No little boys allowed. NOT UP IN HERE! Hit ‘Em

1.) Can We Acknowledge That Rajon Rondo Has 10 Career Playoff Triple Doubles?

For all you discontented Bostonians who have no idea what they are talking about: Shut it….Oh, and Magic Johnson has 30…Good God.

2.) In A Game of Unsung Heroes, Birdman Reigned Supreme

First, shout out to Crazy Eyes Hansbrough. If Frank Vogel knows what’s good, he’ll finagle at least 18 to 20 minutes a contest for Tyler from here on out. Much like West and Hibbert, he’s one of Vogel’s rotational guys who pose one of many clear advantages for Indiana as Miami may very well have difficulty matching his energy and muscle (that’s right Udonis, suck it). X-Factor indeed. Not to mention the guy is chomping at the bit to shake Dwayne up with an unnecessary follow through

The Nuggets pull the amnesty card without proper background check (its called blackmail from a psychotic bitch, bro’s), the child pornography allegations fizzle, Pat Riley signs Andersen to what I would say is the best under the radar midseason acquisition in NBA history (PJ Brown’s looms in such discussion), Miami goes 39 and 4 (47 and 4 if you include the post season prior to last night), and Birdman proves as arguably the second most valuable player in Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Finals…Wow…While you knew Andersen had the potential to do what Joel Anthony never could and turn Miami’s second units into legitimate starting line ups, you, nonetheless, maintained the thought of his being nothing more than a security blanket. Well, those assumptions proved entirely inaccurate as Birdman has essentially become what Brian Williams aka Bison “I Disappeared in the South Pacific” Dele meant to the 1996-1997 Bulls. Their box scores and skill set may fail in comparison, but the impact remains the same. Just two big fellers who’s capacity to add a dimension of high motor and efficiency allows their teams to seamlessly transition into an echelon of unprecedented greatness. Many might scoff at his 16 points on a perfect 7 for 7 from the field (FYI: the last to go at least 6 for 6 from the floor in a Heat playoff game was Alonzo “Can I Hit It in the” Mourning) and say to themselves, “Pshh…good luck finding that type of production again.” Yet, the career post season high was far from a product of playing out of one’s mind. Rather, it was a product of executing the achilles heel of the Pacers: brilliantly ferocious, well timed weakside rebounding/defensive help and an ability to finish with above the rim power off of dump downs. Add such characteristic to his having a far better second jump than Udonis Haslem and Andersen will continue to be a thorn in Indiana’s trademark collapsing defense know to give penetration fits. In other words, last night was no fluke.

3.) So, Uh, Paul George Dispelled Any Questions Regarding His Superstar Status Last Night…

I’m in love (#Pause). Have you ever seen a kid with as much composure or indefatigability not named Lebron James or drafted outside of the top 5 at the age of 23? Last night was an embodiment of resiliency only displayed by the game’s all-time greats. From seamlessly forgetting a no where to be found first half, to serving as the catalyst behind thwarting Miami’s 12 to 2 “here we go again” run to open the second half, to time and time again winning the battle of isolations with Lebron on the defensive end, to knocking down COLDDDD BLOODED free throws, mid range pull ups and of course 30 foot buzzer beaters…What else is there to say other than Paul George is a bonafide 23 year old top five NBA talent in the making.

4.) Coaches Corner: As We All Know, Roy Hibbert Should Have Been in the Game…Twice.

Clearly, Paul George should have played Lebron for the J as opposed to the drive but who cares. Frank’s taking the blame.

No need for me to delve much into this debacle full of late game fuckery. Rule #1 in preparing for late game situations with Goliath on PED’s: You do E V E R Y T H I N G in your power to make sure The King feels inclined to relinquish any thought of his finishing the game himself. Thus, force deference of responsibility to someone else not named Lebron James. The sequence itself was far too brief for Lebron to all in one attack the basket, deal with Hibbert mid air and try to hit Chris Bosh for a not rushed short corner jumper. Mono-e-mono at the rim at that point, Coach. Not to mention that at this point in his career, Lebron is going for gold on his lonesome. I’m sure James has no incentive to re-hash any scarring memories from 2011…

Talk about over-thinking…You’ve got a great defensive weapon and you invite LeBron to go to the rim twice by taking him out of the game.

— Michael Wilbon (@RealMikeWilbon) May 23, 2013

Yea, how about we not forget that Vogel did the unthinkable 9.2 seconds prior before once again indulging in the unthinkable. Is Coach really that spooked by Chris Bosh shooting 43% from deep? Hey, if Miami looks to play five out, I help like a Brazilian house-maid off of Bosh and bait Lebron to kick. Be my guest, Chris, continue shooting 43% from deep on 16 post season attempts. That small sample size looks gooooood to me!

P.S. Why is that we always have to tune into one woman obnoxiously screaming after a big play? Can the production crew please do something about that? Christ…

5.) This Series Ultimately Comes Down to Lebron Averaging 30, 10 and 10.

Or let’s just say he has to be the Lebron James of last year’s Eastern Conference Semi-Final where he put the team on his back (doe) and averaged 30 points, 10.8 rebounds and 6.7 assists over 6 games. Had Indiana not foregone a number of self-debilitating, easily avoidable turnovers, Miami would have been more or less entirely relegated to the half court. Yes, when Frank Vogel’s bunch doesn’t shoot themselves in the foot with turnovers and George Hill can compose himself enough in the backcourt to not make Norris Cole look like an all first team NBA defender, the Pacers are remarkably capable of slowing Miami’s prowess in transition. Thus, this series comes down to the clear cut advantages within 48.5 feet.. And, folks, the only clear cut advantage I see in this series is Lebron James over all. Roy Hibbert and David West take the battle of Chris Bosh. Although appearing spry and healthy, Dwayne Wade has yet to show any indication that he’s ready to pull out the vintage Dwayne Wade. And Indiana is so unbelievably talented at disrupting Miami’s half court fluidity and multiple ball reversals that the trademark corner three is as far from as prevalent as its been otherwise….Like I said, Lebron must pull a Magic Johnson of 1980 and dump on everyone from all five positions, but for 4 games instead of one. I’m assuming we’ll be seeing some unprecedented greatness from James in this series. NBD.

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Butchering our favorite after hours headliner? Pshhh, give me a break. Believe me, if a female is wearing white denim before sexy time, I’m in there like swim wear with “Love White Jeans On You” as an in the sheets anthem.

Obvious sexual innuendos used by generic clothing companies are the best. Especially when harmonized by the greatest R&B group of all time (those guys haven’t missed a beat, huh?). Whether women know it or not (rather like it or not), every man wants to fuck a pair of white jeans. White jeans make 95% of Tookus beautiful. In my humble opinion, they are one of god’s select fruitful gifts to earth. So any time you compliment a woman on her pantalones blancos, the mindset is man oh man would I enjoy bumping uglies with them thangs. Clearly, Old Navy knows that. But in order for the commercial to pass broadcasting standards, disabling an audience from assuming that Boyz II Men would immediately run train on a pair in a production set dressing room was mandatory. Thus, they stuck an 8 year old girl in there. Because no one neither wants to fuck a pair of white pants on a toddler or be within 15 feet of a toddler when fucking white denim. The mere thought is deathly sickening.

In all seriousness, is this not the most hilariously inappropriate commercial you’ve ever seen? Its all too good to be true. Some quick last key points of observation. Hit ‘Em High, Hit ‘Em Low…in they white pants

1.) Nathan Morris and Company Got Blue Balls Just As That Super Hot Model Sadly Enough Began Talking About White Denim “Amping Up” Her Look

Had the Boyz been able to serenade those two chicks for a good thirty seconds longer and boom: Babies on deck. Old Navy, however, brilliantly scripts an interjection and cues a conversation in which the chick with the chic ‘Fro utters self-indulgent nonsense about her pants being a great new look. I don’t want to hear that, her friend in the blue doesn’t want to here that, and Nathan Morris most certainly doesn’t want to hear that. Blue Balls for The Boyz. My man is all like, “Whatchuuu meannn???”

2.) Old Navy Would Have Been Held Hostage in a Heaping Pile of Shit Ass Trouble Had They Not Casted the Infant 

First, acknowledge the strategy of dressing the toddler in shorts. Like I said, one must deter any thought of pedophilia. White jean shorts…Ew. No one wants those. Now, as for potential trouble, Old Navy would have been as royally screwed as adidas’ Kevin Ware $25 t-shirt campaign had they not casted her. The little girl goes and its a full on white pants orgy. Well, actually, scratch the heaping pile of shit ass trouble. To consider such innuendo morally reprehensible is bullshit. Everyone wants to get it in with white pants. Its the earnest truth. If Kanye West can reference how the private prison system aka the Correction Corporation of America has created “New Slaves” on SNL, then I’m damn sure Boyz II Men can get on national television and profess their love for fucking white pants. Its all in the name of love, not in the name of somewhat true yet obnoxious rhetoric.

3.) This Commercial Only Has a Pathetic 37,000 views on Youtube.

Women hated it…God Dammit

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News—An Orlando man being questioned by the FBI about his relationship with the accused Boston bombers was shot and killed Tuesday night by a federal agent who felt threatened, a law enforcement official told ABC News. ”There was some sort of aggressive movement that led the FBI agent to believe he was under threat and he opened fire,” the law enforcement official said. The dead suspect, identified by the FBI as Ibragim Todashev, “was somebody who they were asking about his relationship with the Boston bombing subjects,” the law enforcement official said. The man killed by the FBI may have lived at one time in Boston, the law enforcement official said, adding that Tuesday night’s shooting came as a surprise during a cooperative interview with the man.

This is too big a mystery for me. I think we better call in the Hardly Boys…But in all seriousness, I hate how sketchy this sounds.

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What a cold hearted son of a bitch, huh?

BSO—Ware is on the road to recovery, and has received an immense amount of support from around the country that was documented by Pat Forde of Yahoo! Sports.  The sophomore guard has been piled with letters and notes to the point where he has a person in the University Of Louisville’s office dedicated to handling and organizing the plethora of things being sent Ware’s way. Some supporters have taken it a step further, and have sent Ware gifts as a kind gesture. One problem: many of these gifts violate NCAA policy and cannot be accepted. Forde lists some of the gifts that have been returned or used for other purposes:

A significant amount of the mail has been flagged for Return to Sender by Louisville’s compliance office because it violates NCAA rules. That stuff is in a separate bin, in a different room.  Gift cards for iTunes, restaurants and bookstores must go back. The box of T-shirts that read “Be Ware The Cards” on the front and “United Cards 5″ on the back will be shipped to the Daniel Pitino Shelter for homeless women and children in Owensboro, Ky. The guy who sent his business card, offering to cut endorsement deals for Ware, will not get through. Neither will the bags of herb coffee.  The cash must be returned, too. Plenty of people stuck small bills in greeting cards. Audrey from Louisville sent a dollar in a Get Well Soon card with a teddy bear on the front.  “The dollar is because I was raised well,” Audrey wrote, “and I don’t want the NCAA rules to come into play.”

At this point, I think its okay if anyone looking to get a job within the confines of the NCAA chastises Mark Emmert. Its no longer clandestine that everyone hates him and his diabolic ways. The guy is just a cancerous dictator and an embodiment of why Division I Collegiate Athletics will never cease to escape the label of most unscrupulous, maniacal, morally reprehensible American business. At some point, I’d expect the guy to step in, realize when and where to finagle a sliver of room for a kind-hearted breaking of regulations, and for once compensate 18 and 19 year old kids from impoverished backgrounds for the projected $797 million they rake in an annual revenue ($702 mill of which comes from the new rights agreement with CBS Sports and Turner Broadcasting) with a stipend of love and affection worth approximately $10 dollars. But noooo, Mark Emmert and his cronies decide not to read between the lines, adhere to the ideology of every gift received by a student athlete equates to an unfair recruiting advantage, and, thus, take away hundreds of care package gifts awarded to Kevin Ware from those genuinely invested in seeing The Warrior return back to full health. Pathetic business model indeed. How about allowing a corporate partner to exploit a brutal injury of an unpaid “amateur” and not do anything about it for a full week instead? Or better yet whydontchaaa surpress any thought you’ve ever had about dealing with the legitimate cluster fuck in Miami? Oh, wait, scratch that, how about continuing to act like everything’s under control when its smoldering right behind you? And bounce/shift blame just as the the heat is about to bear down in overwhelming fashion, much like you did at UCONN, LSU and Montana State? Its only the most intricate plan ever…ever…What was the point in going out of your way to not let the dog toys thing slide? Do you like hearing guys like me (Chris Kattan) rip you to shreds? God, I cannot wait until the NCAA announces a new prezzy. #HitEm

P.S. Where my conspiracy theorists at??? We can have retarded Boston Marathon conspiracy theorists from Cambridge but no Mark Emmert conspiracy theorists that challenge all of us who consider the man to be a heathen? What is this country coming to????

P.S.S. Now that we’ve in no chronological order whatsoever transitioned into the Boston Marathon Bombing conspiracy, why hasn’t anyone kidnapped Alex Jones and verbally berate him to death? No one has yet to do so…The guy is a narcissistic parasite

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Am I impressed to see a NFL cornerback hammer a reverse ally oop in transition? Well, considering he has a 39 inch vertical and shuts it down at high school dunk contests then, no, I am not blown away; he is, however, 5’10. Time and time again do we all forget that these guys are world class athletes capable of transitioning their athleticism into other sports. Football isn’t a field full of one trick ponies. Nonetheless, if we were ballin’ at LA fitness and my dude happened to be there, we’d be bypassing the whole free throw thing in picking teams and I’d select him number one overall. Actually, hold up. Jeremy Maclin goes number in the choice between him and Boykin. J-Mac is a legitimate problem.

Nick Foles, on the other hand, just blew me away. Did he just really step right, plant, spin left and dunk in one motion? And he’s banging silky smooth three’s? Uh, what? You are a god damn liar if you told me you saw that one coming. Do I dare say we’ve got a new best white quarterback, former basketball player on the block? Smells like a challenge to me, Ben Roethlisberger.

P.S. Who are the Eagles playing against? 6’1, 220 pound, 25% body fat ex-Chain smokers and expertise beer drinkers? Step that competition up, fellas!

P.S.S. Conor Barwin and BJ Cunningham are garbage

#HitEm

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Listen, I’m not one of those dudes who completely writes off shit talk that isn’t spoken in ebonics and voiced by some dude who rocks a million dollar Audemar to the dentist. I applaud every and any type of fight promotion shit talk. But it would be a crime if we were not to say Paulet looks like a fucking shmuck idiot dappered up in pretty boy puss suit and two black studded earrings (who does that these days?); sounds like guy is preparing for some consolation prize, Italian reality TV show series in anticipation of having his ass knocked out. Bro, my man Broner has been emasculating you since day one proclaiming he’s ready to go absolutely Ham & Cheese on your ass come June 22nd and you come back with some nonsensical, feminine bullshit? What was that? Oh, your good looking? Your going to “WorldStar” Broner and put him “on that canvas” and then lift up your skirt and “piss on him”? Jesus, Paulet. Sound more like a bitch, whydontchaaa? Adrien Broner must be counting how many unnecessary Bugatti purchases he’ll be making in a month in a bed full of Versace sheets. BEEN a wrap, bruh. Shits over in six, folks. Eighteen minutes in all. KO city. 2,000 on Broner. Yup, I said it: Two Mafuckin Stack Bundles. “Don’t let me drop you because I will lift up my skirt and piss on you!!!” Wrap…it…up….Go ahead, keep on keeping on with the Floyd Maywhether wannabe claims. Soon enough, you, Paulet, Ass Clown, Italian Bimbo Coles, Italian Backstreet Boy will be embarrassed on Pay-Per-View.

Hit Em

P.S. Who cares if the Broner-Malignaggi fight makes no boxing sense whatsoever and, actually, stands in the way of several better fights that could (and should) be taking place with both boxers. Yea, the 23-year-old Broner would be skipping right over the jam-packed and infinitely interesting junior welterweight class. And yes, he unfortunately won’t be working his way up to super-stardom against the likes of Danny Garcia, Lamont Peterson, Lucas Matthysse, Amir Khan, or even Zab Judah. Like I said, Broner is 23. He’ll get those fights. And better yet, we’ll see those up and comers trashing Broner in an attempt to get there. It’ll make for an infinitely better storyline, in my humble opinion. In all, I think the emergence of Broner will popularize boxing for the better. And knocking out some delusional media hot shot clown such as Malignaggi is a great start

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Do I need say much more than, “Oh, my Sweet Jesus”? And, yes, he came down hard on some pussy with a stomach full of sashimi later that night. And when I mean that night, I mean in a shower post jumping into a pond full of shit. But, hey, he got it done at least. Senior Week, Brother.

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First, how about three claps for Matt Bonner? The Concord, New Hampshire stone cold unorthodox, New Balance killer finished the last four games of the Golden St. series playing no more than 7 minutes a contest because of his defensive liableness against the small ball Harrison Barnes cross match (Had David Lee quit it with the torn hip flexor heroics and Bonner would have never seen the floor over those four). Not to mention GS pulled a Memphis of 2011 and switched every and any Bonner pick/pop scenario, which meant the greatest sling shot jumper in the history of sling shot jumpers was made useless. Yesterday afternoon? Well, let’s just say I had an awkward Boner for Bonner (yes, awkward Boners for Bonner are kosher) because the man was the epitome of New England white boy, intelligent, work horse, ”I’m going to frustrate the fuck out of you with super effort when cutting, fronting the post and screening” style of basketball (Fact: If a native of New England grassroot hoops, you’d understand us white boys go HAM in mastering the intricacies of the game and thus play some of the more annoying basketball out there). Which all led to 12 points on 4 of 6 from deep in 17 minutes. A full on display of knowing how to stay ready in anticipation of your number being called. For all you discontented high schoolers pissed off over playing time, look to the Red Mamba.

Now, onto the topic at hand: Could Greg Popovich and Tim Duncan (I’ll throw Tony Parker in there as well although all praise of how spectacular Parker was is at this point old news) been more exceedingly brilliant? Prior to Game 1, Conley, Z-Bo and Gasol averaged a combined 56 points per contest throughout the playoffs. So what does Pop do defensively? Well, simple enough, he leaves room for two of those three to go off while making sure one lame duck has a terrible time. And as game film indicates, Memphis is predicated on a myriad of quick hit, hi-low/pick and roll action in which much of their post entry angles come from the top of the key. Against the likes of LA and OKC (teams who for loved getting bullied 3 to 9 feet from the cup), that action was nothing but murder as Z-Bo and Gasol were able to immediately seal and catch the rock deep enough to either get to the line or force defenses to collapse at will—Memphis has scored a playoff best 221 points off of post ups and Gasol/Z-Bo are getting to the line nearly 14 plus times per game combined. Thus, Pop simply throws an unfamilar look at Lionel Hollins: he fronts everything. Yes, everything; Even Tony Parker fronted the post when switching onto Z-Bo in the pick and roll. The result? Memphis resists deviating from their gameplan offensively, the once effective post entry angels bit the dust, one of Memphis’ big three was sentenced to box score prison, the 20.1 points per game off of post-ups turned anomalistic, not a single free throw was shot in the first half between the Twin “We Can Barely Jump Over a Phone Book” Towers (only two for the entire game) and a world was flipped on its axis. Try to lob it over the top? Baseline help came to the rescue. Z-Bo tries to play the game of inches in the paint with Tim Duncan on his back? Timmy fools Z by repeatedly pulling a Rick Mahorn (i.e. pulling the chair) as Z prepared to establish his base off the ball, flips the script by fronting him and once again baits the wings to uncomfortably throw it over the top. Tyshaun Prince or Tony Allen try to create a better angle to feed the ball into the post? Kawhi Leonard and his enormous hands and anticipation have ’em all too shook up and swarmed to do so in time. Brilliance.

Of course, adjustsments by Hollins will be made as a small sample size record of 8 and 1 after Game 1′s predicts bouncing back is in this team’s DNA. Defensively, the Grizz were the worst we’ve ever seen. Whether it was inappropriately jumping/doubling the ball handler in pick and rolls, inappropriately showing help off the wing to stop dribble penetration from Tony Parker or improperly rotating up to the kick back option at the elbow three extended off of pick and rolls that many a time forced Z-Bo uncharacteristically to huff and puff his way to closing out perimeter jump shooters, we were made hip to garbage on an end the Grizz are normally superb at performing on. But unlike the series of 2013′s playoff past, the NBA’s best defensive squadron has to adjust to a Spurs team that occupies every bit of the floor’s 50 feet in width. This time, there will be no standing and watching as all five guys pack it in. This time, Memphis’ weakside defense cannot key in on the strong side of the floor without getting punished by subtle weakside off ball action for corner/wing three’s. This time, the likes of Gasol and Randolph will be incessantly preoccupied and forced to expend energy (as you will remember, that was something that I mentioned they never had to do against Perk or Ibaka because Scotty Brooks decided to tackle the unexpected in predicable fashion. No wonder Z-Bo wasn’t lively enough to fight with San Antonio’s post defense on every possession). In all, last night was more than just a 20 plus point whomping; it was a reality check in which The Grizz finally felt the wrath of preparing for a champion. Writers can complain and scoff at the dearth of Z-Bo post touches and inability to establish the inside/out brand of basketball that has brought them to their first Conference Finals appearance in Franchise history. But without a solution capable of at least slowing Tony Parker’s dribble penetration onslaught, the road going forward looks bleak. Memphis Bleek to be exact (no one wants to be compared to Memphis Bleek).

Best believe Z is in Deep Thought as I write this. A wholeee bunch of reevaluating to do.

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Missing out if you don’t watch this one. Messy Myles, everyone.

You thinking what I’m thinking, partner? Aim for the Bushes? *Fist pound

As Messy Myles proclaimed above, I wonder how much these bitches are getting paid.

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The art of coaching is one predicated on a multitude of things: the ability to properly manage substitution patterns, the ability to motivate and unearth hidden talents in players, the ability to defy predicability. But above all else lies the following: an ability to make on the fly, game-to-game adjustments when faced with the unexpected. Whether it be compensating for the loss of a marquee contributor through a manipulation of game plan (i.e. discouraging the thought of freelancing by assuming more control of the offense from the sidelines) or employing never before used line-ups better suited to an opponent’s personnel, how a coach attempts to handle the unexpected is what ultimately separates the mediocre from the spectacular basketball mind. And in 2013′s postseason, we time and time again can acknowledge the ability of a sideline general to conquer or at least battle to the brink of defeat with the unexpected. Tom Thibodeau gave ye ‘ol “fuck off” look to the unexpected by willing a proposterously undermanned Chicago team to a bar fight in Brooklyn/South Beach through a reliance on well orchestrated sets and an endemic pitbullish persona—by the way, stealing a game on the road against the defending champs with THAT personnel equates to a bar fight, even if the series ended in five and featured two of the worst offensive performances in Chicago Bull playoff history. Mark Jackson tackled the unexpected by both resorting to ingenious small ball via moving Harrison “The Truth” Barnes to the power forward slot and employing his reverential tactics of motivation. Lionel Hollins TROMPED the unexpected by answering the question of how Memphis would handle the last five minutes of games without a go to “superstar” named Rudy Gay by entrusting the once considered overpaid Mike Conley, illustrating to NBA franchises that ground and pound basketball is far from an outdated Championship formula, and instilling an attitude that embodies the beauty of a small market team.

In all, what those examples epitomize is that where there is a go to offensive system, a coach who knows how to ease the load with timely play calling, and an infectious, tough minded personality that players cannot help but gravitate towards on the sidelines, there is a way to win ball games and probe for unforeseen production at the expense of the unintended or unexpected.

After a mortifying NBA Finals appearance that ended at the hands of a Lebron James triple double (yes, the fifth ever clinching triple double in Finals history), the question plaguing this Thunder bunch was could they escape the confines of predicability; Are the conventional pin downs for Westbrook/Durant, the lack of fluidity and multiple ball reversals, and heavy reliance on do it yourself basketball enough to tromp Miami come 2013? Thus, Scotty Brooks was put to the test. And while Coach answered by refining and adding to some of his standard play calls, OKC’s DNA remained eerily similar: either blast teams in transition or stand and watch two superstars with the sheer level of fire power needed to defy the use of any real offensive scheme and lack of post play. Indeed, it was a perplexing, yet effective formula that we all expected the Thunder to ride another sniff at the title with. But on April 26th, Scott Brooks, the Thunder’s sideline general, was for the first time in his 299 career game tenure forced to charter into entirely unfamiliar territory. A territory that would “rock his world.” A Russell Westbook-less territory. An unexpected territory.

Much like a Thibodeau or a Jackson or a Popovich, he’d have to be resourceful, he’d have to be strategically brilliant, he’d have to be bold enough to make game-to-game adjustments never seen by his players, he’d have to have the courage to pull a Harrson Barnes and force guys into playing a type of basketball they had never played before (things required in order to be successful at the expense of the unexpected). A page out of Rick Carlisle’s 2011 Dallas Mavericks playbook, the very same play book containing the formula for success against the Miami Heat, to better move defenses side to side, avoid offensive stagnation and prevent everyone and their moms from keying in on Kevin Durant for 48 minutes? Mixing in a couple rare touches on the block for Ibaka to show Western Conference defenses a look they had yet to see before? Far from it: Reggie Jackson did his best Russell Westbrook impression (a commendable one at that, he was unreal given the circumstances if you ask me), the bunch relied predominantly on creating shots for themselves and others off make shift dribble penetration, Kendrick Perkins played an inordinate amount (yikes), the Thunder looked like the exact same team schematically, almost everyone of Kevin Durant’s shot attempts were fully contested (a true testament to how great he was) and the comparisons to Lebron’s ’09 Cavaliers piled in (Who knew Lorenzen Wright was on that team? I sure didn’t!)…Once again, predictability galore.

Obviously, the question that now rightfully comes to mind is how could one have expected the Thunder to contend without a 23 point per game sidekick superstar possessing the unprecedented skill to put pressure on defenses whenever he please—especially when such loss came two games into the extended season? Of course, to expect anything close to a title from this Westbrook-less bunch is insane. But in observing how Scott Brooks tackled the unexpected, we, or at least I, the sensible one, alluded to a greater picture; a picture of a job who’s ineptitude has been masked for quite some time by two bigger than life young gunners capable of even making the ’97-00 version of Rick Pitino look good. A picture of a long term extension that never would have been granted had Serge Ibaka and Kendrick Perkins (yes, Kendrick Perkins) not come on late in Game 5 against San Antonio—Scott  95% chance Brooks ends up in another city if they lose that series. Because when Memphis’ grind it out approach inevitably relegated OKC to the half court and Durant couldn’t shake quintuple teams, we saw…well, no coaching.

There was no trace of a staple scheme that allowed OKC to get away from starting their offense through a right/left elbow extended KD post up. There was no constant instruction for well orchestrated off ball action opposite of isolations that we normally see in Boston with Paul Pierce or in Miami with Lebron (you know, when guys set simple weakside down, back, or flare screens to occupy defenses and deter them from overloading strong side in a near standstill). There was no urging of Ibaka to hit the block and challenge Z-Bo’s dominance of the paint. Rarely ever were there any possessions in which we saw the ball whip along the perimeter and guys display brilliant extra passes and read and react dribble penetration. Granted Memphis is the best defensive team in the NBA, you’d expect a coach to find some way of discouraging a team that thrives off of packing it in from packing it in. But Brooks never did. And consequently, the Thunder played an identity-less style of basketball predicated on isolations that failed to thwart Kendrick Perkins’ offensive god awfulness, set up Kevin Martin off the ball for anything other than a quick hit curl (his intelligent baseline backcuts were a product brilliant read and react basketball, not Scott Brooks), allow KD to get a couple easy half court at the basket looks (yea, shooters usually need a couple lay ups here and there to get going), or get their half court offense into any type of rhythm. I mean, heck, if I’m a coach on the outside looking in, I see THIS and immediately think to myself, “Um, is the guy on the sidelines kidding me? Gross, dude…”

Believe me, I’ve repeatedly harped on how unkosher forcing one’s team to play a style of basketball anomalous to their 80 plus game past is. I personally might not see any excuse for why say Serge Ibaka was never told to hit the block and at least attempt some sort of poor man’s rendition of inside/out ball to compensate for Russ (I still cannot fathom how Ibaka has not yet been conditioned to mix it up and hop off settling for 18 footers. You watched and you saw glimpses of how great he’d be in the 6 to 9 foot range if confident…where’s the skill development been at, coach?). When considering the fragility of the playoffs, however, I guess one could excuse Brooks for being risk aversive. Nonetheless, those four consecutive loses along with how he seemingly refused to deviate from his already non-existant system were purely a demonstration of a championship formula not suited for any contender; a formula coach has now used for the last three years. Sure, when you have Ratchet Russ to complement Kevin Durant, defying the principles of stagnation and the need for play calling is feasible. But as we saw in 2012, the extent to how effective such plan of attack can be is limited. And by adhering to that brand of basketball in Westbrook’s absence, I could not help but to predict this team will continually find themselves stuck in their tracks when it MATTERS (i.e. in a seven game series against Miami aka the soon to be perennial world champs).

So as we look upon the future of this Thunder Franchise, I cannot help but to ask the following: Is Scott Brooks the guy for this team right now? Because in my humble opinion, this playoff has served as full proof as to why Kevin Durant will never get a ring unless changes are made. You just can’t win the whole shebangdathang in this league without a general on sidelines who can implement an offense; not to mention a leader who refuses  to crack a blatant look of anxiousness when his team’s back appears to be against the wall (was it just me or did he just exude this unbearable nervous feeling in the 4th quarter of games 3 and 4?). Rolling the ball out and expecting Westbrook and KD to essentially get it done via spectacular individual play after spectacular individual play might win a Conference Finals, but not a NBA Finals. I mean, for Christ’s sake, how good would this team be if they played like THIS.

As opposed to THIS!

THIS!

AND, once again, THIS! Yes, that’s Scott Brooks running absolutely nothing with 3:18 left in the 4th…Am I watching high school basketball? I’m pretty sure that’s what we ran at Salisbury against Hotchkiss and there star studded brute of a point guard, Derrick Wilson. Yes, we lost by double digits.

P.S.

2010: LA beat OKC, won Finals

2011: Dallas beat OKC, won Finals

2012: Miami beat OKC, won Finals

2013: Memphis beat OKC, …Hmmmm

The post How OKC’s Crippled Run Was an Encapsulation of Everything Scott Brooks Has Done Wrong at the Helm appeared first on Hit 'Em Where They Ain't.