“A lot of bullshit happens in this country. But a lot of great things happen, too.” – Kevin Durant, speaking in Paris. Not initially sure which country he’s referring to, between the host and his own; anyway, he’s right.
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The only outdoor running event worse is the 400m hurdles. Aside from that? Being told that an event is “basically an even mix of running and sprinting” shouldn’t inspire someone to want that. Sprinters and longer distance runners throw up doing it when cross-training.
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It’s about Jaylen and Jayson, to be clear, but we’ll return to them. Everybody else involved with this Celtics run made it possible. To follow the blueprint for what the Spurs and Sixers were looking for in essence, and then pull it off as efficiently as they did, has to be maddening to detractors. Nevertheless, Boston was the best team in the league all season. It turns out: that means all season.
After seven years of will-they, won’t-they together, Jaylen Brown and Jayson Tatum finally put it together, albeit with the help of Jrue Holiday and Kristaps Porzingis, as well as mainstays returned or otherwise in Al Horford, Peyton Pritchard, Sam Hauser and Derrick White. Brad Stevens ran his game on the rest of the NBA. Now, finally, the Boston Celtics are the NBA champions.
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One of the myriad curiosities concerning the NBA logo is not that Jerry West was the basis – he definitely was, with only the league itself refusing to acknowledge that on account of its own copyright concerns – but more why he was the basis when it was designed in 1969, before he’d won even a single championship, nevermind an MVP. Wilt Chamberlain was the flash name; Bill Russell and Bob Cousy were the gold standard winners. George Mikan, the game’s first superstar, would also have been an option[1].
Instead, they chose a stencil based on a magazine cover, and West earned a nickname with no tie to his birthplace: “Zeke From Cabin Creek” (He was actually from Chelyan). Eventually, painstakingly, he would win a title as a player, and then several more in various roles with several of the best teams in NBA history. On Wednesday morning, the Los Angeles Clippers, the last team for which he worked after a tireless life in basketball, announced that West had passed away at 86.
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“I don’t even know if I can say this, but: that call sucked, SVP.”
Andraya Carter spoke for all of us Friday night in breaking down the decisive moving screen foul that ended UConn’s NCAA Tournament run. After an incredible game in which both of Caitlin Clark and Paige Bueckers were pushed to their respective limits, the referees had the last say in what was what.
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Despite the fact that my book intake these days gravitates toward a rather mundane mix of Guy Who Explores Framing Options For Album Covers lit that overlooks pretty much everything else, I know a thriller when I read one: A handful of players emerge, a signalpoint event occurs, fingers point in all directions, some false protagonists turn heel, a surprise hero emerges and, ultimately, the denouement.
As another sport celebrates its weather-plagued opening day, the NBA’s regular season begins its mad dash toward the next step, itself a surprising behemoth with a dose of play-in confusion to those just tuning in come April, every team is getting a little tighter, every rotation moving a bit closer to the grease board than the free-for-all of 2K.
If the time put into their leading duo is starting to get to the Boston Celtics[1], it is increasingly starting to creep on just about everybody involved with the current iteration of the Los Angeles Clippers. A good thing going now means a clock is ticking. The train arrives at noon.
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In a manner of speaking, anyway. We like hearing about troubling things, acknowledging them in our own ways (“Jackass” or “Ah, damn,” usually) and moving on as soon as the tribute spot on the television allows us.
If you had the remote in your hands, you would want to bypass that, but – oh, dear! Sorry – the sponsors paid for guaranteed placement during the primetime slot, which means you have to sit through it. What was that person’s name again, and what happened to them?
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Once upon a time, the Bucks dressed so fine. They threw some dimes in their prime, sure, but: they acquired an all-time player who led them to a championship, and they may have done it again. Didn’t you?
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It tracks that the last song Jimmy Buffett ever played before a live audience was the one on which he built his empire of relaxation: “Margaritaville,” a final salvo over this past July 4th weekend as a surprise guest of Mac McAnally, long a member of Buffett’s Coral Reefer band. Not unlike Prince exiting the stage following “Purple Rain,” or Tom Petty’s last performance ending with “American Girl,” there is something to going out on exactly the tune that laid the path for the rest.
Buffett, who passed away September 1st at the age of 76, defined the idea of getting away, however briefly. When a disgruntled coworker hits the bottle in the early afternoon, justifying it with the requisite “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” that’s a credit to the lifestyle Buffett envisioned for himself and sold at massive scale.
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“You’re still there, huh? We’re gonna do one more song, and that’s it.” His golden, overdriven guitar tone[1] was perfect. He’d already bettered Dylan in some respects; why not trying out Marvin at something way after midnight?
There’s a thing about certain Canadians (two’s a company; three’s a crowd; more: that’s a trend), A few tend to write better songs about the United States than Americans can. Familiarity breeds contempt, or something like it, but from pastoral documentation, à la Neil Young[2] and Joni Mitchell, to the psychodramaticism of The Weeknd and poptimism of Carly Rae Jepsen, some friends from The North hold the mirror up to Americans better than we can do unto ourselves.
You wanted a hit? Baby, maybe, he just did hits: “The Weight,” “Up On Cripple Creek,” and “The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down” fit the bill. Having backed The Hawk, Ronnie Hawkins, and then Bob Dylan, Jaime Royal Robertson, who died on Wednesday at 80, ran the gamut of roles in early rock bands. Later, he’d end up having to try to save his bandmates, and then himself. He knew how to get the best out of those around him, when the bells were ringing.
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Tuesdays With Horry 