Fortunately the Bobcats’ season remains the only thing in a vegetative state. Michael Kidd-Gilchrist had to be carted off in a stretcher after whacking his head on teammate Jeff Taylor’s hip and/or knee, but as of this morning he appears to have suffered nothing more than a bad concussion. Other than in pro wrestling, it’s never fun to see the paramedics running out with those wheeled gurneys and the neck brace, as they did last night while MKG lay motionless on the court. It all happened in typical MKG fashion, too: he was hustling to try to block Toney Douglas on a driving layup, there was contact, and he fell back into a trailing Taylor.

One of the concerns with MKG was that his rugged play would lead to chronic injuries and an ultimately shortened career, and here we are. He’s already scratched his cornea and gotten a brutal concussion after just 46 games; at this rate, by year 3 he’s going to be playing with a hook and a peg-leg. Of course, I and I’m pretty sure everyone else loves MKG—he’s on pace to capture that place in our hearts that Gerald Wallace still dives around in—so let’s hope little Crash, Jr. can come back soon and be less effective at identifying new ways to maim himself.

For most of last night, the Bobcats and Spurs played something approximating a game. But with about 3:45 to go in the fourth quarter, the Spurs took a narrow 10-point lead and un-narrowed it, resulting in a 24-point blowout wide enough to drive an El Camino through. This wasn’t exactly surprising, as the Spurs entered the game 15.5-point favorites with the biggest homecourt advantage since the Playboy Mansion—they’re 21-2 at the AT&T Center this year and have taken 17 straight. Still, it was a bummer to see a somewhat exciting game of cat-and-mouse quickly devolve into cat-and-severed-mouse-head.

On the plus side, San Antonio decided to rest Tim Duncan, sparing television viewers nationwide from having to listen to Spurs’ color commentator Sean Elliott endlessly express his intense man-love for “Timmy.” (side note: first Stacey King and now Elliott in back-to-back games—is NBA League Pass trying to get me to throw myself off a building?). Of course, that didn’t stop Elliott from hogging air space like it was San Antonio’s water supply with constant 1988 University of Arizona-era trash talk. He and King are the ultimate commentator trolls, and Elliott’s got to be the only man alive capable of making me empathize with DeMarcus Cousins.

We get it, the Spurs are the better team. The much, much better team. They’ve won won nine straight now and their record (37-11) basically is a mirror image of the Charlotte Bobcats’s record (11-34). But that doesn’t excuse a sorry offensive effort that saw just three Charlotte players score in double figures, and a guy off the bench (Ramon Sessions) leading the way with 22 points.

Plain and simple: the Bobcats stunk on Wednesday night. I should probably be used to it by now, but I just don’t understand still how one guy in the starting five can top 10 points. In fact, Kemba Walker only scored 16 points, and no one else in the starting lineup could muster up more than seven.

That’s pathetic.

Does anyone really want to get into last night’s loss to the Chicago Bulls? Okay, besides Chicago Bulls announcer Stacey King? I’ve mentioned my journalistic respect for King before, and for those of you lucky enough to be living outside the Fox Sports South region, he was in fine form last night. He’s basically the sonic equivalent of a hyena shrieking in protest over a bad call by scraping the nails of one paw against a chalkboard while firing up a power drill with the other. According to King, the Bobcats committed roughly 250% more traveling violations, 3-second violations, offensive fouls, defensive fouls, flops, illegal defenses, moving picks, goaltending penalties, and child molestation felonies than they were called for. And even though we’re a week removed from the All-Star selections, King still hasn’t gotten over Carlos Boozer not making the team, a crime against humanity that I imagine he ranks just below Dachau.

The Charlotte Bobcats have a chance at doing something we haven’t seen them do much in this 2012-13 NBA season: win consecutive games.

It comes on the road against the Chicago Bulls, but a chance is still a chance, right? Charlotte is an abysmal 5-14 on the road this year, so it won’t be easy. However, helping them out a bit is this is still a Chicago team that goes to work sans star point guard Derrick Rose, and they’re not exactly dominant at home (just 14-11).

The odds are still stacked against Charlotte winning back to back games, but this is definitely a game worth taking a closer look at. Let’s breakdown this matchup by position and see if the Bobcats stand a chance to win two in a row:

1. The Point – Edge: Bobcats

Kirk Hinrich is a defensive stalwart and actually had two really nice games lately, but his offensive is normally pretty shaky, and all the Bulls have behind him is the vastly under-sized Nate Robinson. Kemba Walker had a solid showing the last time these two teams met, so I don’t see why he can’t produce and be effective again. Ramon Sessions off the bench gives them the edge in depth and versatility, as well.

Before you read anything further, just go here and watch and enjoy. And re-watch it and re-enjoy it. And re-re-watch it and re-re-enjoy it until years have passed and you realize you’ve spent your whole life as a detached brain in a vat in the matrix. I’ve seen this film more times than Pulp Fiction now, because who knows when we’re going to see anything like it again? It’s so crazy and so awesome that it moved Scott Fowler to quote Twain. I’d make fun of him except all I was moved to make was Audrey’s squeak in Little Shop of Horrors. Fortunately, we have Gerald Henderson himself to break down the play’s more nuanced, technical details: “I just threw it up and it went in,” he said of his game-winning miracle hoist. Having suffered with this team for years, I’ve seen the Bobcats throw up more prayers than Jimmy Swaggart at an escort service, and they almost never work. But this one did, and the orgiastic frenzy that ensued is almost as pleasurable as the shot itself. I particularly love the cheerleader who legitimately could’ve been assessed a technical foul for jumping on the court: