A Steve Nash Sunday

Is it over? Perhaps not. But the announcement this past Thursday by the Los Angeles Lakers that point guard Steve Nash will once again be missing an entire season of basketball is a sad one. Even if he were to play, at this point in his career, having played only 65 games over the last two seasons (and only fifteen last year), the Nash of today would not be the Nash of yesterday. The wonder of his Dallas Maverick and Phoenix Sun days has been reduced to memory. In the century that his brand of play gave birth to, he is already past.

Out of the Wild: Steve Nash's Exodus to Los Angeles

Steve Nash has always been an outsider. When most of the basketball world was introduced to him, it was March and Santa Clara was printed across his chest. His team was a fifteen seed and pulled off an upset against the number two seeded Arizona Wildcats. His team would return to the NCAA Tournament two other times, but was unable to ever make it past the second round. In many ways, Steve Nash's college career was more than just a precursor or slight foreshadowing of his pro career--think specifically of how in both Dallas and Phoenix he was able to perfectly juxtapose brilliance and beauty with disappointment and failure, going places where it appeared he had no business going.

Atlantic Division Profiles: Amare, the Messiah

Russ previewed the Atlantic Division earlier this week, and I followed that up with Rondo, the Dreamer, and here's the fictional back story on Amare, inspired by his move this offseason to New York and his delving into his Jewish heritage: 

Amare stands on the Brooklyn Bridge, suspended over one of America's great rivers by the stone and concrete and steel cables that once helped one of America's greatest cities cross into modernity.  His yellow taxi is pulled up against the curb, smoking like a meteorite or a capsule from Krypton, the vapors rising from the yellow dented hood like steam off a desert lake.  Are such scenes possible?  They must be, for this is what the scene is.  Are such scenes laden with irony?  They must be, for here is a man, used to being hailed down by pedestrians with their hands raised like a holy man's trying to catch the spirit, now standing on the side of the road with his own arm extended, waiting to be rescued.  Life does this to us: bouncing us back and forth, like a ping pong ball, between the stations of being what is needed and what does the needing, maybe there isn't even a distinction, like how Superman needed a planet where capes weren't in fashion in order to make his special.

LCB Hoops Picks: Western Conference Finals

Tonight the Los Angeles Lakers and Phoenix Suns kickoff the Western Conference Finals, a rematch of the 2005 and 2006 playoffs that is sure to be an exciting series. In order to get you ready for this battle of would-be rivals, Langston is back to give you his breakdown and prediction.

LCB Recap: Steve Nash on TLC

The following is text taken from the popular daytime television show "What Not To Wear":

Meet Steve, a basketball player from Canada who has recently come down with a case of the uglies. Normally, being just another ugly Canadian would be no problem; however, he has some important business dates coming up that he cannot miss. To make matters worse, these meetings are in image-obsessed Los Angeles where being ugly could have him in the business of losing before the meeting even starts. So that's where we come in. Over the past two days, we've been working with Mr. Nash to find the look that best suits him. Stay tuned for the results

Used to be one of the wonders of the world: Spurs-Suns

If you want my attempt at writing about the Spurs-Suns from a more objective standpoint, head over to The Faster Times, but if you want me depressed with nothing to say then here's the place for it: 

The day the Wear brothers transferred from UNC, leaving the Heels with two post players for next year, on the same night where I saw the Braves go without a hit for the first seven innings of a 3-2 loss to the Nationals, my Dad asked me, "Is the series over?" in reference to the Spurs-Suns series, and, trying to remain positive on a day when most of my sports teams seemed to be floundering, I responded, "It'll be tough for them to win the series, but I really do think they'll win Game 3."  I was wrong.  I was really wrong.

A lot of people want to say that this Suns team is a lot better than any of their teams in the past.  I'm not sure of that, but I do know that they're better than this year's San Antonio Spurs; and that these Spurs are no where near as good as the Spurs teams that went onto win championships or even play in the WCF.

I told my Dad "they'll win Game 3," but, last night, as Goran Dragic surpassed Jared Dudley's Game 2 efforts to become the embodiment of the paradigm shift between these two teams, I was silent.  So was the AT&T Center, and both felt empty.  I've never cried over a basketball game, but last night I kind of wanted to, mainly because I was in such shock that I didn't know what else to do.

When Manu Ginobili went off in the third quarter, hitting off balance shots and step back threes, I thought the Spurs had this because that's how this series always goes.  Whenever the Suns push the Spurs, Manu slashes their throats with a play no other player would even attempt, Duncan stands like the Colossus of Rhodes, and if necessary, a Robert Horry intimidates the pieces of the puzzle into their proper places, denying the serfs their rise.  I thought Manu's play in the third quarter would inspire, as Manu and Duncan's play always has, the supporting Spurs to do something of merit; instead, Goran Dragic became what Steve Kerr was for the Spurs off the bench in '03 against the Mavs: unstoppable, inexplicable, devastating.  As a Spurs fan, I haven't felt this way since Derek Fisher stopped time in 2004.

And now we live inside the paradox where Tim Duncan is less inspiring than Steve Nash because, for once, it was Nash's supporting cast that was not intimidated, did not shrink, and did what they had to do, if not more.  And now I feel like Linus without my blue blanket because now it feels like Duncan's been reduced to that statue of a foot on Lost, or worse yet he just got stabbed like Jacob and is now waiting to be kicked into the fire.  One could even go as far as to say that we saw the Suns in John Locke's body, but they were no longer John Locke--they were a pick and roll smoke monster.  This is strange stuff: revelatory and world-changing and any other word you've got for turning point.

Or, it at least feels like it should be.

Everyone is shocked, or acting like they just got back from Damascus, but before the Spurs beat the Mavs, most people were talking about the Suns as possibly the best team in the Western Conference (cause of their record) and as a threat to challenge the Mavs and the Lakers.  They were a lot of people's sleeper pick, until we all saw the Spurs handle the Mavs and forgot what year this is.

I'm still not sure how to react.  My safety blanket is a broken statue, and I long to be like Sayid in this current season of Lost, feeling absolutely nothing.  San Antonio could get swept.  They could win Game 4, maybe even Game 5. They have had double digit leads in each of the last two games.  Who knows?  Maybe this is all just a set up for the ultimate con against Phoenix.  A team's never come back from 3-0, but then again Steve Nash has never beaten the Spurs.  I would think it possible, if there had been so much as a whisper out of San Antonio, its team, or its fans.

All in all, it feels like "night on the sun" and things are "hopelessly hopeless."

LCB Hoops Picks: Western Conference, Second Round

With the first round finished out West, myself and Berndon join forces yet again to bring you our picks for who will play in the Conference Finals.

One of the Good Guys: How a Spurs Fan Came to Love Steve Nash

He went to the Sweet 16 with Santa Clara, and I said what a stupid haircut. He became an All-Star in Dallas, and I said good thing the dude plays with a 7-foot German. He won an MVP in Phoenix, and I protested that the voters were swayed by race. He won a second MVP, and I lamented his lack of defense. When Robert Horry checked him into the scoring table, I applauded the his writhing on the floor as the epitome of weakness, his chemical make up clearly anything other than championship caliber.

I was never a Steve Nash fan. My silver and black monk robes and daily ohm chants at the foot of a giant Duncan statue prevented me from objectively watching Steve Nash. My subjectivity subjected me to a world without grace and beauty. I lived my NBA fandom as an ascetic monk, my skin covered in the ashes of an urn, trapped in a cave of Keatsian ignorance, and as the eye of the beholder, I beheld nothing.

Steve Nash ran up and down the court, his hair flopping like the tattered ends of a wet mop--he looked homeless, conversing with dead men and alien invaders who no one else could see. His MVP trophies were aluminum foil wrapped around his head and the pizza box he used for a radio transmitter. Others saw a genius while I saw schizophrenia, leading me to conclude that the insane talents that made him Krishna in the eyes of the brainwashed were also responsible for his teams' playoff failings. He would drive under the basket, dribbling the ball like drops of splattered paint in the hands of Jackson Pollock, and when he finished, I would step back and say, "It lacks the focus of a Tony Parker or even a Devin Harris." I wanted to make Steve Nash into a false dilemma, a Mormon dichotomy, where one would view him as either the bold founder of a new religion or a dangerous radical, recruiting the naive to a blasphemous cult. In my mind, reading a Marc Stein or Ric Bucher articles during the 2000's was like trying on a pair of Heaven's Gate Keds, and for me, the shoe never fit.

I never thought my opinions would change, but they did. Maybe I just got older and more forgiving. Maybe the leaky faucets in my brain of Stein, Bucher, and Bethlehem Shoals began to seep into my consciousness, drowning out my criticisms with their untethered passions. Maybe I no longer feel threatened by Steve Nash and his sons. Maybe I'm accepting that the Spurs' window is closed also. Maybe I just have nothing left to write about my own favorite players, and need to find inspiration in all that I once despised; or maybe I found myself at home on a Friday night drinking a couple of New Castles, reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road, and watching Nash's Suns play the Magic.

I have yet to finish the book, but, last night, as I read, I could not help but find elements of Steve Nash's career in the character of the man.

Despite years of back pain and questions of "is this the year Nash's game slides into a ravine," Steve Nash still plays like an MVP. Last night, against one of the League's best defenses, Nash racked up 20 points, 18 assists, and 7 rebounds, and as it usually appears with this aging point guard, the effort appeared effortless. When Nash plays well, he can give off the appearance of not putting in work. His hair forms a tail behind his head, as if it were a comet, and he flies around the court as if there were no other trajectory he could take. Many basketball fans see this site, and they become true believers, ready to do anything in the name of Nash. Others see this puppet with no strings and draw back out of fear. His boundless energy and his 11.3 apg are rare acts of kindness on an apocalyptic road to oblivion.

Time and time again Steve Nash attempts to mount his charge to the top of the NBA, and time and time again, Tim Duncan, Kobe Bryant, or Dirk Nowitzki are waiting for him with lead pipes in their hands, ready to beat Nash back from the Finals. Most would give up, give into starvation, and let death take them, but Nash keeps coming back, with a bad back and hacking blood out his lungs. He hides the pain. He does extra stretches. He uses ice and heating pads when the rest of us are not looking. He takes extra care to make sure all the strings that keep him alive are well hidden. He has to. He has to make sure that all the true believers see him as a comet; otherwise, they would give up hope that a team as free-wheeling as the Suns could ever win a championship.

The Shaq years in Phoenix brought Nash and the rest of the Suns to the brink of starvation. Times were desperate, but last night, while reading The Road, I saw Steve Nash down on his knees, not praying, but banging against the wooden door of an underground bunker with all his might, hoping that on the other side of the door there might lie some food, some hope, something to keep his teammates and him alive for just a little bit longer. The act told me, "Okay. This is what the good guys do. They keep trying. They don't give up," and all of a sudden I realized--Steve Nash is one of the good guys.

Bryan Harvey can be followed @LawnChairBoys.

Phoenix Suns Preview: "Hotel Room"

In an effort to gear up for the NBA season, we will view the upcoming season through the eyes of Edward Hopper. Feel free to add your thoughts on the 2010 Suns in our comments section.

The content of the letter is nothing new. Steve's read several of these, filing them a way in an old shoe box, left empty from the time he put on a pair of Mary Jane's, with ankle straps, and walked all the way from Dallas to Phoenix, not noticing the dust beneath his steps, just the wide open spaces and the freedom of the Old West. Now, even the wide open spaces feel heavy, and the air presses on Steve's spine like a setting sun.

The letter reads the same as all the ones that came before it:

Dear Steve,

It's hard to find the words to describe what you did for me. I can breathe again, and I'm thankful for that. I wish you the best, but I just can't stay. Sometimes, the gift of your heart is just too much.

Sincerely,

Shaq

Steve reads the letter one last time and then places it in the shoe box, between the one Shawn Marion wrote in crayon wax and the one Mike D'Antoni wrote in the erratic scrawl of a physician. There is no time to dwell on the past or think about all those who came and went, like suitcases, on and off trains, passing through hotel rooms, from one city to the next. Tomorrow is here, and baby Amare can be heard in the other room, crying from hunger.

Lakers-Suns Recap

Last night Kobe and the Lakers faced off against Shaq and the Phoenix Suns. The Lakers played terrific defense through-out the game, forcing bad turnovers and ugly shots. Their defense overwhelmed the Suns, leading them to a 105-92 win and moving their record to 9-1. With six different Lakers reaching double digits and only one not scoring(Mihm), this a was a team win.

But to be honest, the Lakers offense looked rough. The Lakers didn't play horrible but they were not great either. With the exception of Vladimir Radmanovic, the entire starting lineup was off offensively. Kobe looked like the Kobe of old, forcing long jump shots instead of making the extra pass and driving the lane. Derek Fisher seems to be in a funk and I honestly don’t know what’s up with him, but at one-point the Lakers had a 4 on 1 fast break and he pulls up. He made the shot, but there is no excuse for not taking it into the lane.

Pau played great team ball last night dishing out 9 assists and grabbing 9 boards, but couldn't get it going offensively. In Pau's defense, he was guarded by Shaq for most of the night due to Bynum being in foul trouble. Plus with Pau in the game, the Lakers were +21 so he was a huge factor in the Lakers win. On the opposite end of the spectrum, with Amare in the game the Suns were -17. Bynum being on the bench for the majority of the game hurt his chances at making big contributions. But he still managed to have a decent night, getting 7 rebounds and 11 points.

As I stated earlier Vladimir was the offensive MVP last night, hitting big three pointers every time the Suns started to rally. He was 5-5 from the three point line, scoring himself 15 points. Kobe added 24 points on a terrible shooting night, missing 15 of his 23 shots.

The bench continued to produce by out-scoring the Suns second unit 43-30. Jordan Farmar was a big part of that, helping to slow Steve Nash and making some big shots on his way to scoring 11. Lamar Odom scored 13 points and collected 9 rebounds. His biggest shot coming when he drilled a three-pointer with 8:34 to play, giving the Lakers an 89-71 lead. Essentially killing any small chance the Suns had to come back. After the shot you could actually here a "Let's go, Lakers" chant, it was also right around the time Suns fans began filtering out of the arena. Trevor Ariza also played well off the bench as he continues to be the spark the team needs scoring 10 points, getting 3 assists and 3 rebounds.

Any time you can get a win on the road against a division rival its a great win. The biggest thing I took away from this and the last couple of games, is that the Lakers don't have to have their A+ game to win. It is rather comforting to know they can play mediocre as a whole and still win. The Lakers take on the surging Nuggets tonight at Staples

Time Waster: Hack-a-Shaq

The newly bearded coach of the Spurs, Gregg Popovich got his revenge on Shaq for calling him a coward. He did this by making a joke out of it and employing the hack-a-shaq strategy a mere 5 seconds into the first game of the season.


AA: Gregg Popovich Looks Like Tom Hanks In "Cast Away" And Has A Sense Of Humor

NBA Draft: Winners and Losers (@ a glance)

The following are lists of who I think found immediate help in the draft and who missed an opportunity to find immediate help.

WINNERS

Miami Heat

Michael Beasley gives them a versatile post player. He can score from just about anywhere, which greatly improves a team that started Udonis Haslem and Mark Blount inside. The Heat also picked up Mario Chalmers, who I believe is a much better point guard for this team than Jason Williams. Chalmers is a winner. We know this from watching him at Kansas. He plays amazing defense and takes care of the ball. I think he immediately makes life easier for Dwayne Wade in the backcourt. A lineup of Wade, Marion, Chalmers, Beasley, and Blount with Haslem and Daequan Cook off the bench can get the Heat back into the playoffs in the East.

New Jersey

The moves here aren't just about who they drafted, but about Rod Thorn and company coming to the conclusion that the Vince Carter-Richard Jefferson experiment failed. Personally, I feel VC is more to blame, watching him is like watching Da Vinci burn the Mona Lisa every night.

Brook Lopez brings toughness and a bit of scoring to a frontline that on paper doesn't seem so bad now. If Nenad Krstic comes back healthy, then the Nets now have Krstic and Lopez at the four and five backed up by Sean Williams, Josh Boone, and Desagana Diop, that's better than any big man rotation they had when they were going to the Finals. Now, add to that group of guys Yi Jianlian, Ryan Anderson, and Chris Douglas-Roberts; it's like the Nets are hosting auditions for Lebron James' supporting cast in 2010.

Phoenix Suns
Yes, Robin Brooks is the savior of the Shaq Trade. If they had a player like him on their team when they made the trade, it would have made a lot more sense. At this point in his career, Shaq is always in foul trouble, and when he went to the bench, the Suns were forced to play Amare against the Tim Duncan's of the world. Now, when Shaq goes to the bench, they can keep Amare at the four, and tell Robin Brooks to go out there like a pitbull on a porkchop. With any other team, I would have shrugged my shoulders at this pick, but with the Suns, it just makes sense. Malik Hairston isn't a bad pickup either. In fact, Phoenix, it wasn't a bad idea to actually draft someone afterall, was it?

LOSERS

San Antonio Spurs

R.C. Buford and Pop, I have the utmost respect for you two, but do you think you got too clever for your own good by taking George Hill with the 26th pick? He played for IUIPUI. Doesn't this seem a bit like the guy in a Fantasy League who was always high on T.J. Duckett a few years ago? The pick just doesn't make sense to me as a fan of the Spurs. We're old, and we know we're old, especially on the perimeter. Mario Chalmers, J.R. Giddens, Chris Douglas-Roberts, and Darrel Arthur were all still on the board. All of those guys seem to fit needs on this team more than George Hill. Giddens and Arthur are athletic as hell. Douglas-Roberts can score, and Chalmers plays defense and can shoot (unlike current backup Jacque Vaugn). Oh, well, in R.C. we trust.

Charlotte Bobcats

I feel like the Bobcats needed to do something that would remind the state of North Carolina that they have a team worth watching. Drafting Brook Lopez with the 9th pick might have done this. He would have allowed the team to move Nazr Mohammed to the bench and slide Emeka Okafor over to the four, strengthening the bench and the starting lineup. Instead, the Bobcats drafted D.J. Augustin, who I like, but not when the team already has a point guard in Ray Felton. Also, add in the fact that last year the team dumped Brevin Knight to make room for Felton as the starting point guard. Felton averaged 14 ppg and 7 apg last year, so in my eyes, it seems a bit early to give up on him, especially considering the amount of time it takes a point guard to develop in the NBA (John Stockton, Chauncey Billups, Gary Payton, Tony Parker). Now, the Bobcats are in pretty much the same situation they were in before parting ways with Knight, and I still don't see them headed to the playoffs because they still have all of the same problems.

Alexis Ajinca, however, was a real steal, considering he averaged 5ppg in the French League.

Washington Wizards

After talking with my friend Stevo, I was convinced into thinking the Wizards could have gotten more for their second round pick than JaVale McGee. I hope he's a high energy guy, so we can call him Maniac McGee after the kids book.