Toronto was in town Friday night, and I don’t know about you, but I’d been dying to see how the new-look Raptors would respond after completing that blockbuster Juan Dixon-for-Fred Jones trade. Assuming Dixon can fill the gaping hole left behind by Jones (and let’s face it, you’re never going to completely replace a guy like Jones), teams still often struggle to find their chemistry after undergoing such a massive overhaul, even if they are acquiring a marquee talent like JD.

For the Cats, I was glad to see Coach Bickerstaff back on the scene after having to leave last night due to “light-headedness” (it was diarrhea, Coach, wasn’t it? It’s okay, you can tell us). On the other hand, I’m quickly becoming a big John-Blair Bickerstaff fan. I tend to not like things named “Blair” (e.g., witches, disgraced journalists, sycophantic British Prime Ministers, stuck-up chicks from The Facts of Life), but JB’s performance last night was solid, and that unforgettable (that is, if you happened to be one of the 5 or 6 people still watching after halftime) game against the Nets when he called for the hack-a-Jason Collins strategy is destined to go down in Bobcats lore.

Unfortunately, Okafor and Wallace missed nearly the entire second half of this game—one with a strained calf and the other with a strained groin—leaving me with strained sanity, because we were only trailing by 3 midway through against arguably the best team in the East (albeit, almost by default at this fault). Try as they did, Ryan Hollins and Eric Williams couldn’t quite replace the production, and TJ Ford was a wheeling-dealing terror all night long. Also, as is customary whenever they lose, the Bobcats shot wretchedly.

Nothing to be ashamed about with this effort, though, and I actually thought Charlotte played pretty decently on defense. Sometimes, like when Okafor and Wallace combine for 30 rebounds, you think they played well until you realize that a) most of the rebounds were offensive, or b) they were playing the 76ers. But this time they legitimately played well and clearly made adjustments from last time. For instance, they pushed out on Andrea Bargnani when he spotted up for his three’s, whereas last time he hit about a million of them uncontested from the exact same place (I remember thinking if you replayed that game in fast-forward, Bargnani would have looked like one of those nature programs where they film one tree standing still over a span of months in hyper-elapsed time). All-Star Chris Bosh was nearly invisible as well—at least until Wallace and Okafor were gone; then he became more visible than an oncoming Mack truck. They also contained Jose Calderon—again, at least while it still mattered—who frequently drives to the hoop as if he were shot out of a cannon, despite the fact that it was Jake Voskuhl who was often inexplicably covering him.

Speaking of Big Jake, how funny/excruciating is it watching him catch-and-shoot? You know how you always hear about guys trying to work on their release times and get their shots off faster and faster? Jake’s the opposite of that. Regardless of where he catches the pass, he always seems to have to dig it out and gather it up from his feet like a spilled bag of Cheese Doodles before eventually heaving it up there.

Anyway, enjoy the Oscars on Sunday, those of you who are looking forward to it (and who is not?). My only request is that Little Miss Sunshine lose in all 20 million or however many categories it received nominations. I was skeptical of this thing when it came out, but I finally rented it after seemingly everyone around me wouldn’t shut up about it. And guess what? It was annoying, boring, and after not even ten minutes I just wanted it to end (basically, it was like watching a soccer game, and all those people who kept telling me I had to see it were like soccer fans). Not only did I think it was stupid, it wasn’t even original. Dysfunctional family takes ill-fated car trip? Hmmmm, anyone ever hear of National Lampoon’s Vacation (or its multiple sequels) before? You know, basically the same thing except funny? Jesus, we have short memories—and not just normal people, either; I read a bunch of reviews and not a single critic (whose job it supposedly is to point out parallels with other films) had the guts to call it a Lampoon’s knock-off. Sad, America. Just sad.

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First of all, rest in peace Dennis Johnson.  For anyone too young to remember, Johnson was a fabulous two-way scoring/defending point guard.  I’d take an in-his-prime DJ on the Bobcats over any number of today’s superstar guards, including Allen Iverson, Steve Nash, Jason Kidd…even Jeff McInnis.  Also, get well, Dwyane Wade.  You’re the superstar I love to hate, but you’re also magnificent—the question is, now that Pat Riley’s already missed his customary half-season, what’s coaching’s version of Roger Clemens going to do now? 
 
Next order of business: kudos to management for not making any stupid trading deadline deals.  I have to admit I was a little worried when Michael Jordan put out that letter that promised marquee free agent acquisitions.  Maybe it’s just that new The Number 23 movie that’s got me paranoid over what MJ’s going to be doing next, but with the Nets dangling Vince Carter’s name out there, plus after hearing little whispers about how VC might be yearning for a homecoming to North Carolina, I had nightmarish visions of us coughing up a bunch of draft picks and promising youngsters in return for about 2-months of half-assed Vince-anity before he inevitably splits town for the next sucker. 
 
I really have no idea why everyone gets so hot-and-bothered about trades.  Listen to Chad Ford’s interview with Kidd’s agent Jeff Schwartz that happened just before yesterday's deadline: it sounds like it was recorded at Dennis Johnson’s funeral, the two of them are so mournful that nothing went down with the Lakers.  PS—Also listen to the interview to hear how many times two guys can use the phrase “At the end of the day” in ten minutes; the two of them say it more times than probably anyone other than vampires.  I kid you not: at one point, Schwartz actually says, “At the end of the day, I think Jason Kidd will be wearing a Nets jersey tomorrow.”  Ugh.    
 
As for the game, the score might make it look as if the Bobcats played great defense, but the Sixers missed a ton of lay-ups.  The worst of all was an uncontested yet thunderous miss from Andre Iguoldala; I haven’t seen a slam dunk botched that badly since George Tenet.  For Charlotte, Emeka Okafor might not have started because of flu-like symptoms, but his performance was still awesome-like (15 points, 16 rebounds), and he inoculated (ha!) Samuel Dalembert.  Plus Adam Morrison and Matt Carroll effective performances, copping 19 points off the bench apiece.  Question: at one point commentators Matt and Henry were having some discussion about giving credit to Morrison for not hesitating to shoot, and Henry said that it’s all because Adam is “unconscious.”  So is that how this whole “unconscious” thing started, because people are mistakenly using it to mean “without conscience?” 
 
I don’t know, but speaking of unconsciousness, it’s time to go to bed.  At the end of the day, that’s what I do.

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Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m pretty giddy right now. This must be how my dog Lincoln feels whenever he’s outside and stumbles on a fresh pile of excrement. I don’t think I could be happier if grocery stores announced they were installing trap doors that were designed to strike anytime a customer in the Express 10-Items-or-Less line tries to write a check.

And for some extra sauce to go with my bucket of hot and crispy joy, last night's victory over the T-Wolves couldn’t have come against a better team. It’s no secret I despise Minnesota. I can’t stand Ricky Davis, I refuse to accept the possibility that Mark Blount might actually be a good player, I’m thrilled that moody Rashad McCants has underachieved even more than I’d hoped, I haven’t enjoyed anything by Marko Jaric since he played Bud on Married…With Children, I hate the fact that Minnesotans inexplicably love Mark Madsen even though he’s unskilled and quite obviously out of shape (and what’s the deal with this, by the way, because the same thing happens with Brian Scalabrine in Boston, and yet look at the reaction to Jerome James in New York? What’s different here? Hmmmm).

(Ironically, Kevin Garnett is actually one of my favorite players. This seems strange to me until I consider that one of my favorite baseball players of all time is Ted Williams, and likewise with Bobby Orr in hockey, and yet both played for my all-time nemesis of a city, Boston. So actually, with every Minnesota loss—even last night’s—and with every sight of KG at the end, walking off the court and looking slightly homicidal, I also feel a brief pang of sympathy. Minnesota, please trade him already, just so I don’t have to go through this duplicity every time!)

Anyway, the story of last night’s game was Adam Morrison—more specifically, Morrison in the second half, because in the first half it was Blount and KG shooting the lights out and putting the Bobcats down as many as 17. Mike James, whose skills are really only comparable to those of a fine hooker, also was all over the court. I don’t know what happened in the locker room at halftime, but apparently Blount gave Morrison some sort of skills-transplant, because Adam scored all of his 26 points in the second half and Blount went ice cold (James, meanwhile, was only about as good as a decent hooker the rest of the way). AM went 10-for-14 from the field, and hit 4-6 3-pointers. They were seriously just falling in from every which way; one clanged hard off the front of the rim yet managed to bounce backwards into the hoop, it was almost cartoon-ish.

I liked Charlotte Observer columnist Rick Bonnell’s description of the difference between Morrison pre- and post-All-Star Break. “Before the All-Star break,” Bonnell writes, “Morrison was a self-conscious, frustrated kid…he shot poorly and felt exhausted.” Bonnell goes onto say that over the break Morrison then got into the gym and worked on his shooting—nice, but Bonnell left out the part where Morrison gets bitten by a radioactive spider.

All in all, it was a great victory. In fact, our third win in a row has brought me the greatest dose of sports-related happiness (which often seems to be the only type of happiness I’m capable of feeling) since the Panthers beat the Ravens on the road last fall. So I guess before I go out and frolic naked in the field, genitals merrily swinging to and fro, I should just remember how the rest of that season worked out.

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