Its not such a 'Wonderful Life' in NBA

First appeared on December 28, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

Outside of therapy or a Phil Jackson locker room meditation ceremony, there’s no better exercise for centering one’s self during the holidays than watching It’s a Wonderful Life. The film, best viewed in black and white, sharpens ones focus and encourages a reevaluation of priorities.

So as Adam Silver takes the wheel from departing NBA Commissioner David Stern, he does so in a very despondent George Bailey kind of way. Perched nervously on a bridge outside the NBA headquarters, a blurry eyed Silver curses the heavens while lamenting the league for what it is now. With only three teams in the Eastern Conference mustering winning records to this point and a disappointing Christmas Day bonanza, the NBA equivalent of an NFL Thanksgiving, that saw five games finish with an average margin of victory in double figures, including one 29 point blow-out, trouble looms on the horizon.

Silver can curse SportsCenter and the way Americans lap up its spectacular dunks night after night not unlike the hard drinking husbands of school teachers who haunt Martini’s Bar. And while it still remains largely foreign to those drawing steady paychecks, he can blame a video game culture altogether familiar to owners laboring to appease this younger crowd by filling out rosters with ultra-athletic racehorses well versed in the business end of an alley-oop. All this is done while gambling these still generally underdeveloped talents will work diligently to develop their skills (see George, Paul). In the meantime the quality of play and overall skill level within the league continues to deteriorate.

Silver nervously gazes past his toes at the icy water below, knowing full well games are both sloppy and sluggish at times while consistent refereeing remains professional basketball’s white whale. He realizes even the league’s marketing has grown stale as the Christmas Day jerseys, Grinch shoes and scantily clad cheerleaders in Santa hats only made fans forget temporarily they were watching a wholly substandard product.

And then, just at the moment Silver is ready to give up and throw himself into the frigid black water, something altogether amazing and strangely predictable occurs. Appearing amidst a blizzard of fake snow, clutching a dog eared copy of the NBA Rule Book, is David Stern, his guardian angel.

Stern takes Silver on a guided tour of what the NBA once was. And unlike the somewhat laughable Clarence who was yet to earn his wings, there’s no better figure to guide a pretend tour of the league’s past than the man who oversaw its resuscitation and piloted it to its height of popularity.

Along the way, Silver discovers strong rivalries made the league. Rivalries like Detroit/Chicago, Boston/LA, the Knicks and well, OK maybe we’ll just leave the Knicks out of this since the Thunder’s road win total alone bests New York’s overall victories this season.

A wide-eyed Silver marvels at the league’s most successful days, days built on the backs of likable Superstars like Michael, Magic and Larry seasoned with the occasional rise of a spunky underdog like Reggie Miller who tried his best to stick a finger in the eye of big market viewers everywhere.

The unfortunate thing for Silver is, just when he’s seen enough to climb down off the bridge, no Hollywood ending awaits. There is no culminating scene with Silver running through the streets screaming “Merry Christmas you old referring scandal!”, instead he’s left to clean up Stern’s mess while reshaping the league on his own. This will prove a tall task, even one that can't be solved by the town of Bedford Falls bursting through his door while scrambling to unload their pockets to help save his new league.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Dazed and Confused: The Legacy of David Stern

First appeared on July 3, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

David Stern seems like a legacy guy. There’s nothing wrong with legacy guys of course, unless they elbow women and children aside on their way to the life boat claiming they’ve ‘yet to fulfill their legacy’ that is. So as Stern climbs some stacked milk crates to board his trusty steed and steer himself into the sunset after 30 years as NBA League Commissioner, the part-time pretend sports columnist in all of us must wonder, what is his legacy?

When he assumed his post during the winter of 1984, the league was fumbling its way through a dark period. The Bird and Magic rivalry hadn’t hit its stride yet and the NBA had little more than some really tight uniforms, arenas that openly encouraged smoking and a former ABA star to hang its hat on. Nobody can argue Stern’s entrance marked an upturn in the fortunes of the league. However, what drove this surge in popularity is extremely debatable. Was it Stern’s steady hand, cunning business sense and flair for marketing or was it simply some dynamic basketball being played by two teams that were both piloted by mega-stars who legitimately hated losing to each other?

In his time as Commissioner, Stern’s experiences have run the gamut. He was accused of rigging the 1985 draft lottery that helped the Knicks land Patrick Ewing and later caused major unrest amongst players when the voices in his head told him to switch to a new basketball, thus replacing the one that had previously been in use for 37 years. During his tenure, 6 franchises had to relocate, the players’ wardrobe became subject to mandate, one referee was thrown in Federal prison and there were a total of four work stoppages.

Under Stern’s watch television contracts exploded, the league added 7 franchises, basketball became a global game which saw the infusion of talent from every inhabited continent and a luxury tax was put in place to try and prevent teams from adopting the New York Yankee blueprint for success.

But for all he’s done, Stern’s legacy may struggle to escape the shadow of today’s game. For when the Commissioner’s time comes and Saint Peter jingles the Keys to the Kingdom before him, the question “Is the NBA better off now than it was 30 years ago?” is sure to arise. In terms of pure economics the answer is technically yes, but when it comes to overall product quality, the answer must be a resounding no.

The influx of young talent has changed both the quality and style of professional basketball. Even the unorganized masses who staunchly oppose Stern, including those who ambush telemarketers with a well rehearsed anti-Stern rant or spend their free time tossing darts at a life size Fathead of the Commissioner they inexplicably keep pasted to their living room wall, have to admit he showed some cognizant understanding of basketball when recognizing inexperienced players are bad for business. For proof one need look no further than his instituting the infamous “One and Done” rule during the 2005 collective bargaining agreement.

Still it portends of large issues. Stern leaves behind a world where teams burn through coaches as if they were employees of a temp agency instead of experienced professors of basketball who know what’s best for the young men they lead. Stern’s legacy appears to be having created a system where players dictate most front office moves including which coaches to hire and players to pursue. This is a business model most fans are going to grow tired of quickly and one no well placed smile or anecdote will excuse.

This Time Maybe It's Not About the Money

First appeared on February 25, 2013
in The Lebanon Reporter

A gallon of premium gasoline hit $4.00 this week. And, for those looking to diversify their chosen method of transportation, they aren’t giving hogs away either. We in the 99% realize money is tight these days and, with the ‘Roaring Twenties’ firmly in our rearview, most in the Midwest have been raised to keep an eye on the sky and a tight grip on their wallets.

So you go to the coffee shop for a bottomless cup, knowing it’s also one of the last places a free newspaper still exists, one without pay walls and pop ups. But the rack is empty so you slide to the counter, sandwiched between an insurance man on the prowl and a newly retired newspaperman. The buzzing chatter seems to intimate Al Qaeda is behind the rising price of hogs and the Indiana Pacers are fighting a rash of empty seats downtown.

The team itself is surely not to blame you theorize, after all they’ve axed ticket prices, given away everything from umbrellas to bobble head dolls, hired plate twirlers who set themselves on fire while swallowing a fistful of Asian Forest Scorpions just to entertain the folks at halftime and still, despite all this, the Fieldhouse remains half empty.

At 14 games over .500 Indiana has one of the top teams in the East, one that has already defeated the defending World Champions twice this season. One that includes a group of young men who trust each other, know no jealousies and can rely upon the services of a budding superstar poised to leave many Pacer fans wondering “Reggie who?” soon. And still it’s not been enough to get people to put down the remote, load the kids in the car and drop a hard earned Benjamin Franklin at BLF.

Considering there is no half-full optimism in the Pacers Marketing Department, they must be wondering if maybe, this time anyhow, it’s not about money. When one takes a second to look at the state of the NBA (for a second is all many can tolerate anyway) it isn’t entirely clear what one sees. Clearly it boasts the most athletic and ultra talented basketball players on Earth playing a fast paced, physical game above the rim. One might be left believing this alone would be enough to spin the turnstiles nightly but such has not been the case, at least not in Indianapolis.

Some blame the Colts, others the Hoosiers and still another lost soul makes some hair brained proclamation it’s somehow or another connected to race. Alas many have missed the most obvious of villains; apathy. Apathy, not about the Pacers themselves, but rather what the Association has become.

Apathy borne from multimillionaires complaining about having to practice and wear ties to games. Apathy that results from seeing a self-proclaimed Superman quit on his team only to fly cross-country with designs on teaming up with a Superstar. One already in possession of a reputation for taking 95% of the shots and yet we pretend to be shocked when his spoiled toddler shtick continues after discovering the aforementioned Superstar continues taking 95% of the shots.

Apathy that can only result from a man already living the dream of millions intentionally firing an air ball up in a game before storming to the locker room upon learning his coach is somehow disappointed in him. If I could hand David Stern a solution we’d all be eating bacon on our doughnuts and driving Hummers. Until then, understand apathy here means fans lack the hunger required to jump those hoops associated with attending games; and the sooner the NBA addresses this, the better.

© 2013 Eric Walker Williams

Digging Deeper into the Playoffs

First appeared on June 7th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

Old versus Young. Experience versus enthusiasm. Carson versus Arsenio. We’ve seen this act before so it should be nothing new. Well maybe new is a bad choice of words if you happen to be fans of the San Antonio Spurs or Boston Celtics. Either way Father Time remains the most overlooked, least analyzed, scrutinized or scouted player in the 2012 NBA Playoffs.

The Heat were for all intents and purposes the most logical choice for pre-season NBA Champions. And after a quick 2-0 start to the Eastern Conference Finals, Miami has been blindsided by a Boston team that has lathered their joints with enough WD 40 to remind all of us why they don’t hand trophies out before the season begins.

And while Oklahoma City continues to churn out posterizing dunks at an unprecedented rate, San Antonio remains Watty Piper’s original Little Engine that Could, busy plodding along on a journey towards The Finals. Both series are a lesson in life. There is something to be said for experience.

The Media would have us believe that OKC is a newborn infant ready to shed their diapers and claim a title while San Antonio is the toothless grizzled relic of yesteryear huddling behind their bedroom door as the Grim Reaper’s scythe is reaching in for them.

In a league built on young superstars and athletic role players the NBA finds itself at war with itself. And while this is a great recipe for producers of Keeping up with the Kardashians or Jersey Shore, it doesn’t compute in David Stern’s world. The NBA brands itself as fresh, young and exciting. The Spurs and Celtics are none of these.

And yet there they are again. Those darned fundamentals. The Spurs and their screens, the Celtics and their stifling team defense. The Big Fundamental and his unstoppable 17 foot bank shot and Rajon Rondo and his- well OK maybe we need to leave Rondo out of any discussion that involves fundamental basketball.

So you’re a 25 year veteran of accounting and some hotshot kid comes in fresh out of the Kelley School of Business. The stuffed shirt who signs your paychecks starts suggesting you might be able to learn a few things from Billy with the spiked hair. Whether it’s an out of town seminar he arranges for the two of you to attend together or something far less subtle, like an email that reads “Hey, you could learn a few things from Billy”, either way you feel slighted. So you find a new resolve. A rediscovered determination that carries you from the water cooler to the vending machine in record time.

This is another X factor currently propelling both the Spurs and Celtics. Her name is disrespect and she is both bold and beautiful. All season long every talking head in the NBA, every basketball magazine cover, every SportsCenter lead-in and every kid aged 10-19 (including Billy with the Spiked Hair) has done nothing but talk about Miami and Oklahoma City.

And suddenly there they are. Two former champions. Two groups feeling disrespected and boasting more playoff experience than half the other teams in the league combined. The NBA has long sold fans on rivalries. The Lakers and Celtics. The Bulls versus the Bad Boys. Tim Donaghy versus the Federal Government. Who knew the new rivalry would take such an old approach?

It may be true what they say “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks”, but in this case it’s rapidly becoming clear these old dogs don’t need any.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Pacers must find a way to turn down the Heat

First appeared on May 15th, 2012
in The Lebanon Reporter

OK so Sunday didn’t turn out to be the bloodbath so many had predicted. And though the Heat are one step closer to proving Jon Barry’s theory of a sure-fire Miami sweep correct, what remains to be seen is not the outcome of the series but rather how the Pacers will respond. Compounding matters for fans of the Blue and Gold, it would seem Miami took Indiana’s best punch in the first half Sunday and rallied to win with a dominating Fourth Quarter.

Of course the experts love for the Heat is nothing new. I’m sure had ESPN covered the Germans during World War II or filmed a 30 for 30 on Napoleon, they would have given the Russian’s no shot as well. The trouble of course is the magic of the upset lies in the fact nobody sees it coming. Who knew Stalingrad would become a Hornets nest capable of crippling Hitler’s Eastern advance? Or that Napoleon would taste defeat for the first time at the hands of an army perhaps made most famous by their propensity for retreat?

And really, who can fault those in the full-time-not-pretend media? The truth is the predictability of the NBA is tiresome. Of course the quintessentially obstinate American in all of us would say this is simply all the more reason for Indiana to take Miami down.

Let us not forget the Heat are the epitome of everything that is wrong with professional basketball. In a league completely driven by Superstars and propped up by those who gaze at them in captivated wonderment, Miami has three of them. Three talented men who should be filling seats on their own in smaller markets. Three men who came together and used the magic powers of artificial smoke and strobe lights to morph into the “Big Three”; a trio of superheroes joining forces to do something they clearly felt incapable of doing alone.

Meanwhile with no true Superstar, Indiana is the Yin to Miami’s Yang. They have no cult following. They are not paparazzi worthy. Heck, the only time Banker’s Life ever saw a smoke machine was when House of Hair came to town. On paper the match-up doesn’t have the magnetism of Ali-Frazier, but the fact remains there are no guarantees in life (see Lugar, Richard).

So while David Stern busies himself ensuring that those elves in his workshop busy engraving the Larry O’Brien Trophy realize the ‘b’ in LeBron is in fact capitalized, the Pacers need to set their jaw, clench their fists and get ready to take their best shot at Miami; again. Only this time hit harder, hit smarter and don’t let them get up when you have them down.

And after a 95-86 loss Sunday, Indiana remains at a crossroads. In a Pacer blue convertible the dapper Frank Vogel is slumped at the wheel while in the passenger seat alongside Larry gnaws at a thumbnail with Boomer’s overinflated head looking on from the backseat he’s sharing with that one guy with the hardhat, flip signs and pink flamingo.

They can forge ahead, take their medicine and lay down as Miami rolls on to the Eastern Conference Finals, or they can put their turn signal on and take the NBA for an unexpected ride. Tuesday night the basketball world will wait breathlessly to see if Indiana fights back, if Vogel follows his league-issued Garmin, or will we hear the presumptuous voice of David Stern choking out “RECALCULATING!!” as the Pacers try to derail the only sure thing the NBA has had since the Zenmaster traded his clipboard for a fly rod.

© 2012 Eric Walker Williams

Even in the midst of Snowpocalypse, the All Star game looks bad

First appeared on February 17th, 2010
in The Lebanon Reporter

Well it turns out Snowpocalypse was the monster they said it would be. Few could have predicted the level of collateral damage we would see in the snowmaker’s wake however. Turns out it grounded thousands of flights, stopped Washington D.C. in its tracks (insert joke here) and even forced some people to do the impossible; yes we’re talking about watching the NBA All Star game.
With interstates closed, airports shut down and milk flying off the shelves of every 7-11 from Chicago to Long Island, there was little reason for people to get out; so the NBA All Star game became the next logical choice (and yes, I can’t believe I just said that either).
Of course Snowpocalypse couldn’t stop everyone as Al Gore was reportedly spotted in Vancouver over the weekend selling An Inconvenient Truth T-shirts out of the trunk of his car.
Seeing the NBA All Star roster tells you immediately everything that’s wrong with the internet. At one time players were chosen by fans who actually ventured outside of their homes and paid good money for terrible seats just to curse out officials while watching their favorite teams. These were people who at least understood one of the main objectives in basketball is to put the orange ball through the round hoop looking thing. Enter the internet. Where anyone with a laptop, internet access and a half hour to kill can literally vote for the worst player in the league 11,000 times.
Alas this is the world NBA Commissioner David Stern has created. Sunday however, Stern was forced to take an uncomfortable backseat to Jerry Jones and his own personal attempt at redefining the old adage “Everything’s bigger in Texas”. Of course we’re talking about Cowboys Stadium.

Over 108,000 fans turned out to watch the East take on the West in Sunday’s 59th NBA All Star game. In case you’re wondering what 108,000 fans at a basketball game looks like, just imagine someone spilling an ant farm into a cereal bowl the size of New Jersey.
108,000 people. That’s like having the entire city of Gary, Indiana attend the same game at the same time; twice. If it weren’t for a scoreboard the size of Swaziland, those sitting in the upper decks of Cowboy’s Stadium Sunday would have had to rely on internet updates just to know who scored. Perhaps most amazing of all is the fact that we can hang a scoreboard larger than a basketball floor but McDonalds can’t make a lid that will stay on their coffee cups.
But back to the game. Reluctant All Star game viewers have grown accustomed to some All Stars being wheeled onto the floor because they’re so old and past their prime. Watching aged, former stars trying to stay up with younger, rising stars is perfect fodder for a Scooter Store commercial. Come to think of it, the game would have been more interesting if they would have been riding scooters. It’s billed as the world’s greatest pick up game, though I’ve seen more competitive and interesting games at recess.
The All Star get-togethers of every major sport are quickly losing their charm. To mixed reviews, baseball and football have both experimented with changing formats. The case to keep the NBA All Star game unchanged is perhaps strongest from those high school and college coaches who secretly pine: “If only there was a way to show players how to make terrible passes, take awful shots and play absolutely no defense”. And if this is what Stern was shooting for Sunday, then 108,000 plus got their money’s worth.