Photo by ToniVC from Flickr

I can see clearly now, the rain is gone. The lockout has lifted, we have a season, can I get an Amen? (Amen.) And in the spirit of renewal, our shiny new cadre of writers is putting together previews for all 30 teams in true HP style. From where teams are going to what their disgrace is to explorations of pop culture, we are about to rock, salute us, can I get an Amen? (Amen.) So sit back, relax, and ponder the awesomeness of this fully operational Hardwood Paroxysm 3.0. -Ed. 

QUO VADIMUS (WHERE ARE WE GOING?)

by Scott Leedy

No one likes to feel irrelevant. Everyone, no matter what their position in life, likes to believe that at least something they do or contribute matters. Unfortunately, thinking does not make it so. Enter the 2011-2012 Boston Celtics. They are used to being important, they are accustomed to contending, hell they probably, no they have to believe they have a chance. That’s how sports work, often delusion and grandeur pay off in unexpectedly terrific ways. Other times they only  serve to inflate and exaggerate waning talents, and deteriorating physical skills.

For the past few years, in the Western Conference there’s been a sort of mantra among basketball experts, “You can never count out the Spurs”. They are experienced, they know how to play, and old teams tend to win in the playoffs. In fact, The Spurs haven’t been true contenders for a while now. We’ve placed too much faith and value into their past success. I will not make the same mistake with the Celtics. Could they contend this year? Sure theoretically it’s possible, but in reality they won’t be able to handle the younger contenders in the East. You can play the experience card but at this point both LeBron and Wade have been around the block enough times. The Heat are hardly the Oklahoma City Thunder.

As Charles Barkley so famously says, “the only one who’s undefeated is father time”. The Celtics were old, injured, and tired last year. Now a year older, a year slower, a even more prone to injury, how can we reasonably expect this team to challenge for a championship? Don’t get me wrong they will still be a very good team. Much like the Spurs they execute, they know how to win, and there’s still a lot of talent on the floor. However, the days of dominance and intimidation have passed. One of the little brothers went and punched big brother in the mouth and big brother can’t recapture the fear.

There’s a not so subtle and all too painful transition from experienced, respected, and dominant to old, tired and dismissed. You can hold, cling, and grasp at your previous accomplishments. You can point to past success as evidence of your current relevancy. But looking back won’t grant you anything moving forward.

Only a year and a half removed from the heartbreaking Finals loss, the Celtics find themselves knocking on the door of irrelevancy. They aren’t really going anywhere. They place they’d like to reach remains outside their grasp, and yet there’s enough ego, enough history, enough previous success to convince themselves otherwise. There’s no shame in being a “has been”; no dishonor in succumbing to the inevitability of age. For The Celtics the future holds no promise. Their time has come and past.

Let’s Start A Cult About: Avery Bradley

by Noam Schiller

You can do this. You know you can do this. You have more talent than these clowns in your fingernail. You can outwit them while numbing your mind in front of reality television. Them? They’re nothing. You’re the best around, nothing’s gonna ever keep you down.

Except, they don’t know that. In fact, they think the opposite. You’re the new kid, and as such, the burden of proof is on your shoulders. It doesn’t matter that their ceiling is 10% of yours, because that 10% has already been achieved. You’re starting from 0, and the higher you project to go, the higher the climb to get there.

You try to ignore that lump in your throat as the judgmental gaze of their well-versed eyes burn against the back of your neck. Let them thing what they want, right? You know your worth. Even if they don’t. But… there’s more of them than there is of you. And they were here first. For quite a while, too. What if they’re right? What if you don’t have it? What if your sense of self-worth is but a product of ignorance and childish delusions or grandeur?

Your confidence is unwavering. Sadly, you can’t say the same for your abilities. Suddenly, versatility becomes a burden, jack-of-all-trades becomes master-of-none. Your eyes try to focus on the goal at hand, but something about the tips of your feet draws them downward. You swear it isn’t shame, it isn’t discomfort, it’s sheer happenstance that you can’t dare to stare at your adversary, but even you are starting to doubt yourself. You try to perk yourself up, but your previously sturdy shoulders are drooping, and before you realize it, you’re begging for a second chance.

Avery Bradley is phenomenal at basketball. He’s better than you. He’s better than me. He’s better than everybody. We all know it, and so does he. It’s no coincidence that the Texas product was ranked number one in his high school class. That’s John Wall territory, punk. You should show some respect.

Should. If only Bradley could demand it.

Because even though he has all of the talent in the world, something just doesn’t fit. The silky shot inexplicably rims out, the rhythmic dribble prefers to take its defining beat out of bounds. Hailed as a combo guard, Bradley has devolved into the worst kind of tweener – the kind that doesn’t fit anywhere not because his skill set doesn’t fit his size, but because his skill set just isn’t there.
Avery Bradley is the last NBA player I’ve seen play in a live game, as he briefly swept through my hometown team of Hapoel Jerusalem in a lockout-induced haze. Overseas, even more than in the NBA, his talent stands orders of magnitude above that of the competition. And yet, even when the 18,000 seat TD Garden was replaced with the 3,000 seat Malcha Arena, Bradley’s shoulders still rested several inches beneath his neckline, and his eyes still revealed the same timid child that can’t live up to the lofty expectations that he himself compares himself to.

It’s not that Bradley is incapable. On the contrary. The ability oozes out of his pores. But the bristled hair that stands on his frightened skin prevents it from manifesting on the court. For every coulda shoulda woulda that we ever experienced, we should be desperately rooting that the 6’3″ athletic specimen vanquishes the 0’0″ demons back to the fiery depths of human psyche hell.

A Brief Video Interlude

by Scott Leedy

So this video is very NSFW. NO SERIOUSLY, THERE ARE NOT BIG ENOUGH NSFW LETTERS FOR HOW HOW NSFW THIS IS.

I hope the relevancy is obvious. I will let the clip speak for itself. Enjoy.

The Disgrace

by Sean Highkin

As of this writing, Jermaine O’Neal is the Celtics’ opening-night starting center. Paul Pierce will likely miss the start of the season with a bruised heel, and Kevin Garnett has battled knee problems in recent years. The Celtics’ projected starters not named Rajon Rondo are an average age of 34.5, which would be a concern in a schedule not compressed to all get-out. The added back-to-backs are a challenge for every team, but no prospective title contender is as likely to feel their full wrath as Boston. Even the Spurs, as old as they are, have enough serviceable young-ish guys to spell Tim Duncan and Manu Ginobili when necessary. Outside of new acquisition Brandon Bass, the Celtics’ depth chart isn’t pretty. When healthy, the Celtics should still be good enough to hang with most teams, but the condensed schedule will make it not just wise but absolutely necessary to give KG and Pierce days off. This means these guys will probably be on the wrong end of more blowouts this season than their on-paper talent would dictate.

Oster-Tags: 2011-12 Season Previews, Old as F***