Adelman and Aristotle

I believe it was the great Greek philosopher, Aristotle, who once said, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Wise beyond his years, Aristotle was. Even though he was simply telling a nearby eunuch to quit fiddling with the DVD player, Aristotle’s words still enlighten the human soul to this day.

Unfortunately, Aristotle’s wisdom hasn’t quite resonated with the Houston Rockets coaching staff. Too bad Rick Adelman wasn’t in Aristotle’s marble chambers that chilly night in 346 B.C.E. to hear the philosopher’s profound proclamation. If Rick had been there, not only would he have been bewildered by Aristotle’s owning of a DVD player despite humanity’s non-knowledge of electricity, but he would have also learned a very valuable lesson.

If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it! If Yao Ming is bigger and better than everyone else, keep feeding him the rock! Why on earth would you stray away from the immaculate game plan of Yao crushing the competition when it’s obviously been working wonders?

Going in to last night’s game against the Memphis Grizzlies, the Houston Rockets were 6-1, with their only loss being a fledgling defeat to Dallas in a game where Yao Ming saw fewer balls tossed his way than Rosie O’Donnell at a male strip joint. So lesson learned, right? Apparently not. Last night the Rockets were handed their second defeat of the season at the paws of the Memphis Grizzlies. Once again, Yao was a non-factor.

Yao was virtually man-handled on defense the entire game by Darko Milicic’s quick turnaround hook shot. Instead of feeding Yao in the post on offense and letting him save face by tooling Darko around on the other end of the floor, the Rockets’ point guards decided to try and take the game in to their own hands.

Rafer Alston and Mike James need to learn that neither one of them are Tony Parker—that little running teardrop isn’t going to cut it. Neither is a combined 6-19 shooting. If you have Tracy McGrady and Yao Ming on your team, use them. TMac did his job by dropping 41 points and making it look easier than a drunken sorority girl. But where were the rest of the Rockets? I can’t recall one play from last night’s game where Yao worked the post like he’s been doing all season (minus the game versus Dallas).

So here’s what I don’t get. If making Yao the crux of your offense works so wondrously every game, why stray away from that winning formula?

Hey Rick, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it!

A Change for the Better

And the winner is (drum roll)…the Houston Rockets!

True, the Rockets got their asses handed to them by the Utah Jazz these past playoffs, but what’s done is done. The past is exactly that. The past

What matters most is how you improve upon failure. For success is simply moving from one failure to the next without losing your mojo. It’s between those failures when you truly succeed. There’s no better way to learn than from one’s own mistakes. That’s why it’s so hard to repeat as champions these days. The winning team one year becomes a stagnant target the next. While the winners bask in their glory, jerking off to their shiny new trophy, the losers evolve with a stronger desire to take that trophy away. Just look at the Miami Heat. One year they win the championship. The next year they get swept in the first round of the playoffs.

You have to keep evolving if you want to win. And that is exactly what the Rockets have done this off-season.

First and foremost, the Rockets traded Jeff Van Gundy’s outdated (and extremely boring) defensive style for the more fast-paced play of Rick Adelman. You got to admit, watching the Rockets under Jeff Van Gundy, at times, was more boring than a French avant-garde film.

So once the Rockets decided to upgrade to a 21st century basketball coach, it was time to recruit players to surround the two-headed monster called YaoMac.

First, the Rockets traded an elderly Juwon Howard to the Timberwolves for Mike James. Okay cool, add a little depth at the PG position. Understandable. Especially considering the Rockets struggled to put points on the board last year with YaoMac on the bench. And Mix Master Mike can definitely do that.

But plugging one hole is bound the poke another. And with that trade, the Rockets basically became power forward-less. No disrespect to Chuck Hayes (who I love for his dedicated hustle), but if you want to win a championship, you need depth in the frontcourt. And height (The Chuck Wagon is only 6’8”).

So here comes June 28—draft day. After the Greg Oden/Kevin Durant mania subsided and 25 other teams made their selections, it was time for the Rockets to fill that PF void, right? Wrong!

What many people criticized as poor management may turn out to be the best sleeper pick of the draft. The next Tony Parker. The next Sam Cassell. The only Aaron Brooks!

I for one can honestly say I loved the pick from the moment David Stern announced it just after downing his seventh Crown & Coke (C’mon, what else is the little Jewish man going to do for four hours?).

Anyway, the Rockets were smart in drafting pure talent instead of trying to fill a position. They could have drafted a mediocre power forward and made plenty of people happy with empty hopes of getting the next Otis Thorpe. But instead, they added even more depth to the guard positions with Aaron Brooks. As a huge fan of the little man, I loved the pick.

Just look at the slew of little guys who have been wreaking havoc on the hardwood lately. Earl Boykins, T.J. Ford, Chris Paul, Allen Iverson, etc. These little (in perspective to their counterparts) ballers create crazy mismatches all over the floor. Aaron Brooks will prove to be an invaluable asset to the Rockets lineup.

That’s all gravy, but what about the black hole sucking in all matter at the PF position?

Oh yeah, that. Well, little did we know, the Rockets had a European excursion on their minds. Last week the Rockets traded Vassilis Spanoulis and a 2009 second-round draft pick to the Spurs for Luis Scola and Jackie Butler. Butler will provide depth at the center position. But it’s Scola who could prove to be the difference maker next year. Scola is a 6’10” Argentinean superstar who’s won MVP twice in the Spanish basketball league.

So there you have it. This off-season the Rockets upgraded to an offensive-minded coach, traded for, possibly, the best foreign player currently not in the NBA, and drafted a stud-of-a-guard with a knack for clutch shots. Oh yeah, not to mention picking up Mike James and Steve Francis. Which if you think about it, are pretty funny pick-ups. Here’s why:

A couple of years ago, the Rockets traded Mike James to Toronto for Rafer Alston. Now they have both players. Additionally, the Rockets once traded Steve Francis and Cuttino Mobley to Orlando for Tracy McGrady. Now they have TMac and Francis. So it looks like the Rockets basically traded Cuttino for TMac. A pretty good swap if you ask me.

I forgot to mention that Bonzi Wells resigned with the Rockets, too. Assuming he lays off the Texas BBQ and drops a few dozen pounds, Bonzi will be a great sixth-man (especially being reunited with his old coach in Adelman).

If all that’s not enough to make Avery Johnson shit his pants, don’t forget that one of the Rockets many talented Summer League players could turn out to be the next Chuck Hayes—an underestimated player who straight hustles (something most NBA players lack these days). All I’m saying is look out for Carl Landry or Mike Harris.

The Rockets failed miserably last year, not living up to expectations. Which is all the reason why they are poised to come back with a vengeance in 2007-2008. It’s because they failed, that they can now succeed. So watch out San Antonio. Wipe off that trophy, because the Rockets are coming for you.

Is That All You Got?

Who gives a shit?

Even if Kevin Durant couldn’t bench press Paris Hilton’s skinny ass, he can still ball! Have people already forgotten the freshman phenom swept every player of the year award? Have they already forgotten he’s a 6’10” Gumby with a 7’5” wingspan who can handle the ball like Kobe?

But wait a minute; he can’t even bench press 185 pounds!

Who gives a shit! When was the last time Michael Jordan bench-pressed a game winning shot?

This is the same kind of heresy the media mumbled a year ago when another Texas superstar was entering the draft. A hoopla of skepticism erupted when it was discovered that Vince Young did poorly on the weurlick test. Cynics claimed Vince wouldn’t amount to anything in the pros. And they were right. If winning rookie of the year and making the Pro Bowl are signs of failure.

So here they are again. The skeptics have slithered out from underneath their pessimistic rocks to talk more shit. If stating that Kevin Durant can’t even bench press 185 pounds is the only thing the doubters can come up with, then I’m so “unimpressed” that I want to draft him #1.

These schmucks who probably get their sense of journalism from watching Fox News, have no idea what they’re talking about. Of course Kevin Durant can’t lift weights like roid-popping Mr. Universe. He’s 18!

Durant’s idea of a workout program is flirting with girls and updating his myspace page. Strength training is something that will be instilled by professional coaches at the next level. So don’t worry about how much Durant can bench press. Just worry about how many three-pointers he’s going to drop in your eye. Because like fellow Longhorn stud Vince Young, Kevin Durant not only has extraterrestrial talent, he’s got the intangibles.

It’s like Rudy T. once said, “Never underestimate the heart of a champion!”

Who Let the Dogs Out?

If you haven’t heard, Michael Vick is being investigated for his role in a ring of illegal dog fighting. Not that there is any form of dog fighting that’s legal, but it’s prudent to mention the illegality of Vick’s alleged behavior so you understand that his actions are more than immoral.

From what has been mentioned in the media, Vick owns a house that was a refuge for the inhumane to bet on dog fights. Pit Bulls to be exact. But Vick claims he never knew about the dog fights, or ever placed a paw in the house before. Okay fine. But what about the police informant who anonymously said he’s personally pinned one of his own dogs against one of Vick’s? And Vick was there to oversee the whole thing. Or what about Vick’s notoriety as one of the high rollers at the fights?

How is Michael Vick going to deny all this?

Probably the same way Iranian President, Mahmoud Ahmadinejad denies the holocaust and President Bush denies global warming. With fucked up facts. And hubris.

However he denies it, Vick will probably get away with minor repercussions. Athletes always do. So what should his punishment be?

Some say kick him out of the NFL. Others say prosecute him as the legal system warrants. I on the other hand believe in equal opportunity. If those dogs get the chance to fight one another on a concrete battleground, so should Vick. I say throw his ass in there with five raging Pit Bulls and let people place bets. I got five on the crazed dog in the corner with the Rambo tattoo. Actually make it ten. That’s one sick tattoo.

Seriously though, let Vick jump into a pit and try to fight off a few rabid Pit Bulls trained to devour flesh. I bet avoiding a bite in the pit won’t be as easy as evading a sack on the field. A few flesh wounds later and we’ll see if Vick wants to remain a high roller in the dog fighting community.

Way to go Ron Mexico.

Time to make a change

Best foul ever.

I’m sure he wasn’t thinking that at the time, but when Robert Horry body-slammed Steve Nash at the end of game four between the Spurs and Suns the other night, Big Shot Bob committed the best foul of his NBA tenure.

While known for his last-second heroics by hitting clutch three-pointers at the end of crucial playoff games, the Will Smith look-alike made the most important play of game five days before tip-off.

To vent his frustration at blowing an eleven-point lead late in the game, Robert Horry sent Steve Nash flying into the scorer’s table. Which of course prompted Nash’s teammates Amare Stoudemire and Boris Diaw to rise up off the bench in support of their Canadian brethren. The skirmish never escalated to Ron Artest status, but nevertheless suspensions were handed out like condoms at a Snoop Dogg party.

Horry was suspended two games for his flagrant conduct, but more importantly Amare Stoudemire and Boris Diaw will be kept out of game five in Phoenix for leaving the bench. Diaw has struggled this series, so losing him for a game isn’t going to sink the Suns’ battleship. But playing without Stoudemire, now that’s another story.

Amare is Steve Nash’s right hand man. His pick n’ roll partner. His white stallion. Nash is obviously the team’s knight in shining armor, but he can’t swing his heavy sword on foot. Nash needs to saddle up on his 6’ 10” freak-of-nature white stallion in order to defeat the Spurs. But thanks to some trivial NBA rules, Steve Nash will be riding in to battle without his horse.

So it turns out Roberty Horry’s flagrant foul at the end of game four could ultimately be the most pivotal play of game five. Which in turn seems to be the most critical game of the series. That doesn’t make sense. Especially at such a crucial point in the playoffs where the two best teams in the NBA are fighting to reach the western conference finals.

Okay, so rules are rules, and they state that if a player leaves the bench during a fight, it warrants an automatic one-game suspension. First of all, that’s bullshit. But if the league thinks it’s necessary, then so be it. But that should only be a regular-season rule. Missing one game out of eighty-two isn’t going to affect a team’s entire season. However, missing game five of a seven-game series tied at 2-2 between the two best teams in the league, now that’s another story.

David Stern needs to alter the NBA’s rules to have a section that’s playoff-specific. Rules that would consider the context of a play more thoroughly. Otherwise future players might use Robert Horry’s foul as inspiration to instigate a fight in order to knock the opposing team’s superstar out of the next game. That’s just wrong. It diminishes the integrity of the game.

So while rules are rules, and they say Stoudemire should automatically be suspended for one game, don’t you think that punishment is a little harsh for simply getting up off the bench? Especially considering the severity of its timing.

Rules are meant to be broken. Otherwise the world would still be flat, the sun would revolve around the earth, women wouldn’t vote and Blacks would sit at the back of the bus. It’s time to make a change.

Damn Hooligans!

Why are soccer fans so insane?

Seriously.
When was the last time you saw fans ecstatically igniting fires at Yankee stadium?
When was the last time you saw a stampede at the Staples Center?
When was the last time you saw a fan shoot flares at Peyton Manning?
When was the last time you saw a group of fans try to rip Ben Wallace out of his car for missing his free throws?

Never. I’ve seen people tear their hair out over a sporting event (including myself), but I’ve never seen the type of shit that goes on at soccer games before. Or afterwards for that matter.

Remember the 1994 World Cup? A Columbian defender was murdered after he scored an own-goal that resulted in a loss to the United States. Murdered!

While athletes are idolized in our country, the sports they play are still just that—sport. However, from pole to pole, soccer is much more than 22 people kicking a ball.

It’s beyond sport. It’s life. It’s religion. It’s God.
It has stopped wars.
But it still incites violence.

Last week former French national goalie, Fabien Barthez, quit his job as keeper for Nantes after being threatened by fans. Barthez said that after losing 2-0 at home to Rennes, a group of fans surrounded his car and began pummeling it. The distraught ‘fans’ then attempted to yank Barthez out of his car and “rub him out.”

I have no idea what that means. But I’m assuming it doesn’t involve therapeutic massage oils. And I doubt these were homoerotic fans looking for some action. So I’m pretty sure whatever it means; it would have been bad news for Barthez.

Who the hell are these psychos?

They start fires in the stands. They trample each other in mad riots. They shoot flares and throw beer bottles. And apparently they hang around parking lots waiting to ‘rub someone out.’

I love soccer. It’s one of the best sports in the world. But some of the people who call themselves fans are a discredit to the sport, and a disgrace to themselves.

They’re pathetic.

Smoke On

Puff, puff, pass.

Well, maybe it should be puff, puff, catch.
Or puff, puff, sack.

Yesterday it was announced that three future NFL stars admitted to “experimenting” with marijuana at some point in their lives. Those three honest young men are wide receiver Calvin Johnson, defensive end Gaines Adams, and defensive tackle Amobi Akoye.

When the knowledge was leaked that these three guys sampled the green sticky, the media went bong over blintzes predicting how this new light would affect the three players’ draft potential.

Well, let’s see here. Before it was known that Calvin, Gaines and Amobi puffed the magic dragon, all three were predicted to be top 10 picks in next weeks draft by football guru Mel Kiper. And they still should be.

I could care less if these guys smoke weed. At least they’re not instigating bar brawls or beating their wives. Furthermore, it’s not like smoking has jeopardized these guys’ character. I don’t know them personally, but I’m pretty sure they’re all honorable citizens.

How can you criticize a guy for getting high when he graduated high school at age 15, and received a college degree by the age of 19? All while being his football team’s moral leader. I dare you to go tell Amobi Akoye that he’s a nuisance to society. That he’s a worthless pothead who’ll never amount to anything. I dare you. He’ll probably just stare you down with pity, impugn you with a vocabulary too sophisticated for you to understand, then go smoke a joint to calm himself down.

People should quit worrying about whether players smoke the oskie-woskie. Using Calvin, Gaines and Amobi as examples, smoking herb obviously hasn’t hindered their athletic performability. And nobody can claim it will stunt their growth. These guys are all ginormous. And none of them have off-the-field problems.

So let’s say we forget about whether athletes hit the bong after hitting the gym, and worry more about whether they’re ingesting steroids, or why they’re getting involved in parking lot shootouts. Because I bet the only shootout you’ll see Calvin, Gaines and Amobi get in, will involve a 60” plasma TV and Halo 3.