There's certainly a lot to talk about, in the wake of the Celtics' return to glory and Kobe Bryant's depantsing on national television. And soon, I may write something else on the series that completely changed the course of no fewer than seven NBA careers (Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen, Paul Pierce, Doc Rivers, Rajon Rondo, Kobe Bryant, Phil Jackson), and possibly an eighth (Lamar Odom).
But for now, let's focus on the moment that, for me, produced more lasting memories than any of the on-court action: Kevin Garnett's hilarious and poignant postgame interview with Michele Tafoya. There's already a breakdown out there, but just because Slate already did it doesn't mean they did it well. On we go:
0:00-0:10: Tafoya asks Garnett how adding "NBA champion" to his resume sounds. Garnett keeps his hands on his hat and his head down the entire time Tafoya is talking, and every few seconds he looks off to the side. It's possible he has no idea that Tafoya is there. It's possible that he has no idea that he is on a basketball court.
0:11-0:19: After Tafoya finishes, Garnett stares blankly at the floor for a full six seconds before beginning his answer with a heavy-sounding "Man, I...I'm so hyped right now." Normally one of the more intelligent and articulate athletes you'll find, Garnett is so dumbstruck by the moment that he is completely incapable of forming thoughts. Also of note is the fact that, at first, it sounds like he says "I'm so high right now," which, at the moment, would not appear to be all that far from the truth.
0:19-0:27: Garnett concludes his "answer" by muttering "anything's possible," before tilting his head back and repeating it as a primal battle cry that stretches for four complete seconds. It seems possible to view this as a funny moment, and in the context of a rather ridiculous interview, that's not entirely unreasonable. But given the long, mostly sad story of Garnett's career, and the rarity with which modern athletes show any real emotion, I submit to you that this was nothing less than the most moving moment of the entire Celtics season, and one of the all-time great emotional moments in sports. Garnett sways and almost collapses from the sheer effort of his emotional release.
0:28:-0:46: Garnett breaks down in tears, turning away from Tefoya. As Slate points out, this isn't one of those single tears that sometimes fall down athletes' cheeks at the thrill of victory, which is acceptable within the Code of Manhood to which all athletes religiously, sometimes overcompensatingly adhere. This is what would be, in any other context, a pathetic display: Garnett's voice is almost comically high-pitched and he is babbling uncontrollably. Slate views this display as less touching than normal athlete man-tears ("these are not the poignant tears of joy shed by Michael Jordan upon winning his first Larry O'Brien Trophy"), and maybe it is. But it is worth noting that the fact that he looks so helpless in front of millions of viewers means that Kevin Garnett has completely, 100% lost control over his emotions, and that is something that athletes rarely do in interviews. It makes him seem more human, somehow. Garnett points to the sky before being hugged extensively by some random Brian Scalabrine impersonator.
0:47-1:16 Garnett apologizes to an understanding Tafoya, and thanks a variety of people for his success, including his mother, before he seems to get stuck on the phrase "top of the world," which he yells twice directly into the camera.
1:17-1:39: Regrouping, Tefoya asks what "top of the world" feels like. In the actual funniest moment of the interview, Garnett suddenly, for the first time, seems to realize that he is in an interview. His automatic responses kick in, and he throws out the first interview cliche he can think of: praising the teammates. The result is a completely non-sequitorial "Ray Allen had a great game," which says very little about how "top of the world" feels. The moment probably reveals more than Garnett meant to about how athletes normally view these interviews--once he realizes he is being interviewed, out come the meaningless platitudes. Garnett ends this portion of the interview by stating that he is "certified."
1:40-1:42: "Michelle, you look good tonight, girl"--a different type of interview cliche, honed to perfection by Doc Rivers during these same playoffs. Normally it's vaguely sleazy, but here, Garnett's heart just isn't in it--he's just trying to get through the interview by searching desperately through his adrenaline-addled brain for what athletes usually say, just like "[Teammate X] had a great game."
1:43-2:22: To close out the interview, Garnett gives a relatively coherent and straightforward answer to a question about Celtic pride. A somewhat anticlimatic finish, but it comes on the heels of quite an entertaining show. Maybe it was funny, or maybe it was poignant (or both), but one thing is clear--no one cares about winning more than Kevin Garnett.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Whistle Blowers
Is the NBA fixed?
How about a better question: does it even matter?
Whether or not the NBA is rigged has been the subject of a great deal of debate, amplified by Tom Donaghy's self-serving allegation that the Kings deserved to beat the Lakers in 2002. On Sportscenter at this very moment, they are questioning whether Donaghy is a legitimate whistle-blower, or is simply tossing out the idea of a conspiracy in order to serve his own ends.
Sure, I'd like to know the answer to these questions. It is undoubtedly important for us to know whether it's simply bad officiating, refs acting on their own (for gambling purposes etc.), or a concerted effort from the NBA to affect the outcome of its playoffs. I would certainly be interested in hooking Donaghy and David Stern up to a polygraph. But
Let's assume, in an extremely magnanimous gift to David Stern, that it is just bad officiating. At the very least that's what it is (it seems that no one who saw that Kings-Lakers game could believe otherwise), but let's start there, in the least troubling of the three scenarios. This bad officiating, if that's what it was, was seriously terrible officiating. Ralph Nader wrote in to complain. The Lakers were on pace to shoot over 100 free throws a game at the rate fouls were being called. It's not an exaggeration to state that this may have been the worst-called game in American sports history.
And that's why it doesn't really matter if what Donaghy says is true. If, at best, the NBA has the worst officiating in history, then the league is already in crisis mode. Finding out that it was all part of a massive conspiracy would certainly hurt, but most of the damage is already done. There's little point in examining the worst-case scenario when even the best-case scenario necessitates massive changes. Regardless of what Donaghy says, the NBA has to be fixed. So it kind of matters if he's telling the truth, but not really.
How about a better question: does it even matter?
Whether or not the NBA is rigged has been the subject of a great deal of debate, amplified by Tom Donaghy's self-serving allegation that the Kings deserved to beat the Lakers in 2002. On Sportscenter at this very moment, they are questioning whether Donaghy is a legitimate whistle-blower, or is simply tossing out the idea of a conspiracy in order to serve his own ends.
Sure, I'd like to know the answer to these questions. It is undoubtedly important for us to know whether it's simply bad officiating, refs acting on their own (for gambling purposes etc.), or a concerted effort from the NBA to affect the outcome of its playoffs. I would certainly be interested in hooking Donaghy and David Stern up to a polygraph. But
Let's assume, in an extremely magnanimous gift to David Stern, that it is just bad officiating. At the very least that's what it is (it seems that no one who saw that Kings-Lakers game could believe otherwise), but let's start there, in the least troubling of the three scenarios. This bad officiating, if that's what it was, was seriously terrible officiating. Ralph Nader wrote in to complain. The Lakers were on pace to shoot over 100 free throws a game at the rate fouls were being called. It's not an exaggeration to state that this may have been the worst-called game in American sports history.
And that's why it doesn't really matter if what Donaghy says is true. If, at best, the NBA has the worst officiating in history, then the league is already in crisis mode. Finding out that it was all part of a massive conspiracy would certainly hurt, but most of the damage is already done. There's little point in examining the worst-case scenario when even the best-case scenario necessitates massive changes. Regardless of what Donaghy says, the NBA has to be fixed. So it kind of matters if he's telling the truth, but not really.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Spirited Away
In high school, I worked at a summer camp-type locale called Summerbridge, where every day, one of the sixth- and seventh-grade attendees would receive an award. This award, called the Spirit Stick, went to a student who demonstrated exceptional program spirit and displayed a generally positive and constructive attitude.
Believe it or not, this meaningless summer camp award has a lot to do with Kobe Bryant. You see, at a meeting at the end of every day, the Summerbridge staff would determine who would win the Spirit Stick the next day, and it was often a highly contentious process. Frequently, one of the teachers would decide to nominate one of the program's worst discipline problems because they'd had, for them, a relatively good day, in that they didn't hit any of the other students. Sometimes, students who had made a legitimate case to win the award, through genuine friendliness and good deeds, would lose out to a student who had done absolutely nothing, and who had simply refrained from misbehaving for a day.
That student who won the award so undeservingly is the sixth-grade summer camp version of Kobe Bryant. Kobe used to be, in short, a discipline problem. He called out his teammates and threw them under the bus. He inspired his coach to write a book about how much he hated his star player. He might have raped somebody. While his incredible skills made him the kind of guy you'd want on your team, he was not the kind of guy you'd want on your team.
Then Kobe changed. He curtailed his petulant behavior and stopped giving the media bratty quotes and trade demands. He started passing the ball to his teammates. He continued to cheat on his wife, but at least stopped committing borderline sexual assault. He was not a model citizen any more than Derek Fisher was (actually, much less than Derek Fisher was). But at least he'd stopped hitting his classmates.
This would all be well and good, except we've given Kobe the Spirit Stick for it. Of course, there's no actual award for being a great teammate, but there is no shortage of media stories on Kobe's rebirth. And that's fine in theory, since he has been reborn--I'm just sick of reading articles fawning over the fact that Kobe now sometimes passes to teammates rather than taking all the shots himself. Not ball-hogging, the absence of a basketball crime, has become praiseworthy in its own right. We might as well credit him for every defensive set in which he doesn't commit a foul, or every postgame press conference in which he doesn't insult Sasha Vujacic.
Personally, I find Kobe Bryant to be one of the more hateable athletes out there, but I suppose I can see how someone could legitimately disagree. What I can't comprehend is why we seem so intent on praising him. His talent is as elite as it has always been, but as a team leader, he's finally (and maybe not even permanently) risen to somewhere in the neighborhood of average. And for that, I refuse to give him a Spirit Stick.
Believe it or not, this meaningless summer camp award has a lot to do with Kobe Bryant. You see, at a meeting at the end of every day, the Summerbridge staff would determine who would win the Spirit Stick the next day, and it was often a highly contentious process. Frequently, one of the teachers would decide to nominate one of the program's worst discipline problems because they'd had, for them, a relatively good day, in that they didn't hit any of the other students. Sometimes, students who had made a legitimate case to win the award, through genuine friendliness and good deeds, would lose out to a student who had done absolutely nothing, and who had simply refrained from misbehaving for a day.
That student who won the award so undeservingly is the sixth-grade summer camp version of Kobe Bryant. Kobe used to be, in short, a discipline problem. He called out his teammates and threw them under the bus. He inspired his coach to write a book about how much he hated his star player. He might have raped somebody. While his incredible skills made him the kind of guy you'd want on your team, he was not the kind of guy you'd want on your team.
Then Kobe changed. He curtailed his petulant behavior and stopped giving the media bratty quotes and trade demands. He started passing the ball to his teammates. He continued to cheat on his wife, but at least stopped committing borderline sexual assault. He was not a model citizen any more than Derek Fisher was (actually, much less than Derek Fisher was). But at least he'd stopped hitting his classmates.
This would all be well and good, except we've given Kobe the Spirit Stick for it. Of course, there's no actual award for being a great teammate, but there is no shortage of media stories on Kobe's rebirth. And that's fine in theory, since he has been reborn--I'm just sick of reading articles fawning over the fact that Kobe now sometimes passes to teammates rather than taking all the shots himself. Not ball-hogging, the absence of a basketball crime, has become praiseworthy in its own right. We might as well credit him for every defensive set in which he doesn't commit a foul, or every postgame press conference in which he doesn't insult Sasha Vujacic.
Personally, I find Kobe Bryant to be one of the more hateable athletes out there, but I suppose I can see how someone could legitimately disagree. What I can't comprehend is why we seem so intent on praising him. His talent is as elite as it has always been, but as a team leader, he's finally (and maybe not even permanently) risen to somewhere in the neighborhood of average. And for that, I refuse to give him a Spirit Stick.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Save Tonight
First of all, if you're wondering what the title of this post has to do with Barry Bonds (the subject of said post), it's because I figured I should make a pun on the word "bonds," thought of Max Cherry, the bail bondsman character in Jackie Brown, and that led me to 90's one-hit wonder Eagle Eye Cherry. You are already regretting that you asked.
But anyway: on to Mr. Bonds. A recent blog post on boston.com suggested that, with David Ortiz on the DL for a semi-extended period of time, the Red Sox have to at least consider signing the most employable unemployable man in baseball. Sure, he's perhaps the most hated athlete in American history, but he is undoubtedly beneficial to any team, and especially in the American League, where he can DH and never has to move his extremely brittle body.
A lot of Sox fans are coming out in support of such a plan, but in my opinion, they're conflating the role of the team ownership with the role of the fan. Sure, it makes sense from the ownership's point of view. The team owners have one of two goals, depending on how cynical you are: make money or make wins (which, conveniently, make money). Barry accomplishes both of these goals--it's hard to argue he'd OPS less than Ortiz's replacement (Brandon Moss??!??!?!?!?!?!??!@1), and the controversy should be good for a few dollars. Some moralizing fans might be outraged and relinquish their season tickets, but there are always enough fans in Boston to take their place, so it's hard to see how signing a public-image nightmare could realistically cost the team money.
But, in my opinion, the fan has different goals from the team owner. The fan, when you really think about it, doesn't want their team to be as good as possible. They want their team to be as fun to root for as possible. This point often goes overlooked because the two go so reliably hand-in-hand: winning teams are more fun to watch and cheer for, which is why I'm happy I'm a Red Sox fan and not a Yankees fan. But they don't always go together, and the "Don't sign A-Rod!" chant is proof of that. Sure we want our teams to win, but first things first: we want a team that we like, and then we want that team to do as well as possible.
So, maybe that boston.com is right: maybe the Red Sox should consider signing Bonds. It's certainly in the management's best interests. But as fans, we don't have to buy into that. We don't like Barry, and for most of us, I think that's more important than winning a few more games.
But anyway: on to Mr. Bonds. A recent blog post on boston.com suggested that, with David Ortiz on the DL for a semi-extended period of time, the Red Sox have to at least consider signing the most employable unemployable man in baseball. Sure, he's perhaps the most hated athlete in American history, but he is undoubtedly beneficial to any team, and especially in the American League, where he can DH and never has to move his extremely brittle body.
A lot of Sox fans are coming out in support of such a plan, but in my opinion, they're conflating the role of the team ownership with the role of the fan. Sure, it makes sense from the ownership's point of view. The team owners have one of two goals, depending on how cynical you are: make money or make wins (which, conveniently, make money). Barry accomplishes both of these goals--it's hard to argue he'd OPS less than Ortiz's replacement (Brandon Moss??!??!?!?!?!?!??!@1), and the controversy should be good for a few dollars. Some moralizing fans might be outraged and relinquish their season tickets, but there are always enough fans in Boston to take their place, so it's hard to see how signing a public-image nightmare could realistically cost the team money.
But, in my opinion, the fan has different goals from the team owner. The fan, when you really think about it, doesn't want their team to be as good as possible. They want their team to be as fun to root for as possible. This point often goes overlooked because the two go so reliably hand-in-hand: winning teams are more fun to watch and cheer for, which is why I'm happy I'm a Red Sox fan and not a Yankees fan. But they don't always go together, and the "Don't sign A-Rod!" chant is proof of that. Sure we want our teams to win, but first things first: we want a team that we like, and then we want that team to do as well as possible.
So, maybe that boston.com is right: maybe the Red Sox should consider signing Bonds. It's certainly in the management's best interests. But as fans, we don't have to buy into that. We don't like Barry, and for most of us, I think that's more important than winning a few more games.
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