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Blogcat’s Season Recap, Part 3: The Final Insult

Okay, now comes the part in which I have to examine the last four guys on the Bobcats’ regular rotation.  And because I’m essentially looking at the worst four players on my favorite team, which was also the worst team in NBA history, I’ve got to be careful that this recap doesn’t quickly turn into a suicide note.  Here we go…

DJ Augustin (1,408 minutes played) – I have no idea why Rick Bonnell of the Charlotte Observer declared Augustin to be one of the team’s four “sure keepers.”  DJ Augustin is untouchable?  Really?  I feel like I’m stuck in a burning house with a pothead who is refusing to leave without first securing all of the boxes of Fruit Loops.  In a contract year, Augustin had his worst TS% ever, his second-worst PER, and his worst turnover rate.  On second thought, I agree with you, Rick, what’s not to love?  Augustin also missed 27% of the team’s games, and these were for things like tendinitis and cracks in his feet—i.e., “old man” injuries that are probably only going to get worse.  And then there’s the fact that he’s tiny and his backup is also tiny, which would be fine if the Bobcats were a team of jockeys in the National Horseracing Association, but given that this is basketball, it’s problematic.  You know, looking back I’m kicking myself for not raising more of a stink when the team drafted Kemba Walker.  It’s absolutely crazy to have two sub-6-footers PGs on the same basketball team—why didn’t we as fans ring more alarm bells over this?  I feel like my late Christian Conservative grandmother would have if someone from her church had ever told her that the Village People’s “Y.M.C.A,” which she loved, was in fact not an earnest tribute to a volunteer organization that develops healthy young men.   Anyway, Augustin is an unrestricted free agent with a $4.4M qualifying offer due to him.  I don’t even know if any team will make him an offer that tops that, but if one does, the Bobcats should agonize about what to do for several fretful seconds before deciding not to match.  Unless the NBA suddenly implements a new role in which you get bonus points for slam-dunking your own teammates through the hoop, there are larger point guards to be had out there.

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Portrait of Bobcats Fan Sells for $120 Million (Part 2 of Blogcat’s Season Recap)

First of all, I apologize for this stupid headline, but I had to change my original idea at the last minute once I saw that Travis had titled his latest article, “Who Can Lead the Bobcats Out of the Cellar?”  His was too close to what I was going to use: “Who Can Lead the Bobcats Out of the Gimp Trunk In the Cellar?”  Anyway, this is Part 2 of my recap of the season, and as I see that there haven’t been any news developments in the past week (nope, the team’s still a flaming wreckage), let’s jump right into it.  As I did last week, I’ll continue in the order of minutes each player played.  Also, as I did last week, I’ll try to finish the article without hanging myself:

Byron Mullens (1,465 minutes played) – Let’s start with the good: Mullens, some tall, unknown hayseed from Oklahoma City suddenly popped up days before the season began, looking for a job.  I actually picture his arrival in my mind as very similar to Axl Rose stepping off the bus in the “Welcome to the Jungle” video, complete with a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth.  From there, with absolutely no expectations whatsoever, Mullens had the team’s highest unadjusted +/- (+3.74).  Moreover, he and Reggie Williams were the only two players on both of the team’s positive adj. +/- 5-man units (post-Boris Diaw).  Of course, this is all thanks to his unique long-range scoring ability.  This is NOT thanks to his defense or rebounding.  I was about to severely criticize his 5 RPG average…until I saw that it was second on the team (I’ve got to pace myself).  If Mullens can toughen up and/or get paired with a certain game-changing rookie at center whom I won’t jinx by mentioning (hallowed be thy name!), next year could be awesome!  If not, next year could end up with him tied to a chair and screaming for his life in front of a bunch of television screens showing graphic images of police brutality, with Corey Maggette hovering over him and telling him that he wants to watch him bleed.

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Bobcats GM Higgins Narrows Coaching Search Down to “Somebody Who Wants to Win” (Part 1 of Blogcat’s Season Recap)

Last week, the Bobcats decided not to bring back Coach Paul Silas for the 2012-2013 season.  Though it should be noted that they’re keeping him on as a consultant, which—given this team—is arguably a crueler thing to do than simply firing him.  Anyway, the search is now on for his replacement.  Besides the qualities mentioned in the headline, GM Rod Higgins told the Charlotte Observer’s Rick Bonnell that the Bobcats are looking for someone who views the job as an “opportunity” and stresses that he doesn’t necessarily have to be an ex-NBA coach.  Bonnell somehow found this gibberish insightful enough to produce several articles’ worth of analysis, including one with an elaborate 3-legged stool metaphor.  Poor Rick.

And speaking of “stools,” let’s talk about last season.  Now that we’re a week removed from harmful exposure to the carcinogenic 2012 Bobcats, yet still comfortably far off from the lottery, it’s time to reflect on what has happened…before the slowly-but-steadily increasing anxiety at the thought of losing the lottery completely devours my brain like Kahn’s ear worms in Star Trek 2.  Like my midseason recap/toxicology report, I’m going to go through each player in descending order of playing time (which also means I’ll be going through each player in descending order of my mental sanity).  We’ll see how far I can get, but chances are we’ll have to break this column up into a few parts; otherwise I’ll just collapse to the floor and start laughing hysterically like Tom Hanks in The Money Pit.  Here we go…

Coach Paul Silas – Okay, he technically didn’t play, but that’s okay, because he often technically didn’t coach either.  Still, a few words are in order for our dearly departed coach.  In his defense, he had a lineup that was intentionally terrible (thanks to management), and he lost the 6th most man-games to injury (side note: hey, look at that, we were among the league leaders in something!).  But in his “offense” (?), what’s Paul Silas known for?  Okay, other then looking more confused on the sidelines than Katie Couric after a Sarah Palin response?  He’s known for rebounding and toughness.  So at the very least, he should have instilled those characteristics in his team.  And in this endeavor he completely failed; the Bobcats were 28th in overall rebounding rate and allowed the most shots at the rim of any team.  The frontcourt couldn’t have been less intimidating if they had decided to start every game off with a reenactment of the video for “Single Ladies (Put a Ring On It).”  So for this reason alone, I have no problem with letting Silas go.  Also, his contract was up.  Also, with a potential superstar rookie coming on board and some big name coaches available, it’s probably better to start fresh…Oh yeah, and also, this was the worst team of all time.

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Bobcats End Season Lacking Dignity, Commas in Their Fan Appreciation Ads

Look at it this way, Bobcats fans: at least “.106 winning percentage” doesn’t make for a very catchy derisive chant.  Not only is Charlotte officially the worst team ever, with 23 losses to close out the season (23—the Irony-Meter’s on 10), one month-old Bobcats fans everywhere are wondering if the Bobcats will ever win a game in their lifetime.  At least Scott Fowler should be happy.  The Charlotte Observer columnist wrote an idiotic article on Saturday hoping that the Bobcats would lose out in order to achieve a sort of “worst-ever” celebrity status.  “Make this season one for the record books,” Fowler wrote, “and then rebuild.”  Call me crazy, but I see no upside in being associated with the worst-ever team.

Actually, Fred Carter would call me crazy.  The unofficial spokesman for the 1972-73 76ers, the NBA’s now-former worst-ever team, really did seem to revel in the notoriety.  Back in 2010, when the Nets were threatening to displace the 76ers as the worst-ever team, Carter told the New York Times that he hoped it wouldn’t happen. “Immortality only comes in so many different ways,” Carter reasoned, sounding disturbingly like how I imagine Charles Manson looks back on the Tate-Labianca murders.  Then again, Carter also claims credit for being the person who invented the fist-bump, so he might be a few beers short of a six-pack.  I’m even slightly worried that Carter might take out a lawsuit against the Bobcats for a combination of defamation and copyright infringement.

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Bobcats Give In and Cry, Say ‘Live and Let Die’

Not only are the Bobcats 7-57 against the league, they’re now 0-2 against national columnists.  In SI.com, Michael Rosenberg wondered how someone as competitive as Michael Jordan could let something like this season happen.  In his ESPN Insider Per Diem column, John Hollinger demonstrated how the team’s atrociousness is historically significant.  I halfway expect to turn on tomorrow night’s game against Orlando and see Anderson Cooper solemnly reporting from outside of the arena, wearing a CNN-branded raincoat and describing the situation as an “ongoing catastrophe.”  The Bobcats are officially in Secret Service-territory now, a national embarrassment.  They’re also the worst nightmare for fans like me, who hope that if their teams can’t be any good then can’t they at least not make a scene?

Nope, they’re making that scene.  In fact, they’re getting drunk and throwing up in a crowded restaurant while picking their noses.  With spinach in their teeth.  “When the Kings arrived in North Carolina on Saturday evening,” wrote Jason Jones in the Sacramento Bee, “they had a practice that focused on what they needed to do to beat the Bobcats.”  Does that mean they practiced showing up?  Because I’m not really sure what else is required nowadays. The Kings owned more paint than Sherwin-Williams, scoring 78 from close-range.  DeMarcus Cousins, Jason Thompson, and Travis Outlaw rampaged through the Bobcats’ frontcourt like George, Lizzy, and Ralph.  It wasn’t just Sacramento’s bigs, either; the Bobcats made Isaiah Thomas look like Isiah Thomas, and Tyreke Evans’ notorious inability to develop long-distance range didn’t really matter when all of his shots were slam-dunks.  To me, this felt like the first time the Bobcats had genuinely stopped trying, especially on defense.  Everything about their effort was humiliating, including the technical foul on Bismack Biyombo (although I guess that means his English must really be coming along).

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Local Man on My Commute Probably Unaware of Being Metaphor For Bobcats’ Season

I spent Wednesday night watching the Bobcats get pummeled by the Bulls, and then I had to spend the following morning on the subway watching this guy get pummeled by what smelled like Old Gran Dad.  Both visual experiences were equally depressing.  It’s just no fun watching people futilely attempt something at which they’re pathetically overmatched—whether it’s being competitive against the probable NBA Eastern Conference finalists or soberly transporting a bag of plastic recyclables.

The totality of the Bulls’ onslaught was impressive: they shot 48%, outrebounded Charlotte by 19, and they passed the ball around like it was gonorrhea, putting up 29 assists against just 9 turnovers.  Just as remarkably, they spread the playing time like lard at a Cracker Barrel, with 9 guys getting 20+ minutes.  They won by 32 without their reigning MVP, thanks mostly to John Lucas III, the most inspiring “Lucas” since Corey Feldman.  Meanwhile, their defense, #1 in efficiency, completely sucked the life out of Charlotte, limiting them to 30% shooting—only if you round up—and clamping down on the few remaining Bobcats scoring threats.  Gerald Henderson was held to just 13 points because Ronnie Brewer and Richard Hamilton were in his shorts like a catheter, and the Bulls accelerated Byron Mullens’ steady dissolution as a useful player (3-of-11 from the field and an incredible -38 +/-).  All in all, it was an overwhelming display by a dominant team, flexing its championship-contending muscles.

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Carrie Now Officially Sympathizing with Bobcats Fans

Amazingly, the Bobcats continue to break new records in humiliation.  I personally thought they topped out by losing back-to-back blowouts to the Cavaliers and Wizards last week, but it turns out they were just getting warmed up.  In fact, those games were mere wedgies and “Kick Me” signs compared to the bucket of pig’s blood that was Monday’s Hornets game.

But before getting to that one, I don’t want to take away from Sunday night’s loss to the Celtics, because it was marvelously putrid in its own right.  For starters, the C’s rested their “Big 3” of Garnett, Pierce, and Allen.  It made no difference, though, because right now the Bobcats couldn’t beat the band Boston, let alone the basketball team. PG Rajon Rondo (20-16-6) had his way with the entire team, frequently tangling up Kemba Walker and DJ Augustin in screens like Batman villains on the old 60s TV show.  Rondo was hardly alone, though.  Greg Stiemsma, a cross between Serge Ibaka and Eminem, blocked 6 shots and owned the paint.  Avery Bradley and Brandon Bass combined to go 18-for-33 from the field.  Ryan Hollins played 20 minutes.  That’s how bad it was.

And then came the Hornets game, which was the NBA’s answer to the Pete Campbell-Lane Pryce fight.  In a spectacular display of joint-incompetence, both teams threatened to break the all-time lowest scoring mark held by the Celtics and the Hawks…That would be the Milwaukee Hawks of 1955, back when the league was populated by guys named Dickie, Whitey, and Adolph.  Poor Spencer Percy’s recap of this embarrassing monstrosity for ESPN’s Daily Dime read more like a cry for help. “That was painful, pitiful, pathetic. Take your pick,” Percy wrote, “I’m just not so sure this team isn’t really the worst ever. Every night it gets harder to watch the Bobcats play.”  Percy should just make a hologram of himself reading his recap and send it to David Stern, Princess Leia-style.

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Tanks For The Memories

It doesn’t take Keith Olbermann to call this a countdown.  Nor does it take Beyonce, Rush, and T.I.  Nor would Europe be wrong in calling it the final countdown.  Perhaps even Megadeth wouldn’t be going too far in calling it a countdown to extinction.  With just 8 games to go in this Somali election of a season, the Bobcats are essentially providing shoulders for better teams to cry on.  Teams like Detroit and Miami.  Detroit was able to break a 3-game losing streak thanks to the Bobcats’ typical offensive ineptitude and defensive grotesquerie.  The following night, the Bobcats did the impossible by making Joel Anthony look like a dominant center (side question: why is it pronounced “Jo-EL,” like he’s a native of Krypton?  Is it a French thing?) in a game completely devoid of irony that allowed the Miami Heat to—at least for one night—feel good about themselves.

Rafe Bartholomew wrote an article on the Detroit game for Grantland, cheerfully titled “Fate Worse Than Death: Bobcats-Pistons.”  The piece accused the Bobcats of tanking. “Will someone tell the Bobcats they can stop tanking already?” Bartholomew asks, “With nine games left in the season, Charlotte is 6.5 games behind Washington, the NBA’s second-worst team.”  That the Bobcats are tanking is the obvious conclusion to make, and I agree that the Bobcats indirectly chose the “tank path” last year when they began auctioning off all of their expensive players with above-average abilities.  But I don’t think the players themselves are tanking.  Let’s face it, even if this team was playing at the peak of its powers, exactly how much better would they be?  As much as I bash Tyrus Thomas, his best year was 2008-9, when he averaged 10.8 points and 6.5 boards.  Nor will I be bouncing my grandkid off my knee one day and telling him I saw every game of DJ Augustin’s magical 2010-11 season, in which he averaged 14 and 6.  Basically, all I’m saying is that this team might have crash-landed with a thud, but they were a North Korean-built rocket to begin with.

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