It is now halftime in Game 7 of the “most anticipated” NBA Finals in years. The score is 40-34. Boston is winning, but that doesn’t matter. What does matter is that the Lakers and Celtics, the two most decorated teams in the history of the sport, have laid a stale, constipated turd on the heads of American basketball fans for the past week and a half.
Let me preface with a disclosure. I am a New York Knicks fan. This gives me an instant predilection for loathing both franchises in the finals. I would rather the series be canceled due to smallpox outbreak than watch either team celebrate another championship. That being said, I remain a huge fan of the sport, and as a Knick fan (and hence, an NBA orphan) I always look forward to good basketball, even without a strong rooting interest.
This series has provided nothing in the way of entertainment. There has not been a single noteworthy (forget memorable) finish. There has not been a single transcendent performance by a single player. Ray Allen nearly gave us something to be excited about with a record-setting 3-point performance in game 2, only to follow that up by shooting his next 25 3-pointers like a man with frozen steak fries for fingers.
I suppose it doesn’t help that Celtics point guard can’t shoot, dribble, or pass and the Lakers simply don’t have a point guard on their roster. Rajon Rondo, the newly crowned “best young point guard in the league” turns the ball over like it activates a bonus in his contract.
Kobe Bryant, the man who I’ve been told 64,785 times really really wants another championship, is roughly 2-62 shooting the basketball. The formerly great Kevin Garnett apparently used up all of his historically great passion to will the growth of a goatee.
Boston coach Doc Rivers calls timeouts every 29 seconds to remind his team to try harder. And, in fact, that has been the single superlative that any announcer can come up with to describe the action in this series. “They play with passion.” Unfortunately, the same can be said for the participants in leper colony intramurals.
I just stopped typing to watch the following series of events… Rondo falls down and turns the ball over… Kobe falls down and turns the ball over… Rasheed Wallace shoots an airball… Odom falls down and turns the ball over. The NBA, this is where AMAZING happens!
Thank God for Jeff Van Gundy. With 2:00 to go in the 3rd quarter, he realizes, “…This is one of the most poorly played games you’ll ever see.” I wonder if the NBA will order his ritual execution before the fourth quarter.
Apparently in response to Van Gundy’s criticism, Doc Rivers has inserted Brian Scalabrene into the game. I’m just spitballing here, but perhaps Rivers believes that if you increase the awkwardness factor of a game past its critical mass, an Awkward Vortex will tear a hole in the space/time continuum, allowing us to go back to a time before this abomination of a series ever was a twinkle in Phil Jackson’s eye.
While we’re talking about the past, let’s not dwell on the fact that the rise of these two franchises was caused directly by nepotistic, collusion-heavy deals that delivered these two teams their star players. Never mind the fact that Kevin Mchale a loyal Celtic alum (as GM of the Timberwolves) traded Garnett to the Celtics for peanuts, followed by Jerry West, a loyal Laker alum (as GM of the Grizzlies) traded Pao Gasol to the Lakers for peanuts. Let’s not go there.
This NBA Finals has given me nothing to cheer for. In fact, it has drained future cheers out of my body. It has been a black hole for skill, talent, and alluring play. In the words of Billy Madison, we are all dumber for having seen it. I award the NBA Finals no points, and may God have mercy on its soul. Regardless of who ultimately ends up with the most points tonight, there are no winners in this series. Boo, I say. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
