Blink

The first week of the 2008 NBA Playoffs has left me profoundly depressed. The regular season was the epitome of hype, and so far this year's 'offs have been The Phantom Menace, with SAS/PHO representing a midget Boba Fett. Something had to give, I suppose, but why in the name of all that is holy did it have to materialize as 2-0 almost across the board? The East is easier to figure out than who framed Roger Rabbit; but the West was/is supposed to be a slugfest. Not so. (Fuck.)

Ironic, then, that the only series notched at a game apiece is Detroit/Philly -- and we know how that one will go. I'm sure there's some underlying principle here, something along the lines of "Once an NBA season reaches critical mass..." but I'm not sure I like it. In fact, I'm sure I don't.

That said, the undeniable truths are:

1) Quality NBA coaches are as rare as quality NFL quarterbacks, so Philly Jax, Pop, and, maybe, Byron Scott -- I've fallen in lust with the Hornets and I can't deny it; I'm about to alley-oop to Tyson Chandler and I think I like it -- are title faves. If the Celts prevail, it will be despite Doc Rivers, sort of like how Eli Manning won a Super Bowl.

2) Shaq is fat, and PHO white or orange don't flatter the Big Sand Dune.

3) Tracy McGrady is gonna own the TNT booth someday/next week.

3.5) Whatever happened to Mark Price? He's the NBA's Joe Dante.

4) Watch me crank that Superman and Dwight Howard this Chris Bosh.

5) Gilbert Arenas is fat, and WAS puke-gold does not flatter your favorite blogger's favorite blogger.

6) To paraphrase Masta Ace (whose day is steadily approaching), "Punks be all up on it like a [New Orleans] Hornet."

I'm fairly sure I wrote that before, but in commemoration of my new-found Hornets jocking, it should be repeated.

7) Wherever there's an angry basketball fan in Seattle, I'll be there.