As we approach the second game of the NBA Finals, there is a bunch of speculation going on, the principal one being how will the Cavs be able to recover from their mistake riddled last second fourth quarter performance that allowed the game to go into overtime and eventual defeat by the Dubs.
Speculation is the job of the media and Monday morning quarterbacks (or in the case of basketball, Monday Morning Point Guards). The job of the participants, coaches and players, is to stick to reality, which is a zen like attention to the real and present. The real and present danger for the Warriors is a determined Lebron James, a focused Kevin Love, a dead-eye catch-and-shoot expert in Kyle Korver, and a streaky, but lethal JR Smith. (Make no mistake about it, Smith is capable of knocking down three or four deep 3's in a row, just as he is instinctively capable of making 3 miscues in a row.) The real and present danger for the Warriors is not to repeat their WEENIE effort on the boards, that led to them being soundly out-rebounded. It's not rocket science. You block off and go get the ball. It's all one motion, one act of pure hardnosed determination.
Can't wait for the start of the game.
If you're an NBA die-hard fan, if you missed a recent NBA Gametime show featuring legendary GM's NBA administrators, Wayne Embry and Rod Thorn, Team exec/owner Jerry Colangelo, player agent Arn Tellem and Hall of Fame Detroit Piston Bad Boy point guard, Isiah Thomas, make sure you don't miss it when it is rebroadcast. Unvarnished NBA history. I loved it when Rod (my old team mate with the Sonics and poker player extraordinaire) explained how we used to travel in the good old days: bus, train, and in coach on airplanes. My knees still ache. Can you imagine how the 7 footers suffered? Lot's of subjects covered: race relations, naming the Chicago team, the Bulls, early player unionization, etc. Lots of etc and minutiae. Wayne, my man, you're looking good for an 80 year old. Jerry, you've come a long way from hustling beers for Johnny Kerr.
Recently I was sent a chapbook of sports poetry entitled This Loss Behind Us: A Triple Play of Poetry by Jack Bedell, Paul Hostovsky and MK Punky. It's a must read. Here is a poem out of that collection about baseball. It is baseball season, isn't it?
The Guy in the Seat Next to You
The challenge for a poet at the ball game
is a triplicate predicament:
he must not swoon over the greenness of the grass.
He must not view every little lovely detail as a metaphor waiting to be transcribed for posterity.
He must not recite rambling stories with no discernible point
except to subtly imply it was all somehow better back when he was a boy
when baseball was a mystery, not a business.
Do not sit next to this man
gleefully noting the aural pastiche of cracks and whizzes and pops
a Partch percussion symphony
trimmed in wood and cowhide.
He will talk your ear off if you let him.
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