Around the World with the HSL

No "Strings" Attached

Fruit by the Foot...a few Girl Scout cookies...or even the sticky, slightly overrated, but always there for you Fruit Roll-Up: all highly acceptable elementary school lunchtime treats. What you brought as an entree or main course, whether it be a sandwich or a cold piece of chicken, was secondary to the all-important snack. Most people understood this process. You wolfed down the PB & J or turkey sangwich so you could finally get to something sweet. The cafeteria by-laws were in perfect order. Until one "snack" came along and started wreaking havoc. Our sacred lunch room would never be the same. Meet "String Cheese."

The product itself was very mysterious to me. At the age of 9, you're used to seeing cheese in its melted form only. I could identify with grilled cheese. Macaroni and cheese I connected with. Pizza was a dear friend. Even mozzarella sticks, while still in their infancy before bursting onto the national stage in '96, were something I could wrap my arms around. But seeing someone pull out an unclothed, unmelted log of cheese from their brown bag for snack-time was inconceivable. As Tom Hanks perfectly stated in Big, "What's fun about that?" You got me. But somehow, it started catching on. You couldn't get through one peaceful afternoon at Forest Elementary without encountering String Cheese.

A couple things have always confused me about Sir Strings. Exactly what kind of cheese was this guy? Back in the day, I just assumed he was "String." But maybe 10-12 years later, I discovered that this was indeed not a real faction of the cheese family and that it belonged to a different group. But which one? Even now, the answer is unclear. Some speculated that it was Swiss, but that's never been documented, and the lack of holes in Strings makes that theory highly unlikely.

And why were people so obsessed with eating it in stringed segments? Yeah, I understand that it might be more fun this way, but just do us all a favor and take a normal bite out of the thing like a civilized human being. I probably saw somewhere between 500-1,000 string cheese consumptions in my school years, and not once can I remember someone just pickin' the bad boy up and attacking it. With its appearance much resembling a stick of butter, I guess some kids were hesitant to take a big ole chomp for fear of looking like a complete savage. While that might have been the case, at least they would have preserved some level of personal pride.

If there is one thing you can take away from this hard-hitting piece of journalism, it is this. The next time a friend offers you a slice of their String Cheese, just follow these three simple steps. First, let that person know his or her friendship will no longer be welcomed. Second, just say NO. You will be sparing yourself a lifetime of regret, while contributing in some small way to the eventual elimination of String Cheese and the cruel game it has been playing with us for the last 15 years. And lastly, go grab yourself a celebratory snack consisting of a sugar cookie and a mini-carton of chocolate milk...because you just made the best decision of your life.


NBA Playoff Thoughts

-When Latrell Sprewell put the choke hold on P.J. Carleismo back in the day, he did more than just leave a nasty scar on the coach's neck. He also did some major damage to the man's voice box. If you've heard P.J. do any color commentary on TNT for this year's playoffs, you can't help but feel like you're listening to Super Dave Osborne. But once you get past that, he has actually been very enjoyable behind the mic. I always enjoy color guys that were recently coaching in the league, and Carlesimo fits the bill having just spent a couple years with the Sonics/Thunder organization. He does a nice job of focusing his attention on all of the players on the floor, not just the superstars as some color guys are prone to do. As proof of this, Carlesimo spent a good 8-10 minutes on Tuesday night gushing about Spurs veteran forward Kurt Thomas and the effectiveness of his cross-screens to get Tim Duncan open. By the time he had finished with the verbal massage, you half expected P.J. to ditch the headset and go hop onto Thomas for a little cross-screening action of his own.

-I'm fairly confident that if Steve Blake went without shaving for the next four or five years in hopes of growing a real man's beard, he would still just end up with a few cat-like whiskers on his chin and along the side of his face. It always looks like Blake is trying to get some legitimate facial hair workin', but he just does not have the capability. Perhaps he could learn a thing or two from longtime professional beard grower P.J. Carlesimo.


A Good Bit Never Gets Old

Me and my Dad have had a running joke for years about the NHL. When we see a team leading in the 3rd period, we always try and figure out what that lead would translate to in a basketball game. For instance, if the Red Wings were up 3-2 with ten minutes to go, that would be about a 15-point margin. If they were able to tack on a goal to make it 4-2, the lead is now somewhere in the 30-40 point territory. If we ever flip on a game and see a team ahead by three goals, that would mean a comeback would be akin to a basketball team storming back from down about 80 points. It's just a fun, little dig at hockey by intimating that scoring goals is near impossible and that even 1-2 goal leads are basically insurmountable. Turns out this "bit" carries much more truth than originally thought. The Carolina Hurricanes scored two late goals in last night's Game 7 to steal the series from the New Jersey Devils. But get this. Prior to that comeback, teams that had a lead going into the 3rd period in this year's playoffs were an astounding 29-0. You might think our routine is silly, but next time you see a team carrying any kind of advantage into the final 20 minutes, just go ahead and turn the channel. That team is down by 50 points...and they're not coming back.


An Unsolved Mystery on the Diamond

The Tigers signed Adam Everett in the off-season to stabilize the shortstop position with his reliable glove and semi-occasionally frisky bat. However, the early returns are in, and the comparison that keeps coming to mind is that of Jeff Blauser for the 1998 Cubs. The Cubbies were set to make a big run that year (they wound up winning the wild card) and they felt that Blauser, despite his advanced age, was the perfect fit. At least it sounded like a good idea at the time. Blauser wound up hovering around the .200 mark for most of the year while his range in the field started resembling that of Roger Dorn in Major League. By the time the playoffs came around, the Cubs were scrambling for production at short, shuffling between strikeout machine Jose Hernandez and known steroid abuser Manny Alexander. Blauser had just turned 32 that year in Chicago, the exact same age of his current version in Detroit, Mr. Everett. If the Tigers end up making a run late in the season, look for the younger Ramon Santiago to see more and more time up the middle. The more I think about it, with Blauser and Everett's facial features eerily similar, I'm not totally convinced that they are even two separate people. Is it so inconceivable that Blauser hung it up in 1999, took a year off, decided he still had an itch, and started back up again in 2001 under the name "Adam Everett"?? I think not. In one final, almost chilling twist to this bizarre saga, we come to find out that "Adam" isn't even Everett's real first name. It's Jeff. This just got very interesting...


If you've seen Jeff Blauser or have heard anything of his whereabouts, call your local law enforcement agency or e-mail me at highsockslegend@gmail.com

The Same Old Story

The 2008-09 Detroit Pistons can finally be laid to rest. The Chauncey Billups trade stunned them, the inexperience of Michael Curry wobbled them further, and finally on Sunday, the Cleveland Cavaliers delivered the final knockout blow. I'm not here to break down what went wrong in this blur of a 4-game series. The Pistons were severely outmanned, and regardless of what a blood test might otherwise indicate, it's quite clear that LeBron James is Tayshaun Prince's daddy. But I couldn't help but notice one thing as this mini-dynasty made their final exit. While Antonio McDyess soaked himself dry of any energy that remained in his 34-year old body, and Rip Hamilton repeatedly tried to find his stroke, and Tayshaun Prince labored through 32 minutes despite barely being able to move...there was Rasheed Wallace. Just chillin'.

Nobody had any grand illusions of the Pistons coming back in this series. I don't think anyone even thought they could steal a win on Sunday. The final result was a formality. But as a fan of any professional sports team, you still expect a professional effort. Rasheed Wallace gave no such thing. He loafed up and down the court. When he was involved defensively in a pick-and-roll, he would do one of two things. Either he let the dribbler go right on by, skipping alongside offering no resistance. Or he would "act" like he cared, and just get right up on the guy by slapping and hacking until a whistle was blown. Sheed must have figured the quicker he racked up the fouls, the quicker he could go take a seat. His attention to the defensive glass was especially hard to watch. As was the case all series long, the Cavs would jack up a wayward 3, and Anderson Varejao would be tracking the ball at full speed by the time it rimmed off. Where was Rasheed? Just watchin'.

If you've followed the Pistons for the last handful of years, you know what to expect from Rasheed on the offensive end. The allergic reaction to the paint, the forced looks from downtown, and the failure to ever really try and attack the guy guarding him. It was classic Sheed all series, and he put it all together in Game 4. Coming into the matchup with Cleveland, some thought that the one advantage the Pistons would have was with Varejao trying to contain the multi-talented Wallace. That might have been the case...if it were 10 years ago...or if Rasheed cared in the least. Sheed would play in the post on occasion, only to face up and fire a contested 16-footer without even entertaining the thought of making his defender work to get a stop. Somehow, he managed to play significant minutes in all four of the playoff games without once going to the free throw line. 122 total minutes of court time and the man never got to the stripe. You almost have to go out of your way to achieve such an embarrassing feat. In the finale against the Cavs, Rasheed would attempt 7 shots, all misses, while failing to register a single point in a game for the first time all season. So much for saving your best for last.

Early in the 3rd quarter on Sunday, one sequence transpired that fully represented Sheed's lifeless performance. The Stones were trying to scratch their way back in the game, scoring the first 4 points of the half to cut it to a five point lead. The Cavs decided to run a little two-man game at the top of the key. Sheed got switched on to the guard, and essentially watched as the man dribbled right by, slowly shuffling his feet to at least feign the appearance of effort being exerted. Help defense came to bail out Sheed, and the ball was kicked out to a wide open Mo Williams. Fortunately for Wallace, the shot was no good and the rebound fell right in to his hands. He had not played good D, but the Pistons had the ball back with a chance to make things interesting. He gave it up to his point guard Stuckey, and yet even with the camera starting to pan back the other way to follow the Pistons on offense, I could see Sheed on the far right side of the screen. He'd already delivered the outlet pass, and the Pistons were moving up court, but he was still standing in the same place. He was trying to figure out whether it was worth it to chug the 40-50 feet to the top of the key where he usually sets up shop. Finally, after the Pistons had already begun their offensive set, Sheed came back in the picture. Sure enough, he stopped dead in his tracks a few feet behind the 3-point arc, waited for the ball to be swung his way, and let fly with an errant, ill-advised brick from 27 feet that epitomized the type of selfishness he's so often displayed during his 14-year NBA career. Nothing says "hustle" like being the last guy down the court and the first to hoist upon touching the rock. About 90 seconds later, even the normally oblivious Curry could sense that Rasheed had no interest in playing, and yanked him in favor of Jason Maxiell.

With his contract expiring, this was likely Rasheed Wallace's final appearance in the Pistons red, white, and blue. He will leave behind a mixed legacy. One, of the missing piece that was finally added to complete the 2004 championship team. And another, of the boorish, oft-complaining, "when things get tough, I become invisible" side that reared its ugly head on Sunday. While his lethargic play was impossible to ignore, it was his facial expression throughout the day that was most telling. There was no emotion, no passion, no nothing. Just pure disinterest. I thought back to 2007, the last time the Cavs eliminated the Pistons from the playoffs.

Sheed and the Pistons were down 3-2 in the series, but trailed by just one entering the 4th. However, slowly but surely, the game started slipping away. Daniel Gibson started raining 3s, Rasheed continued to struggle (finished 5-14), and it was a double digit game in the blink of an eye. He kept picking up fouls, and eventually picked up his 6th with about eight minutes to play. The Cleveland fans were going berserk, and the Pistons knew that the series was over. Rasheed would be forced to sit on the bench with the rest of his teammates and absorb the pain that goes with being knocked out just short of the NBA Finals. Only that aint Sheed's style. When he was whistled for that 6th personal foul, he had a tantrum. Off went the headband, out came the obscenities. While it was still a semi-manageable 12-point deficit and a technical would do nobody any good, Sheed pressed on. Finally, he got his wish and Eddie Rush ejected him from the game. To the locker room he went, where he would see a stat sheet telling him he collected a total of two rebounds in 30 minutes during the most critical game of the year. When those agonizing last few minutes were played out and the Pistons' fate was sealed, Sheed was nowhere to be found.

Which brings us back to the here and now. In Game 4, Sheed remained ejection-free and was present for all 48 minutes. Technically, at least. While the referees forced him to leave two years ago, this time Sheed took care of it all by himself. He might have physically showed up at the Palace and stayed on the court for the duration of the game, but for all intents and purposes, he walked out on his team just like he did that night in Cleveland. Only this time, thankfully, he's never coming back.


Drop a comment here or float me an e-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Wisdom and Inspiration from the Unlikeliest of Sources

The Detroit Pistons have done almost nothing right. They haven't contained LeBron. They haven't rebounded the ball. They have gotten almost no production from their three starting frontcourt players. They failed to come out with any energy in either of the first two games. Michael Curry continues to be in way over his head, looking more confused with each game, while cementing himself as quite possibly the least innovative coach in playoff history. The Pistons trudge home trailing 2-0 to the Cavs, the team that won an NBA best 80% of their basketball games during the regular season. With all that being said, however, I can't help but be reminded of the final scene from one of the more underrated films of the last few years: Music and Lyrics. Just stay with me here.

In the movie, Alex Fletcher (Hugh Grant) is a former pop star of the 80's and is trying to resurrect his career by writing a hit song for a new teen sensation. He recruits the help of Sophie Fisher (Drew Barrymore), and together they pen a fantastic song. He provides the music, her the lyrics...hence, the clever title. However, as the big concert at Madison Square Garden approaches, their seemingly flawless partnership becomes rocky. A big disagreement ensues over the final cut of the song, and Alex fires off a hurtful rant aimed at Sophie and her inability to "live in the real world." Needless to say, it didn't go over well and she started making plans to move down to Florida. For all intents and purposes, he was dead to her. He'd failed to stand by her when it came to the song, and made things worse with his insensitive diatribe. Hell, even I wanted to slap him. But Alex had one more bullet in his chamber: a surprise opening number at the Garden. With Sophie in attendance, Alex sat down at the piano and poured his emotions out through a song he'd written just the night before. The name of the song..."Don't Write Me Off." Essentially, it was an admission of guilt and responsibility for all things gone wrong to that point...but he was still there...and wanted one more chance. Just like our Pistons.

This Pistons team is on the brink of losing their fans. Heck, they might've already. The passionless regular season has bled right on through to the playoffs. While in the past the Pistons were able to shrug off inconsistent efforts with guarantees of improvement in the following game, that is no longer the case. One poor outing simply leads to another...and another. And while coming home should be viewed as a positive thing, these Pistons were just one game over .500 at the Palace for the year. The number of Cavs road wins (27) dwarfs that of the Pistons total at home (21). It's almost impossible to find any silver lining with the current state of this squad. But then I'm reminded of Music and Lyrics...and the lines to Alex Fletcher's touching final melody.

"And while I know, based on my track record,
I might not seem like the safest bet
All I'm asking you...is don't write me off, just yet."

Any number of Pistons could have written that previous stanza, and it would have made perfect sense. After all, none of these guys seem like the "safest bet..."

Rodney Stuckey looked more composed during last year's playoffs. This time around, he has become a dribbling machine (not a good thing), in the process obliterating any notion that he is close to being a starting point guard in this league.

Rasheed Wallace is a shell of his former self, and hasn't sniffed a 20-point game for over two months.

Tayshaun Prince has always been the consummate pro and the ultimate team guy, but at what point do his playoff disappearances earn him a ticket to another city??

Jason Maxiell is a tireless worker, but it irks me that he comes back every single year with the same broke approach from the free throw line.

There is no doubt how badly Antonio McDyess wants to win...but it's looking more and more like his body can't keep up with his will. The effort is unquestioned, but he's running on fumes now. Watching Dyess get beat to loose balls and long rebounds by Zydrunas Ilgauskas has been the most depressing sight of the whole series.

Kwame Brown just makes me miss Elden Campbell.

I like Walter Herrmann as much as the next guy, but I have never seen a guy call for the rock more times during a game. Every single time Walter is on offense, he makes his way to one of the corners and begins waving his arms frantically like that wide open receiver at the end of Necessary Roughness.

Arron Afflalo...the only mystery here is whether Mark Jackson will ever actually pronounce his name correctly before the series ends. "Afollo is doing a nice job on D tonight."

Will Bynum has done all he can in very limited time. You know how I feel about this.

Some Pistons take the losses hard mentally and physically. Take head trainer Mike Abdenour, for instance. "Abs" seems to be getting significantly shorter with each demoralizing loss. I have no evidence to back this up, but I wouldn't be surprised if after this series Abdenour ends up checking in at right under 4 feet. Just a theory.

And Rip Hamilton. He needs to regain that swagger he carried around in 1999 when he was the Most Outstanding Player in the NCAA tourney, leading his UCONN Huskies to a title. Sure, he had reason to moan and groan when his best friend Chauncey Billups was traded, but you would have liked for him to instead turn it into a tremendous personal opportunity. This was never his team before. Now it is.

So now we come back to tonight. The Pistons can enter this game one of two ways.

They can come in like the Columbus Blue Jackets did in Game 3 of their series with the Red Wings. The Jackets came home behind 2-0 in the series, and proceeded to get thrashed by the Wings. They were obviously a heavy underdog, but you did not see the type of desperation you come to expect from a team on the brink of elimination.

Or they can be the Utah Jazz from last night. The Jazz are the #8 seed out West, as the Pistons are in the East. After the Lakers took a commanding 2-0 lead, the Jazz were faced with a must-win situation in Salt Lake. Trailing by eight entering the final quarter, Carlos Boozer decided they were not going out like that. Twelve inspiring minutes later, they had their hard-earned victory and were back in the series.

"And though I know,
I've already blown more chances
Than anyone should ever get
All I'm asking you is... don't write me off just yet.
Don't write me off just yet."

You watch your team all year long to get to this point. You stay up for the 5 games in 7 nights out west. You fight through the blowouts, the flat performances, and the collapses against inferior competition. You put up with the fake injuries (Iverson) and the fake coaches (Curry). Because there's just something special about watching your team in the playoffs. Whereas you're rooting for them to win during the regular season, you almost yearn for them to win in the playoffs. You hate to think about the door finally slamming shut on the season, and you get a pit in your stomach when you can tell the end is near. I still remember that same empty feeling during the final quarter against Miami in '06 when it became clear the Pistons would not be returning to the Finals for a 3rd straight year.

The above lyric says it best. The Pistons have indeed "blown more chances than anyone should ever get." Their performance this season has lacked the proper emotion, desire, and determination necessary to win in the NBA. Those facts are undeniable. But when the series tally says the Cavs only have "2" and they need "4," that means there is still basketball to be played. So maybe Stuckey can settle down. And Sheed can score 20. And Tayshaun can impact the game...somehow. And Maxiell can make one from the line. And Dyess can pump just a little more gas into that tank. And maybe Rip can take over. Because if Sophie Fisher was able to forgive Alex Fletcher for all his past wrongdoings and not "write him off just yet," I can do the same for these Pistons. Let's just hope they haven't written themselves off, already...


The High Socks Legend can be reached at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Just Thinkin' Out Loud...

Pistons and the NBA

If Doug Collins had to choose between LeBron James and Lindsey Hunter as his favorite player of all-time, I'm not sure which way he goes. On one hand, Lindsey is "the best on-ball defender in league history." But LeBron James has the "strength of ten men" and is the "most gifted passer in the game." I don't think he could ever pick one over the other, but you can be sure that he prefers both to his own son, Chris.

Why not just make it official and assign three fouls to Kwame Brown the moment he steps on the floor? It would make things a lot simpler.

I've always been a big fan of Kevin Harlan's announcing on TNT, but I would request that he stops referring to sideline reporter Pam Oliver as "Pammy." It's making me uncomfortable.

I just don't have the energy right now. I've made my feelings well known before. I'll just say this. If you can watch this Piston team, and honestly tell me that six minutes through the first 3 quarters is enough for Will Bynum, I will nod my head and move on. And then dial the nearest insane asylum so they can come pick you up.

Something is up with Tayshaun Prince. I can't fault the guy for getting dominated by LeBron James, but I don't ever recall seeing him with such lifeless body language in all his time as a Piston. He's averaging 3 points and 2 rebounds in the series, and contrary to how hard he usually performs, he looks like the Piston most looking forward to getting this series over with.

You know that you watch a lot of NBA ball when the cameras get a shot of Jerry Sloan and you can tell immediately that he got a haircut after the last game.

The 35 points and 9 dimes is a hell of an effort, Deron Williams, but John Stockton would not approve of his point guard turning the ball over 7 times along the way.


Tigers

-We're 13 games in and Miguel Cabrera is hitting at a mind-boggling .451 clip. At what point do we start talking about Ted Williams here??

-Earl Weaver, the Hall-of-Fame manager for the Baltimore Orioles, despised the sacrifice bunt. Weaver believed that the cost of giving away an out was far greater than the reward in moving a runner up 90 feet. This strategy is magnified even more when a team is down to their final three outs. I always like this kind of manager that will have an attack mentality when behind in the game. When facing a good closer late in a ballgame, and with precious few outs remaining, I find it very hard to justify giving away those outs without making the pitcher earn them. Needless to say, it was definitely not Jim Leyland's finest hour in the opener against the Angels. The Tigers trailed by one entering the 9th. They got the leadoff man aboard when Carlos Guillen singled and had their DH, Jeff Larish, due up. In theory, this is where your DH should be an asset. One swing of the bat and you could have the lead.

But in a strange turn of events, Jim Leyland decided to replace Larish, sending up Adam Everett, a man that has been asked to pinch-hit just nine times during his entire 9-year career (1 for 9). With a lefty on the mound, you would think Marcus Thames might be called upon, but instead it was the punchless Everett being summoned to the dish. He also subbed speedster Josh Anderson for Guillen. Leyland then ordered for the sacrifice from Everett (again, never been a fan of giving away outs with a 9th inning deficit), but he couldn't get it down. With two strikes and Everett no longer able to bunt, Anderson became overly aggressive and got hung up with a Brian Fuentes pickoff, getting thrown out at 2nd. Everett then struck out, leaving the Tigers with no runners on and two out when the inning had looked so promising just a moment prior with the leadoff hit. Essentially, all Fuentes had done was give up a single, get Everett to foul off a couple bunts, make a solid pickoff move, and the bases were clear again with the victory one out away. Not exactly making him earn anything.

Sure enough, the next two batters reached, making the "pinch-hitter, botched sacrifice, botched steal" all the more frustrating. They were left stranded when Ramon Santiago took a called third to end the festivities. To recap, four Tigers came to the plate in the 9th trying to reach base (Everett was trying to sacrifice), and Fuentes only retired one of them. That effort should not be rewarded with a save and an Angel win, but with over-managing, and unaggressive over-managing at that...just about anything is possible.


Other Things

Ping-Pong is the one sport where you hit your peak when you are about 14 years old. That's the best you'll ever be.

The movie never gets a lot of pub, but Jack Black and Steve Zahn in Saving Silverman were easily one of the best comedy duos in recent movie history. Just ask my boy Aubrey. I believe that was his first purchase when starting his DVD collection...and I'm almost as sure it didn't wind up being his only copy.

Am I the only guy in the world still actually "taping" things off the TV?? The TIVO, DVR, and all that might be easier and more convenient, but I haven't crossed over. I'm still throwin' the tape in the VCR and pushing the 'record' button. I'm just not ready yet.



Does anyone not sleep with one arm under their pillow?? Drop a thought below, or float me an e-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com

Yet Unnamed Monday Weekend Sports Re-Kap

CLUELESS

I know they are just not good enough. I know they are dealing with a far superior team. I know that the other team has the best player in the world. So no, I am not here to suggest that the Pistons should beat the top seeded Cavs in this series. But I can't with a good conscience sit here and not address the mysterious disappearance of Will Bynum, unquestionably the team's most valuable player in the last month of the season. Rookie head coach Michael Curry has essentially relegated Bynum to a few spot minutes here and there, somehow dismissing or forgetting all that the little guy did for the team down the stretch.

You can go all the way back to the beginning of the season. That is when we first realized that Will Bynum was a legitimate player, and not some basketball nomad that was simply happy to be collecting an NBA paycheck. This guy could ball. In the first game following the trade of Chauncey Billups, and before Allen Iverson had arrived, Bynum was forced into action. Despite not appearing in the team's first two games, Will "The Thrill" (not to be confused with Will "The Thrill" Clark of baseball fame) didn't miss a beat. He racked up 12 points to go with 4 assists in just 23 minutes. Over the next few weeks, Bynum's minutes would be yanked around, with no real pattern forming. He could sit for a week, then play for a few straight games. And it was not for a lack of production. Bynum had mind-boggling box score lines like "10 points and 2 assists in 8 minutes," taken from a close victory over Indiana in December. Still, Curry failed to give Bynum a true role on the team, stapling him to the bench for most of the next two months.

And while he might not have the classic NBA pedigree (lottery pick, All-Rookie teams), the man has a classic NBA game. He is one of the five quickest players in the league (no joke). He is deadly on the high pick-and-roll. If he gets in the paint, you might as well put two on the board. He works very hard on the defensive end, and will noticeably snarl when one of his teammates is lazy and allows an open shot. His jump shot still needs work, but he is relatively comfortable from inside of 15 feet. Also, with his aggressiveness usually comes plenty of free throw attempts, where Bynum checks in at an impressive 80% clip. And there's just a certain swagger. A confidence that says, "I couldn't care less whether I was drafted or how many teams I've played for in the last five years. I'm gonna outwork you, outplay you, and beat you every time we step on the floor."

The Allen Iverson "back injury/quitting/not willing to play a reserve role" saga did bring one good thing back into our lives: Will Bynum. Curry finally had no choice but to play him. What happened next came as no surprise to Pistons fans that had been witness to Bynum's solid play earlier in the year. He started producing every single night. Abusing Stephon Marbury in a victory at Boston. 19 points in a wild 4th quarter comeback attempt in Dallas. First start of his career...22 and 6 in a shellacking of the Clippers. Consecutive performances against two playoff teams (Lakers, Bulls) when Bynum combined for 45 points and 20 assists. He shot 48% from the field for the month of March, and 85 from the line. He was no longer "just a little burst of energy" off the bench. Bynum had become the team's most important player.

When Rip Hamilton returned to the team after missing several games with a groin strain, Curry mindlessly slashed Will's minutes again. Soon, the Pistons success was almost a matter of whether Curry would allow Bynum enough time on the floor to secure the win. In the season's pivotal playoff-chase moment, the Pistons were hosting the Bobcats, the team breathing down their neck for the final postseason spot. After three quarters, Bynum had played just 14 minutes, and the Pistons trailed by one. We all know what happened next. Bynum proceeded to set the all-time franchise record for points in a quarter, pouring in 26 during the final 12 minutes, and finishing with a career-high 32. He was unstoppable. When the Bobcats backed off, he slayed them with drives. When they got too close, he drew contact and marched to the line for 16 free throws in the final quarter alone. The ironic note about this historic quarter is that it most likely never would have occurred if Rip Hamilton not been ejected at the end of the third. Michael Curry would have robotically removed Bynum from the game despite his heroics, most likely replacing him with Hamilton or Rodney Stuckey, both players that struggled mightily throughout the night. The franchise mark would not have been touched and the game might very well have ended with a different result. But thankfully, the ejection saved Michael Curry from himself as he was almost forced to let Bynum play big minutes. However, as was the case all year, Bynum was only days away from getting demoted again.

The Bulls came to town in the second to last game of the year. A matchup with Cleveland awaited the loser. Coach Curry decided it was best to sit Will Bynum for extended stretches of the contest. He played just 11 minutes, his lowest total in 23 games. The Pistons lost. When the playoffs kicked off on Saturday, I hoped things would be different. I hoped Bynum would get the opportunity he so rightfully earned. I hoped Curry would just throw his hands up and say, "You know what? The guy's been my best player for the last quarter of the season! One way or another, he's playing 30-35 minutes a night from here on in." None of those things happened.

Bynum saw a few minutes in the 2nd quarter and provided a boost. He entered again to start the 4th and led a mini-run. He fed Rasheed for a triple, got himself a couple of buckets, and a 13 point Cavs advantage was now just 8. When Mike Brown called timeout to quell the momentum, Bynum walked back to the bench with a telling expression on his face. It said, "Yeah, we're coming back now, but where was I before??" It was not a selfish look...just complete exasperation from a guy wanting to help his team and only being given a fixed amount of time to do so. The eight point margin was as close as they got. Curry gave Bynum the hook a couple minutes later and that was pretty much it. A little more court time in the waning moments ended up padding his minute total, but for all intents and purposes, he played about 10 meaningful minutes (14 total). It's inexplicable...inexcusable... and completely unacceptable.

As stated before, I have no grand illusions about the Pistons stealing this series. They are outmatched in talent, desire, and anything else you want to add to the list. It's not their year. But there is no excuse for the way that Michael Curry has, and continues to, mismanage Will Bynum's time on the floor. The team plays with greater energy and an increased sense of urgency when he is in the game. His excellent play during the season's home stretch is a large reason why they are even in the postseason to begin with. If this series is to become competitive at any point, Will Bynum must be prominently involved. Otherwise, the Pistons will vanish without so much as a whimper, and I will spend the summer months reading this column over and over while crying myself to sleep. So get Will Bynum out there, Coach...for my sake.


Best Game of the Weekend- Philadelphia at Orlando

An unbelievable Philadelphia comeback and a monumental Orlando collapse in the 4th quarter of this game. After a couple of Dwight Howard free throws with about a minute to in the 3rd, the Magic held an 18 point advantage. They had all the momentum in the world, the crowd was on their feet, and the Sixers looked resigned to simply calling it a night and hoping to even things up in Game 2. But in a stunning turnaround that was undoubtedly the highlight of the opening weekend, the 76ers stormed back with huge contributions from the unlikeliest of sources.

Leading up to the playoffs, the High Socks Legend expressed the recent amazement that was felt when seeing just how big Donyell Marshall had gotten in the last couple years. Several reasons were offered as to how he might have packed on the poundage: change of teams...less exercise...possible cannibalism. But regardless, one thing about our man will never, ever, change. The man can shoot the 3-ball. In the 4th quarter on Sunday, big fella was up to his old tricks.

After it looked like the Sixers might make a serious push to start the final quarter, Anthony Johnson drilled a huge 3 for the Magic to stretch the lead back out to 14. With only about 9 minutes to play, that shot looked like it might be the one to take any remaining wind out of the Philadelphia sails. But Marshall answered right back with a corner bomb to make things interesting again. The quarter continued, with Philly still chipping away, but unable to get over the hump. Then the Magic finally got a clutch shot of their own, as Rashard Lewis banged home a 3 to push the lead back out to five. Not so fast. Donyell went and hid in his favorite little corner, took a pass from the heady Andre Miller, and canned his 2nd triple of the quarter (both Orlando 3s in the period were immediately answered by Donyell triples).

But as is usually the case with an 18-point deficit, it can be extremely difficult to get all the way back and tie it up or take the lead. Orlando had assumed a four point cushion again, and was looking for one big stop at the 2 minute mark. The Sixers swung the ball around the perimeter, eventually finding Chubbs Marshall spotting up for another trey. Only this time, the Magic's Courtney Lee recognized the hot hand and closed out hard, forcing Marshall to put the ball on the floor. It was soon apparent that our man was uncomfortable trying to dribble, especially considering he hasn't stepped inside of the 3-point arc since 2003. After a few awkward dribbles toward the free throw line, Donyell elevated and heaved an ugly one-hander towards the hoop. Proving that this was indeed Philly's night, the ball crashed off the glass and somehow found its way through the basket.

Despite all of Marshall's heroics, the 76ers were still trailing by three with about 45 ticks left on the clock. Common sense says, "Get Marshall a good look at a long ball...the man is on fire!" But Philly chose to roll the dice with Andre Iguodola and he responded by bricking a 3 off the side of the rim. Theo Ratliff (who was also tremendous in the final quarter) scrapped for the offensive board, and restarted the possession. This time, the 76ers did things right. Andre Miller rocked the dribble, drew a mini double team, and fired a perfect cross court pass to the waiting hands of the one and only Donyell Marshall. He let fly with one more picture-perfect rainbow from deep. The ball nestled through the twine, the game was tied, and the 17 thousand fans at the O-Rena could only slink back in their seats and think, "We were 59 and 23, and we are getting our a** kicked by Donyell Marshall!!??"

The Sixers finally grabbed the lead for good with under five seconds left. Iguodola isolated on Hedo Turkoglu and buried an in-your-face step back from just inside the arc, flashing an ice-cold stare to the deflated Orlando crowd for one final dagger. The comeback was complete. And while Marshall gets most of the ink on the High Socks Legend pages, sufficient credit must also be given to Iguodola, who played as hard as any player I've seen in some time during that deciding quarter. Anytime the Magic missed a shot down the stretch, which happened often, Iguodola would turn into a heat-seeking missile, ferociously chasing down the rebound. He refused to allow Orlando a second opportunity on his watch. I know Iguodola has always been a very talented player, and a potential All-Star, but he really grew up tonight. It was as determined a 4th quarter performance by one player that you will see in these playoffs.

It's games like this that make the NBA Playoffs so good. The intensity is amped up to the max, and even an 18-point deficit late in the 3rd quarter is not insurmountable. After a dominant regular season, most NBA pundits had the Magic strolling on to the 2nd round with little resistance from the 76ers. After 35 minutes Sunday night, those predictions looked to be 100% accurate. But then Theo Ratliff came alive (literally...he had been cryogenized for the last 18 months), Andre Iguodola morphed into some kind of superhero, and the High Socks Legend's prodigal son, Donyell Marshall, decided to turn back the clock one more time. And I couldn't be prouder.


Most Enjoyable Coach to Watch Suffer

Speaking of the Orlando debacle, there is no better coach to view during a meltdown than Stan Van Gundy. As the lead slowly dwindled away and Van Gundy continued to lose his cool, I imagine his 4th quarter statistics ended up looking something like this.

14- Pounds lost from excessive sweating.

27- "Bison Dele-Tom Izzo Faces" in which he got as close as humanly possible to crying without actually releasing any tears.

3- "On-Court Timeouts" following Philadelphia baskets when he became so disgusted that he was already on the court signaling for another timeout with the ball still going through the net.

14- Pounds immediately regained during the postgame spread when Van Gundy requested his own personal cold cut platter, and "any soft pretzels that still remained in the building."


Last Game of the Weekend...Why Not Save the Best for Last??

The best individual performance of the weekend came courtesy of an old friend. When the Hornets and Nuggets tipped off late Sunday night, many Detroiters were already tucked in. Boy, did they miss a show.

Chauncey Billups was on a mission. Simple as that. Sixteen points in the first quarter. 4 of 4 from downtown. The Pepsi Center crowd was beginning to realize they were in for a memorable night. The 2nd half started and Chauncey got it cookin' again. Three after three after three. The roof was practically coming off of the arena now. Late in the quarter, Denver had a numbers advantage for a probable easy layup. Chauncey had other ideas. He let the cutters fly by, stopped on a dime, and unloaded another 3...CASHHHH!! It was his third triple of the quarter and seventh of the game. The rout was officially on. The roar of the crowd was starting to increase with each subsequent Chauncey bucket. Marv Albert's voice box was about to explode. Byron Scott frantically called for a timeout, if not to settle his own team down, to at least calm the fans a bit and try to cool the sizzling Billups off with the short break. At least it seemed like a good idea at the time.

First possession out of the timeout, it was time for Big Shot's encore. Chris Paul lost the ball and Chauncey scooped it up. As he dribbled down court, every single person in the arena knew exactly what he was going to do and exactly where the ball was going to end up. Sure enough, he rose up well behind the arc, flicked the wrist one more time, and watched as the ball magnetically zoned in on the net, falling through without so much as a ripple of the cord. Marv did the moment justice, screaming at the top of his lungs, "He is SIZZLING!!! That is NUMBER EIGHT from DOWNTOWN!!!" Reggie Miller, a man that Chauncey had victimized and sent home many times before in the playoffs, responded with an emphatic, "DO IT TO 'EM, Mr. Big Shot!!" Even Chauncey's enemies had to just sit back and enjoy a performance this special. Chauncey jogged back the other way, wearing a grin the size of the Colorado River. He finished with 36 points and 8 assists, as his Nuggets coasted to a 29-point win.

It's been five years since Chauncey Billups was crowned the NBA Finals MVP. Since then, many fans have questioned whether he has lost a step. They've wondered if he is still able to lead a team on a title run. One game cannot offer definitive answers on this debate. But if Sunday night's showstopping spectacle is any indication, Chauncey is most definitely not done yet.


What are your impressions of the NBA's opening playoff weekend? Share your thoughts below, or drop me an e-mail at highsockslegend@gmail.com