Ron Artest was pulled over while driving this Eagle Roadster, reportedly because its registration date had expired. But it looks to me like this cop just wanted an autograph.

                          

Ladies and gentlemen, your new defensive coordinator.

My cousins and I are a bunch of odd ducks. We watch poker on ESPN and implement some of the sayings into our own vocabulary. For example, we were watching a special on the late, great (and also cracked out) Stu Ungar, and he was quoted as saying something like this: “As soon as the antes come out, I become a pitbull. And once I do, everyone should be afraid.” We started saying that phrase all the time. Any time somebody gets aggressive, whether it be in our own poker game, during a night of drinking, or hitting on a girl, we say “Well, I guess the antes are out.”

Almost every time the Celtics play defense, the antes are out. They kill themselves to rotate, sprint halfway across the court to contest shooters, and bust their asses to keep the opposing team from getting any type of easy look. It helped that Tom Thibodeau was a defensive Will Hunting, of course, but the Celtics stop their opponents because they are willing to execute the schemes, because they have the right mentality. Because, like Rocky against Ivan Drago, to beat the Celtics you are going to have to kill them. And to kill them, you must be willing to die yourself.

That’s why I love the changes Larry Drew is making in Atlanta. Last season, the Hawks took advantage of their athleticism and versatility by switching a lot of screens. This year, the Hawks will take advantage of their athleticism by fighting through those same screens. A small switch, to most observers, but one that will should change Atlanta’s entire defensive mentality.

On the surface, switching screens made sense for Atlanta. A lot of Hawks have similar body types and athleticism. Even their two big men, Josh Smith and Al Horford, possess the agility to defend guards on the perimeter. Switching screens, in the eyes of the immaculately facil hair’ed  Mike Woodson, was the right move. His team’s versatility guaranteed that mismatches would be few and far between, even with the switching. But Woodson overlooked one aspect of switching almost every screen; it’s taking the easy way out, and it sets a lackadaisical tone.

Instead of using the switched screens as an advantage, the Hawks used them as a way to catch some rest. As the Atlanta Journal Constitution’s Michael Cunningham remarks, “You could see that happen with the Hawks last season. Players became so reliant on the switches that they tended to relax in anticipation of screens. Why fight through picks to stay with your man when he can be always be passed off to a teammate?” And that mentality doesn’t just stop at screens. When players relax on one aspect of defense, they stop being on their toes. They stop working their hardest. They lose their edge. It’s that edge that Drew is looking to re-instill when he forces his players to become accountable, to fight through the damn screen themselves.

What Drew is attempting to accomplish in Atlanta, Lawrence Frank is charged with maintaining in Boston. Filling Tom Thibodeau’s shoes is not what one would call “easy.” We all realize that. But as long as Frank devises a defense that will keep the Celtics’ intensity through the roof, as long as he puts the Celtics in positions where their own extra effort will allow them to force difficult shots, he will have done his job.

The antes will be out.

                          

In case you didn’t see Team USA play Angola, I’ll summarize the game for you in one word: massacre. I’m almost positive I could have gathered myself and four guys I went to high school with and given Angola a run for its money. And I went to a high school that has never even won a basketball state championship, and all my high school teammates who used to be legit now have beer guts. Team USA won 121-66, and I’m not even exaggerating when I say it should have been worse.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to work out. I’ve got to get in shape if four of my friends and I are going to kick some Angolan ass. On second thought, no I don’t. We could probably beat the Angolans after a month of nothing but Jager bombs and Taco Bell.

By the way, I apologize to any Angolan readers who were offended that I honestly believe I could beat their national team in a basketball game. But they should probably be a lot more offended by their own team.

                          

Cue the fans: “We should have kept Leon!” Which might be true…

But I’m pretty content with a frontcourt of Perk, Shaq, JO, KG and Big Baby.

                          

I was reading Andrew Sharp’s piece about Kevin Durant’s media-driven throne of righteousness, and I completely disagreed with one of Sharp’s points. Oddly enough, considering it was a piece about Durant, the actual point I disagreed with had little to do with the spindly, 6’9″ scorer. Sharp wrote this: (SB Nation)

Jerry Seinfeld once said sports fans are basically “cheering laundry,” and in a literal sense, he’s right. But in a literal sense, sports are a complete and utter waste of time. That’s Seinfeld’s point. Only by taking things to the deeper level, adopting certain guys as heroes and others as villains… Only then does it become something worth going crazy over.

We create this dynamic—LeBron as villain, Durant as hero—because otherwise, they’re just two oversized gentleman that run up and down a wooden court 100 nights a year, wearing different laundry. Projecting character onto these guys may be naive, but it’s also what makes sports fun. And that’s the essential truth missed by both Craggs and all the writers lavishing Durant with praise.

If NBA players could all be more like Kevin Durant… Basketball would be incredibly boring.

I don’t know about all of you, but I don’t watch basketball, I don’t follow basketball, and I don’t love basketball because the players have character. I don’t care about the NBA because Lebron James is a villain and Kevin Durant is a hero. If that was why I cared about sports, I wouldn’t care about sports at all. I’d merely watch soap operas all day, preferably All My Children.

In fact, I hardly care about what NBA superstars are like off the floor. I don’t watch Lebron James play basketball because he’s a villain, or because he used to be seen as “the unselfish superstar,” just as I don’t watch Kevin Durant play basketball because he seems like a fun guy to play Madden against.  I watch Lebron because he is the biggest, strongest, fastest package of athleticism ever created by the hand of God, and I watch Durant because I’ve never seen someone his height with that mind-blowing package of skills. Watching them, regardless of how the media portrays them or how I feel about them as individuals, not only brings me awe that a human being could be THAT good at basketball, but that he could push the limits of human accomplishments so far.

Greatness, no matter who does it or what avenue of life it appears in, is special. It’s why I watched the Olympics and became attached to Michael Phelps. I didn’t know the first thing about Phelps and I didn’t know the first thing about executing a proper flip turn, but I understood that what he was doing was extremely special, and that was good enough for me. I returned to my television every time Phelps had a race, because I knew there was always the potential for greatness. I didn’t care whether Phelps was a bank robber or Mother Theresa; he was doing something better than it had ever been done before, and that was enough for me.

But watching basketball is different than watching the Olympics, different than watching Phelps. Not only do I watch for the potential greatness each game brings, but I watch because I appreciate the intricacies of the game. I watch because a simple bounce pass can leave me breathless. I watch for the sound of a swish, the thwap of a dribble, and because the squeaking of sneakers sounds like heaven. I watch for the perfectly executed screen-and-roll, the beautiful no-look pass, and because “damn, did you just see that guy fly?” I watch because you never know when you’ll see a close game, a great comeback, or an astounding play. I watch because I don’t ever want to miss something special, and I watch because I see greatness even in the smallest, most normal plays.

So no, Andrew Sharp, I don’t watch basketball because Lebron James is a villain and Kevin Durant is a hero. In fact, if they were “just two oversized gentleman that run up and down a wooden court 100 nights-a-year, wearing different laundry” that’d be A-okay with me. As long as they still played the game I love and played it better than just about anyone else on earth. As long as they still showed me what greatness looks like, as long as they still tested the boundaries of human accomplishment.

Even my unabashed love for certain players has no basis in personality. Paul Pierce isn’t my favorite player because he’s a great guy, or because he’s known as The Truth, or because he smiles from time to time in postgame press conferences; he’s my favorite player because he’s been a Celtic the longest, because his on-court skills have helped my favorite team win games for years. The same thing goes for my favorite non-Celtic, Steve Nash. I don’t give a damn that Nash makes funny videos or seems really down to earth, or that some people view him as the underdog because he’s small and white. Those things are all cool by me, but I try to watch Nash as often as I can because he makes at least three or four passes per game that make me wish I was a soccer-loving Canadian originally from South Africa.

I watch sports in general for the potential of seeing something prodigious,  but I watch basketball more often than I watch any other sport because I appreciate every intricate detail roundball has to offer. I certainly “root for laundry” when I cheer on the Celtics, but I’ve got a confession: even if Lebron, Durant and every other player in the NBA were nothing more than bland, boring, over-sized gentlemen who run up and down a wooden court 100 nights a year, I’d still love this game.

What can I say? I’m an addict.

                          

Dominique Wilkins has a special place in Celtics history. Not only did he make a brief Celtics cameo in 1994-’95, but he also was half of the famous Bird-’Nique duel. The one where the two stars basically played one-on-one to decide who would win Game 7 of the 1988 Eastern Conference Semifinals.

But none of that is the reason I chose this highlight reel. I simply chose it because ‘Nique treated every rim he saw like it was his worst enemy.

(h/t Dime)

                          

A picture is worth a thousand words.

I was reading Henry Abbott’s post on TrueHoop about Basketball Reference’s findings that improving a team’s defense is more important to winning a title than improving the same offense. Like Abbott, I started to ask myself why. Shouldn’t adding four points to your own score be worth the same as taking four points away from the other team? Doesn’t that only make sense? But it’s not, and statistics prove it. As Sheed might scream like a wild man, numbers don’t lie.

There must be a reason for it, then, and here’s what I came up with. Defense is about commitment. It’s about passion. It’s about finding the strength deep down in your heart to stop the other team, however you need to do that. It’s about beating your man to a spot, sacrificing your body to take a charge, and rotating to help your beaten teammate. When you have five guys on the court fully committed to winning, they are definitely going to play defense because a significant percentage of good defense is simply the desire to stop the other team. I’m talking about pure desire, too, not just the thought, “Well, yeah, it’d be nice if I kept my opponent from putting the ball in the basket.” A good defense gets its hands dirty.

Think about the defensive difference between Kevin Garnett and Chris Bosh. That difference is as wide as the Grand Canyon, and that isn’t because of physical traits: the two are highly similar in both build and athleticism. At this point of their careers, Bosh is even more physically talented. I doubt the difference can be fully explained by coaching, either. I understand that Garnett has been coached by Tom Thibodeau and Flip Saunders, two good defensive minds, but it’s not like Bosh has never been schooled in the art of the hedge. It’s not like his coaches have been so inept as to be incapable of teaching him some solid defensive tactics. Yet, even with an eroding knee, Garnett is an all-world defender, while Bosh can sometimes be confused for swiss cheese.

Why is that, one wonders? My theory is that it has a lot to do with heart. Garnett listens to a coach tell him to hedge and then recover on a pick and roll, and he kills himself to do just that. Garnett explodes at the dribbler coming off the screen, giving Garnett’s teammate time to get around or through the screen and return to a good defensive position. But Garnett’s job isn’t done there, and he knows it. He sprints (not runs, sprints) back to his own man, preventing an easy bucket on the roll. The whole time, he’s screaming out instructions to his teammates, mostly because, well, that’s what he’s supposed to do. It isn’t rocket science, but you’ve got to bust your ass to get the job done.

That same attitude, the one that helps Garnett succeed where Bosh sometimes fails, the one that separates good defenses from average ones, manifests itself in other areas of the game. If a player is willing to work hard on the defensive end, he’s going to dive after a loose ball. That dive may not show up in the statistics and it may not secure that player a huge contract, but if a team dives on a few more balls than its opponent during the course of a game, its chances of winning that game are going to increase.

I think back to the one play that, to me, characterized the 2008 Celtics. It was in the Eastern Conference Semifinals, Game 7, against the Cleveland Cavaliers. Twice, the Cavs tried drives to the hoop. Twice, the Celtics responded with multiple defenders helping at every opportunity. The second time, James Posey swiped the basketball away from a Cav. It squirted out to the other side of the court, while Eddie House and Wally Szczerbiak raced after it. Szczerbiak was ten feet ahead of House to begin with, but House caught him from behind with a burst of speed and dove past him, sliding out of bounds as he saved the basketball to a slashing Posey. Posey was fouled attempting a layup and the Garden crowd went wild.

The Celtics displayed great defense on that play, yes, but just as important was the hustle House exhibited when flying after that loose ball. It wasn’t necessarily a defensive play, but House successfully pursued that loose ball because of the same dedication that helped the Celtics get so many stops that year. The same traits that made the Celtics a lockdown crew helped them win “the battle of the little things,” the plays that don’t show up in box scores.

A team can score points because it’s talented. Put Lebron James, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh on a team and that team is going to score a heck of a lot of buckets no matter what. But even the most talented group of players needs to have a certain mindset to succeed defensively. And it is that mindset, as well as the defensive improvement that comes with it, that makes defense more important than offense.

                          

Yup, that's Linas Kleiza.

Lithuanian’s love their basketball. Absolutely love it. (Toronto Star)

They come by the thousands always, with their gold, red and green flags and their drums and their uniforms and their songs and their chants.

And their passion.

First and foremost, their passion. They are as recognizable to the global basketball community as any player has ever been. The wildly enthusiastic Lithuanian fans follow their team and the sport with a fervor possibly unmatched in any sport anywhere.

It is, in many ways, what defines the nation.

“Basketball is the most important thing in Lithuania, more than anything else,” said Maurizio Gherardini, a long-time follower of the international game and now managing director of Canada’s national teams. “Basketball is not only the sport, basketball is life philosophy, it’s religion. They are all basketball people, they know the game, they are all coaches, they are all players, you feel and smell basketball everywhere. So every time you have an international competition, you have thousands of Lithuanians coming, wherever the competition is.

“It’s not just sport . . . it’s a country that found a way to present itself to the rest of the world from it.”

My parents never told me that I’m Lithuanian, but is there really any doubt? Basketball isn’t only a sport to me; it’s a life philosophy, it’s religion. I feel and smell it everywhere. It is the way I choose to present myself to the world.

Basketball is the best sport in the world, but it’s also far more than that. Cheers to Lithuania for understanding.

P.S. – Lithuania might be my favorite country now, but maybe it wants to rethink how it defines its nation. I’m a big fan of defining yourself with basketball, but when the best player in your entire country is Linas Kleiza it’s probably time for Plan B.

                          

Lester Hudson, the former Celtic, has received a training camp invite from the Washington Wizards. (Washington Post)

The Wizards have 12 players under contract heading into training camp, and that likely will not change much over the next few weeks. They have extended training camp invites to Lester Hudson and Cartier Martin, but the team has not decided whether it will enter the year with 13, 14 or 15 players.

Hudson never made a profound impact on the court when he was in Boston, but he’s somebody to root for. He was born and raised in Memphis, Tennessee, and has overcome setbacks at almost every level.

He went to Central High School in Memphis, where he failed his ninth-grade year. After staying back, he was not allowed to play basketball during his senior year. In Memphis, students aren’t allowed to play high school sports for more than four years after they are enrolled at a school. With basketball gone from his life, Hudson still lacked the maturity of a grown man and stopped putting forth effort in school. “Without basketball, I didn’t do my work,” Hudson explained. He failed to graduate.

But the story doesn’t end there, obviously. Hudson worked to get his GED while his high school coach, whose faith never waivered in Hudson, worked the phones in an attempt to find Hudson a junior college to attend. “He never lost faith in me,” Hudson said, clearly thankful for his coach’s persistence, “never stopped thinking I could play college ball.”

The coach found a good fit at Southwest Tennessee Community College, where Hudson received a try out against the players on the team. “I did really well,” Hudson said, “and I was offered a spot on the team.” And, more importantly, a spot in the school.

After two highly productive years that saw Hudson climb the junior college player rankings (“I think I was rated one of the top twenty junior college players in the country,” he said”), Hudson failed to graduate from STCC. This time, he partially blamed it on the school. “Because I was behind,” he told me in September, “I had to take beginner courses to get into the real courses, and I failed to meet all the graduation requirements.” There was too much catching up to do and Hudson didn’t have enough time to complete it. Maybe he would have if he had stayed an extra year, but that would have meant giving up basketball and Hudson wasn’t about to do that.

Not even a failure to graduate from junior college could stop college coaches from recruiting Hudson, a virtuoso scorer and true physical specimen, and he enrolled at the University of Tennessee-Martin. As usual, things weren’t as easy for Hudson as they seem to be for everybody else. Because he didn’t graduate from junior college, Hudson could not receive a scholarship during his freshman year. He also wouldn’t be allowed to play basketball.

“I red-shirted,” Hudson said, and this time not even the inability to play his favorite sport could keep Hudson down. Maybe it was the allure of playing as a red-shirt freshmen that was enough to drive him. Maybe it was the prospect of graduating from school. Whatever the reason, Hudson received financial aid and took out loans to cover the rest of the money. He proceeded to graduate from UT-Martin, despite failing to receive a diploma from junior high school, high school or junior college. Hard work pays off, they say, and Lester Hudson was no exception. “I had to change things around,” he told the Memphis Commercial Appeal. Job well done.

Now comes the hard part, sticking around in the NBA. Last year, when I asked him about the possibility of playing overseas, Hudson was adamant that the NBA was the place for him. He believes in his talent and refuses to give an inch to anybody, even those who are more skilled. “I think the veterans like me,” he told me, “because they know I want to get better and that I’ll never back down from anybody. It doesn’t matter who I’m playing, I’ll never back down. I could be playing against Kobe Bryant, but I’m going to go after him. It doesn’t matter who it is.”

He won’t be competing against Kobe Bryant, at least not yet, but John Wall and the Wizards’ other guards. Hudson will be fighting for a roster spot on a Wizards team that isn’t sure it wants to add more players. Still, “It’s up to nobody but me,” he told me last year, and the sentiment still echoes today. “I’m not worried about it, I’m just out here trying to impress whoever I can… the coaching staff, [the GM], the owners, the weight trainers, the equipment managers, everybody.”

Just keep doing your thing, I said. Say no more.

                          

(When I say “Tall Black freak,” I mean that in the most respectful way possible.)

Since I’m the biggest basketball nerd you’ll ever (never?) meet but somehow don’t have NBA TV, I sat at my computer this afternoon to watch Spain play the New Zealand Tall Blacks. My computer doesn’t have any speakers, so I had some earphones in, my shirt off, some plaid shorts on and my rapidly-growing belly hanging out. I was also eating a bag of peanut M&Ms. It would have made an attractive picture, really. Any girl would have been lucky to have me right then.

But anyway, out of nowhere, some athletic freak named Thomas Abercrombie started balling out for New Zealand. Just dunking everything. He caught an alley-oop in the vicinity of Marc Gasol, then dunked near Fran Vazquez, and later had a nice and-one after bouncing off Rudy Fernandez. And that was all in the first half. He finished the game with 19 points, each one seemingly more exciting than the last.

I don’t think Abercrombie’s terrific play is a normal thing, mostly because of three facts: 1) the announcer (an annoying, over-exaggerating bloke) seemed mighty surprised by Abercrombie’s output,  2) Abercrombie only scored 7 points in New Zealand’s first game, and 3) in 2007-2008 Abercrombie played for Washington State University, averaging only 1.2 points per game. But he DID average 21.0 points per game for the Waikato Pistons of the New Zealand National Basketball League, so maybe he’s gotten infinitely better since bumming it for WSU. Even if Abercrombie still isn’t a great player, he’s got at least one thing going for him in the eyes of NBA scouts: the 23-year old can sky.

Anyway, the above dunk (which is from approximately a year ago) is sick and I’ve now put Abercrombie on my 40,000-person list of players who could have won last season’s dunk contest.

Click the jump to see one of two alley-oops from Ricky Rubio to Rudy Fernandez.

Yesterday, Shaq tweeted “Dam I just saw Tom Brady. Dat dude is beautiful lol.” That tweet pretty much sums up how I feel about Rubio’s game. And he’s younger than John Wall, people. He’s younger than John Wall!