The First Annual "High Socks Legend NBA Season Recap and Ultimate Playoff Preview"

The book has been closed on another NBA regular season. There were surprises (Ron Artest remaining sane for the most part), disappointments (Pistons), and the worst shooting streak in the history of the game (Baron Davis' 62 straight games failing to eclipse the 50% mark from the field). The playoff teams are gearing up for a long postseason run, while the lottery teams head home for an extended summer break. And the High Socks Legend is covering it all with the first annual "NBA Season Recap and Ultimate Playoff Preview." So relax, grab a cup of coffee (or an entire pot), and enjoy a trip through the NBA season that was...and the playoff season to be.


Re-Kappin' the Regular Season


One of the most overlooked stories of this season has been that of Grant Hill. Very quietly, for the first time in his 15 year NBA career, G-Hill played in every single one of the 82 games on the schedule. Yeah, this might not mean a lot for the average guy. But in the case of Hill, it means everything. So many times during his injury-riddled stay in Orlando, there were talks of retirement...just shutting it all down...the body can't take the pounding. He had setback after setback, and it almost became a running joke anytime you heard that he was planning to come back "stronger than ever" with each new season. He was a member of the Magic for seven years, and only twice did Hill play more than 30 games.

However, slowly but surely, his game totals started building to a crescendo. He jumped from 21 to 65. Then last year he managed to lace 'em up for 70, his highest number in close to a decade. And finally, this year, he accomplished a feat that 99% of the sports world would have deemed to be downright impossible at this point in his career. He completed an entire NBA season without a bruise, strain, or fracture. Not once did Hill have to watch the full 48 minutes from a comfy folding chair, as he had been forced to do so many times before. And despite the wear and tear, and his athleticism being a shell of what it once was, Hill acquitted himself quite well on the floor. He averaged 12 points and 5 boards in just under 30 minutes a night, while also shooting a career-best 52% from the field.

The Phoenix Suns played 82 games this year, and G-Hill was part of the action in every single one. It might seem like a meaningless number to some, but to Hill, it means everything. So at 36 years old, after undergoing more foot and heel ailments than Rik Smits and Barbaro combined, and after being written off by everyone around the league, Grant Hill can finally smile.

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Five years...65 million dollars. That is what the Los Angeles Clippers paid this past off-season for the services of a Mr. Baron Davis. They envisioned Baron doing the same things he'd been doing in Golden State: running the team, getting others involved, making big shots late in the game, and turning a forgotten franchise into a relevant one. All of this sounds perfectly well and good. Only one problem that the Clippers brass failed to acknowledge...

THE MAN CAN'T SHOOT!!

We don't need to recap all of his struggles here. Lord knows that Baron and his infamous streak got its fair share of air time with the High Socks Legend over the winter months. But anytime a supposed NBA superstar making "NBA superstar" type money plays in 62 consecutive ballgames without shooting over 50%, it must be given its just due.

Let's recap Baron's 'Season from Hell.' He finished the year averaging just 14.9 points per game, his lowest total in eight years. He shot a paltry 37 percent from the floor, while appearing in just 65 games. Name an ailment. Baron has probably missed time because of it. Sore hip, sore ring finger, and at one point, he even sat out a few games with "ulcers," which I believe was the same problem that caused the main character on Murder, She Wrote to have to hang it up. But her excuse was valid: she was like 100 years old. Baron is a spry 30, yet is still being beaten down by an ulcer caused by a little too much cappuccino during dessert. Awfully coincidental that during last season, which was Baron's contract year, he managed to play in all 82 games, scored 22 a night, and attained a semi-respectable 42.6 field goal percentage. Hmm.

The Clippers must have signed Baron thinking, at the least, they would improve under his leadership from the 23 wins of 2007-08. Think again. The Clip Show fumbled and bumbled their way to an unfathomable 19-63 record, the only time this entire decade that they failed to reach the 20-win mark. In their season finale Wednesday night, Baron and the boys at least had a good chance to end the season on a positive note, with the dreadful Oklahoma City Thunder coming to town. Well, you know the old saying, "We left it all out on the court"?? Yeah, they didn't do that. Instead, they went out and put on quite possibly the least inspiring performance in the league this season. The Clippers got blasted by 41 points, and to a team that had just one double-digit road win the entire season (and that was in overtime!). As for our hero, it was a vintage Baron line: 8 points, 5 assists, to go with 6 turnovers, and of course, 3 for 8 from the field. Would you expect anything else? A 41-point drubbing to a 23-win team, leaving our Clippers with just 19 W's. With Baron Davis, nothing is impossible.

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The Playoff Preview


You would think that the Pistons biggest mismatch heading into their series with Cleveland would be at the small forward spot...LeBron against Tayshaun. You would be wrong. Oh ok, it must be at point guard...All-Star Mo Williams against still developing Rodney Stuckey. Wrong again. The biggest mismatch in the arena come Saturday afternoon will not even be on the court. It will be on the sidelines. A battle of the two Mikes...Brown against Curry. And ours doesn't stand a chance.

To be fair, Curry was dealt a tricky hand to begin with. His point guard and franchise player, Chauncey Billups, was shipped off after just two games. Replacing him was a me-first headcase in Allen Iverson that made very little effort to fit in with his new team. The team was veteran heavy, and Joe Dumars hired a rookie in Curry to man the ship. But even while taking these things into account, Curry has still allowed this team to underachieve miserably, and things look to be near their worst heading into a daunting playoff matchup with Cleveland.

Michael Curry never seems to exude much confidence or assuredness when he's coaching. I am not questioning the man's intent or his desire to do the right thing...it's just that I don't think he is capable. Curry's appearance, posture, and on-court demeanor is usually something like this. He wears a finely knit, expensive, tan suit. He stands upright, a few feet from the bench, surveying the action. With a big moment approaching or a poor call against his team just taking place, you expect to see him take command and shout something of great importance. Maybe a play call to his point guard, or some choice words for the referee in question. Only there is usually nothing. You can tell that he wants to act like a great coach. Only he does not know how.

It is hard to point to anything about this season and honestly say, "Yep, Curry handled that one just right." While the Iverson deal was never going to be a picnic, you wonder if maybe things would have turned out differently had Curry asserted himself earlier as an authority figure. If he had told AI from day one, "Hey, we got our starting guards...I want you to turn yourself into the best 6th man this league has ever seen," maybe things would have worked out. God knows they could not have ended up any worse. His almost arbitrary shuffling of the lineup and rotation never seemed to sit well with the players. Tayshaun Prince was overworked for long stretches, with Curry somehow forgetting that Tay has a tendency to falter in the playoffs when his minutes get too heavy. Jason Maxiell, despite being one of the few to bring energy and toughness on a nightly basis, had his playing time jerked around with no explanation. Some nights, he would play 23-25 powerful minutes. Another night, he wouldn't see the court. A perfect example was Monday night, when facing a crucial game with Chicago, Maxiell was used for just 7 minutes, his lowest total since the All-Star break. And somehow, despite watching every game from the best seat in the house, Curry has been the last to realize that Will Bynum has been this team's best player for the last month. He has showed himself to be a guy that deserves serious time every night, while also being the team's most reliable 4th quarter performer. With Bynum's increased production, you would expect to see increased P.T. Not the case with Curry. Frustrating as it is, you still see a line like this for Bynum in the box score after a 4-point loss at Indiana: "16 points in 21 minutes." It begs the question...would the game's outcome been different if Bynum had seen 8-10 more minutes of action? Unfortunately, we'll probably never find out.

Countless times this season, the Pistons have been in complete control in the 4th quarter, only to see the game get stolen in the last few minutes. Appropriately enough, two of the biggest collapses came against the Bulls, the team that the Pistons were jockeying with late in the season to avoid having to play LeBron and Co. in the opening round.

In early February, the Pistons were in the process of cruising to an easy win at the United Center. Up by 14, with a floundering Bulls team showing little interest in competing, the Pistons had the game. Just play the last 12 minutes with the slightest bit of energy and intelligence, and the victory was in the bag. But in a game that would turn out to be symbolic of this team's complete lack of an identity or a killer instinct, they laid down. The Bulls attacked the basket every time down the floor, no defensive adjustments were made, and 36 4th quarter points later, the Pistons had endured their nastiest defeat of the season. That loss was immediately followed by six more, with Coach Curry sporting his trademark "Deer in the Headlights" expression throughout.

Amazingly, despite all of their struggles in the season's 2nd half, the Pistons still had a chance to avoid the poisonous 8-seed in the East. On Monday night, the setting was changed, the situation was a bit different, but the results were a carbon copy of that night in Chicago. The Pistons led by eight at the half, and six after 3 quarters...at home. But when the final horn sounded, they found themselves on the short end once again. The 4th quarter was an example of everything not to do in the final stages of a meaningful game. Poor clock management, undisciplined offense, breakdowns on D...it was all there. Under Curry's watch. The final few possessions put his inexperience on full display.

The Pistons had the ball with the score tied. Out of the timeout, it soon became clear that nobody really knew where they should be. Rodney Stuckey dribbled out on the wing, and just eight seconds into the possession, hurriedly elevated for a contested jumper. The Bulls' rookie phenom Derrick Rose went right up with him and blocked the shot. Now Chicago ball, out of a timeout. Vinnie Del Negro, another rookie head coach, shrewdly entered his best offensive weapon, Ben Gordon, into the game. You might think Curry would counter by inserting his best perimeter defender, Arron Afflalo, into the game. Never happened. Curry assigned the 6'9 Tayshaun Prince to bottle up the lightning-quick 6'3 Gordon. And while Tayshaun is one of the better defenders in the league, you'd be crazy to think he has the type of foot speed or lateral quickness to hang with Gordon at such a critical juncture. You can guess what happened next. The Bulls patiently worked into their set, allowed Gordon space to operate against Prince, and in a flash, he had beaten Tayshaun to the right, getting all the way to the rim for a game-deciding, and essentially season-ending, layup.

Sure, the Pistons had plenty of clock (14 seconds) to get a good shot and tie things back up, but it's just not the way this year's squad conducts business. Curry went with the old standby, no matter how many times it leaves Pistons fans screaming; a forced Rasheed Wallace three-ball. It went begging, as Del Negro and the Bulls danced out of the Palace with another outright hijacking. Michael Curry stood on the sidelines with that same familiar look: arms at his sides, hands in his pockets, ready to say the right thing...but nothing coming out. The Pistons head to Cleveland this weekend, where the Cavs hold a ridiculous 39-2 record at Quicken Loans Arena. He better think of something to say...and fast.

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You have heard about the same teams in the East all
year long. Cleveland, Boston, Orlando. Miami a little bit, too. And even the Pistons with the whole AI fiasco. But where's the love for the Atlanta Hawks?? Mike Woodson's club silently went about their business, won an impressive 47 games, and now look to win their first playoff series in this century.

The usual suspects are still around. Joe Johnson scored his 20 plus per night and logged his usual boatload of minutes (3rd in the NBA). Let's not forget this is the same guy that almost singlehandedly knocked off the champion Celtics in the 1st round last spring. Josh Smith still makes 4-5 highlight type plays a night, but his free throw shooting has to get better for this team to pull out close games in the 4th quarter (59% this season, a career low). Mike Bibby has continued to do his thing, mainly standing behind the arc and hoisting a million threes a night. But the one guy that could make the biggest difference for Atlanta is none other than former Piston castoff and true NBA journeyman Ronald "Flip" Murray.

The beginning of a new NBA season usually means one thing for Flip Murray: a new home. In just seven years in the league, Flip has suited up for six different teams. This year, he made his way to Atlanta, hoping to finally be given a legitimate shot to contribute every single night for a team expected to do big things. He got his opportunity...and ran with it. Murray has been an invaluable sub this season for Mike Woodson. Whereas last year the Hawks leaned almost exclusively on their starters, Flip now gives them a serious threat off the pine. He comes into the game gunning from all angles. He's the kind of guy that might play 27 minutes in a game, but still end up taking 18 shots. He's a volume shooter. He was never going to be effective playing 8-12 minutes a night, and trying to provide the same boost in such a short stint. The Pistons tried this routine with him, and it never worked. For a time, Flip Saunders actually designated Murray as a baseball type "closer," only inserting him when the 4th quarter began and hoping he would carry them the rest of the way...I wish I was kidding. Mike Woodson, on the other hand, has taken the leap that no other coach was willing to take before, essentially telling Murray, "Here's your nightly allotment of minutes...make the best of 'em." And he has.

Flip went career high in all three of the main shooting categories (FG, FT, 3p). He's always been able to get to the rim, and this year he has combined that ability with a polished perimeter game, making him a true offensive weapon. He has even carried the Hawks some nights when the big guns aren't firing, stepping in off the bench and hanging a 30-spot on the shellshocked opposition. And with former lottery pick Acie Law never materializing, and free-agent bust Speedy Claxton rotting on the pine, Flip has also managed to fill in quite nicely as the team's 2nd point guard when Bibby needs a breather.

Whether it's the perpetually sleepy look on his face, the unique offensive repertoire, or just the cool nickname, I've always had a certain fondness for Flip. When Ray Allen went down during Flip's 2nd season in Seattle, he got the first chance to really showcase his skills. And Flip proceeded to take the league by storm. He was putting up 20, 30, points every night before anybody even knew who he was or why he was called Flip (most say it is because his buddies thought he looked like Bernie Mac's character from 'Above the Rim'). But like it has gone for Murray throughout most of his career, that situation quickly fizzled. He was shipped out of Seattle, and has been looking for a true home ever since. In Atlanta, he has finally found one. When the Hawks open up against the Heat, all eyes will be focused on Dwyane Wade and Joe Johnson. Me? I'll be squarely focused on #22 in the blue and white, because if history has taught us anything, it is never to forget about old Flip.

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If you're a Pistons fan, there's a good chance you'll be looking for another team to adopt for the rest of the playoffs after the first round is finished. The obvious choice lies in Denver, where 2004 Finals MVP Chauncey Billups has brought new life to a stagnant franchise. The main question is, can Chauncey corral this wild group of Nuggets? I single out Chauncey specifically because it has become obvious the past couple of seasons that George Karl has officially entered the Don Nelson "I'll sit here and watch, but don't expect me to move a muscle or say anything during the game" phase of his career. Just watch Karl anytime J.R. Smith throws up a 35-footer with 17 on the shot clock. He won't react. It's like he's in an uninterrupted season-long trance, not unlike that of Cameron Frye in Ferris Bueller's Day Off. So if this team goes anywhere, it will be Mr. Big Shot leading the way.

He will have a wild cast of characters to keep in line as they prepare to host the playoff-tested Hornets. J.R. Smith is a gunner, simple as that. He could go out on any particular night and drop 40 off the bench, or he could shoot you right out of the game with a 2-19. Kenyon Martin is doing the same things he's always done. He will rebound a little bit, try and seriously injure the guy he's guarding, and then at some point, probably go to the locker room with a medical problem of his own. But the craziest of them all is the Birdman, Chris Andersen. He spends all his time on the floor trying to block shots, regardless of which team has the ball. Birdman sort of looks like a coked out Zeljko Rebraca, with the multitude of tattoos up and down his arms, spiked hair, and an overall look that says, "You probably don't wanna come too close to me." His appearance is a lot like the naked senior citizen at your local health club locker room: it's unsightly, there's a lot of moving parts, but you just can't seem to look away.

Carmelo Anthony has been the de facto leader of this team for the entirety of his 5-year career. And as we all known, Melo has been ousted in the opening round of the playoffs in all five years. With Chauncey on board now, I think that finally changes. The Nuggets are extremely tough at home, and enter the postseason playing some of their best basketball of the year. It will be nice to see Chauncey ratcheting up the Pepsi Center crowd with one of his signature dagger 3-balls in the late stages. I just hope the fans don't get too loud...George Karl might still be sleeping.

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Somehow, the New Orleans Hornets just have not been the same team this season. Last year, they steamrolled their way to 56 victories, ultimately bowing out in the conference semis to the Spurs in a 7-game bloodbath. They were a team on the rise. Chris Paul was the NBA's brightest new superstar, controlling the game with the wily intelligence of a 15-year vet. David West was emerging right along with him, becoming a household name with his devastating array of post moves and step-back jumpers. And the supporting cast, while not setting the world ablaze, was more than respectable. The one thing preventing this team from serious contention is the lack of a real threat from the swingman position. And with that, a hard glare must be cast in the direction of one Peja Stojakovic...the man holding the Hornets back.

The role for Stojakovic on this team is very clear: make shots. A mid-range J coming off a curl...a fast-break pull-up from the wing...a wide open 3 from the corner. Just make shots. That's all. We have guys that can do everything else. But for one reason or another, be it a bad back, a forged Serbian birth certificate (his records say he is 31...looks more like 45), or just a very long cold streak, the guy that was a deadeye in Sacramento just looks dead in New Orleans. When Peja was right, he would routinely shoot close to 48% from the field and over 40 from deep. This year, his FG% dwindled to .401, and his money stat, 3P%, fell below 40 for the first time in six years. Those are numbers you expect from Rasual Butler or Devin Brown, two other Hornets relied upon for clutch outside shooting. But not from Peja.

He is clearly not the same player he once was. He struggles to create his own shot, he cannot create for others, and his defense won't be reminding anyone of Michael Cooper. But if there's one thing the guy could always do, it was knock down jump shots. I've seen the following sequence play out more than a few times this year.

Tight game, 4th quarter, Hornets up 2-4 points, and Chris Paul finds Peja standing all by his lonesome in the deep corner. It's a possible backbreaker trey...make it and the other team's will is broken the instant the ball falls through the net. The crowd is ready to tear the roof off the building if it goes down. Peja sets and releases with his distinctive 'arm in front of the face' follow through. It looks look...it looks good...andddd back iron.

It helps to explain the 7-win dropoff from last season, and acts as a possible foreshadowing to a Hornet 1st round exit in the coming weeks. Rightfully, Chris Paul is the player grabbing all of the attention and accolades on this team. But he could play perfect basketball for seven straight games...and it won't mean a thing. Unless Peja can become Peja again.

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Five Reasons that the Cleveland Cavaliers Will Bother Me During the First Round

1. Anderson Varejao- The shaggy-haired Brazilian will be counted on heavily during the Cavs quest for their first ever championship Who doesn't hate this guy??? He's listed at 6'11, 260 pounds. Yet, if you make even the slighest bit of contact with him, he's flying backwards as if shot right out of a cannon. How irritating must it have been to be in a pillow fight with Varejao at a sleepover? You give him one glancing blow with your sack of feathers and boom!...he's careening backwards through your living room wall. His flopping and various histrionics on the floor have drawn the ire of many around the league. Most recently, it was Ray Allen that decided he'd had enough of these dirty tactics, and responded with an elbow to Varejao's "special area." I say 'Bravo!' The guy has made a living during his career by getting under the opposition's skin, and it's about time he got a little taste of his own medicine. If we're lucky, maybe Michael Curry will do something right and send in Amir Johnson or Kwame Brown with specific instructions to "take out the woman." His message would be clear...and the High Socks Legend could finally watch the rest of the series in peace.

2. The national media continuing to act like Mo Williams came out of nowhere this season. You even hear rumblings about him being the league's "Most Improved Player." I understand it's his first time with a legitimate contender, and yes, he's had a tremendous campaign, but the guy's been putting up the same numbers for a few years now. This season was no different, except that he was out of the NBA Siberia that is Milwaukee.

3. Former Pistons announcer Fred McLeod left the Pistons a few years back to go join the Cavs, grabbing one of the last available seats on the "LeBron love-fest bandwagon." He's like the Tony Almeida of broadcasting. Just when you think McLeod was on your side for life, there he is slapping it up on FSN Ohio, watching #23 make another ridiculous shot and saying things like, "Oh cut it out, Bron...you're killin' me!" The thought of Freddie Mac crying himself to sleep every night for the next six months makes the possibility of a Pistons miracle seem that much sweeter.

4. Coach Mike Brown- There are a few reasons this guy bothers me...

* The guy's wife chooses what eyeglasses he will wear before each game. Fine with me, but do we really need to be beaten to death with this fact throughout the playoffs? If there's one request I can make to the various announcers covering this series, it is this. Please do not remind us of this little "glasses story" over and over again...it isn't that interesting, and we honestly could not care less.

* Brown's favorite thing to watch on the tube? TV court shows, like Judge Judy and Judge Joe Brown. That's just embarrassing. If I came home from class one day in college and saw one of my roommates watching that garbage, it would mean one of two things. Either the TV was broken, and that was the only channel coming in...or we all needed to have a serious sit-down discussion with that guy, and help him through this low spot in his life.

* Just come out and tell us that you're living a double life. TV personality by day, basketball coach by night. I mean, you are Al Roker, right??

5. LeBron and the referees- Sure, it's an old bit, and a tired one. But it's the truth. In the next couple of weeks, you are gonna see dozens of whistles on Tayshaun, Rasheed, and the rest when LeBron goes to the hoop. And the first thing you will wonder is, "Where was the foul??" And you'd be right. But sure enough, the replay will come, the contact will be non-existent, and the announcers will proceed to gloss right over the bogus call as if nothing fishy just happened. The only saving grace here is that curiously, Will Bynum has also been getting the "superstar whistle" treatment of late; the only difference being that Bynum will probably shoot 15-20 free throws in the entire series, while LeBron will probably equal that amount in Saturday's opener.

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And what's a good NBA Playoff article without some bold predictions??

WEST

-The Jazz will bow out to Kobe and Co. in a 6-game affair. Jerry Sloan's crew had a golden opportunity to avoid this matchup by winning in LA in their season finale. Unfortunately, they played very flat for much of the night, and wind up right back at Staples to open the playoffs. Plus, Matt Harpring turned into Scott Padgett about halfway through this season (not a good thing). Just way too much firepower from the Lakers here, though a Jerry Sloan team is never an easy out come April and May.

-The Denver Nuggets will knock off Peja and the Hornets. Following the series, Hornet reserve forwards Ryan Bowen and Sean Marks will elope to Las Vegas and get married. Louis Amundson will serve as best man for both.

-The Spurs and Mavs is a tough one to call. Dirk's crew was inconsistent for much of the year, but have come on very strong of late. The Spurs are proven playoff warriors, but the Ginobili injury is a tough one to overcome. I'll go San Antonio here, and mostly because my boy Ime Udoka has been getting consistent minutes down the stretch and I've never seen the guy miss a shot. I'm serious. You may have never heard of him, and he might just average a few points a game, but Udoka is gonna become a household name in the next three weeks. Trust me.

(And yes, to answer your question, it's well past 4 AM at this point. Only one of my eyes is open.)

-The Rockets have been unable to get past the opening round with Tracy McGrady. Now that T-Mac will be MIA for the playoffs due to an injury, they have a chance to prove that they never needed him in the first place. The Rockets trying to sell me on the new dynamic Ron Artest-Yao Ming combo...I'm not buying it. I've seen Artest lose his mind too many times in critical situations (2004 ECF against Detroit, where his mindless flagrant foul on Rip Hamilton handed the Pistons the series) to believe that he can lead a team on a playoff run. And while Brandon Roy's tremendous play for Portland can sometimes go unnoticed by the national media, this will be his official coming out party. Blazers move on.

EAST

-The news of Kevin Garnett's injury changes the whole landscape of the Eastern Conference playoffs. (And makes the Pistons collapse to the 8th spot all the more frustrating) The Celtics will still have more than enough to get by the Bulls here. But their prospects beyond that have become much more uncertain. Chicago is building a nice nucleus, but they aren't ready for this stage.

(One thing to watch for. Both teams have aggressive, emotional big guys, in Kendrick Perkins and Joakim Noah. Look for this duo to get tangled up at some point. I like Perkins in a 4th round TKO, with his 200-plus pound weight advantage too much for Noah to overcome.)

-Magic and the 76ers. Yeah, wake me up when this one's over. Is it just me, or has Philly had the same sad cast of characters for the last million years? Sam Dalembert and his "I'll play 5 good games a year to make you think I still have potential." Willie Green, who is always one awkward crossover away from tearing his ACL for the 25th time. And Andre Miller, who despite being regarded as one of the better point guards in the league, has still yet to win a playoff series in his 10-year career. The drought continues here.

-Let everyone else fawn over Miami. I'm sticking with the Fightin' Flip Murrays. Because unless Dwyane Wade can score over 40 a night while shooting close to 50%, the Heat are going down here. Have you looked at his supporting cast lately? A washed up Jermaine O' Neal...an unfortunate looking rookie, Michael Beasley...and Jamaal "Wait, he's still alive?!?!?" Magloire all being counted on for big minutes?? Yamma-hamma! The Heat are being proactive, though. Just this morning, they announced they will be calling up a small forward from their D-League affiliate and he will be inserted into the starting lineup for Game 1 Sunday night at Atlanta. I can't wait for that introduction...

"For the Heat...At small forward...Standing 6'7, from North Carolina State....RICE PILAFFFF!!"

-And lastly, Detroit-Cleveland. This has been one of the most trying seasons in Pistons history. The Chauncey-Iverson deal blew up in Joe Dumars' face. Michael Curry never figured anything out. Hall-of-Fame owner Bill Davidson passed away. Rodney Stuckey didn't make the 2nd year leap everyone expected. Rasheed, Rip, and Tayshaun are still around...but sometimes you're not so sure they want to be. It all adds up to an uninspiring 39-43 record. And you can't help but think that if the season were 10 games longer, the Pistons wouldn't even make the playoffs at all.

So after a most impressive string of six consecutive trips to the conference finals, the ride ends here. Cleveland has been too strong all year long, and LeBron James is not about to be dealt a first round exit in the most important postseason of his career. Let's be honest. The man is unguardable. The one Piston that seems to do a decent job covering James is the hyperkinetic Walter Herrmann...and if that's not the saddest thing you've ever read as a Pistons fan, then I don't know what is.



What are your thoughts and predictions on the upcoming NBA Playoffs? Drop your comment below, or shoot me an e-mail over at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

Sometimes in sports, certain events occur that are almost too much fun to watch. They can be unusual, they can be unique, and they can be outright hilarious...and if you are lucky, all three can come in one delightful package. I give you...Walter Herrmann's running style.

To put it simply, I have never seen anybody put as much effort into running up the floor as Walter Herrmann does on a nightly basis. It's as if he is running in an Olympic sprint, saving up four years worth of energy for one mad dash to the finish line...only he's doing it 30-40 times a game. There have been some interesting gaits through the years. Dennis Rodman would always bring the knees up high, covering immense ground with each stride. Cameron Maybin (in baseball) gained fame during his short time in Detroit with his wild running style, always windmilling one arm frantically, as if he was a speedster centerfielder and veteran 3rd base coach all wrapped up into one. But Herrmann and his "max effort, with all body parts moving at once (and I mean all)" takes the cake.

The situation might go something like this. The Pistons are playing the Knicks. Herrmann is open in the corner, but the ball never gets to him. Instead, Rip Hamilton takes a 14-footer from the elbow that rims in and out. The Knicks corral the defensive board, and without any real numbers advantage, decide to walk it up the floor. Only Herrmann notices that his man, Quentin Richardson, is jogging upcourt and is 2-3 steps in front. Boom!! Herrmann is now in a full sprint, arms akimbo, legs flailing, mini-ponytail dangling in the Palace wind, desperate to catch up with the harmless Richardson. Finally, as they reach the other end, Herrmann breathes heavy, like Seabiscuit after the final stretch at Pimlico. He has caught his man. Only one thing...Knick point guard Chris Duhon is now just advancing past halfcourt, with 19 still left on the shot clock. The effort from Herrmann is respected and sets a good example for others, but you wonder if he is aware that not every single motion on the court requires 150% intensity at all times.

The Pistons have bumbled and stumbled through this entire NBA season. Just when you think they have hit their stride, they take a false step. On the rare occasion, they put forth a sterling effort and the results are reflected in that. Take the Sunday afternoon victory at Boston last month, or the continued domination of the 58-22 Orlando Magic. But far too often, that perfect stride has been interrupted, or completely fallen apart. The 1st half in a nationally televised game at Cleveland, where the Pistons trailed by 33 after just 24 minutes, comes to mind. If only they could find a way to mirror the effort put forth by Walter Herrmann on every one of his jaunts up the court. It may not look pretty and it is anything but smooth, but Walter is usually able to get to where he wants to go. With a 1st round matchup at powerhouses Cleveland or Boston waiting in the wings less than a week away, it is now or never for the Pistons. Either go out with a whimper, or take a page out of the bizarre playbook of Mr. Walter Herrmann...and start running like your hair is literally on fire. Worst comes to worst, at least we'll be treated to a real good laugh.
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Anybody seen Donyell Marshall lately?? If you have not, let me ask politely, "How could you miss him"??? Man has gotten positively LARGE. The once athletic and dare I say sleek power forward has now ballooned to astronomical proportions with the Philadelphia 76ers. I'll admit, I have always had a slight fascination with Donyell.

I tend to like any big guy that steps out and shoots the 3-ball (Terry Mills, Arvydas Sabonis), so following Marshall throughout his career was a no-brainer. Throw in the fact that he once tied the NBA single game 3-pointer record with 12, and I was a fan for life. Which makes his latest eating binge all the more unsettling.

When the Pistons played in Philly a few weeks ago, and Marshall hopped off the bench, ripped off his warmups, and stepped on the floor, I was literally taken aback. "No way...that can't be him!" I mean, Donyell was never Charles Atlas or anything. But still, I never expected him to enter the "Guy who doesn't take his T-shirt off when he goes swimming" phase of his life, either. Three possible explanations for Donyell's unfortunate transformation...

1. Change of location. He spent the tail end of last season in Seattle, where the only items available to consume are coffee and salmon. He then moved to Philly, where cheese steaks are available in all shapes and sizes. Sadly, after this weight gain, so is Marshall.

2. Reduced playing time. This year marks the first time that Marshall has averaged less than 10 minutes of court time per night. Without the ability to get out on the floor and run a little bit to burn some calories, our man has no way of staying in shape. Don't the 76ers realize that Marshall has buried over 900 long balls in his career? How about just a dozen minutes every game so he can start looking more like an NBA player again and less like FOX-2's Alan Lee??

3. He ate Lamond Murray. This one actually makes the most sense. Think about it. Murray, the former standout at Cal, was still enjoying a very successful career in the NBA when he became teammates with Marshall during the 2003-04 season. Coming off the highest scoring year of his career averaging about 17 per game, Murray began slowly whittling away as Marshall started putting on the pounds. In their two years together, Murray's career (and life) slowly came to an end as Marshall continued to take full advantage of this new, untapped source for increased body mass and strength. Five years later, Marshall is as big as a house...and Murray has not been heard from since. A very logical, but tragic explanation. My heart goes out to Lamond Murray. Especially since his already went to Donyell Marshall.
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There were dozens of baseball games on the major league schedule this weekend. Managers made hundreds of decisions all across the league. Pitchers were removed, pinch-hitters were summoned, and sacrifice bunts were ordered. And you had The Masters. While the players were executing the shots, it was the loyal caddies that were assisting with club selection and helping to judge the wind. But the most impressive coaching move of the weekend came courtesy of a most unlikely source: Bill Straub, the women's bowling coach at the University of Nebraska.

The women's NCAA bowling championship took place on Saturday in Canton, Michigan. Thankfully, ESPN2 was there to cover all of the excitement. The whole scene during the title game was quite bizarre, actually. It's a team bowling event, so players are taking turns rolling each frame. Understandable. But get this. The players that are not bowling that frame are ALL standing up...the entire time. Who doesn't sit down when they're done with their roll? So the girl goes up to get ready to throw her ball, and behind her stands 10-12 of the most unfortunate looking women you will ever see. Don't start watching thinking that you'll see an Anna Kournikova or Natalie Gulbis-type out here. It's "women's" bowling...but really, in name only. I'm not saying it was actually men out there on Saturday, but the difference was negligible. And regardless of whether the woman rolls a thunderous strike or an inexplicable gutter ball, they proceed to high five every single teammate waiting for them when they are done. I saw one girl roll a 6, leaving an impossible split to deal with, and within seconds, she's being congratulated back at the ball return like she just capped off a flawless 900 series. But back to the brilliant coaching move.

Nebraska was battling famed athletic program Central Missouri in the pivotal opening game of the best-of-7 series. It was late in the contest, and one of the Husker ladies just left a nasty split with her first ball. What happened next will surely be remembered in Lincoln for years to come. Straub gives her the hook, and brings in another bowler to clean up the mess. How about that for a gutsy call? Who knew you could even do that?? Spare ball upcoming, pins scattered, Splitsville City on the horizon, and Coach Billy Straub makes the call to the pen. And ya know what...the girl nailed it! The dreaded empty frame was avoided, as female Eckersley came in and absolutely punished those pins like they just borrowed her belt sander and forgot to return it before that night's lumberjack contest.

As a coach, if you're wrong there, you know you're getting second guessed all night long on SportsCenter. Talk radio would have beaten the decision to death. Most likely, the Lady Huskers would have turned on him...and that's just a very unenviable position to be in. But when you're right, and it leads to a National Championship, nothing is sweeter.

Bill Walsh...Pat Riley...Walter Alston...Bill Straub. Those names belong together now. All coaching legends that have etched their permanent place in sports history.

It was a single substitution, but one that will leave a lasting impression on anyone lucky enough to have witnessed it. I'm grateful to be one of them, and I'll never forget it.



I am not proud of what I have just written, and will now go take a long, hard, look in the mirror. E-mail me your thoughts on Walt Herrmann, Donyell Marshall, and Coach Bill Straub, at highsockslegend@gmail.com
Or just drop a comment below...

Porridge...Haircuts...and the Most Overrated Carnival Attraction in History

That Goldilocks had some nerve. Everyone thinks of her as some sweet, innocent girl that just happened upon a house one day, downed a little oatmeal, and took a nap. Harmless, right? I think not. First of all, once you get past the warm and fuzzy feeling that comes with reading a fairy tale, you realize that homegirl should have really been picked up on a felony "breaking and entering" charge. Who just goes in a strange house and starts gobbling up all the good grub sittin' around? And it isn't like she just flagged one bowl of the "porridge." She tried the first two, didn't find them to her liking, then proceeded to absolutely destroy the third bowl.

To be honest, she was one lucky little criminal. Anytime you stumble upon a territory occupied by a trio of bears AND they catch you sleeping in the act, you really should be a goner at that point. But these bears apparently spent way too much time reading about how to act from Stan and Jan Berenstain, thus allowing Goldilocks to stroll right out of the crib without any physical confrontation. I guess we knew the Bears were bizarre from the get-go, though. After all, who prepares three delicious bowls of "porridge," only to leave them sitting uneaten on the kitchen table while they cool off? You make something...you eat it. Simple as that. If it's a little too hot, that's the breaks. You eat through the pain. How do you think I got this 3rd degree burn on the roof of my mouth? A Totino's pizza roll practically exploded in my jaw back in November of 2004. Could I have given myself a five minute breather and allowed the little fellas to chill a little bit? Sure. But that's not how men work...and I thought bears lived by that same law. Guess not.

And through all the variations of the story, they always manage to call it "porridge." Why didn't they just call it what it really was?? Cream of Wheat. Nobody in their right mind is risking 10 years in the big house for a sampling of some porridge. But you can be sure that myself and many others would willingly take that chance for a large, free helping of Cream of Wheat. You can't beat that dish. The smooth texture. The perfect blend of "Am I a snack or am I actually a full breakfast meal"?? And lastly, the brown sugar. Has anything ever complemented another food so well? Sure, brown sugar makes a strong impact on sweet potatoes and chocolate chip cookies. But where it really leaves its lasting impression is the consistently underrated Cream of Wheat. You give me the USA Today Sports page, a tall glass of O.J., and a hot bowl of Cream of Wheat...and just let me be. I'm officially in heaven...

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I understand where you're coming from, haircutting professional. In the process of trimming the locks, hair will be flying off of my dome. This is why at the beginning of the whole event, you equip me with a cape. Usually of a dark purple color that makes me look like The Count from Sesame Street, this cape does its job by protecting my clothes from the haircut about to commence. But here's the million dollar question.

Why are you tying that cape so tight around my neck that there is a good chance I might make it out of here looking good, but lacking a pulse??????

Admittedly, I don't want hair all over my shirt, pants, and shoes when I leave the joint. However, this does not mean I enjoy having all blood flow in my circulatory system cut off in the process. It'd be one thing if the cape were just kept intact by the little button they connect at the top. But no, they also have to wrap that series of white tissue around your collar, locking the cape in tightly and forcing your breathing to become increasingly halted. If given the choice, I think I would prefer a little post-haircut laundry as opposed to possible suffocation and a trip to the emergency room. But that's just me.

So next time the barber is preparing you for the big moment, and the cape/tissue hogtie comes flying out, don't hold anything back. Let them know how you feel. It just might save your life.

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You're in line for 15 minutes. The excitement level is palpable. You cannot imagine the endless possibilities that await. When it's finally your turn, you hand over your two tickets and speed towards your weapon of choice. You strap in and wait for the switch to be flipped and for the music to start rockin'. But does the next two minutes EVER live up to the hype? Sadly, that answer is no. Welcome to the world of Bumper Cars.

First off, there is an excellent chance that the car you pick will end up stalling on the start. This means you are left sitting in the middle of the little arena with nothing to do except wait to get slammed into continuously by other rabid 9-year-olds. You try to get the guy's attention that is running the show, but it is difficult to scream and make any sense when you are being bludgeoned to death via mini-car collisions. Plus, he is so into his garlic fries and cherry slushee that a bomb could go off in the Fun House next door and he wouldn't bat an eye. Being caught flat-footed in a non-working Bumper Car is about as helpless a feeling that a human being can have.

And let's say the vehicle you select starts right up and is humming from the get-go. Well, good luck steering the thing. No matter which way you turn that wheel, 95% of the time you will end up going left. It's the truth. A lot of the old Bumper Cars had the ever-confusing "turn left to go right, and vice versa" systems. Trying to master this technique in your minimal time allotted out on the track is similar to attempting to crack a Rubik's cube in under a minute. In other words, unless you are Will Smith from The Pursuit of Happyness, more clock will be necessary. The steering wheel itself was just abnormal. I believe it is the same one employed at Whirly-ball, meaning you have a small, plastic oval, that comes out of a long, black tube. Essentially you are forking over two dollars for the opportunity to be driven insane.

Even if you did end up getting it going AND mastering the kamikaze steering, there were still problems on the horizon. While you tried to remain near the middle at all times to pick up speed and pick off unsuspecting motorists, sometimes you'd find yourself driving near the rail or the corner. Big mistake. Inevitably, some overzealous, overgrown teenager would try and deliver a big blow, only to instead awkwardly wedge you up against the barrier. Now you are entrenched in Bumper Car Hell. Stuffed between the wall and another vehicle, unable to wiggle out of this maddeningly frustrating predicament. And of course, the dude has no idea how to back up his rig. Both of you are stuck, and your only "hope" is that a third party will come up and just bash the daylights out of everybody, enabling you to break loose and continue. What a blast!

Of course, what would Bumper Cars be without its trademark Whiplash? Ahh, what a feeling that was. Driving along, enjoying your day, not a care in the world...then bang! You are slammed into from the side, without a moment's notice. These cars might only go 7 mph, but somehow it feels like your 3-speed Huffy was just barreled into by a fully equipped Silverado. After regaining feeling in your neck, you take a look to see which of these little mooks took you out. But you need not bother.

It's always the same guy.

He's an adult male, about 5'8". Weighs somewhere between 220 and 375 pounds. Has the moustache/goatee combo, but one that is more the result of sheer laziness instead of genuine desire for the look. He's not topless, but it's close. He wears a t-shirt with the sleeves lopped off, but he cut too far into the fabric. So instead of just being treated to this guy's "guns show," you're now also being treated to his "Hey, I should probably be wearing some type of bra and now you can see why" show. On the front of this garment, it reads in big, block letters, "1992 Pepsi Monster Truck Mega-Clash at the Dome." But it's difficult to make out that last part because there is a huge red splotch, acquired during a violent encounter with a foot-long Meatball Hoagie from Tubby's 15 years ago. The eagerness to dive into the sandwich caused a large chunk of marinara to find it's way onto homeboy's shirt...he still hasn't noticed. And to go with the cutoff tee...what else? Jean shorts. Not just any jean shorts. Jean shorts that could probably be taken out about 14-16 inches. You wonder why this man with such a vast waistline would choose to go with such a snug fit, but then you realize he bought these in the summer of '96 when he was in relatively good shape and he had not yet discovered the $5 Hot-N-Ready. He has a little bit of hair left on his melon, but he covers that up with a mesh-style trucker hat. While the rest of the world connects the hole in the back to assure a comfy fit, this guy leaves it totally unhitched to achieve the maximum slob look. He picked up this atrocious cap for $3.99 at a local Speedway, along with a 6-pack, some spark plugs, and a pair of chili dogs from the "grill" that had been rotating in the same groove for the last decade. The lettering on the hat just reads, "TIGERS," but is written in such a nondescript way that it seems like it's more a representation of the animal itself than the professional baseball team. He should not have even been here. It was supposed to be his weekend with the two kids (one boy, one girl, both juvenile delinquents), but he couldn't resist turning into the fairgrounds when he got a big whiff of funnel cake and corn dogs out of the driver's side window of his beat up '95 Jimmy. It's always calories over kids for this behemoth waste of space. You look back at him one last time, as your eyes slowly de-glaze and the stinging feeling finally leaves your forever changed spinal column. But he's already gone...off to deliver another bone-shaking, whiplash-causing blow to an innocent 4th grader just looking for a couple of laughs on a Saturday afternoon.

That, my friend, is the world of Bumper Cars...and I'm never goin' back.


Drop a thought below, or let me know of your own personal Bumper Cars story at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

One More

When the lights are brightest,the weaknesses and shortcomings of a team are forced to emerge from the shadows and face the music. Where the UCONN Huskies were bigger and taller, the Michigan State Spartans were quicker and more aggressive. Where the Huskies had me-first point guard A.J. Price hoisting up 20 shots to go with a lonely single assist, the Spartans had team-first guards Kalin Lucas and Travis Walton combining for 13 feeds and controlling the game with the poise of Army generals patrolling the front lines. Connecticut had a self-absorbed media bully in Jim Calhoun...MSU had Tom Izzo, a coach that has flawlessly led his team through this unforgiving maze that is the NCAA tournament. On Saturday night, it all fell into place on college basketball's greatest stage.

This Michigan State team is blessed with the kind of depth that a Tom Izzo coached team craves. He wants his players to play full bore at all times. Running the floor, forcing turnovers, and crashing the glass with reckless abandon on both ends. This style of play can be semi-effective with a good starting five and a couple reliable subs. But when you talk about a team with 10-11 legitimate contributors all playing IzzoBall the right way, it becomes an oncoming train that is awful hard to stop.

Their depth was on full display on Saturday. Goran Suton struggled to get into the flow of the game. He looked terribly uncomfortable against UCONN inside stalwarts Hasheem Thabeet and Jeff Adrien. Whereas Suton was calmly knocking down 3s and jumpers from all over the court against Kansas and Louisville, he was tentative on offense and picking up cheap fouls against Connecticut. You would think that having your regional MVP missing in action would make it very hard to win a Final Four game. Not the case here. Two freshmen, Draymond Green and Delvon Roe, remained unshaken despite the magnitude of the moment. They stepped up in Suton's absence and provided invaluable frontcourt service that would greatly help to decide the game's outcome.

Green, normally an inside bruiser, had the Ford Field crowd rocking in the 2nd half with his barrage of unexpected 15-footers. When the final horn sounded, Green had tallied 8 points in just 12 minutes of play. And when the game was up for grabs in the 2nd half, Draymond Green's mini-zone run was just what the doctor ordered. Roe's offensive numbers were not sparkling, but it was his yeoman-like work on the boards that helped to neutralize the one major advantage everyone assumed UCONN had at their disposal. He also had one of the more memorable buckets of the game. Tie score, 1st half clock winding down, Roe the freshman found himself on the block being defended by Jeff Adrien, the Huskies' senior power forward with an NBA-ready body. Roe pumped once, got Adrien to bite, and pivoted the opposite way to shoot. Only he decided to pump again, with Adrien now staring at the rim expecting the shot. Finally, on the 3rd time, Roe turned toward the middle for his patent lefty jump hook, and nestled the ball safely through the net. It gave the home-towners a confidence-boosting two point lead heading into the locker room.

And the depth did not stop there. Korie Lucious, the jitterbug freshman guard from Milwaukee, did more with nine minutes of court time than anybody in history. He bagged matching triples late in the 1st half, got fouled attempting another (made all 3 ft's), and finished with 11
quick-hitting points without even cracking the double digit mark in minutes. Raymar Morgan, long considered an enigma on this MSU team, attempted to silence all of his critics nationwide by playing perhaps the best game of his career. Nobody expected this Morgan, and it showed. With each successive basket that he made on Saturday, there was increasing surprise in announcer Jim Nantz's voice. If Raymar would have miraculously gotten to the 30-point mark (ended with 18), Nantz's whole body would have went into complete and immediate shock.

And finally, Kalin Lucas. It has become tradition that when a Michigan State basketball team wins a National Championship, they do it with a special point guard handling the ball. In '79, it was Magic. In 2000, it was Mateen. And now, it is Kalin Lucas. The Big Ten Player of the Year was on from the opening tip. He knocked down 3s. He ran the pick-and-roll to get good looks for Morgan, Green, and others. And then he had his signature Final Four moment. Tie game in the 2nd half, Lucas was streaking upcourt, ball in tow, with cat-quick UCONN guards Kemba Walker and Craig Austrie back to defend. Lucas did the only thing that made sense in that moment: he channeled one of the best point guards in basketball history, Isiah Lord Thomas. As Lucas sped inside of the key, he dropped one of the sharpest, most convincing, fake-crossover dribbles you will ever see. Walker's whole body practically turned to defend where it looked like Lucas would be headed. When it was clear Lucas was staying to the right, Walker could only helplessly swipe at the air, while Austrie just watched like a spectator, almost in awe of what he was witnessing. Lucas cradled the ball like a tailback, rose up, and finished with a flair. The Spartans now a had a lead. A lead they would never relinquish.

Forty minutes to go. And it does not get any easier. Waiting in the opposite corner are the North Carolina Tar Heels. Much like in 2005, when the Spartans fell to them in the semi-finals, the Heels are again stocked with NBA talent. That '05 team had a bullish big man in Sean May, a quicksilver point guard in Raymond Felton, and a deadly swingman in Rashad McCants. This year's version, similarly, has Tyler Hansbrough, Ty Lawson, and Wayne Ellington. All three will be playing 82-game schedules in the near future. They have yet to be challenged in this tournament. These two teams met earlier this season in this very building, and it ended with a 35-point Carolina advantage. Most likely, if the squads suited up ten times, the favorite would emerge victorious in nine of them. But we cannot forget Rick Moranis's legendary Danny O'Shea character from Little Giants and his unforgettable locker room speech before the 2nd half against the heavily favored Cowboys.

Danny O'Shea: Well, wait a second, guys. Who said you had to be good to play football? You play football because you want to. You play football because it's fun. You play football so you could pretend you're Joe Montana throwing a touchdown pass, or Emmitt Smith going for a long run. And even if those Cowboys are better than you guys, even if they beat you 99 times out of 100, that still leaves...
Tad: One time.
Rudy Zolteck: One time.
Junior Floyd: Yeah... one time!

Monday night, the Spartans will have the chance to make this game their "one time." The crowd will be on their side. The unyielding depth is becoming more of a factor with each subsequent game. Tom Izzo has the same look in his eye that he had nine years ago, the last time his Spartans cut the nets down. The team on the other side, North Carolina, poses a tremendous challenge. One that the Spartans could not remotely contain when they met in December. Will things change tonight? Yes. Michigan State does not need to dominate the Tar Heels for the next week. They don't even need to see them the next day. It just takes one night of being better than the guy lined up across from you. And if Rick Moranis was able to parlay this brand of motivation into one of the biggest upsets in sports history, then you would have to believe that Tom Izzo would be more than capable of replicating the feat. Tonight, we find out if life can imitate art one more time...


Somebody Lend Me their 'Speed Stick' for the Afternoon

If you missed Sunday's Lumber Liquidators PBA 66th US Open, let me tell you something. You have more of a life than I do. The champion was a big ole hoss of a southpaw named Mike Scroggins, who bowled a sloppy 191 in the title match to oust the top-seeded Norm Duke. The main reason I include this item is not the drama produced in the final game, but instead the amount of sweat that was being generated by Mr. Scroggins during the course of the tournament. Keep in mind, these men are bowling in beautiful, air-conditioned facilities. They bowl two frames at a time, with several minutes of rest in between where they sit on a stool and sip ice-cold water. When they finally do get up to roll the pill, there are maybe 4-5 steps of actual motion before they complete their task.

Yet there was Scroggins on Sunday, sweating so uncontrollably that you could almost picture Shaq and Chauncey catching a glimpse of this guy on the tube in some hotel and thinking, "Now that boy can sweat!" It was Ted Striker from Airplane, times a million. He was toweling himself off early and often, sometimes draping the towel over his entire dome until right before he had to take his turn. And it was not helping a bit. Throw in the fact that Scroggy (not making that up...that's what they called him during the telecast) is totally bald up top causing him to look like an upside-down pear that was left out in the rain, and you have the perfect storm of high-definition television. Long story short, it is now 3 AM and I am still being scared of Mike Scroggins' waterfalling beads of sweat. Yeah, I should have a real peaceful sleep tonight...


3 Stooges Gone Wrong

When I think of short, balding, quick-witted Jewish guys, I must say that the name Benicio Del Toro does not immediately jump to mind. So imagine my surprise when it was announced recently Del Toro would be playing Moe in the new film production of "The Three Stooges." When he played a mentally-challenged Native American in The Pledge, I was not laughing. When he was butchered in the sauna room by a crazed Robert De Niro in The Fan, again no laughter. The guy might be a talented actor, but a gifted comic he is not.


He Came...He Saw...He Quit

Words are just words. They might sound great, they might look great on paper, but only one thing really matters; are the words you speak reflected in your actions? If they are not, they carry no meaning. In turn, your credibility is called into question and your character suffers a severe blow. Meet Allen Iverson...a future Hall-of-Famer. He just quit on his team.

“My goal is to help this team win a championship and I’ve said that from the first day I arrived here in Detroit. I’m going to do whatever it takes to help us achieve our goals as a team regardless if I’m starting or coming off the bench.”

This quote was uttered by Iverson about three weeks ago. He was in the process of missing 16 games with what was described as a "sore back." While many were speculating that Iverson was faking the injury and sitting out as some type of protest to his demotion to the bench, these quotes served as something for Pistons fans to hold onto. Had Iverson turned over a new leaf? Maybe the injury was legit, after all. Fast forward to Iverson's return game exactly one week ago. The Pistons took down the 76ers at the Palace, and the Answer had a nice game off the pine. All seemed to be well following the affair, too.

"With all the things I've done in my career, I knew it was going to be tough for me mentally to do this. But the more I looked at the big picture -- the idea of helping my teammates win games -- the more the idea appealed to me."

Again, the guy was saying all the right things, and seemed to be following through on his claim. If coming off the bench was going to help the team, Iverson was going to do it. Was this Pistons team finally coming together, and with perceived malcontent Allen Iverson leading the way? If only things were that easy. A mere two nights later, the Detroiters rolled into Quicken Loans Arena and got beat by LeBron and Co., as basically everyone else has this season. Not a big deal. A competitive road loss to the best team in the conference. Iverson had another solid game off the bench. But in his post-game interview, the true colors of Iverson could be hidden no longer.

"I can play 18 minutes with my eyes closed and a 100-pound truck on my back. I'm wondering what the rush was to get me back. It's a bad time for me mentally. I'm just trying to get through it without starting a whole bunch of nonsense. I'm looking at the big picture, if I vent my frustrations, then it's on."

We're talking about a guy that had come off the bench for two games and was already starting to make waves. Look at a guy like Manu Ginobili. Since his entrance into the league in 2002, he has been arguably one of the top-20 players in the game. He has helped lead his Spurs to three championships. His ability to shoot the trey, drive to the hole, and defend opposing top scorers makes him one of versatile players in the game. And yet, throughout his career, he has been shuffled in and out of the starting lineup more than anybody else in all of basketball. Lesser players like Brent Barry, Hedo Turkoglu, Roger Mason, and an aging Michael Finley have all started over Manu. But you do not hear a peep. Not a word. He puts his head down, plays as hard as he can, and does everything in his power to help the team's cause. Could Ginobili have publicly complained about his reserve role dozens of times over the years? Sure. A player of his caliber would have every reason in the world to want to be in the starting lineup. But he knows such action would do no nothing but harm to the Spurs as a whole...so he remains quiet.

Following the mini-meltdown in Cleveland, Iverson lollygagged his way to a woeful 1-8 performance as the Pistons got throttled by a poor New Jersey Nets outfit. His body language was miserable throughout the night, and it appeared as if he had no desire to even be on the court for any length of time. It turns out those observations were more accurate than initially believed. The Pistons announced a couple days later that Iverson would be shut down for the remainder of the season and playoffs with what is still comically being referred to as a "back injury." The misleading nature of that news release cannot be overstated. Anyone who watched Iverson play in those three games saw the same amount of speed and quickness that has been there all year. The injury was a sad creation to begin with, and is now simply pathetic. Why not just call it what it really is? A lack of heart or even the slightest bit of unselfishness.

The guy has had a reputation throughout his career as a player with one of the biggest hearts in league history. He was a sub 6-footer who didn't care about taking punishment, so long as he drew the foul and went to the line. An admirable quality, to be sure. But look a little deeper. Those sacrifices were always made with individual accomplishments at stake. More trips to the line=more points=more scoring titles=more personal accolades. Would it have helped his team more to average 22 points and 12 assists instead of 31 and 7. Probably. But that has been never been his way. This year, and more specifically, this latest stretch, provided Allen Iverson the opportunity to finally put his own personal feelings and well-being aside in order to help a fractured team try and regain its lost identity. The opportunity came and went. Iverson chose to quit the team. "Quitting the team" sounds like a phrase normally reserved for Little Leaguers and kids in Pop Warner. Sadly, it is all too appropriate for Iverson, as well.

The Pistons play on. They will make the playoffs, probably as a 7 or 8 seed, and fade to black after the first round. However, as fans, at least we can take some pride in knowing the players we root for now actually enjoy representing this team, in any capacity. Will Bynum, the anti-Iverson, had this to say following his record-setting 26-point 4th quarter Sunday night en route to a win.

"We definitely needed that game. It (the record) doesn't matter to me. I could have sat on the bench and scored two points and I still would have been up cheering, trying to get this win. If we got the win, I'd be satisfied no matter what happened."

Team success over personal accomplishments?? Has he gone mad? Will Bynum might be a basketball vagabond with no real NBA credentials to speak of, but the man has his head on straight. Iverson has the personal accomplishments to hang his hat on, but he is light years away from having Bynum's winning spirit. Manu Ginobili has come off the bench 238 times in his career, gaining well-deserved respect from peers for his selfless ways. Iverson spent three games as the 6th man, threw a fit, and walked out on his team. All said and done, Allen Iverson will have spent just 54 games in a Pistons uniform. And my only regret is that it wasn't less.


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It's All in the Cards

Every boy growing up gets hit with it at some point. You're going about your life. Going to school, playing sports with your friends, trying to get your homework done, and eating as much pizza as humanly possible. And then, suddenly, only one thing matters: cards.

Baseball cards, basketball cards, football cards...it didn't make a difference. If there was a picture on the front and statistics on the back, I wanted it.

You had the kids that collected strictly for business. They cherished their cards, kept them in hard cases, and would not dare part with even one if not given fair value in return.

Others just did it for the innocent fun it provided. Trade 'em, memorize the stats, and maybe if one is real special, it goes in a soft plastic sleeve.

I was somewhere in the middle. I liked the thought of having an expensive card or set, but was ultimately drawn to it simply for the love of sports and the ability to feel closer to the players by having their likeness in a small cardboard rectangle right there in my hands.

There are highs and lows when collecting cards. I experienced both. This is my story.

My older brother Gabe and I only really cared about a couple of things early on in life. Playing Nintendo and following sports.

When we would wake up in the morning, it was always a minor competition as to who would read the Sports section first. A lot of times, we would just split it in half and switch after 10-15 minutes. It was always a good break if you got the part with box scores and league leaders in it. I might not have known how to tie my shoes until I was a good 15 years old, but I damned sure could tell you that Kevin Mitchell was leading the National League in homers when I was 5.

We marveled at Bob Welch's 27-win season in 1990. At the time, there was no Internet to speak of. You couldn't make a few clicks and instantly watch highlights of these guys. It was all about the little numbers in small print at the bottom of the Sports page. Stats meant everything to us.

It was not long before baseball cards made their way into our lives.

There were two binders with plastic sleeve pages for the cards.

One for the good players; and one for the guys like Doug Strange and Rick Schu.

This was pretty easy to do. If a guy had great stats on the back, he went in the good pile. If it was someone like Felix Fermin, and we saw an endless string of zeros throughout his home run column, he went with the bums.

Oddly enough, maybe 20 years later, there's still only one guy I can remember struggling to determine what book he belonged to...Phil Bradley.

His statistics confused me to no end. I remember looking at his first couple years. No homers. You're in the bad group. Wait, though. Out of nowhere, the next number in his tater line hit me like a ton of bricks: 26. My 5-year-old mind could not comprehend this rapid change. Bradley then followed with a slew of pedestrian power seasons that wound up somewhere in the low teens. I could never figure out where Phil Bradley's card should be, and he remained a homeless outfielder in my collection.

I went on gathering cards here and there. Not once did I have thoughts of these little pictures with stats being worth any kind of money. Then my good buddy Diz came along.

He was ahead of his time as a card collector. We were maybe in the 3rd or 4th grade, but his collection was a more organized operation.

He had the good cases for the special cards, and actually went to various shows with real adults to haggle and buy his way to an improved set.

He once put a Michael Jordan "Court Kings" card on lay-away when neither of us had the slightest clue of what that meant. Sounded like a good deal at the time.

He would come over and we would lay a bunch of our cards out on the floor of my bedroom. Divided in half, of course. His on one side, mine on the other. And we would commence trading.

There would be 8-player deals. Times where I thought I made the deal of the century. Others where it seemed like I got taken for a ride across the country.

We acted like major league GM's, doing anything possible to convince the other guy to give up the goods.

Diz would say things like, "I hear Clifford Floyd is going to be a Hall-of-Famer."

We were nine years old and Floyd was a young prospect in Montreal...who was he hearing it from???

Things became serious for me the first time I got an actual box of cards. A "waxbox" they called it. I was never sure why.

It was basketball season, so I opted for the '1993-94 Hoops' set. I called Diz to help me open the packs, which became tradition for either one of us whenever we got our hands on new cards. As we worked our way through, I was quickly drawn to the signature cards that were found in this particular box: the Magic's All-Rookie Team cards.

A set of 10. Made up of 9 of the first 10 picks in that '93 draft, with Rodney Rogers being curiously omitted in place of Toni Kukoc. For some reason, when I laid my eyes on the Isaiah Rider and Calbert Cheaney specials that I found in that first box, I immediately made it my life's mission to collect the rest of the set.

I had lost a little bit of that early "cards are just pictures with numbers" vibe and was now falling more to the Diz side of "fun, but with dollars in mind." I mean, that draft was loaded (or at least it looked that way at the time). The Magic's All-Rookie set looked like this.

1. Chris Webber
2. Shawn Bradley
3. Anfernee Hardaway
4. Jamal Mashburn
5. Isaiah Rider
6. Calbert Cheaney
7. Bobby Hurley
8. Vin Baker
9. Lindsey Hunter
10. Toni Kukoc

I had to have all 10. But it wasn't that easy.

After rifling through many more silver-foiled packs like Charlie Bucket looking for a golden ticket, the same few names kept popping up.

Rider...Cheaney...Hunter...a Webber might show up if you were extremely lucky.

Is it possible that Hoops was only putting out some of the cards to keep getting me to buy new ones? Were the Shawn Bradleys and Bobby Hurleys even out there??

After a while, things finally started to take shape. The hard to find Mashburn was found. Vin Baker jumped out from a random pack. Then a neighbor called from a card show, saying he'd come across the elusive Bradley and Hurley gems. As sad it was to get excited by cards of those two NBA busts (though Hurley's was a little different with the car accident), I was ecstatic nonetheless.

After many months of opening pack after pack with Diz while listening to the 'Boyz II Men' CD Cooleyhighharmony 475 times in the process, the job was done. I had all ten. This was undoubtedly the high point of my card-collecting life.

Me and Diz kept on going. His grandma would take us to Crosswinds Mall by West Bloomfield High on Monday afternoons for their card show.

We would banter with the older gentlemen running the booths. I don't think we came within 30 years of the next youngest guy there. But we loved every minute of it.

There were other spots, too. The K-B Toys at Twelve Oaks Mall was always holding this "Buy Zero, Get Two Free" promotion on any packs of cards that you could jam into your pockets without the guy behind the register seeing. Best deal in town.

The Target by West River Theaters ran a similar crowd-pleasing deal. Sure, we may have been committing a felony, but the possibility of getting a glossy Shawn Kemp 'Topps Stadium Club' card made it plenty worthwhile.

After a time, my All-Rookie Team set was joined by other high quality pieces. A Steve Yzerman O-Pee-Chee rookie card. Mark McGwire's Fleer from his 49 HR first season. A Tom Gugliotta card that, with the athleticism he showed in his action photo, seemed to have an unmeasurable ceiling.

Like Matt Damon in the opening scene in Rounders, I decided to make a run. I was going to gather up my best cards, Magic's All-Rookie set included, and head over to the Crosswinds show with Diz.

I imagined a giant swap with one of the "big-time" guys at a booth. Or maybe someone would be so impressed with my lot of treasures that I would just get offered thousands in cash on the spot. The possibilities were endless.

Tragically, there was one possibility I never accounted for: my own forgetfulness.

We trekked around to the different booths, but nothing had caught my fancy. Amazingly, despite the amount of time and effort it took me to attain my impressive collection, I decided to transport the cards around that day by simply clutching the large stack in my little hands. No plastic bag, no fanny pack, nothing. Just me and my baby mitts. If they were in a container, maybe things would have been different.

We made our way over to a vacant table to grab a little breather. But after a few minutes, me and Diz were back on the prowl, scouting out the terrain and hunting for bargains.

And that's when it hit me. My hands were empty.

I sprinted back to the table where we just were...no dice.

I asked everybody around if they'd seen someone grab my precious stack...no help.

Just like that, with one moment of carelessness, they were all gone.

The Yzerman and McGwire rookies. Randy Johnson on the Expos. Googs.

And most important of all, my Magic's All-Rookie Team. They had all vanished into thin air. C-Webb...Penny...Mash...my boy Shawn Bradley. All gone.

That was my last day as a card collector.

The event had officially sapped me of all the card-loving energy I had accumulated over the years.

I probably had the right idea when I was a young pup. Just deciding which ones were good and which ones were bad.

Like Mike McDermott in Rounders, I tried taking it up a notch...and wound up walking out of Crosswinds that day with holes in my pockets and tears in my eyes.

Lesson learned: when it comes to collecting cards, it should never get more complicated than "Phil Bradley: Good or Bad?"

And I think I'm ready to finally make that call. He's going in the "Good" binder.

Of course, his stats still look the same and his power numbers continue to boggle my mind. But after the 'Monday Afternoon Massacre of 1995,' there is plenty of 'good' space available.

I am at peace. The unfortunate events of that day are now long in the distance in the rear-view mirror. And I have finally given Phil Bradley a home.

That is my story.


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