I've got nothing to say

Now is the dead zone.

Nothing of note happens save the theoretical. Big ups to Free Darko to find rage in the tiniest of things (who knew Jared Jeffries was so polarizing?)

That being said, its time to talk about my sleeper: the Orlando Magic.

Led by Horseboy, the Magic are poised to wrest the Eastern crown from the weakening Heat and suddenly beyond-mortal Pistons. They have the horses--double figuratively--and if JJ Reddick heals up in time to become a decent pro, he could stretch the defense enough for Horseboy to do his damage down low.

An unheralded addition to their lineup is the Great White Mystery of Darko Milicic. Say what you want about him, but he has not had the depths of potential even remotely plumbed. Burying him on the Detroit bench was a bad move, but swapping him for Kelvin Cato was a worse one, especially now that Detroit desperately needs someone of his stature to occupy the middle now that Afroman has departed for the windy city.

(Aside: Is it possible that B-Walls will be picked up by the wind due to the drag created by his 'fro?)
Now is the first year when Grant Hill's health has not determined their contender status. Even if he contracts more knee and ankle disease, Hedo Turkoglu is another defense stretching solution.

Jameer Nelson is one of the best cheap players in the league. Unspectacular on offense, but a steady hand at the point and on defense, Jameer is the not the type of player to lead a team to the promised land. He is, however, exactly the type of player not to lead them away from it.

The Magic are a team in no need of a powerful personality outside of Horseboy, who may or may not harness his skills in time to allow his teammates to jump on his back. And besides, he may not even have to--if Darko shows up as the Dirko we thought him to be way back when Horseboy's load will be dramatically reduced.

The Dirty (Half) Dozen

Where would a ridiculous team with no basis in reality be without a bench?

Nowhere, that's where.

So for today's column, I give my fantasy soldiers some reserves with which to galavant into battle.


G: Eddie House

Thug sets the world alight like no other when his J drops. He wasn't a world beater in the playoffs, but he's a monster on the way there.

Maybe the Suns needed to work harder to get him open shots, maybe they needed to run him off of screens more, maybe they needed to have him on the floor more often, but something didn't work.

That's why he's on the bench.

G/F: Andre Iguodala

The other AI, a defensive wizard with mad hops and a penchant for throwing down dunks that would make Shawn Kemp say "Damn!"

He deserves a spot on this squad if for nothing other than his hammer blows to the rim, but when you add in the ability to lock down on opposing shooting guards and small forwards, you have a guaranteed spot and a seven year contract.


F: Chris Wilcox

We'll call him the Professor. I think he needs a sweet nickname. Plus, Chris Wilcox just seems like a name for which that nickname is suited.

Nicks aside, he runs the floor, rebounds, blocks, dunks things, and generally creates havock. That type of person is good to have around, especially if he's just coming out of his shell.

His improvement might not be Dwight Howard-esque, but he might develop into a dead man's Amare Stoudemire. Even if he never learns to play defense properly, who wouldn't love to have a supersized dude nicknamed the Professor flying around?


F: Udonis Haslem

If there's one thing I love, it's undersized power forwards. If there are two things I love, they are undersized power forwards named Udonis.

He was the unsung hero of Game 6 of the NBA Finals; the Heat wouldn't have had a chance without his retarded 15-foot Js that looked they were never going to fall.

Udon also doubles as the only member of the Heat I would not glare at if I passed him on the street. Dwyane can't even spell his name right and now he's Finals MVP? Come on.


G: Mickael Pietrus

On the squad for his defensive wizardry if nothing else. As a huge bonus, if he ever figures out how to play offense, we have a latter-day Kobe on our hands.

That's a lie, but if you know someone who started as only being good at defense and then evolved into a threat on the offensive end, please let me know and I will change it.

G: Marquis Daniels

You may remember good 'Quis as the only Maverick to show up for Game 6. You may also remember him as the subject of Avery Johnson's curious decision to bench the most productive scorer on the floor.

He made White Chocolate and Dwyane Wade look like the bitches they deserve to look like on a nightly basis.

Then, he was traded for Austin Croshere.

There is no good explanation for someone with sick driving and some point guard skills should be shipped off for a do-nothing whiteboy who has his run of glory 8 years ago in college.

G: Bobby Jackson

Maybe I missed something. Did Bobby Jackson kill someone's dog?

For some reason, he went from ridiculously talented backup to shitkicker that no-one would touch. I can detect no reason other than pet slaughter to justify his free fall from grace.

He's a steady hand backing up the point, one who can stroke the occasional 3, pass the ball to the open man, and penetrate the paint when necessary.

A good 12th man unless he kills another cat.

Raw Power

The culmination of the starting five will include a bench; it would be lame to finish this with only one person, no matter how special.

There is a percieved decline in the American center. The so-called "Heavyweights" are a dying breed--Shaq is their last outpost in the landscape of the NBA. But Shaq also killed the center. More on that later.

Right now, we're going to talk about the center, as well as the bench for this team of legends.

Center: Dwight Howard

Howard's game is about as cultured as Borat during his meeting with the Southern wine-tasting gentlemen. There's power to it, and a certain sincerity, but none of the polish that truly creates a gem.

As it is, he is the ultimate diamond in the rough. In this case though, he is not a shining star in a sea of mundanity. Rather, he must combat his own horselike uncoordination in a quest to meld a more perfect model of what a center should look like.

To take this analogy a little too far, he is like a piece of coal. Only with time and pressure will he evolve into the most valuable and unbreakable gem on the planet.

For a piece of coal though, he's pretty damn good.

Wave of Mutilation

Small Forwards are incapable of deciding a game of basketball. Since Larry Legend, none of the swingmen have done anything but flail helplessly at the monolith of guards and centers. While SFs are often praised for their versatility, that same versatility also condemns them to the life of an outsider--never intimately wrapped up in the outcome of the game. The ghetto of the swingman is one near impossible to break out of. If one does, one does it in style.

On to the next two of my Starting Five.

SF: Gerald Wallace

A ghetto superstar if there ever was one. G Walls was dumped unceremoniously on the Bobcats by the Sacto Kings after he failed to develop as they thought he might.

There, he blossomed into a dunking and occasionally shotblocking force at the SF spot, finally reaching a more perfect state in 2005-6 season. His offensive game has matured to the point of illness, his defensive game on its way.

His dunks have some of the power of Nique, along with some of his explosiveness to and from the ball. If he ever harnesses his physical power more than he has now, watch out.

PF: Josh Smith

He's techinically an SF, but then what the hell do positions mean anyways?

Smith is raw power embodied--his dunks are the most vicious since Shawn Kemp. He is still figuring out how to play the game though.

One night he might block five shots, dunk the ball six times, and make the opposing coach cry twice, but the next he could slip down into the oblivion that has occupied Small Forwarddom since Legend and Nique hung up their spikes.

He will fit into this squad's tempo perfectly, and give us another crazy person to hammer down dunks on unsuspecting opposition.

The Dead Zone

As we enter the eye of the NBA storm--and I am pushed to the sidelines by a fractured toe--I would like to delve into my ultimate starting five. And since its my blog, I fucking well will.


PG: Gilbert Arenas

Gilbert has been a maelstrom of controversy, at least early in this offseason. However, by inviting this controversy on himself he teaches us something about ourselves.

He was arrested not for pot, not for heroin, and not for soliciting hookers the night before the Super Bowl, but for sticking up for his teammate. That may have taken the form of standing in the middle of the road and shouting something about being Gilbert Arenas, but that makes his quest no less valid or valorous.

Let us not also forget that ill J he busted in LeBron's face to send the game into OT. His shot was at once not and highly predictable; we knew he was gonna drop some insane shit, and we knew he was gonna tie the game, but how you gonna shoot a J from 10 feet outside the 3 point arc?

If you're Gilbert Arenas, that's how.

SG: Kobe Bean Bryant

81 points. Eighty-one points. Eighty points plus one point.

No matter how you say it, one thing is certain. It was the best offensive display of all time. Yeah yeah, Wilt dropped the century, which probably will never be repeated. But at this point 100 is like .400 or the Triple Crown--it was done in a different era against different competition.

Kobe was the most dominant force in the league last year. The sportswriters ignored him for a floppy-haired whiteboy they felt guilty for handing it to a year ago.

Weird.

TO BE CONTINUED

Mad Love to the Creator of the Whiteboy with Skillz

I Never Though You'd Be A Junkie Because Heroin is so Passe

Since blaming Isiah Thomas for Knickerbocker woes has gone the way of bellbottoms, Starbury shoulders most of the abuse.

In the words of Tony Wilson: "You're just fucking wrong."

To put it bluntly, Starbury is perceived as a cancer; a shoot-first point guard in a world where that role is regulated to the trash heap designated for other Next Jordan candidates. That Starbs occupies the same space as Franchise is an experiment that is every bit as valid as the PHX.

The experiment was doomed to failure from its inception with the hiring of LB to coach the Knicks; as soon as Franchise was traded, Starbury correctly assessed that they needed to play one style only--run and gun.

His statement is a testament to an intelligence rarely attributed to ballers, especially those from the streets.

Zeke should not attempt to control this monster, as LB did, but rather let it run its course. Put five guards on the floor, don't be constricted by the social norms that dictate the way that basketball should be played.

It worked at Villanova, and we know the normal stuff sure as hell didn't work last year, so why not allow Starbury to control his own fate? Steph is not the one to blame for the NYK debacle, nor is Zeke.

Isiah has built a team designed to destroy, but to destroy in a very specific way. LB did not unlock the secret. Maybe Zeke can, but I have a feeling that the keyholder might be suiting up in #3 for them next Fall.

The Sun Switches Horizons

Basketball and life are cyclical.

Since 1999, the Lakers and Spurs have dominated the universe with the exception of the 2004 anomaly. The East has been dominated by subpar teams of late-- even the Heat last year were broken for a champion. It was only due to injuries or chaos that any Eastern team has risen to the ultimate pedestal of late, but dominance is swinging back across the center of the country.

With the infusion of 'Mek, G Walls, 'Bron, Bosh, Villanueva, Dwight, and even Public Enemy Number 1, the East's underdog status is in danger of disappearing for the next decade. The West's collapse is imminent, unless sustained by the creative forces that summoned both PHX and DAL.

With Colangelo's departure that invention is looking less and less imminent. The East is embracing a new age of basketball player, while the West attempts to replicate that success with entire teams.

One of those two is sustainable. I guess we'll find out.

The Week(s) the Earth Stood Still

Marquis: Gone.
J.R. Smith: Gone.
Ben Wallace: A Bull.
Tyson Chandler and Peja Stojakovic: Hornets.

Simmons dropped a vintage performance today, mad love for this man's inclusion:

It's getting to be that he is perhaps the only soldier left in this increasingly maddening war.

The trades and signings have been nothing if not baffling. The Bulls sign a fading Ben Wallace, then flip his equally skilled, newly found teammate to the Hornets for a FreeDarko soldier and a washed-up vet with an $8 milly contract.

The Mavericks, no doubt flush with the quality minutes Keith Van Horn supplied them in the NBA Finals (Note: Jokes) swapped Marquis Daniels for AUSTIN MOTHERFUCKING CROSHERE.

Don't get it twisted; Croshere is a wonderful person I'm sure, but how many times does one of the premier young slashing guards in the Lig come knocking on your door, only to be sent to languish in the midst of cattle and sheep while you revel in the expiringness of his replacement's contract?

Yes, maybe I am a little bitter the Lakers didn't trade for him. So, what?

Here's hoping the Hornets are launched into an ecstasy of success, led by Chris Paul and Tyson Chandler. I only wish JR was there to see it.