The Bobcats crash-landed into All-Star Break with a resounding whipping by the Pacers. Even though Indiana was significantly short-handed, they still had enough hand left over to pimp-slap the Bobcats, 101-77. I’d rather check the commodes of that stranded Carnival Cruise ship than the stats, but let’s go ahead and get it over with. The first thing that jumps out at you is Charlotte’s 31% shooting percentage—awful. The next red flag is that Bismack Biyombo and Brendan Haywood went 1-for-13 from the field. That’s actually not a red flag, that’s more like blanketing the entire mall in Washington D.C. with the colors of the Soviet Union. I can’t tell what’s more alarming: that they missed 12 shots or that they took those shots in the first place. A quick look at the shot chart reveals that all but three of them were in the paint, and from what memories of the game I have that I’ve failed to suppress pharmaceutically,  I believe at least two of those three came to avoid a shot-clock violation. So for the most part, I guess they weren’t forcing anything, which is good.

But the play from our bigs was the hairy mole on this ugly game. Other statistical travesties include Charlotte’s +9 turnover differential, most of which came in the first half. In some ways the turnovers were appreciated, because they meant that we at least didn’t have to watch the team clank shots. But we generated 2 more turnovers than we did assists, creating an overall aesthetical value of play that resembled the cover of Metallica’s Load album. And this is before factoring in the 12 free throws each from Biyombo and Tyler Hansbrough that we had to suffer through.

Last night was one of the best bouts of insomnia I’ve ever had. Even though I had to chug a keg of coffee with a Scarface-sized pile of Splenda to get me going this morning, it was all worth it. That’s how psyched I was to see the Bobcats take out the Boston Celtics. I know, I know, the Celtics were playing the second game of a back-to-back, their game the night before had gone to triple-OT, they were already down Rajon Rondo, Jared Sullinger, and eventually Leandro Barbosa, etc., so I shouldn’t exactly be doodling bumblebees while whistling the theme to The Partridge Family. In fact, the Bobcats are like a 1986 Nintendo game in that you can always beat them straight up, so the only way to make it challenging is to start upping the degree of difficulty, (e.g., beating Kung Fu by only limiting yourself to jump-kicks). And in this case, the Celtics finally just had too few options to beat the Mr. X Bobcats. I don’t care about any of that; I’m still joyful. I’m about to lose control and I think I like it.

After all, we didn’t just beat the Celtics, we stopped their 7-game winning streak. That’s right, like the Pope, the Celtics are suddenly fallible again. Boston’s perfect record since Rondo went down was probably more incidental than anything else, because they’re probably a 7^th or 8^th seed at best this year. Now that I think about it, doesn’t it feel like their decline has been going on for years? It actually feels like it’s lasted longer than their prime at this point—they’re like the Roman Empire. Or Vince Carter. But anyway, they’ve given the Bobcats more fits than a Nordstrom’s clerk on crank through the years, so we should savor every victory we can get.

Let’s start with the good news, because there’s enough bad Bobcats news to depress a Syrian: Michael Kidd-Gilchrist is back from his concussion. He also seems to be back to normal, playing 39 minutes in the last two games. He’s only shot 2-for-11, including 0-for-4 on jump shots. On the other hand, he couldn’t make those shots before he was injured, so that doesn’t really mean anything. In fact, it would be funny if his knock on the head actually caused him to lose that weird hitch in his jumper. Also, if it made him think he was King Tut. All kidding aside, I’m really relieved MKG seems to be okay, because he’s the backbone of this team.

It’s just too bad this team is Christopher Reeve. You’re probably assuming that the Lakers loss two nights ago—featuring a blown 20-point Bobcats lead with about 17 minutes remaining—destroyed me, but it didn’t really; in fact, it only partially damaged me. I really think that 18-point choke-job against Portland back in December, followed two days later with another self-strangulation in New York, more or less inoculated me against future outbreaks of devastation. It’s like watching two of your kids die after suffering through long painful diseases over several years, and then a few months later, your third child suddenly gets sucked into an airplane turbine—sure, it hurts, but you’ve had worse. Let’s not forget that December also saw nearly the exact same thing happen to these Lakers in LA: the Lakers reeling and injured, the Bobcats coming out of the gates on fire, a huge third quarter lead squandered—been there, done that. I think I would have been surprised if the outcome had been different.

There’s no other way to put it: last night’s 122-95 loss to the Cleveland Cavaliers was an inexplicably savage butchery. I’m at a total loss for words. I guess that’s not technically true, otherwise I couldn’t be typing anything. But still, after every few sentences I manage to force out, I stare at the box score in mute horror. I wish I had as strong a stomach as coach Dunlap apparently does. After reviewing the statistical bloodstains and brain matter from the Cavs’ slaughter, coach Dunlap merely commented, “There are three or four of those that happen to you. They’re not pretty.” A) Duh. B) This was actually the 5^th time this season that the Bobcats have lost by 25 or more, so I would challenge coach Dunlap to revise his definition of “those.” He also added that the team’s “physical effort was unacceptable—our front door and our back door is effort.” Okay, but the rest of the house is a meth lab, and that falls on every executive on the team who let it come to this.

The news was mostly bad in Miami last night. First, the Bobcats lost their 9^th straight game to the Heat. The Heat dominate the Bobcats like Rafael Nadal dominates clay courts, Beyoncé dominates national anthems, Ray Lewis dominates psalms, and Gana Diop dominates White Castle drive-thrus. Second, while the Bobcats were going down in Heat flames, the Wizards were winning their 12^th game of the year against the Clippers, which leaves 11-win Charlotte trapped all alone in an underground bunker of last-place suckage. Third, the Bobcats continued waging their deadly jihad on 4^th quarter leads—albeit this one was only a blown single-point lead. Fourth, Michael Kidd-Gilchrist remains out of action after unsuccessfully using his skull as a cushion for teammate Jeff Taylor’s knee in Houston, and there’s no return date in sight. In summary, Charlotte is slumming once again in the NBA and the rent is too damn high.

But there was some good news last night. First, it took another remarkable effort from LeBron James to enable the Heat to eke out a 5-point win. Bron-Bron shot 13-of-14 for 31 points, 8 boards, and 8 assists (and felt the odd need afterward to point out that he “didn’t plan it that way”). James was covered primarily by Gerald Henderson and Jeff Taylor, each of whom looked tiny enough next to him to pose for a Vogue cover. The Bobcats couldn’t stop King James, nor could they really contain him, nor could they even isolate him (Miami’s Big 3 combined for 64 of their 99 points). But Charlotte at least stuck with their game plan, which was to force LeBron James to beat them…which he then did…so I forget why I put this in the “good” paragraph. But anyway, in general, the Bobcats played a feisty game, narrowly out-blocking, out-stealing, and (get this!) out-boarding the Heat. Ramon Sessions epitomized the team’s toughness by going a perfect 10-of-10 from the line, including once after taking a stiff though mercifully testicle-free shot from Dwyane Wade on a breakaway. And for once in their lives the Cats closed out the perimeter by limiting Miami to just 1-of-12 from 3-PT range. So all of that was good.