Stop The Flop

The refs are catching lots of heat right now for nervously blowing their damn whistles whenever there�s contact- and yes, they�ve made LOTS of terrible calls in these Finals- but consider the possibility that they�re being deceived by Oscar-worthy actors, masters of deception who deliberately fuck with the integrity of the game.

Rajon Rondo is extremely skilled at the artful tumble. Set a good pick on him and down he goes. He flails around like a dying fish out there.

Derek Fisher (yes, I just used �fish� as a segue- ugh) is also proficient at throwing himself to the hardwood in dramatic fashion. Each year, he�s among the league leaders in charges taken.

Pau Gasol�s been known to take a dive if you back him down in the post. Tallest man on the court and he goes down in a heap of grimaces if you bump him. Whatever. He�s European- it�s in their basketball DNA.

On offense, Kobe Bryant and Paul Pierce both do this annoying move where they ball fake to get their man in the air and then jump into his chest deliberately, begging for a call. It�s fucking weak.

Fans hate this shit. The league always says they�ll do something about it but they never do.

Here are my suggestions:

1 Review footage after games and fine the fuck out of obvious floppers. For instance, every time Ginobili throws his neck back and gets a bogus call, charge him $25K for it.

2 Discourage defenders from waiting for the offensive player to jump and then sliding in under their feet. This gets you punched in the face on the playground. It gets you rewarded in the NBA. Refs need to call that a block if the offensive player�s already airborne.

3 Officiate known floppers tighter than other players. If you have a rep for being a flopper, refs SHOULD discriminate against your pussy ass.

Having players flying around on the court needlessly is also really dangerous for unsuspecting teammates. How many times has a flopper fallen backwards into the knee of a big man standing under the hoop?

Don�t get me wrong- I think it�s perfectly OK for players to take charges. There�s nothing unmanly or disgraceful about holding your position and being knocked over. It�s the salesmanship that pisses me off.

Pictured: royal flop

Rondo, Ray Shred LA's Perimeter D

In musical terms, rondo means that the principal theme is repeated several times.

In Game 2, the Lakers guards saw the same thing over and over again: Rajon Rondo running the ball down their throats. This resulted in a series of catch/shoot opportunities for the best catcher/shooter in the game, Ray Allen. Thanks to Rondo's penetration, Ray Ray broke the NBA Finals record by sinking 8 3s en en route to a ridiculously easy 32 points. But it was Rondo that pressured LA's D from the jump and it was Rondo that sewed up the victory with a brilliant 4th quarter to cap off a 19/12/10 triple double. And of course, there was his breathtaking ball fake on Andrew Bynum that will be replayed for generations to come.

In yet another game that was called too tightly for anyone's liking (67 FTs in each game so far- yikes!), the gritty Celtics overcame the Laker size advantage by moving the ball crisply to the tune of 28 assists. Team Green was also efficient, turning it over only 13 times. As Laker announcer Stu Lantz might say, "THAT will get it done."

Laker fans can take solace in the fact that Boston still has zero inside game to speak of. LA swatted 14 of their shots and changed countless others. Andrew Bynum received a standing ovation from the Staples crowd for his 7 blocks and multiple dunks. He and Gasol took turns smacking leather back into Celtic faces all night. Big Baby Davis had four of his offerings rudely returned, lending support to my campaign to officially change his nickname to Blocks Against.

Ron Artest played another excellent game on the defensive end, blanketing Paul Pierce into a 2/11 shooting night. In the Finals, PP is now 8/24. However, Ron Ron looked clueless on offense, particularly on the now-infamous possession with a minute left when he dribbled away the entire shot clock and then chucked up an off-balance brick. Brutal.

Also less than exemplary was Lamar Odom, who's picking up fouls at a rate of one per every three and a half minutes in the series. Candy Man will have to step up his game if LA plans on coming back home. Conversely, Odom's 6th man counterpart, Rasheed Wallace, played well off the bench for the second game in a row.

So on we go Boston, where a hostile crowd awaits, and an already classic battle will surely become that much more intense. This is the Finals everyone's been waiting for- two heavyweights going toe to toe, seeing who's got the stronger chin. This is Lakers/Celtics, after all. And that's a principal theme no true basketball fan will ever get tired of hearing repeatedly.

Pictured: the maestro

Calamity Ensues At Top-Secret Player Summit

A sprawling estate on its own tropical island. LeBron James, Amar�e Stoudemire, Carlos Boozer, Chris Bosh, Jay Z and Drake are seated at a table made entirely of diamonds. A throng of media members and Nike reps surround them with cameras and microphones.

Dwyane Wade enters.

LBJ: What�s up, man? Glad you could make it. Get your jet parked OK?
Wade: Yeah, I put it next to the others.

Wade sits at the table. A sea of camera flashes go off.

Wade: What are all these people doing here? I thought we were keeping this on the DL.
LBJ: Oh, these are just some friends from the media. And my Nike peeps.
Wade: Cool, as long as Stern doesn�t find out.
LBJ: Oh, I handled Stern.
Wade: Handled him? Like you handled Brown and Ferry?
LBJ: Yep.
Wade: Damn.
LBJ: I ain�t playing.

LBJ and Wade share a congratulatory Masonic handshake. Wade notices Jay Z and Drake.

Wade: Hold up- that�s Jay Z! And the dude from the Sprite commercial!
LBJ: Yep, I thought y�all would be impressed so I brought them, too.

Drake opens a Sprite. Jay Z counts his money.

LBJ: OK, let�s get down to business. I�m tired of this losing shit. I want to run with dudes that win titles, not spend their time trying to get with my Mom.

Amar�e, Bosh and Boozer snicker. LBJ gives them a reproachful look. They hush.

LBJ: As I was saying, I�m all about winning. That�s why I gave up on my teammates. That�s why I had my coach and GM killed. They weren�t winners. They didn�t know how to get a ring.

Wade leans in to whisper to LBJ.

Wade: Dog, you know these other dudes don�t have rings, right?
LBJ: Wait, what?
Wade: Yeah.
LBJ: Oh. You got one though, right?
Wade: Yeah. I got one. With Shaq in 2006.
LBJ: The Shaq on my team?
Wade: Yeah. Well, he was on your team.
Boozer: Hey, we can�t hear what you guys are whispering about.
Bosh: Yeah. Whisper louder.
Amar�e (to Jay Z): Can I count your money?
Jay Z: Touch my money and we got problems.

Amar�e backs off. A tense moment. Drake sips his Sprite slowly.

LBJ: Alright, look. Nobody�s touching anyone else�s money. Chill. We�re here to figure out which of y�all is coming to Cleveland to help me win a ring.
Wade: Uh, well�actually I�m here to see which of y�all is coming to Miami.
LBJ: I�m from Cleveland, born and raised. I can�t leave.
Wade: Well I ain�t living in Cleveland, man.

A tense moment. Bosh and Boozer raise their hands enthusiastically.

Bosh: I�ll play in Cleveland. Or Miami.
Boozer: I have a home in Miami.
Amar�e: I�ll go wherever offers the most money. Seriously. I�ll play for the Nets.

Everyone cracks up. Drake does a spit take and sprays Sprite all over Jay Z. Jay Z punches Drake in the face, knocking him unconscious.

LBJ: The fuck, J?
Jay Z: Dude got Sprite on my money.

A puff of smoke and David Stern appears with an evil cackle.

Stern: Well, well, well. What have we here? A secret player summit, I presume.
LBJ: But�but�but�I killed you.
Stern: You can�t kill something that�s already dead.

Stern laughs maniacally.

Wade: Dang, we getting fined like a motherfucker.

Pictured: a toast- to money!

If Anyone's Soft, It's The C's

Boston came out pushing. LA pushed back. The Cs tried to bully the Laker bigs and for a quarter, it kinda worked. Boston had tempo in their favor and trailed by only five, 26-21. Gasol had a nice statistical first quarter but was still spending lots of time flopping around and putting up weak shit (that was going in). Andrew Bynum, on the other hand, was proving to be harder to displace. The oft-maligned manchild camped out in the paint on both ends and there wasn't a damn thing any Boston player could do about it. He dunked, changed shots and generally looked about a foot taller than anyone else on the floor.




Also looming larger than usual was Satan incarnate, Joey Crawford, who seemingly chose to blow his whistle whenever he fucking exhaled. Honestly, that crew called one of the worst games I've ever seen called by any officials anywhere, and that includes twenty years worth of clueless douchebags getting paid $20 to work in C League. In particular, the call for Ray Allen's 5th foul was ridiculously awful. Tim Donaghy might have blushed at that one. But it's not like the zebras were only favoring LA. There were also headscratching calls against Fisher and Kobe, phantom calls that put starters on the bench. 67 FTs. Weak. Hopefully, that crew doesn't see the court again in this series.



Speaking of not seeing the court, Michael Finley made a surprise entrance and was so unspeakably bad on D that Doc pulled him after two minutes. Two minutes. I'm guessing we won't see Old Mike again. Nate Robinson, hailed as a savior for his shooting in Game 6 against Orlando, now is left to wonder why that busted old man got off the bench ahead of him. Bad coaching move by Doc.



The game was relatively close until Artest and Fisher (both saddled with foul problems, of course) re-entered the game in the 2nd and pushed the lead to double digits for the first time.



But the 3rd is where the wheels fell off for Boston. Kobe had a breakaway dunk to push the lead to 13 and nobody from the Cs was back on D. Nobody. I can't remember the last time I've seen that from this team. Rivers called timeout to try and inspire his troops. A couple minutes later, Artest hit a three to push the lead to 20, 84-64.




The fourth quarter was a complete non-issue.



Rajon Rondo, Boston's playoff MVP, was effectively muzzled by Kobe Bryant. He got free for a couple layups early but it was only because Bryant left him to double. Like most other Celtics, Rondo spent the large portion of the evening allergic to the painted area.



So what happened to this clash of the titans that we've all been waiting for? It fell really, really flat. The tough guys got punched in the grill and responded by going home and crying to their mommas. And I'm sure Team Green is spending a lot of time today blaming Joey Crawford but honestly, they got punked. They got pounded on the glass. They shot more jumpers than the Mavericks. And they played D like Los Suns.



If they come out in some pussified zone to hide their deficiencies in Game 2, we'll know this series is probably over.



Pictured: shook ones

Lights Out At Staples

LA's home playoff record of 8-0 this year is well documented. Most attribute this advantage to a marked increase in effort from the Laker players, and to a lesser degree, more advantageous whistles from the refs.

But maybe there's more to it. Maybe it has something to do with the court itself, or more specifically, how it's lit.

Before the 2006/7 season, the folks at Staples Center decided to emulate the lighting plan used at MSG. Thus began the Lights Out era. If you're not familiar with Lights Out, the basic premise is that once the game begins, all lights in the building dim except for those focused directly on the court, giving the game a very dramatic vibe, almost like a concert or Broadway play.

Time after time, opponents have wilted under the spotlight.

In that inaugural season, LA went 25-16 at Staples despite starting Kwame Brown and Smush Parker. Conversely, they were a dismal 17-24 on the road. In 2008, aided by the Pau Gasol acquisition/pillaging, the Purple & Gold improved their home record to to 30-11. Last year's title team went 36-5. This year's squad? 34-7.

Recently, we've seen the Thunder, Jazz and Suns tighten up when the lights go down. Boston could be next.

Ever shoot a J with no depth of field?

King Nothing

Just want one thing
Just to play the king
But the castle's crumbling
And you're left with just a name

-King Nothing, Metallica

No, I'm not about to compare LeBron James to Metallica. But if you've seen Some Kind Of Monster, you'll know that the egomaniacal douchebag factor is about even. Anyway, on to my point...

Yesterday I rewatched Game 6 of Celtics/Cavs to try and figure out what happened, exactly (and yes, maybe I was looking for telltale signs that Delonte West actually was banging Gloria James). What I discovered was that even though LeBron put up 27/19/10, he was so emotionally distant that his weak-minded team crumbled without his leadership. In the most important game of the year, The King threw a sullen bitch fit. And he spent such an inordinate amount of time tongue-lashing Mo Williams that for a second I wondered if Terez Owens had fingered the wrong teammate in MomGate. Granted, LBJ also ignored Delonte West entirely, choosing to sit as far away from him on the bench as possible. Appearing rattled and out of sorts, West performed terribly. But nobody played as badly as Antawn Jamison, who missed layups, turned the ball over and blew every conceivable defensive assignment. Yet James offered no words of support or encouragement for any of his struggling compatriots. No leadership at all. He just sulked. And sulked.

When I was seventeen I dreamed of being king and
Having everything I wanted
But that was long ago and
My dreams did not unfold so
I'm still the king of nothing

-King Of Nothing, Seals And Crofts

Yeah, Seals And Crofts. What?!?

Now, I don't agree with Kareem Abdul-Jabbar's theory that LeBron needed more schooling to grow up emotionally. Dude's been in the league seven years now. And it's not like being the Big Man On Campus tempers an inflated ego (holla back, Christian Laettner). But that was straight up childlike behavior he exhibited out there in Game 6. The only thing The King didn't do is cry and take the ball home with him once it was all over.

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair

-Hurt, Nine Inch Nails

This king is not worthy of anyone's servitude. Futhermore, now would be an ideal time for his loyal subjects in Cleveland to examine their allegiance. Their leader just abandoned them when they needed him most. And now he's about to parade his ass around the league like some high-priced ho at All Star Weekend.

At least he'll have his puppet to play with. And the two-story closet for all of his shoes.

Kings lose crowns
But teachers stay intelligent

-Criminal Minded, Boogie Down Productions



Oh, and here's the real King James, btw. This guy actually accomplished some shit, like hunting witches and torturing innnocent people.

Thunder- Latest Team Of The Future

Congratulations and hearty backslaps to the Oklahoma City Thunder (AKA SuperStolens, Zombie Sonics), the NBA's latest team of tomorrow. With an impressive showing against the defending champs, the Thunder staked their claim to being the squad that everyone's picking to win the title five years from now. Yes, the future looks bright for Durant and company.

The only snag is that the future never arrives. As Buckaroo Banzai once famously said, "Wherever you go, there you are." And where the Thunder are right now is home watching someone else compete for the title.

Think I'm being harsh? Ask the New Orleans Hornets about the future. Ask Greg Oden and the Blazers. Ask the Arenas/Jamison/Butler Wizards. Stuff happens. People get injured. Egos clash.

In 1997, Michael Jordan tabbed the Washington Bullets, a band of pups led by Chris Webber, Rod Strickland and Juwan Howard, the "team of the future." Yeah, that worked out well. A year later, C-Webb was shipped to Sacto, where he formed the nucleus of yet another champion-to-be (fittingly the runner-up in Ball Don't Lie's also-rans of the Aughts column).

Who can forget the promising triumvirate of Kidd/Mashburn/Jackson (The Big 3 In Big D- sounds like bad porn) supposedly being splintered by Toni Braxton? Y'know, Toni Braxton. Yeah.

After soundly thumping LeBron's Cavs in the Finals in '07, Tim Duncan consoled James by telling him, "Some day you're going to own this league." From a marketing perspective, Timmy was spot-on. Four years later, however, the King is still without his crown. Maybe that could change this year. Maybe not. The prodigious Orlando Magic, fresh off their own disappointing turn in the Finals, stand in their way.

And of course, waiting out West are the game's biggest clutch performer and its greatest coach. No, I'm not talking about Channing Frye and Alvin Gentry.

Spiritual and holistic types are constantly reminding us to stay in the moment. "All we have is right now." I prefer John Lennon's way of looking at it: "Life is what happens when you're busy making plans."

Pictured: Bullet Boys (sorry, no Kip Winger)