I don’t know if you heard, but the Lakers won the championship.  Yeah, they were pretty good.  So naturally, they went out on the free agent market this summer (prior to re-upping two critical pieces in Lamar Odom and Trevor Ariza, mind you) and added the single most combustible ingredient available.  I hope the police have stayed frosty since the post-title riots, because Ron-Ron has just prescribed all of Los Angeles a lifetime supply of crazy pills.

At least that’s the theory.  And I say theory because this is Ron fricking Artest, and until he signs that contract in blood, I’m going to continue to think of him in free agent terms.  Ron’s lunacy has earned that much respect, and we’d be wise to honor it.

That said…WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON?!  This would seem to be an arrangement from which neither party really gains.  Artest seemed to have a pretty good thing going in Houston, and though Yao’s likely out for the season, Ron would have plenty of room to flex his alpha dog complex.  The man needs the ball on the offensive end, which leads some rather random results.  It’s what happens when talented players live and die by the contested, fadeaway jumper.  With the Rockets, there is no question that Artest was the man on the offensive end.  There’s no Yao or T-Mac in sight, meaning most of the playmaking responsibilities would fall on the shoulders of Artest and one Aaron Brooks, who still has quite a bit to learn in the way of being an NBA point guard.  Shane Battier, Chuck Hayes, and even Carl Landry and Luis Scola are not guys that are likely to complain about their touches on the offensive end.  Artest probably didn’t have the green light to shoot 30 times a game, but he is undoubtedly one of the more talented offensive players on that roster.

Beyond that, Artest only makes sense offensively in situations where his skills can be utilized without damaging the team concept.  Los Angeles, home of the triangle offense, is not that place.  Artest’s tendency to stop the ball, throw possessions into the wind, and take what can only be described as “Ron Artest Shots” can’t fly well with Phil, with Kobe, with Pau, with Tex Winter, or with just about anyone who has come to know and love (or at least respect) the most dominant offensive unit in the game.  The Lakers are just too damn good offensively because of the triangle, not in spite of it as some Jordan-esque logic might suggest.  They were able to dissect a fantastic defensive team in the Finals because the talent was there and the system was there.  Artest brings plenty of one, but substitutes the other for generally poor basketball IQ and the possibility of going bonkers at any particular time.  Sweet.

On top of that, the Lakers seem to be severing their ties with Trevor Ariza.  Signing Artest is doing more than showing Ariza the door.  It’s pushing him out, throwing his stuff out on the lawn, and handing Ron a molotov cocktail.  Feelings are going to be hurt, and for a player that claims that he just “wants to feel wanted,” that means quite a bit.  The true delight comes in the fact that Ariza could function within the system at a level we can never expect Artest to.  Trevor made a habit out of deferring on offense, and perfect a few offensive skills in his ability to hit the three from select spots and his tremendous finishes.  The Lakers needed that against the Celtics, and they got it against the Magic.  It wasn’t the only reason why the Lakers have one title instead of two, but it definitely played a role.  This team clearly competes at a different level with Ariza on the floor, and that’s a credit to just how hard he’s worked on his game.

As for Lamar Odom, he’s likely to be just as confused at this situation as we are.  Lamar is a guy who needs the confidence of his teammates and his coach to be successful, and forcing him out of the starting lineup with Crazy Pills is probably not the way to go.  Artest is a bit similar in his need to be nurtured a bit by his team, putting the Lakers in a pretty strange situation if Odom does return.  Both need to play and both need to feel respected, lest you risk losing a pivotal contributor.  But Pau Gasol and Andrew Bynum need their minutes, and Kobe’s pretty much guaranteed his.  When it comes to the roles within the organization and their relative levels of prestige, something’s got to give.  If you’re a Lakers fan, you can only hope that something isn’t Lamar’s confidence or Ron’s sanity.

INT. MATT’S LIVING ROOM. NIGHT

Matt is on the couch blogging. Paroxi-Wife is watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Twilight mashups. In the background, we see ESPN ticker at the bottom: “Clippers trade Zach Randolph to Memphis Grizzlies for Quinton Richardson and Greg Buckner.”Matt’s phone rings.

/ring

//ring ring

Matt: Hello?

Corn: I”ve decided that in a previous life, you were some sort of Egyptian Pharoah, like Ramses.  And Chris Wallace and Michael Heisley were slaves that you routinely punished for no apparent reason. And now, karma has come back to haunt you in the form of the stupidest decisions possible to the team you actually kind of have an attachment to.  That’s all.

/beep

//dialtone

*********************************************************

So it happened.  After being first suggested many moons ago, they actually went through with it. Drafting Thabeet wasn’t enough. No, they had to go and discover and even dumber way to make their team somehow worse.

You know, Corn tried to convince me that this was somehow a smart move, that they needed a lowpost scorer, and that essentially they just upgraded Darko for Z-Bo.

Except, if you consider the wide range of off-the-court, locker room, contractual, and conditioning issues, is that really an upgrade? Yes, Darko’s not good for much, but at least when he’s on the floor, you know he’s going to hustle his demented little head off. With Randolph, it could be a 20 and 10 night, or a 4 and 2 night. Whatever he feels like, really. And is a small market rebuilding team really the place that he’s going to suddenly feel motivated consistently?

Two years, $33 million. That’s what they’re paying. Think about this. They could have gotten four years of Charlie V. for that. Even if you think V-Nuv wasn’t going to come to Memphis, regardless, there are still several power forward free agents out there. Good ones! Do you realize how rare that is? And Memphis cashed it in for… Randolph? This is part of the rebuilding plan? Putting a locker room malcontent with off-court issues on Beale Street so he can infect the locker room of young guys, plus you’ve effectively alienated Marc Gasol with your last two moves?

I’ve stuck up for Memphis for a long time, and said that they got Mayo which was a stroke of genius, and that they haven’t given away Gay for peanuts (yet). They invested in Conley which I think was a smart move before they landed the #2 in a great point guard draft (and subsequently drafted a ladder).  I’ve tried to stick up for them. But it’s timee to call it.

Chris Wallace is the worst GM in the league. Michael Heisley is the worst owner in the league, and the Memphis Grizzlies are the worst franchise in the league. It’s not fair that such a beleaguered franchise with such a good sports town gets stuck with this filth, but it’s how it is. If this is their three year plan, they should probably rename it the “Three Year Escape Plan” and start getting used to calling themselves the Las Vegas Grizzlies.

So much potential, so pathetically wasted.

What, you’re telling me you couldn’t get a Darius Miles throw-in for old time’s sake?

The Milwaukee Bucks are a truly confounding franchise.  The core of players that has been assembled (now, and every year during my lifetime, for that matter) seems mismatched at best and train wreck at worst.  Their choices in the draft, while unmistakably talented, leave us scratching our heads.  And the head coach, in typical Scott Skiles fashion, refuses to throw a bone to the talent on his roster in the name of this team carving out a future for itself.

I’ve seen glimpses of the promised land, and let me tell you: the bridge to it is not built on the back of Luke Ridnour.

The Bucks have actually made their share of headlines this off-season, which is a rarity for a franchise that’s been mired in mediocrity.  I don’t blame the Bucks for the Jefferson trade, though it doesn’t bear many benefits on the basketball side of things.  Trading for Amir Johnson could prove to be an interesting move, as Johnson could be a lifetimer in ‘Waukee as a role player.  Selecting Brandon Jennings with the 10th pick is really a post unto itself, and mind-bendingly awesome/awful.

Then, after a mini-flurry of activity, the Bucks were left with a choice.  Or at least something that resembled a choice.  Both Charlie Villanueva and Ramon Sessions are restricted free agents looking for long-term financial commitment from the team.  Sessions would seem to be the odd-man out with Jennings now in the point guard rotation, and Villanueva still a bit of a question mark despite his scoring abilities.

So why is it that the Bucks volunteered themselves for a point guard logjam while letting Charlie V walk?  It’s simple: the Bucks never had a choice.  When Milwaukee sent Richard Jefferson to the Spurs for what amounts to a cap relief package, they sent a pretty clear message: everything is not alright.  Striving for .500 on a gaudy payroll is not the objective of this franchise.  They’re mad as hell, and they’re not gonna take it anymore.  But turning over a new leaf not only means acquiring some new talent (may I introduce Mr. Jennings), but also removing all other considerable road blocks to the team’s success.  The first road block was Jefferson, his contract, and his attitude.  The second road block was very clearly Charlie Villanueva, whose potential for a long-term, high-salary deal would essentially nuke any financial flexibility the Bucks would hope to have in the future.  The third, and perhaps most significant road block to the NeoBucks is Michael Redd.  But that’s a story for another day.

In theory, you shouldn’t let go of assets without compensation.  C-Nuv is a fairly valuable player, as evidenced by the insane amount of money the Pistons will pay him shortly.  But did the Bucks really have any call to re-sign him?  Was there really any possibility that a non-star scorer should be at the core of this team, tying the purse strings and giving Scott Skiles an aneurysm?  Villanueva is a better talent than Sessions, and one that fills what is likely a greater need in regards to both position and skill.  Yet, when it came down to deciding between the two, the Bucks’ hands were tied.  Sessions isn’t likely to receive anything more than the midlevel, while the subtle sexiness of Villanueva’s game could net him some serious dough.  I’m definitely of the opinion that he doesn’t deserve that kind of cash to begin with, but that’s not really the issue here.  The market for Villanueva’s services is about to be set, and we’ll soon see that the Bucks never really stood a chance.  Even if they reserved the right to match offers for Charlie, the decision was never really theirs.  The Bucks’ hands were tied when they signed Bobby Simmons to an absurd contract, when they gave Michael Redd more money than he was worth, and when they made Dan Gazuric the richest man ever named Dan Gadzuric.  Some of that is mismanagement and some of it is the horrors of small market basketball, but all of it has ensured that Villanueva isn’t sticking around with the Bucks.

Charlie’s going to get his, but that doesn’t mean the Bucks can’t come out on top in this scenario.  Making sense of the point guard rotation is a ridiculous enterprise, but Milwaukee is one step closer to a fresh start.  It’s a bit of a shame that an atypical, perplexing, jump-shooting power forward couldn’t be part of something so fittingly new, but I somehow doubt the Bucks will lament the loss of Villanueva’s new deal.

One suggested theory of evaluating head coaches is to look at how their teams outperform their expected (Pythagorean) wins. The thinking goes that great coaches consistently excel in late-game situations and often win more than random chance would allow. You could also make the argument that great coaches optimize the way in which they use their players, another reason they outperform their expected win totals.

What does the data say? I rounded up each team’s actual and expected wins over the last seven years and calculated the averages for each coach. You can find the data here.

http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=rI4SSKbrDqddJZcy0IBJ50w

As you can see, those theories may be wrong. The results appear to be random, at least when you factor in common beliefs about who’s a good coach and who’s not.

Stay tuned, as there is much more research on coaches to come.

Matt and Corndogg give their thoughts on the draft, Matt checks in to see how angry Wolves fans are with Derek Hanson of TWolvesBlog.com, and Phoenix Stan of Bright Side of the Sun drops by to give his thoughts on the genius (or lack thereof) of Steve Kerr.

Oh, and check us on iTunes, baby. Big time!

The Bucks in their infinite wisdom have decided the guy who does a little of everything pretty well but nothing really well and often something very poorly must go. And you know what that means?

C-NUV BOUT TO GET PAID, SON!

Villanueva is one of those perfect combinations of above average talent, stifled by inconsistency and a lack of focus, but who can go absolutely NOVA for short stretches. If HP had a crest, his bald head would be on it.

His options are pretty wide, now. He can go with a championship contender for less money, or a rebuilding program for the bank.  That’s a win win.

With his Twitter escapades and likable personality, he could fit in nicely in Cleveland, and it would mean that they would never again have to suffer through the following phrase: “Starting at Power Forward, from under the bridge downtown, Andy Varejao!”

I suppose what makes V-Nuv so endearing to me is that he’s one of those players that seems to be trying all the time, even though the results don’t necessarily reflect that. He’ll slam down a terrific put-back, or nail a transition pull-up, or get a great falling away block, and then the next play he’ll get torched, or brick up a wide open baseline J. It’s not a matter of effort or intensity, he’s just not a player that puts it all together. He’s a well meaning incomplete player. And his Tweets reflect that, in his discussion of naps and his passion for UConn. He’s the kind of player that fans can get behind if they can stop wishing he’d knock himself unconscious to slam some sense into him. He’s long, athletic, talented, and confused, drifting, overzealous. And that’s the type of player that goes into free agency in a weak year and walks out with a big fat contract.

V-Nuv is feasting on the undercurrent, and it tastes good.

For the Bucks? Hey, you don’t really need a power forward in this league. There are only about 700 explosive good ones.

Zach Harper is the author of TalkHoops.net and Cowbell Kingdom. He has difficulty (as most people do) with how fast I speak in real life. He’s a former male gymnast who won gold at the 1994 Bel-Air gymnastics tournament. That last part is a lie. He’s our newest contributor to Hardwood Paroxysm. That part is not a lie. Revel in him. He opens with a discussion of hoops junkiehood, and the joys of young boys. Seriously.

There are basketball junkies and there are BASKETBALL JUNKIES.

There are people who watch most of the games and there are people who will argue the importance of Muggsy Bogues and how he changed the concept of what basketball could be (perhaps a future article?).

I fall into the latter category of basketball fans. I’m someone who can’t really consume enough of it. I actually enjoy watching the Bucks and Bobcats go at it on a random Tuesday night because it gives me a chance to compare and contrast Larry Brown’s affect on a team as opposed to Scott Skiles’, it gives me a chance to see if I believe in Boris Diaw Frenchness more than I believe in Charlie Villanueva’s hairless approach to scoring, and it lets me figure out if I’m actually willing to back Ramon Sessions in some future argument of the Nevada point guard versus Raymond Felton.

But there are points in a season or calendar year in which the grind starts to wear you down. Chris Paul’s jumper starts to look flat and pointless. Emeka Okafor’s jump ball genius loses its luster. Kobe Bryant’s spin moves and reverse pivots seem cumbersome and my criticism of LeBron James’ defense even starts to annoy me.

These are the points in which your mettle as a basketball nerd is tested and tested hard. It’s like David Noel at a pre-draft combine trying to prove that his athleticism is more valuable than his lack of pure basketball skill. It’s like LBJ learning through failures how to win. It’s being tested like Dwight Howard learning that he’s entered the mode in which it is better to foul him than give him a shot to make a move towards the rim. I feel like Maximus at the end of Gladiator in which I’m trying to honor my family while proving myself to hordes of people wondering if I’ll make it or not through the end of the final act.

And this year was no different. I felt those struggles and the wear’n’tear of 2,460 regular season games as the second season began in mid-April. But something different happened in my life to keep me juvenated and inspired to keep wanting to consume more and more basketball.

I started assistantly coaching junior varsity basketball for a local high school. It was going to take up two nights a week of my life from 6-8pm and it was going to dominate my weekends with four tournaments in four weeks. It didn’t just find a place in my life. It didn’t just become part of my schedule. It became my schedule. In fact, it became my schedule during one of the more exciting basketball playoffs in recent memory. Sure, the series weren’t all that great and there were quite a few teams that looked more like they were playing in those aforementioned Bucks-Bobs games than the Celtics-Bulls series but it was still a good time to be covering basketball on a nightly basis.

However, I was so hooked after my first practice with this group of 10 high school freshmen and one eighth-grade child that I realized an even deeper love and appreciation for the game of basketball. We traipsed through the first couple of weeks of our summer league by learning the correct ways to play basketball and by learning the strengths and weaknesses of our team. We figured that our team wasn’t very big or athletic but we had a lot of basketball skill from our best player to our 11th best player.

We played our first game four weeks ago and in that game, we learned everything we needed to know about our team for the rest of the summer. We were good. Check that. We were REALLY good. We were chaos masked in peach fuzz, braces and XBOX Live handles. We were a running, pressing team that played harder than anybody we faced and more hectic than Don Nelson’s brand of basketball could ever dream of being. And we won. A lot.

I missed the second tournament we played as I attended Blogs With Balls in NYC and never felt a more longing for home than since my first sleepover when I was five years old. I attempted to network and chitchat throughout the weekend while I kept checking my phone for voicemails and text messages to see how my team was fairing. When I heard the stories of success and losses, I felt like a working father who had to miss his child’s recital because of a business trip. When I came back to the team, I realized how much I loved coaching and it took over every moment of playoff splendor that I ingested.

Over the last two weeks, I saw my team win eight out of ten games and finish with a summer record of 17-4. In the final game of the summer with four months between this final 60 seconds of basketball and the next time we’d see the players at JV tryouts, we decided to run a play for our backup center who had been begging to let him shoot a three-pointer throughout the summer. We decided to put him back in the game with one minute left and allow him to shoot the three as long as it was in rhythm and off of a pass. Instead, he caught the ball on the break, took three dribbles to get to the three-point line, and fired up a three-point shot. It was against everything we taught our kids on how to play basketball the proper way. Shots off the dribble were bad and we took the ball to the basket in a strong manner on fastbreaks.

But the ball ripped through the net and pushed our lead to 21. The parents in the stands erupted. The kids on the bench went Dikembe Mutombo at a dunk contest as they tried to hold each other back while beaming with elation. The center and newfound hero of our summer was brimming with confidence and joy as he ran back up the court like he had just moved his school deeper into the NCAA tournament. It was a pure and heartwarming moment that capped off the summer in the best way imaginable.

It was the culmination of everything that we had worked hard for in the summer. It was the reward for the players who did everything we asked them to do. It was everyone coming together as a bonded group. It was basketball at its best.

And it’s the reason that I understand coaching much more now than I ever could have before this experience. I understand why Mike Dunleavy would never want to give up his spot as the play caller for the Clippers. I understand why Mike D’Antoni loves to create pandemonium on a basketball court. I understand why Mike Woodson struggles to get through to Josh Smith but keeps coming back for more. I understand why Scott Brooks is making the most of a situation that most men will never get close to. I understand why Maurice Cheeks would put up with guys like Zach Randolph, Qyntel Woods, and Darius Miles on an everyday basis. I understand why Larry Brown can’t stay away after not being able to stay in one place. I understand why Phil Jackson loves to win so much and why Red Auerbach received no greater joy than lighting up that victory cigar.

Coaching basketball is more than X’s and O’s. It’s more than game-planning and making sure your team knows the correct rotations on a full court trapping press that will be assured to create turnovers.

Coaching basketball for some is renewing that faith in basketball that wasn’t going to go away but become more mundane with the passing seasons.

And that’s where I’m at as a basketball junkie, once again. Ready for more.

There are certain phrases in the English language that fans of an NBA team should never have to endure.  Unfortunately for those in the greater Charlotte area that are crazy enough to be in love with Bobcats basketball, they’ve had to endure quite a few.  “Your new uniforms will be the same color as traffic cones.”  “Now introducing your starting point guard, Jeff McInnis.”  “With the third pick in the 2006 NBA draft, the Charlotte Bobcats select…”, well, you know the drill.

But the latest in the aforementioned series of miniature tragedies is the news that Michal Jordan, famous basketballer and infamous manager, is looking to spearhead an ownership group to buy the ‘Cats.

I repeat: the sky is falling. Cue up the R.E.M., stock the shelter with canned goods, and don’t forget to set the Tivo.  This one could get ugly.

Jordan’s missteps as an executive are well-chronicled, and have essentially built themselves a nice little cottage in the collective unconscious of basketball fans.  Whispers of the name “Kwame Brown” still haunt the streets of D.C. to this day, and Kwame was really just the tip of the iceberg.  The way the Wizards were mismanaged while Jordan was simultaneously running a reign of terror as an exec and trying to be the star on the court should have been a cautionary tale for franchises all over the country: this guy is not built for the front office.  He’s just not.  And yet Jordan parlayed a name an excellent video resume of stock highlights and Space Jam footage into a controlling position within the Bobcats organization.  I’m guilty of offering second chances to just about anyone under the sun, but even I can’t grasp why the Bobcats thought Jordan might find redemption in the front office.  Putting his name in the program isn’t going to sell many tickets, and the product he ultimately puts on the court likely won’t find much success.

All of that said, Jordan does deserve some praise.  Trading Jason Richardson for Boris Diaw and Raja Bell was a gutsy move, one that many (myself included) thought would backfire.  Instead, Boris acted as a catalyst toward legitimacy and Bell was an able contributor at the 2.  Richardson wasn’t missed.  He also grabbed D.J. Augustin in the 2008 draft, a move which certainly has two sides.  Augustin had a productive rookie campaign, and is clearly capable of being an impact guard.  But the Bobcats also passed on Brook Lopez, an impact center who had an even more productive rookie season.  I’m not going to grill Jordan for taking Augustin, but I do think Lopez would have been an interesting fit.  Of course we’d be looking at a very different Bobcats team, one without Diaw and Bell and still plagued by Richardson’s inconsistency and his contract.  But let’s stay off fantasy island for now.

In spite of all of Jordan’s reasonable success in the recent past, having him as the head of an ownership group is not only ill-advised, but flat-out irresponsible.  He’s the head of basketball ops in Charlotte, and elevating him to the majority shareholder in the team bears one flaw of cataclysmic proportions: no matter how terrible of an executive Jordan is or ever will be, he holds his own purse strings.  That means Jordan himself would have to be resigned to stepping down from his duties if that time ever came, which is not exactly the kind of thing you’d like to bank on.  Jordan, as a player and a person, is reknowned for his passion for the game, his refusal to quit, and his must-win mentality.  On the court, those things are an asset.  But in the case of an executive with a seriously blemished record, confidence becomes arrogance, resolve becomes stubbornness, and desire becomes insanity.

The Bobcats can live with Jordan right where he is: just tasting the power of ownership but without the ball in his hands at all times.  MJ is going to keep calling for that power and that responsibility as long as he’s a manager in this league, but sometimes a person just needs to be told, “No.”

STEPHEN A. SMITH HECKLER’S SOCIETY OF GENTLEMEN PRESENT: HECKLING STEPHEN A. AT THE DRAFT IV: THE FINAL RECKONING

WATCH.NOW.