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.
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.
Is Michael Kidd-Gilchrist the Man for the Bobcats?
Now it is safe to say that the consensus first pick is Anthony Davis. However, since we don’t know for certain that the Bobcats are going to get the first pick, the team will have to be ready to choose someone else when it does become their turn.
So besides Davis, who do we want? What about Michael Kidd-Gilchrist?
John Calipari seems to have an eye for talent and this year’s team of Wildcats is one of the best ever. Any top recruit that doesn’t go to NBA U, aka Kentucky, is just nuts. A couple years ago he lost five guys to the draft; this season he is expected to lose six—including Kidd-Gilchrist.
A look at the stats and you might think he’s a little over hyped. On the season he averaged just 11.9 points and 7.4 rebounds a game. Good? Yes. Top five pick worthy? Maybe.
Personally I find it a little hard to get a true judge on some of these basketball players that are coming out early, especially the ones from UK. One season does not a stud professional make, but that is pretty much how many of these guys are viewed. I don’t know the stats, but I have to wonder how many “one and done” players become stars and how many crash and burn.
When it comes to the UK guys the evaluation is even tougher. These guys were in first for much of the season and won the national championship for a reason—they were pretty darn good. When it comes to making individual evaluations on a team that is so talented how do you judge the individual talent?
Anyway…Kidd-Gilchrist has the look of a guy that could make a difference for whoever drafts him. At 6-foot 7-inches and 232 pounds he has the frame of someone who could plug in at forward or guard (ESPN lists him as a forward while Catsillusrated.com says he’s a guard). In a nut shell the man is big, but not so big that he is stuck playing one position (versatility helps).
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.
Without Dwight Howard In Lineup, Bobcats Lose to Wizards
I’ll say this about the latest two Bobcats games: as bloodcurdling as they were to witness, they provided us all with perfect clarity. I had been holding out a shred of hope that the team could somehow avoid the worst record of all time, and now I no longer do. If we can’t beat the Wizards at home (with no Nene) or the Cavaliers on the road (where they had just dropped two games by 35 and were without Kyrie Irving), then the Bobcats really are the NBA’s Death Star, and we are headed straight for it; we’re in its tractor beam, and there’s no escape. I liken these past two games to the scene in Independence Day in which they talk to the aliens for the first time. After most of civilization has been destroyed, President Bill Pullman nonetheless tries to negotiate with the creatures. “Can there be a peace between us?” he asks. “No peace,” is the answer. “What do you expect us to do?” he follows up. “Die,” is the response. Yep, that’s about where are with the Bobcats, and in a weird way, I’m thankful for the team for driving that point home.
Really, to think anything positive about this team is purely delusional. Not after the Bobcats welcomed back Cartier Martin to the NBA by watching him go for 19-and-6. The man was more open from downtown than a peep show at midnight, going 4-of-8 from distance. Meanwhile, Jordan Crawford, with his strange, hunched gait, nevertheless poured in 20 points on 7-for-12 shooting. And even if the guys on the floor haven’t quit, management sure has. I imagine an Airplane-like discussion must have taken place prior to the Wizards game regarding the decision to have Corey Maggette start on the bench:
- Paul Silas: “Shouldn’t we start our best player and most consistent scorer?”
- Stephen Silas: “No, that’s just what they’d be expecting us to do.”
Bobcats May One Day Play LIke 2 Year-Olds, Coach Enthuses
Oh brother, didn’t we just play these two teams? Cheering for the Bobcats is starting to feel like cheering for Law & Order reruns. The Bobcats played the Bucks and the Hawks each for the second time in about 5 minutes, and the outcome on both occasions was the same as always: miserable, humiliating failure. This is no diversion from my regular life at all; in fact, it’s just like real life: tedious and repetitive. I don’t know why I keep coming back for more. And yet I do. What can I say? When the night falls, my loneliness calls…
Perhaps it’s the fun of deciphering coach Paul Silas, who in an article with Hardwood Paroxysm, offered up this analogy for Kemba Walker and Bismack Biyombo: “It takes at least two to three years before they really understand how to play. So the guy might have a lot of athletic ability, but it’s like a baby. A baby and a two year-old, it’s quite a difference.” Much to my surprise, the next line in that quote was not, “Now hand me another bottle of glue to sniff.” Besides just being deeply weird, does that analogy even work? After all, how much more sophisticated is a 2 year-old than an infant? A 2 year-old is still largely immobile, cries heavily, and defecates itself. In fact, even its few advancements are mostly undesirable: it can now bite, scream, refuse, and destroy.
Unfortunately, against the Bucks on Friday, Walker played little better than an actual 2 year-old, spitting up 6-for-26 shooting and drooling out 4 turnovers. On the other hand, at least one of our players looked like he’s ready for middle school, and that would be Byron Mullens. On the strength of his 31-and-14 effort, the Bobcats managed to grope their way to a 1-point lead late in the game, causing the Bucks announcers and the entire Milwaukee crowd to collectively push the panic button.
