3 out of 4 NBA Champs

Had a hard time sleeping last night as the Warrior win played itself out through my mind until the sun rose. I woke up exhausted from my effort, grabbing those rebounds, settting screens, blocking off the boards. I told my wife, I'd led my team to the championship once again. "Where's your ring?"she asked.  "Maybe they forgot," I said.

CONGRATULATIONS DUBS.

I have a feeling I will be congratulating them for many more years.

Given the ages of the Dubs players and their dedication to physical fitness, the Warriors have at least four years of championship caliber play. I don't think anyone should be surprised if the Dubs come up up Champs again the next couple of years. That would be fine with me as I have a bunch more grandchildren I can take with me and my wife to ride with us in the parade.

Ah, the Parade. In Coach Steve Kerr's words, what joy!

The NBA grind played with JOY, what a concept!

After the game Charles Barkley and Grant Hill criticized Lebron James for his underwhelming performance. I thought they were too harsh on the King. I simply believe James was operating on fumes, nothing left in the tank. Sure, the Cavs feed off his performance, but beside Kevin Love, not a single player on the Cavs stepped up. Barkley was right, however, that Michael Jordan remains the best NBA player pound for pound. And it's possible (anyone who agrees, raise their hands) the second best is Kevin Durant.

On that note, I end today's blog with a poem I wrote for KD entitled

KD

Our seats are on the courtside floor

under the basket. Before the game,

I’m watching KD, working on his shots

with a coach. His long, lean body

moves through drills with measured

speed and grace. I’m wondering

where have I seen such grace before.

It is unusually fluid almost like liquid

as if he were proving the truth

of the words Keats had inscribed

on his tombstone: Here lies one

whose name was writ in water.

If I watch KD with my eyes closed,

will I see waves? For a moment

I smell the fresh air of oceans,

but think myself foolish,

conjuring images of childhood delights,

sitting on a beach while all around me

the wild courtside din of spectators

roar through the arena with approval

of KD’s moves. I sit with wife

and grandson watching and admiring,

not unlike the way I imagine waves

on the beach, one shot following

another and another, rising and falling

into the wide net of imagination. 

Warriros Three Zip and Etc

The first half of game three almost drove me to suicide. Time after time, the Warriors allowed the Cav bigs to get position and grab offensive rebounds. I fretted and cursed. I closed my eyes. I prayed. I opened my eyes, but nothing changed. Until the second half, when the Dubs came to their senses and began rebounding with conviction and toughness. "Hallelujah," I cried, scaring my dear wife, who was sitting next to me, fingering her worry-beads. From the beginning of the third quarter on, even though Curry and Thompson were having a dismal shooting night, I was no longer concerned. There was Kevin Durant, KD emblazoned on his chest like a Marvel Super Hero, taking up the slack. It was huge. But there were also Livingston, McGee, Bell, and Igudala. They too were heroes. I could almost hear them telling Curry and Thompson to relax; they had their backs.

What makes the Warriors the Dubs and so enjoyable to watch, is that they are a TEAM. "Team" came to the rescue and the Warriors defeated the Cavs, who have a couple of brilliant players in Lebron and Love but do not have a TEAM.

So, tonight, the Warriors must face Lebron and Love in game four. As they prepare mentally for night's game, I want to remind them, of something I learned from one of America's great coaches, Dean Smith of the University of North Carolina. Coach Smith set a value on one offensive rebound and put- back at 6 points, not two points (back then, there was no 3 point shot, so as you read forward, adjust your point totals accordingly.) Coach Smith's reasoning was the following. 1) The offensive rebounder saved a miss and turned it into a score = 2 pts, add 1 point for the possibility that the offensive rebounder was fouled on the put-back and made his one freethrow. = 3 pts. (everybody following the logic so far?). 2) The rebound and put back kept the opposing team from scoring if they had captured the defensive rebound, as is usually the case on missed shots =  2 pts, add 1 point if the shooter had been fouled in the act of shooting and made his freethrow = 3 pts. 3 + 3 = 6.

Smith set a point value on a lot of other areas of the game, such as steals, held balls, diving for loose balls, etc that are sometimes overlooked by fans, players and even some coaches.

So, Dubs, the boards are crucial on both ends of the court. No more offensive rebounds for the Cavs. And how about a few O boards for the home team?

Etc:

It stretches the boundaries of credulity that Bryan Colangelo had no idea that his wife was using burner apps to criticize 76er players, management and other of his NBA colleagues. There are no secrets in today's high tech world. One goes on the Internet at one's own peril, and one better be able to live with and embrace one's words and actions.

Here's a fabulously funny baseball poem I read in a fabulously interesting collection of sports poems entitled "This Loss Behind Us," published by Pint-size Publications.

Avion Blues   by Paul Hostovsky

We, the Blue Jays, are playing the Buzzards,
having already lost to the Orioles, cardinal,s
Eagles, Hawks, Robins, and even
the Sparrows. Bobby Browe is on the mound,
that predacious lefty sidearm pitcher with
strabismus and a penchant for wild pitches -
an evil eye, an evil windup, the devil's
delivery. I step flutteringly up to the plate -
chicken shit, caviling dove, hummingbird
hovering in the batter's box, tremulous, tiny.
My beaked cap. My pigeon toes.The rictus
 of his grin. The trajectory of his spit. And then:
the windup.The pitch. The blind swing - more like
a swat. Two finches chasing a crow over the treetops.

Speculation and etc

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.