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.