Troubled but Talented?

OK, I don't usually write about professional (American) football -- and especially things like "transactions" and the NFL draft. The whole enterprise just sort of annoys and disgusts me on a deeply visceral level...that is, when I bother to think about it at all. But all of this business about the Randy Moss trade is actually kind of entertaining. So far this morning I've heard Moss characterized as having "bad attitude" and a "poor work ethic," as well as being "controversial" and...well, you get the picture even if you haven't been watching them yourselves.

But here's the deal. Giving up the (presumably) 110th most talented college player of 2007 in exchange for a 10-year veteran receiver of his accomplishments who can still run forty yards in 4.29 seconds is a steal. And I don't really care that he's been known to smoke a little pot, or even that he had an unfortunate run-in with a traffic cop while high; and I'm actually kind of amused that he once pretended to drop his pants in the end zone in order to taunt some opposing fans. And I'm VERY impressed by how much money he was willing to give up in order to come to a winning team. That college kid probably wouldn't have made the squad anyway. And Randy Moss is, well, Randy Moss. Anyway, that's my opinion on the football news of the day. As if I didn't have anything more important to do....

Two B's & too much D

So, the defending Champions have been swept in four straight, and their finals opponents are down 3-1 and on the threshold of elimination....by a number eight seed! The reason? For Miami, it was too much Ben Wallace; and for Dallas it's too much Baron Davis. Now Big Ben gets a shot at his former teammates in Detroit, and the Baron...well, I'm just so impressed with this guy I'm staying up well past my bedtime just to watch him play. The whole Warriors team is a work of art...their defense, their ball movement, their hustle, their dribble penetration and three point shooting, and did I mention their defense?

Still have only had a chance to watch three minutes of the Spurs/Nuggets series, which kinda has me disappointed. But what a great three minutes! And tomorrow (I mean tonight) is another game....

4-on-4, Back-2-Back

For some reason I'm having a hard time getting excited about the NBA playoffs. Maybe it's just the early rounds, and the lack of any local rooting interest...obviously no Celtics, but no Sonics (who I hear are moving to Oklahoma City next year anyway) or Trailblazers either... and who really cares about the Lakers anymore? Gotta love the Spurs and hate the Mavs, respect the Suns, and the Nuggets are at least intriguing. Jazz/Rockets -- so what? In the East I still like Miami and Detroit -- but the Bulls are playing cocky, and I miss the Pacers. And I've heard enough LeBron hype to last me a lifetime. Maybe I'll start paying more attention in a couple of weeks. Chicago/Miami, Denver/San Antonio, and Golden State/Dallas are really the only first-round match-ups worth watching. And even those are a little lame...

Meanwhile, speak of lame, hobbled out on the court again tonight for the second day in a row, after having played yesterday afternoon as well. I don't often try to play back to back nights anymore, but for some reason today I was feeling a little friskier than usual and decided to try it. Good weather and school vacation have cut into our regular turn-out -- one of the reasons I played at all on Sunday is that I knew they were going to have a hard time making a minyan, and since I had nothing better to do I thought I'd help out. And as it was, we only had eight both times, which meant playing 4-on-4 instead of our regular 5-on-5.

It's funny how the game changes when you play with one fewer player on each team. A lot of games I see now are 4-on-4 runs on a short court, and despite the fact that it looks the same, it is really very different. Theoretically I suppose playing 4-on-4 instead of 5-on-5 means that everyone gets 25% more touches (which is to say, all things being equal, instead of touching the ball 20% of the time, each player handles it 25% of the time, which is 5% more of the total touches, but 25% more than you were touching it before -- five being 25% of twenty), but this rarely works out in real life. What it does mean is that the absence of an additional help-side defender puts the wide-open shot one fewer extra pass away than usual, and that the cross-court back-door pass is sometimes available as well. It also opens up the court in transition; but in the over-35 games I play in, we have an "offside" rule which prohibits the offense from passing the ball across midcourt, and thus eliminates any cherry-picking.

3-on-3 is a half-court game, and has truly evolved into a game all its own. Played well, it's basically fundamental old-school pick-and-roll/give-and-go basketball...with a spot-up shooter/back-door slasher on the weak-side to exploit the double-team. I sometimes like to play this at about three-quarter speed as a warm-up, but generally it doesn't hold much interest for me any more. 3-on-3 likewise can be played either "winners-outs" (where the team that scores keeps possesion of the ball) or "losers-outs" (where possession changes after every score), which are two very different games in their own right. When the winners keep the ball, the better team can generally dispose of the weaker team pretty quickly, whereas with two fairly balanced teams the team that plays better defense will generally win the game. Alternating possessions ("losers") often degenerates pretty quickly into a game of H-O-R-S-E: nobody plays any defense at all, since everyone knows they are going to get the ball back anyway, and want to conserve energy to create shots for themselves.

2-on-2 is a much more athletic half-court game, especially when the offensive team is allowed to dribble the ball in from the top of the key after checking-up. It's hard to create a shot by passing alone in 2-on-2, which at once is both its charm and its bane. I tend to think of 3-on-3 as a driveway game and 2-on-2 as a playground game, although it might just as easily be the other way around, depending on how many kids there were in your neighborhood (and how big the driveways were). The movie "White Men Can't Jump" is a great comic celebration of the charm of 2-on-2, and perhaps its principal redeeming virtue.

1-on-1 is at once both the ultimate test of individual skills, and a silly pointless expression of macho mano-a-mano. Hate it and NEVER play it any more... unless I'm really feeling the need to school somebody I know I can beat easily simply by going left, and by forcing them to their weak hand as well. But ordinarily I'd rather just shoot on my own than play a game of 1-on-1 -- and when I see guys trying to play 1-on-1 (or, more typically, 1-on-3 or 4 or even 5) while four other guys stand around watching and waiting their turn...it actually makes me angry.

Anyway, what is the point of all this rambling? Sunday afternoon I stepped on the court feeling terrible...still limping around with a mysterious bruise on my left knee that I couldn't remember HOW I'd gotten (and no, I hadn't been drinking...), which left me feeling like I just couldn't find that top gear. Struggled terribly on both offense and defense, and with only eight players on the floor there wasn't really anyplace to hide either. Made one basket the entire night -- an ugly jump-shot from the free throw line which bounced all over the rim before finally falling through, to accompany a handful of uglier bricks and some even uglier turnovers.

So tonight I'd pretty much planned on staying home, but as the time grew closer and my legs actully felt OK, I decided I might as well suit up and see how it went...and sure enough, again we only had eight (and if I hadn't showed there might not have been a game at all). It actually took about half an hour even before the eight showed up, which meant plenty of time to stretch, warm-up, and even play a little easy 3-on-3. First few games only played so-so, and I was still shooting pretty poorly, although not quite as badly as the afternoon before. Knew exactly what the problem was too (I was releasing the ball off the side of my index finger rather than cleanly with all the fingers of my shooting hand keeping contact with the ball until the shot left my hand, which meant that everything came off my fingers both weak and short), but the more I thought about it the worse it got...especially once I started thinking about my fingers rather than looking at the rim

But then, thanks mostly to the extra touches I was getting, I found a little rhythm and stopped thinking so much. Started out by creating a little 16-foot jump shot for myself by dribbling left around a high screen on the left elbow, pulling up and knocking it down...and then knocked down another four shots in relatively quick succession...three of them from beyond the arc, all of them with a quick, clean release and hitting nothing but net. And you know...my knees suddenly felt great. So I imagine I'll be out there again Wednesday night too.....

24-58

And I guess I really don't have to say too much more. The rest of the NBA is gearing up for the "second season," but the once-proud Celtics are all heading home. Haven't watched too much of their season this year anyway, although what little I've seen of these last few games has actually been fairly entertaining -- our young guys playing against the end of the bench of two Championship-caliber teams -- both groups essentially playing for their future in the league, and playing their hearts out, just like they were back on the playground where "winners" get to keep the court and the losers have to wait for "next."

My own season is starting to wind down too. Maybe six more games this spring, before I leave for a ten day "job audition" in Portland (ME not OR), and after that who knows how long my guys will continue to play into the summer. There are a couple of Sunday afternoon games I may check out between now and then, since I understand they play a little longer. But at best I have a month or so to play once I get back from Maine, before I have to starting thinking about the logistics of moving there permanently, and finding a new gym, and a new group of guys to play with.

And that's tough. Exciting, in the sense that they won't know me and I won't know them, and so I have another chance to surprise a few people by doing things that no one would think from looking at me that I'm capable of doing. And I'll need to remember to share the ball and play "D" and not look too much for my own shot...all the little things that good players appreciate, and the "less-good" players don't even see....

I've sometimes daydreamed about writing a book called "Pick-Up Basketball by the Numbers." A book for casual, recreational players like myself about knowing how to figure out whether you're the first option or the last option on a particular squad, and getting the ball into the hands of the guy who SHOULD be making things happen. About knowing whether you are a "big" or a "quick," someone who plays best in the post or out on the perimeter, whether you are a slasher or a spot-up shooter or someone who likes to play with his back to the basket, and (most importantly of all) HOW TO RECOGNIZE THE SKILLS OF YOUR TEAMMATES AND FIGURE OUT WHERE YOU FIT IN, SO THAT YOU CAN ALL PLAY TOGETHER RATHER THAN COMPETING WITH ONE ANOTHER TO GET "YOUR" SHOT. You know, little things like proper spacing and sharing the ball, when to trap and when to stay home, and how to rotate out of a trap to match-up again and prevent the wide-open lay-up when your opponents also figure out how to set screens and make the extra pass.

There's just so much...and even guys who played organized ball when they were younger often don't get it, since they typically were taught a specific system of play rather than the so-called FundaMENTALS of basketball itself. I'm talking about much more simple skills than knowing how to execute (and break) a 2-2-1 full-court zone press. Little things like BAFFLE (Balance the Floor, Attack the Basket, Fill Back to the Ball, Fake!, Look for the Open Teammate, Execute the Extra Pass to Earn an Easy Basket) and ROAR (Rebound the ball, Outlet Quickly, Attack down the middle, Run the Floor), or "Trap and Gap." How to communicate on both offense and defense, how to run (and defend) the pick-and-roll, the give-and-go, the curl, the back-door cut, and all the other subtle nuances of the Game...including of course John Wooden's classic "move quickly, but never hurry." Just the thing those of us still playing in our fifties really need to remember.

Anyway, last night's run was only semi-satisfying...lots of good players out, but only 15 total (which meant that nobody had to sit too long). But we never quite got the teams right, which meant a few pretty lopsided victories...I knocked down my only basket of the evening -- a three I needed to shout into the basket when it started to dance on the rim a bit -- to win one of those early lopsided games, and after that had to content myself with trying not to create too many turnovers, and doing my best to rebound and defend. Oh wait, I did get a wide-open run-out lay-up on a cherry-picking expedition...which did get a little exciting when the outlet pass was thrown behind me and I had to wait for it. Ended the night playing with four guys I all like very much, but who weren't sharing the ball very well at all...way too many attempts to create shots for themselves off the dribble, which meant that I didn't see that many touches, and we got our asses kicked pretty handily. But what the hell. Got my pulse rate up and didn't get hurt, so I guess it was a good night.

Was also playing in new shoes last night -- one of three (nearly) identical pairs of Nikes I picked up on sale at Sears for $32/pair. I say nearly identical because I bought both a white pair and a black pair in my usual size, and then another black pair a size and a half larger, because I wanted to see whether they would better accomodate my prescription orthotics, my ankle wraps, and the THREE pairs of socks I've been playing in lately. Those were the shoes I was wearing last night, and I actually got to the gym early just to try them out, and to see whether a little extra warm-up and stretching might help me play a little better than I feel like I've been playing lately. But the only difference I could see was that I also felt OK about leaving a little earlier too. Meanwhile, my old "game" shoes now become my practice shoes, and my old practice shoes are now my "playground" pair. Which also means (God forbid!) I now get to throw a pair out if I want to...

Friday Nights Lite

Just finished watching the season finale of "Friday Night Lights," the NBC television series based on the book and movie of the same name, which casts a critical eye on the "Schoolboy Football" culture of West Texas. The book was written by Pulitzer Prize winning journalist H.G Bissinger, and published in 1990. It chronicles the 1988 season of the Odessa Permian Panthers, and tells a chilling tale of racisim, anti-intellectualism, career-ending injuries, and a community where 17-year-old athletes are treated as Gods, and then abandoned as garbage or left to ponder the ironic reality that nothing in their life will ever equal that experience again.

The movie, directed by Bissinger's cousin Peter Berg (who also produced the television series) maintains much of this critical attitude, although obviously it sacrifies some subtlety and nuance in exchange for the vividness of film, and tends to play up more of the comaradarie of sport alongside the darker aspects of the religion of winner-take-all competition. And as much as I have enjoyed the TV show, it seems like on the small screen the dark side of football is missing almost entirely. The allusions are there: the season begins with a career-ending spinal injury to the star "golden boy" Quarterback Jason Street; but by the end of the season (just in time for the State Championship game) he is back on the sidelines in his wheelchair, his physical rehabilitation apparently complete, and gainfully employed coaching his sophmore back-up Matt Saracen to the title (a significant variation in itself from both book and film, where the Panther's ended up on the short end of the scoreboard. Of course, those were both based on a real team and a real season). So I guess what I'm trying to say is that the themes remain, but in a "family hour" version that is just a little too sweet to be truly substantial...not withstanting all the shouting, the cheers and the tears, the betrayals and disappointments, the hard hits and last-second heroics which lead to ultimate victory. It's sentimental and nostaligic, rather than honest and true. And thus ultimately, it is more a disappointment than a victory itself.

And I realize that maybe I'm being a little too hard on this silly little show which probably won't even get picked up for a second season. And I did have to watch it on a VERY small screen -- the screen of this iBook, actually, since I spent my own Wednesday night playing in my regular pick-up game. Got there a little late, because I also wanted to see Ichiro's first at bat against Dice-K, and I didn't make a basket the entire evening...but it didn't matter, because I was seeing the floor SO well and passing the ball right on the dime, as well as playing very satisfying defense and getting my hands in the passing lanes and getting to the loose balls. And my teammates were TRYING to get me shots -- had a little running right-handed hook to start the night out that really should have gone in, as well as a little left-handed lay-up attempt from behind the backboard on the right baseline that I just shot a little too hard to get the roll. And several good looks at threes in rhythm that just didn't go down for me. But it didn't matter. I was with a group of guys who spread the floor and shared the ball, hustled to help out on "D" and generally just played well together. I don't think we lost a single game. Not that that mattered either. Good times! Can't wait to get back....

Dice-KKKKKKKKKK

And how long has Dan Shaughnessy been anticipating the opportunity to use THAT headline? Just finished reading (that's right, READING) about Daisuke Matsusaka's debut start for the Red Sox, in which (as you might guess from the headline) he struck out ten to beat the Royals 4-1 and earn his first official American Big League victory. But if it weren't for the $103 million the Red Sox paid for this pitcher ($52 million to the player, and another $51 million to the team he played for in Japan) would anyone have been watching this game at all?

What can I say? I like baseball as much as the next guy, and the Red Sox are practically a religion in my community. And having grown up on the West Coast, I've certainly seen my share of talented Asian athletes (in fact, three of the guys I used to play basketball with every morning on the playground before school in the eighth grade were Japanese-Americans: Mitch Nakano, Brian Nishimoto, and Steve Nara were their names, and one of them even had a shot named after him -- the "Nakano Swish" -- which was a jump shot with perfect arc and rotation that was straight and short so that it just brushed the net without passing through the rim. That was always good for a 30 second argument in the days before "nothing but net" was a playground catch-phrase...) And I also know that professional basketball players, as a group, are the most highly paid athletes in the world, which means that it's a little hypocritical for a bigmouth like me to appear shocked, shocked, when someone who hurls the horsehide (or for that matter, flings the pigskin) finally manages to get paid.

But here's my question? How many people were watching this game yesterday because they wanted to see baseball, and how many were watching simply to see what $103 million looked like on the mound? And how many of those people were rooting for him to succeed, and how many were hoping he would fail? It's just a little too much "sport as spectacle" for my taste. Like watching NASCAR hoping to see the big crash. Or hanging around the Roman Collesium in the heat of the afternoon waiting for a chance to see the Lions devour the Christians.

Come on America -- give me a break! Baseball is supposed to be a game played afternoons in a "ballpark" where you can sit in the sun and eat a hot dog and some peanuts (and maybe drink a beer) while you hide out from the boss and play hooky from work. Or listened to on the radio while sitting on a shady porch drinking lemonade after digging in the garden. And the ball players are supposed to be rough and tumble low-life bums who play "for love of the game," consort with gamblers and bootleggers, and die in abject poverty at the end of their careers as object lessons to the privileged children of East Coast aristocrats whose sons are tempted by the lure of the diamond rather than the promises of Ivy League respectability.

Still, I understand he was pretty impressive. 10 K's. And an arsenal of pitches to rival Sachael Paige. Now, if we can just acquire Ichiro from the Mariners to hit lead-off, roam right field, and steal a few bases for us. Look at Yankees! Here we come!

The Worm (Re)Turns

So, just for giggles and a change of pace, I reached way back in my closet tonight, and pulled out #91 -- Dennis Rodman's Chicago Bulls thowback jersey, which I probably bought for under $12 at Ross or Marshalls or one of those places, and don't think I've ever actually worn before in the decade or so that I've owned it. But it was fun to step on the court and try to "channel" the Worm -- crash the boards, play hard-nosed "D," score all my points on offensive rebounds and second-chance buckets.

And you know, it was actually kinda great. I must have scored 13 points tonight: one good three (just to keep things honest), a couple of offensive put-backs, a driving lay-up, another lay-up off a curl, and a slashing finger-roll off a long offensive rebound which surprised EVERYONE (including me). And those are just the ones I remember. Also missed a couple of other looks at threes, a short little jump hook from the left baseline, and three or four five-foot "J's" (which was actually kinda embarassing -- clearly I need to practice those more).

But the real story for me tonight was assists. I made some absolutely AMAZING passes tonight -- giving my guys wide-open looks six-inches from the basket while their defenders were looking the other direction in absolute confusion. Good assist to turnover ratio too -- there were a few times when I couldn't quite find the handle and threw the ball away, but for the most part I had pinpoint control: seeing the whole floor, looking off the defender and then hitting my teammates right in the hands -- threading the needle with just enough pace to beat the defense and just enough touch that the receiver could catch the ball in rhythm and put it in the hole...and it felt fantastic! Simply Fantastic!

Of course, I also had the privilege of hand-picking the guys I played with tonight, and picking guys who also share the ball, move well without it, and aren't afraid to help out on "D." And that felt fantastic too. Even if I was a little more assertive about that than usual. But it all comes from today's fortune cookie: "Better Ignorance on Fire than Knowledge on Ice." Which is to say, Misguided Enthusiasm trumps Wise Passivity every f***ing time. Something we could all use to wise up to.

Ho Hum...

So, just how many ways can a Gator chew up and spit out a Buckeye? Out of respect, I did keep an eye on the second half on my "screen within a screen" while I watched "The Black Donnelly's" on a competing network. But Greg Oden's ability FINALLY to stay out of foul trouble only helped to make the game marginally more interesting. And I guess we should all be impressed that Florida has won back to back titles, and are the only school in NCAA history to hold both the football and the Men's basketball championships at the same time. But from where I sit, it's just the state that put Dubya in the White House for the first time teaching a lesson to the state that elected him to a second term. I would have much rather seen a Ducks/Tar Heels matchup, as would have my running mate from our regular Monday/Wednesday over-35 pick-up game, who also had Oregon and North Carolina playing for the Championship in his bracket, and (like me) until the Sunday before last was leading everyone else in his pool of more than 500 participants. Of course, he had Carolina Blue over the Green & Gold in HIS bracket...but now we'll never know who had it right. I still say Oregon gave Florida its toughest challenge of the tournament, and that without an exceptionally fine performance by #12 Humphrey (and an uncharacteristically poor one by #12 Porter), that game would have gone the other way. As for Carolina's meltdown in OT against Georgetown...well, I'll NEVER understand that one....

One nice thing about the 9:30 EDT tip-off is that we were still able to squeeze in a full run ourselves last night. Shot poorly again (as it seems I have for months), but I did FINALLY knock down an open three when it counted, and also made the game winning assist in the final game of the night. Exactly 15 players came out too, which meant that we all got plenty of PT, and that the teams stayed pretty much the same so we all developed a little better chemistry over the course of the evening. Mostly I just tried to rebound and play good defense, share the ball, and shoot when I was open. And it felt good. Even if it didn't always look that good....

Last night as we were shooting around waiting for ten guys to show up so we could start, somebody asked me how long I've been playinhg this game. And the truth is, I don't really know. I honestly can't remember the first time I picked up a basketball, but I do know that I was playing almost every recess by the fourth grade, and have been playing pretty regularly ever since. How old is a fourth grader anyway? Eight? Nine? So, four decades and change... no wonder my knees hurt all the time. And I guess that also explains why I own two dozen basketballs, and more pairs of basketball shorts than I can count. Most of which, I'm ashamed to say, don't really fit any more either....