpetual loser / choke artist. After Game 1 he became the best international player ever and possibly one of the ten greatest players of all-time. Step back, cock the basketball behind your head, fadeaway off of one leg, and throw perspective out the window.

I began searching for reasons why Nowitzki has been so underrated -- in terms of his legacy and the unique blend of size and skill he's brought to the game, moreso than being recognized as an All-Star and elite player. The first explanation would seem to be bad timing. Nowitzki's prime has coincided with the primes of Hall-of-Famers Kobe Bryant, Tim Duncan, Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, Allen Iverson, Shaquille O'Neal, Vince Carter, Steve Nash, and Jason Kidd. All were arguably better or more exciting players for the majority of their careers. Add in players like Stephon Marbury, Steve Francis, and Tracy McGrady who ultimately didn't have HOF careers, but for a short time took the league by storm. Then the post-2003 draft picks: LeBron James, Carmelo Anthony, Dwyane Wade, and Dwight Howard, who brought new excitement and marketability to a league who's star players were either getting old or failing to live up to the lofty standards that were set for them. If someone were to ask you in 25 years who the best 10 or 15 players of the last decade were, would it really be inconceivable to forget about Dirk?

For better or worse, athletes are measured by the number of Championships they've won. I'm sure you've seen the trailer for Bad Teacher by now. Unfortunately for Dirk, his two best Dallas Mavericks teams are best known for their epic Playoff collapses. The 2006 team was up 2-0 in the NBA Finals, firmly in control of Game 3 before surrendering a double digit lead in Miami, and went on to lose four straight. Then the 2007 team, Dallas' best team in franchise history, were ousted in the first round by 8th-seeded Golden State. Dirk played well in Games 2-5, but awful in Game 1 and series-clinching Game 6; the two most likely to be remembered. Those two seasons have come to define Dirk and the Dallas Mavericks. Despite the accolades and for all the substance they've played with the past decade, they're not good enough to win a Championship.

Then there's "Dirk's Quirks." He looked like a member of Ace of Base when he came into the league. This undoubtedly contributed to the "soft" discourse.

He's constantly adjusting his jersey even though it seems to fit him fine. He also has a tendency to try and tuck his hair around his ear, even though his hair seems to trend that way regardless. Dirk's quirks: they can be quite distracting. Next time the Mavs are on, observe how Dirk reacts when Dallas is struggling. He may get them back in it, but during a crucial stretch he's going to do the stupid jersey or hair adjustment and I promise you'll think a little less of him.

But back to why Dirk is finally getting his due as one of the toughest covers in NBA history. He scored in a variety of ways in his 48-point Game 1 performance. Nine of his fifteen shots came on the right side of the floor, and eight of those nine were 12 to 18 feet away from the basket. There was no secret to what Nowitzki was doing. He posted up every time down the floor, received the ball, and either drew a foul or shot is patented fadeaway. Oklahoma City's defenders were barely able to touch Nowitzki, so his 24 free throws were a bit of an aberration, but the fact that he made all 24 was not. 

There's one particular Nowitzki shot I want to talk about. Late in the 4th quarter and the Mavericks are up by seven. Nowitzki, who logged 41 minutes on the night was clearly tired. He received the ball in the post, 18-feet out. Serge Ibaka would be the victim this time. Nowitzki turned around and faced Ibaka. He was literally too tired to do anything, even bend over. He stood there with Ibaka in his face and the ball at his hip. Nowitzki held the ball for about five seconds before just raising up -- a last ditch effort. The highly arced ball fell right through the net. I don't care about a player's size or position. He isn't supposed to be able to catch the ball 18 feet out, face his defender, and swish a shot because he was too tired to do anything else. That has been Dirk Nowitzki in the 2010 Playoffs. 

The Thunder played him better in Game 2, fronting him and sending a help defender from the weakside. They also limited him to only ten free throw attempts. Nowitzki still made 10 of his 17 shots and made some excellent passes out of the double team. There's not much Oklahoma City can do with him, but they did just enough to win Game 2.

Meanwhile, Russell Westbrook is getting his typical treatment from the media. When he attacks the rim he's being too aggressive and needs to get the ball to Durant. When he doesn't attack he's being too passive and hurting his team. I'd hate to be in his position. What's funny is how Durant is getting off scot-free. Sometimes Westbrook can't get him the ball because he either hasn't used his screen properly, or isn't strong enough to create space for himself. Not Westbrook's fault, but he's received the brunt of the criticism. Magic Johnson, as part of ESPN's horrible "Bold Predictions" piece, actually said he expected Westbrook to have a 25-14-8 game. How the fuck can Westbrook win?

To Durant's credit, he'd defended Westbrook's decision-making, even drawing the ire of some who claim he's not being assertive enough. Rubbish, I say. Durant just wants to be one of the guys. Him and Westbrook have taken to MySpace to release their debut EP.

The NBA's answer to The Cool Kids?

I'm about to criticize Tom Thibodeau. Are you sure you want to do that? Yes. Really? Yes. I mean, I think so. Realllllly?

That's what I thought.

If you've watched even five Bulls games this year, you know that Thibs can be a little stubborn with his rotations. Of course, his stubbornness tends to pay off, so it's never really an issue. It was in Game 2 and cost the Bulls the game. Thibs subbed in Korver for Brewer with just under 9 minutes left in the game. The Bulls were playing with a Rose-Korver-Deng-Gibson-Asik lineup against Miami's Wade-James-Miller-Haslem-Bosh. Thibs' thinking was for Korver to hit a few threes (the Bulls were down 73-69 when Korver checked in) and get them right back in the game. Not a bad strategy except Korver has to play defense and Mike Miller was the only easy cover on the floor. Rose, who wouldn't sit the entire second half, was forced to guard Wade. This isn't bad for stretches, but not when the Bulls are completely dependent on Rose for offense at the end of a close game. Korver missed both of his three-point attempts in the 4th quarter. He was 1-3 from behind the arc in the 2nd quarter.

The Bulls are going to have trouble scoring against Miami regardless of the situation, but they most definitely won't be successful if Rose has to play the entire second half and guard Dwyane Wade for the last nine minutes of the game. Korver has to be given a short leash. If he's off he has to stay on the bench. At least with Brewer in the game, the Bulls have their best defensive lineup to accompany Rose. Rose can guard the most favorable perimeter match up and focus solely on offense. With Korver missing shots, too much pressure is put on a tired Rose to perform on both ends of the floor. Thibs stuck with Korver too long and it cost them.

I still maintain that the biggest advantage the Bulls have in this series is their coaching. Thibs won't make this type of mistake again. The Heat only scored 85 points despite 53 points on 54 percent shooting from James and Wade. The Bulls shot 34 percent (15 percent from three) and were in the game until the last couple of minutes. They let one get away.

Sometimes you have to lose yourself before you find anything.

Day 6: Bulls-Pacers (Game 3)

The Pacers played Game 3 like a team who knew they were overmatched. They tried every trick in the book. Flopping, hard fouls and screens, and sticking their legs out on contested threes and passes, among other things. I'm not about to criticize Indiana for anything they did. In a Playoff series, adjustments are the key. The Pacers outplayed the Bulls in different facets of Game One and Two (some may say the entire games themselves) and still came up empty. They had to do something. Sure, flopping and cheap shots are dirty and dishonest, but what were they supposed to do? Roll over? If anything, the Pacers' style of play in Game 3 was a testament to how good the Bulls are at pulling out victories, even when they don't play well.

Indiana's physical play was the story of this game. Stacey King and Scottie Pippen were ready to suit up and give a hard foul to who ever was closest. Jeff Foster and Josh McRoberts came off the bench took turns clobbering the Bulls, trying to outdo the other each time. Foster in particular drew the ire of Chicago fans when he deliberately came down on Rose's face, prompting a reaction from Rose. Not much later, he swung a blatant elbow to Deng's head, which put him to floor. That's what Foster does. He's in the league for two reasons: to get rebounds and try to get under his opponent's skin.

Some people, King and Pippen included, were quick to criticize the Bulls for failing to retaliate. I think the opposite. Let Indiana try to play their bully brand of basketball. The second Chicago tries to make this in to a shoving match is the second Indiana can take advantage of them. The Bulls are a more talented BASKETBALL team. Playing basketball is what they do best. If Indiana can get Chicago thinking about fouls and how to retaliate, they've got them off their game plan, which is exactly what they want.

I'm starting to sound like a broken record, but the bench was awful for a third straight game. The Pacers' bench has outscored the Bulls' bench 27-25 in Game One, 43-22 in Game Two (that number is a bit inflated because of Collison's injury), and 32-20 in Game Three. I maintain that the bench goes as Brewer goes, and Thibs has been weary of playing Brewer. Although he did come up with two clutch free throws and a couple big rebounds to end the game as something positive to build on.

Kyle Korver has really saved the Bulls. 13 points, 4-4 threes in Game One, 5 points and one huge three in Game Two, and 12 points and three threes in Game Three. The Pacers have been trapping Rose as he crosses half court, usually forcing him to give the ball up to Noah at the top of the key. Indiana's defense was really active today and deflected a bunch of interior passes that the Bulls normally execute. Anyway, with the trap on late in the 4th quarter, Korver will get some open looks. As strange as it is to say, he's been just as valuable as Rose in closing games this series.

The Pacers have given it a valiant effort but are probably going to be swept. Things have looked picture perfect for them at times, but ultimately they're going to fall well short. Kind of like this Jeff Foster jumper.