Down for the Count

Tyler Hansbrough spent the last four years in Chapel Hill torturing fellow power forwards in the ACC with his relentless aggression and unparalleled intensity. He played against bigger and stronger players. He played against guys twice as talented and ten times as athletic. He had his face mangled by a vicious Gerald Henderson elbow. None of it was enough to keep Hansbrough down. That all changed last night.

The Pacers (Tyler's current squad) were in the Windy City to run with the Bulls in a battle between two of the Eastern Conference's worst teams. Indiana was mired in a brutal six-game slide, but Hansbrough, Jim O' Brien's ace rookie off the pine, entered the game flying high after consecutive double-double performances earlier in the week. (Even though the second of which miraculously came without the aid of a made field goal. 0-5 FGA, 10-10 FTA .) His minutes were becoming more consistent as well, climbing over 30 for the first time as a professional in his 19 point, 11 rebound performance Saturday night against Atlanta. (Amazingly, the seemingly unselfish Hansbrough fired up 20 shots in that ballgame without collecting a single assist. Yinka Dare would be proud.)

So, with the teams ready to take the floor at the United Center, the sky was the limit for the workhorse wearing #50 for the Pacers. Until word hit press row that Hansbrough was out of the lineup. He would not be suiting up. What was it? A torn ACL? Ruptured bicep? Maybe even a bout of semi-respectable back spasms? No, sir. None of the above. The former college warrior would be sitting out this affair with an affliction that had previously only affected newborns and toddlers up to the age of three. Hansbrough could not play...he had an inner ear infection. Poor baby. Literally.

Seriously, when is the last time you heard of an NBA player actually sitting out a game because he had an ear infection? Come on, Ty. What's gonna be next? Perhaps missing an entire road trip with a "tummy ache?" Excusing yourself from the second leg of a back-to-back with a "sore throat?" Hell, why not just make the transformation complete and retire from the game permanently because of the unbearable pain that comes with "teething" and the nasty bout of "colic" that just won't seem to go away?

I remember having an ear infection every now and then growing up. You'd go see the Doc, sit up on the table covered with the loudest paper known to man (seriously, could you move one inch on that thing without it making a huge racket?), and let the guy take a peak in your lobe. He would poke around a little bit, flick his flashlight on and off a couple times to make us think he was actually "seeing something," and in the snap of a finger, you were bounding out to the car with a cold juicebox in hand and promises of a late-night trip to Blockbuster floating in the air. Ear Infection, Shmear Infection. This thing wasn't holding us down. We were back in pre-school the next day finger painting, singing songs, and eating enough graham crackers to ensure we wouldn't feel quite right on the inside for the next 3-6 weeks. But Ty Hansbrough, known throughout the league as a savage competitor, and one that is virtually unbreakable, could fight back no longer. Ear Infection in a 3rd round TKO.

Not surprisingly, without their sizzling spark plug off the bench, the Pacers dug themselves a cozy little 19-point first quarter hole on their way to a season-high 7th consecutive defeat. Former Dukie Josh McRoberts was forced into action in Hansbrough's place, seeing 28 minutes of court time. Needless to say, that's about 27 minutes, 53 seconds more than Josh McRoberts should ever be getting in any game unless the letters "JCC" are involved. The Bulls dominated the glass all night, bullying the Pacer bigs to the tune of a 47-31 rebounding advantage.

As NBA fans, we become accustomed to seeing a lot of things on team injury reports. Pulled muscles, twisted ankles, and even the occasional Delonte West special, "Personal Reasons." But Hansbrough's outright surrender to an apparently 'agonizing' war with the dreaded ear infection is a tale that will live on in basketball lore for years to come. The Pacers return home tonight for a clash with Memphis. Will Tyler Hansbrough be in the lineup? I highly doubt it. Word on the street is that the ear infection has settled down a bit, but the worst is still far from over. Hansbrough might have Chicken Pox. And he's already started scratching. Better get crackin' on those retirement papers...


Contact the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Taking a Trip Through "Struggles City, USA." NBA Style...

Rock bottom. That's where this beleaguered bunch of Pistons currently reside. Seven losses in a row, several to the dregs of the league, while failing to eclipse the 100-point mark in any of those contests. Rodney Stuckey is quietly morphing into Baron Davis. (Seven straight sub-50% shooting games.) Jonas Jerebko is becoming our go-to guy. (Not a good thing.) And Ben Wallace's pathetic free throw stroke continues to regress, if that is even possible. (He's made 6 of his last 20 at the stripe.) It is most definitely not a good time to be wearing the red, white, and blue in Motown. Even with all of the troops back in uniform Sunday afternoon, the sub-.500 Raptors were still too much to overcome. You would think that with everybody back now, things would start to turn around and the Pistons would begin their climb back to respectability. But Sunday's performance was anything but encouraging.

The suddenly brittle Rip Hamilton returned to the lineup after missing a handful of games with a hamstring issue. Normally, when guys miss time, they come back and try to let the game come to them. As in, try to find the rhythm of the game again, don't force up shots, and just try to fit in again within the confines of the offense. Of course, with a guy like Rip, you do need him to be aggressive, but still, isn't 20 shots in 27 minutes a little too aggressive? (He made 6.) It's like telling a guest to "make yourself at home," and the next thing you know, the guy is taking off his shoes and jumping in the master bed for a nap. You skipped a couple of steps there, pal. Just like Rip on Sunday. By comparison, take a look at Tayshaun Prince, another player that made his return to the court after a long layoff. He played the same amount of time as Rip, 27 minutes, but hoisted a very reasonable eight shots, making four. Again, I understand that a player like Rip is counted on more than Tayshaun to create shots and initiate the offense, but there's got to be a grey area somewhere, and 20 jacks in 27 minutes is simply not even in the ballpark.

On the bright side, the Pistons' next two ballgames will be home affairs against the struggling Knicks and Bulls. I know the term "must win" is thrown around too often in sports, but I'm gonna join that silly parade and declare this pair of battles as such. With a complete roster for the first time since opening night, there is no reason the Pistons shouldn't take both of these games and head into 2010 with a mini burst of momentum. And if they don't, then all bets are off and I'll see ya at my NBA Draft Lottery party next summer.

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After the New Jersey Nets picked up their first win of the year following 18 straight defeats (which the HSL predicted, by the way), they quietly exited the spotlight and went about the rest of their season in peace, hoping that nobody would bother them anymore. Not so fast, fellas. When you win two of your first thirty ballgames, somebody's gonna notice...and proceed to write about you in a very disrespectful manner. Might as well be me.

Simply put, this team is pathetic. And not even that cute kind of pathetic like the kid in Little League who strikes out 85 times in a 12-game season, but finally gets on base in his last at-bat of the year by chopping a slow roller down the third base line and beating it out by a half-step after tumbling to the ground three feet from first base and winding up with a face full of dirt and a huge smile plastered across his delightfully oversized melon. No, this Nets team is just pathetic. They opened the campaign with 18 straight L's. Then they won two of three. The light was starting to appear at the end of the tunnel. Yeah...if that "light" meant another depressing losing streak, this one a nine-gamer, including a home defeat to the similarly-woeful Timberwolves.

Kiki Vandeweghe's Nets defied logic late in that ballgame when, needing a quick score down by four with 16 ticks left, they inexplicably decided to work the ball around, run some clock, and eventually toss up a meaningless three-point attempt at the buzzer. Remember, they were down by four. You have to get a bucket, then foul the other team, hope they miss a free throw or two, then score again to possibly tie the score. But to simply burn off that last 16 seconds with virtually no regard for the score or situation facing them at the moment takes a level of incompetence that we don't often have the privilege of witnessing in professional sports. This is a special time...I suggest we all cherish it.

Alllll that being said, I'm getting that funny N-E-T-S feeling again, so I will go out on the limb one more time and tell you that the fellows from Jersey will be picking up their third win of the season tonight at home against the steadily improving OKC Thunder. Kevin Durant's crew is coming off a tremendous road win in Phoenix and a workmanlike home W over Charlotte, but something tells me the fightin' Vandeweghes get it done tomorrow night at the IZOD Center. Devin Harris pours in 25+, Brook Lopez provides his usual double-double, and perennial chucker Courtney Lee will tally more than three assists for the first time all year. You heard it here first...


Contact the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Holiday NBA Week: The Ultimate Journeyman Point Guard

Yesterday, in the first entry to "NBA Holiday Week," we focused on the tumultuous and partially wasted career of Vin Baker. Today, our attention shifts to a player that has gone underappreciated and unnoticed for far too long. Well, the buck stops here. He gets the spotlight today...for the first time in his life. So take the stage, Mr. Rick Brunson. You were a journeyman backup point guard, and nobody's ever done it better.

This group of players has always formed a special bond in NBA circles. These guys live their lives 10 days at a time. Sometimes, they get that second 10-day picked up, but more often than not, it's a week and a half, and then it's the door. These guys are not flashy. In fact, most of them are completely anonymous to the casual NBA fan. But they are out there. Guys like Kevin Ollie. Anthony Goldwire. And one of the founding fathers, Nomadic Tyronn Lue. But the preeminent figure in this long line of nameless heroes remains Eric Daniel Brunson, or as he's always been known to his loyal band of followers, just Rick.

I really cannot think of a more perfect player to truly symbolize this unique fraternity of players. Brunson was the ultimate "serviceable" point guard. He had no real definitive skills, and the fact that he played parts of nine seasons in the NBA remains one of the more remarkable accomplishments in sports history. And our boy Rick definitely knew how to get around. Chances are, if you were a team looking for a plug-in floor leader for a couple weeks, he was available.

Brunson began his career in Portland in 1997. From there, he moved on to New York. Then to Boston. And back to New York. In 2001, it was Portland. Next year, Rick was in Chicago. Then to Toronto for a quick three-game stay. And back to Chicago. Of course, he had to be a Clipper at some point, so that came next. Finally, in Rick's final season, he spent a half hour in Seattle (literally...he logged 31 minutes), and then bopped over to Houston to close out the year and his career.

(Sidenote: I love that Brunson got stuck with the #40 for his short tenure in Boston. How much more disrespectful can you be to a point guard than to staple a number in the 40s or 50s on his back? Those digits are typically deserved for plodding big men that require such a high jersey number to represent their oversized...umm, wingspan. But to see a little fella like Brunson rockin' the 4-0, the team was obviously trying to get a very clear message across. Don't get too comfortable, kid...you ain't gonna be here long. They were right. Brunson lasted seven games for the Celts. But it was a blessing in disguise. A mere seven days later, Rick was a Knick, and his famous #9 was etched on to his gear.)

Talk about a guy being just good enough to keep finding NBA jobs, but also just forgettable enough for none of these franchises to ever want to be attached to him for more than a couple months at a time. He wasn't a good shooter, but he wasn't the worst. (36 3P%, 69 FT%) He was definitely no lockdown defender, but he was still usually good for a swipe or two every couple months. And most importantly, like any respectable hooper that plays the point, Brunson could handle the rock and find his big man for an easy deuce off the pick-and-roll. And let's not forget that in 2004-05, Brunson ranked 9th in the NBA for all qualifying point guards in the illustrious "Assist Percentage" category with a sparkling 32.7%. I'd put that number right up there with Gretzky's 92 goals and Chamberlain's 100 points on the list of greatest statistical accomplishments.

There were journeyman PGs that came before him, and plenty that followed, but when it comes down to it, Ricky B. is the gold standard. He is the absolute definition of the "journeyman point," and he's got the frequent flyer miles to prove it.

So congratulations to you, the reader. You now officially know more about Rick Brunson than any member of his own family. You should be proud...I know I am.


Contact the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Holiday NBA Week: "The Baker's Dozen"

Throughout this holiday week, the High Socks Legend will be taking a look at a handful of random NBA players from years gone by. It could be a guy that made multiple All-Star teams...it could be a guy that rode the bench for an entire career. You never know where this train is gonna stop. First up: Vincent Lamont Baker, or as he would come to be known, The Big Margarita...

Sometimes Vin Baker is only remembered for his precipitous food and alcohol-induced fall from grace, and that's unfortunate. Because when #42 had it going for the Bucks and Sonics in the late 90s, he was as good as any power forward in the league. I mean, there were games when Baker was flat out unstoppable. He had a clever little post-up game built more on craftiness and precision than sheer force or athleticism. His fadeaway J and baby jump hook presented a lethal combination that few in the league could defend.

I would always get excited when TNT would head to the Pacific Northwest for the second leg of the Thursday night doubleheader during those years because it meant a steady dose of Gary Payton, Detlef Schrempf, and the quietest superstar in the league in Baker. Many NBA pundits felt like Seattle got fleeced in that trade by giving up Shawn Kemp and getting Baker in return. But in the first year following that blockbuster, the Sonics ripped off 61 wins, which is most definitely nothing to sneeze at.

(Sidenote: that Baker-Kemp swap might go down in history for the most combined weight gained by two players following a trade. Kemp started packing it on as soon as he hit Cleveland, transforming his once-sculpted physique into something that could best be described as "doughy." His high-flying ways of the past were now being replaced by a steady diet of long 18-footers from the wing while munching on a chicken wing in the process. By the time Kemp finished up as a member of the Magic in the '03 playoff loss to the Pistons, he was testing the 300-pound waters and gradually losing playing time to the forgettable Andrew DeClercq, who incidentally happened to be the only man ever to play in the NBA without a human soul.)

Unfortunately for Baker, the beginning of the following season was delayed by the lockout, giving him ample free time to do things he should not have been doing. In short, the lockout hit Baker hard...and right in the belly. While other NBA stars were maintaining their bodies by working out and playing pickup ball, Baker just kind of chilled out and got in touch with his inner-appetite. In a big way.

Ol' Vincent picked up the knife and fork, plowed through a few thousand pieces of pizza and birthday cake, and when the season finally got underway, he was on the wrong side of three and a half bills. Soon after, his obsession with grub turned into an obsession with the bottle, and in a couple short years, Vin had went from a star on the verge of superstardom to a washed-up 30-year-old journeyman that required oxygen following each trip down the court.

It is only appropriate that Vin Baker's career finally came to an end with him squeezing into an XXXL Los Angeles Clippers jersey and playing out the string behind mooks like Vladdie Radmanovic and Zelly Rebraca. So on April 19th of 2006, knowing it might have been his final night as an NBA player, Vin decided to turn it on one final time. He knocked in a few jumpers, got himself to the line, and found himself logging heavy minutes for the first time in a long time. Only, by this point, Vin's body just didn't move the way it used to. His defensive mobility was severely lacking, and to say that the girl currently starring in the movie Precious would have been a better option on D is not an understatement. Baker picked up the maximum six personal fouls in just 25 minutes of play, quietly left the court, and just like that, his basketball career was finished.

He could have been the next Karl Malone. Instead, he became a right handed Derrick Coleman. Vincent Lamont Baker. Number 42 in your programs...and probably nowhere close to number 1 in your hearts.


Drop your own thoughts on Bakes here, or shoot me an E-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Marvin and Max...It's an M & M Monday with the HSL

Marvin White

All I can say is, "Wow." Is this guy actually starting at safety for an NFL team? No, it can't be. I mean, have you seen this guy play? You'd have a hard time convincing me that Marvin White deserves even a spot on an NFL practice squad. And yet, here he is, starting at strong safety for our very own Detroit Lions. His performance yesterday pretty much sums up this putrid decade of Lions football. To say he was awful would be putting it lightly. The Ravens had countless explosive plays on offense, almost all of which saw Mr. White have a clear shot at making a tackle early in the ballcarrier's progress down the field. And almost every time he came up empty. He came up to "blast" Derrick Mason after a short completion. Instead, he wound up bouncing right off the former Spartan and had to watch from his backside as #85 in purple hightailed it 62 yards to the end zone for an early Christmas present TD. White was also victimized frequently throughout the day by little Ray Rice. Granted, there were times during the afternoon where Rice made special moves that almost no safety in the league would be able to counter. But there were also numerous occasions where Rice simply ran around or right through our "strong" safety.

White's atrocious play against the Ravens reminds you just how far this franchise is from even sniffing respectability. When I think of the strong safety position, I think of guys like Steve Atwater and Ronnie Lott. Locomotive trains with no intentions of stopping until the man holding the pigskin is either on the ground or completely unconscious...preferably both. But the Lions line up this NFL retread, Marvin White, at the position, who treats contact with opposing players like it is a jailable offense. Strong safety is a spot that is usually counted upon for an extra layer of run support, while reducing the amount of home run plays from the offense. With ol' Marv White overseeing the action, the normally offensively-challenged Ravens went off for 308 yards rushing on their way to an eye-popping 48 points. Coincidence??? I think not.


Max Scherzer

While Curtis Granderson and Edwin Jackson were undoubtedly the highest-profile players moved in last week's 3-team mega deal, let's not forget Mr. Maxwell M. Scherzer, the most important player coming to the Tigers from this blockbuster transaction. Scherzer fits the bill of almost all big-time Tigers starting pitchers over the last number of years, meaning he is a tall righthander with the ability to produce whiffs at a staggering rate. Heck, in Scherzer's first ever big league appearance, he retired all 13 batters he faced while striking out 7. So at the very least, he's no Beiker Graterol. In his first full year last season, Scherzer compiled a semi-respectable 9-11 record for a woeful Diamondbacks team, finishing with a very solid 4.12 ERA. And in more than half of those losses, his batters managed no more than two runs of offensive support. For a young guy going through his first full grind as a major league starter, it was a very encouraging season. He also only issued 63 walks on the year, which is the same number as AL Cy Young candidate Justin Verlander, and also the same number Dontrelle Willis allowed during his son's "coach pitch" Pinto season.

The loss of Jackson will be felt, but there is no reason Scherzer cannot turn into an All-Star caliber pitcher in the next couple of years if he is able to stay healthy. All told, the Tigers might have gotten worked over a little bit in the trade, and obviously, the motivations were largely financial. But if Scherzer can improve upon his steady '09 campaign and take advantage of pitching in a new league, the Tigers might have one of the top hurling trios in the circuit for the second consecutive year. Now as for the 4th and 5th spots in the rotation...well, that's another issue for another time.

(Graterol famously started one game for the Tigers early in the '99 season. It happened to be the home opener for the Bronx Bombers in The Stadium. Not the best spot to put a guy in making his major league debut. Sure enough, Graterol was absolutely tattooed over his four innings of work, allowing seven runs and three gopher balls. To make matters worse, the last dinger Graterol surrendered was of the grand salami variety to a near 40-year-old Chili Davis. Yikes. After his four horrific frames, Larry Parrish gave Beiker the hook for the day, and as it turns out, for his career in The Show. One start. That was it. I'm still waiting for Disney to option the movie rights to his story.)


The departure of Granderson was shocking to many fans, but take a minute and flash back to this post from late August. Might help explain why this trade wasn't so crazy after all. Reach the High Socks Legend at highsockslegend@gmail.com