The NBA released its hypothetical new schedule today, which pits the Celtics against the Cleveland Cavaliers on opening night. If this were 2007 and Lebron James had not yet Crane Kicked the entire city of Cleveland, that would be fun. But this is 2011, meaning two things:

1) The matchup probably won’t even happen. #lockout

And

2) If the matchup does happen, the Celtics will play one of the NBA’s worst teams. Optimistically, we’ll get the first glimpse of Kyrie Irving. Pessimistically, the Celtics will hypothetically open the season against the Cleveland Effing Cavaliers, marking today’s second sign that my earlier theory may be correct — the Celtics no longer get full respect from the NBA.

Chris Forsberg broke down the schedule, noting that 12 of Boston’s first 19 games will be on the road, the C’s will play 24 nationally televised games, and the Celtics will play 20 back-to-back games (16 of which will end on the road).

Here are Forsberg’s important dates to circle, assuming a season occurs as scheduled (which seems about as likely as J.J. Redick winning the dunk title):

CIRCLE THESE MATCHUPS
Nov. 2: Cleveland at Boston (Opening night for the new season)
Nov. 16: Boston at Miami (Back to where the 2010-11 season ended)
Dec. 1: Miami at Boston (Heat’s first visit to the Hub)
Dec. 25: Boston at New York (Christmas in the Big Apple)
Jan. 11: Dallas at Boston (First meeting with the world champs)
Jan. 16: Oklahoma City at Boston (Kendrick Perkins back in the Garden)
Feb. 9: L.A. Lakers at Boston (Rematch in L.A. on March 11)
Feb. 12: Chicago at Boston (First meeting with Bulls; ABC Sunday broadcast)
Feb. 22: Boston at Oklahoma City (Jeff Green’s return to OKC)
April 18: Orlando at Boston (Regular-season finale at Garden)

The Celtics, again, have been mentioned in Anthony Parker rumors. (ESPN)

The Celts, according to sources briefed on Boston’s thinking, have joined their conference rivals from Chicago in pursuit of Cavaliers swingman Anthony Parker.

The Celts covet an extra playoff-tested shooter/defender as much as the Bulls, with Marquis Daniels out indefinitely and Delonte West missing much of the season so far. Yet it remains to be seen whether either of the two teams is willing to meet Cleveland’s asking price.

The Cavs are seeking a quality draft pick or a young big man with promise in exchange for Parker, who’s averaging 11.5 points and shooting 47 percent on 3-pointers in February.

Which begs the question: Would you offer Semih Erden in a package for Parker, or another backup small forward? My answer to that all depends (and, really, my thinking about the whole trade deadline action depends) on Marquis Daniels’ health. If the Celtics are sure he’ll be ready for the playoffs, there’s no need to trade for Parker. Even though, as a veteran shooter who also plays some defense, he certainly has more value in Boston than he does in Cleveland.

I’d rather keep Erden around, if possible. Young, promising centers don’t grow on trees, and I’m actually quite enthused about Erden’s future prospects. But if Daniels can’t return this season, the Celtics need to make a move to add some size behind Paul Pierce. And Parker wouldn’t be an awful fit.

But aren’t the Cavs asking a little much? Parker’s a 35-year old backup currently shooting an even 40.0% from the field. The Cavs shouldn’t expect “a quality draft pick” or “a young big man with promise” in return for Parker, right? Wouldn’t they just be lucky if some team takes his contract off their hands (which the Celtics can do by offering Daniels and cash)?

Trade rumor season (non-Melo Division) has officially begun, folks. Enjoy.

Isn’t it ironic, don’t you think? The Cleveland Cavaliers, and Lebron James, used to have a policy — no excuses.

“We’re a no excuses team,” echoed both Lebron James and Mike Brown, after a late (and pretty obviously intentional) Bruce Bowen foul went uncalled in the 2007 NBA Finals. Which brings me to the irony. Since then, there has always been an excuse waiting to escort James away from failure. His latest excuse invokes the Boston Celtics, but, first, a history of LeExcuses.

Brown’s offensive sets were never good enough. Neither was Lebron’s supporting cast. Lebron’s elbow hurt so bad. A teammate had sexual relations with Lebron’s mother. Lebron didn’t actually know what contraction meant. The karma tweet didn’t even consist of his own thoughts. And did I tell you about that Cleveland supporting cast? You try winning with those bums.

There aren’t many more excuses to go around. James has a coach who he, all shoulder bumps aside, finally respects. Don’t want to take my word for it? Listen to Bill Reiter, who has covered Miami for Fox Sports all season long. Hell, listen to Lebron himself: “Me and Spo are still learning each other,” LeBron said after playing OKC. “It’s not like me and Spo have been (together a long time). We’re still learning each other. I’m going to continue to trust Spo. He’s our coach and he’s going to continue to trust me.” And Reiter’s take on Lebron’s quote: “The key here isn’t that LeBron said these words – it’s that he appeared to mean them.”

The supporting cast, too, leaves little to be desired. I mean, sure, I bet Lebron wishes he could see a little less of Mario Chalmers, Joel Anthony and Carlos Arroyo. But when Lebron James teams with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh, the supporting cast can’t be blamed. It can’t. The Heat have three of the top ten (or, in Bosh’s case, perhaps 15) players in the NBA, and a few pieces (read: Mike Miller, James Jones, and maybe Zydrunas Ilgauskas) who aren’t at all half bad. And Udonis Haslem should return later this season to add another impressive role player. Nobody would argue Miami’s the NBA’s deepest team, but the talent is there.

As for knick-knack injuries? Nobody’s going to fall for the elbow trick twice. Same goes for the whole “mother” thing. I’m not even trying to say the accusations were false. Nor am I trying to say they were true. I’m just saying nobody’s going to fall for it twice, true or not.

Some of the excuses weren’t even made by Lebron himself. Lebron stood in Brown’s corner, even when the media blamed him for Cleveland’s troubles. Lebron never, to my knowledge, verbally disparaged his supporting cast in Cleveland (although leaving for Miami was a sure sign of where Lebron stood on the issue). We — the media, and the fans — enabled Lebron to avoid accountability, to play six years in Cleveland while hardly ever taking fault for a loss, and we hardly ever mentioned, “Shit, maybe it’s Lebron’s fault this isn’t working.” In the seventh year, after Lebron’s epic disappearance against Boston in Game 5, we’d finally had enough. That loss was Lebron’s fault, no matter how that damn elbow felt, no matter how many times Delonte West had pleased Lebron’s mother.

As scarce as excuses seem to be nowadays, Lebron isn’t done with them. He doesn’t have many left, so he created a new one. The Heat can’t possibly have Boston’s chemistry, said Lebron yesterday, because they haven’t had enough time together. (ESPN)

“We’re way behind those guys,” LeBron James said following the Heat’s practice on Wednesday. “Just look at the number of games played, the number of playoff series those guys have had. We’re only a few months in together — 40-something-plus games. I’ve seen the statistics. Boston has like 250-plus games played together. We’re way behind those teams.”

When taken alone, the quote isn’t that harmful. Actually, it makes all kinds of sense. Miami IS only 40-something games into its new experiment. Boston DOES have great chemistry, which IS aided by the amount of games the C’s have played together.

But being an obsessive follower of Boston’s Big Three, I can tell you they never made excuses about chemistry. They saw the Detroit Pistons and never thought, “Damn, those guys have more chemistry than we do. We’re way behind that team.” They thought, “We’ll do whatever it takes to get our chemistry to that level. Then, we’ll kick their asses.” The Big Three Celtics never once complained about chemistry, or how quickly they had to develop it. Never once. They were all working toward a common goal, they were all infected by Ubuntu, and chemistry developed quickly and naturally. And, though the bond was natural and unforced, the Celtics worked all season long to strengthen it. No excuses, no complaints.

The Celtics made it work. Ray Allen sacrificed so much of his individual game. Paul Pierce stopped being a ball stopper, and started facilitating movement. He took fewer shots, but he took better ones. And Kevin Garnett? He was always unselfish, but he took his charitable attitude to another level. Chemistry isn’t just about liking your teammates on and off the court. It’s about making sacrifices to maximize the talent that steps on the floor each night.

Which brings us back to the Heat. They could very well win an NBA championship this season. They have two of the NBA’s top five players, and another in the top fifteen. They’re a very good, potentially great team. But Lebron’s right: they don’t have terrific on-court chemistry yet, and, maybe more importantly, they don’t seem like they’re willing to make all the necessary sacrifices. Lebron still wants to launch the occasional ill-advised fallaway jumper, and both Wade and Lebron fall into one-on-one play too often. Isolations can work, because the two players are such talents. But solo tangents of individual greatness fail to maximize Miami’s production.

So Lebron, you’re right. Your team lags behind Boston in terms of chemistry. But that doesn’t count as an excuse. It’s on you and your teammates to get it right by season’s end. If not, the failure’s on your team, and nobody or nothing else. Accountability started the day you took your talents to South Beach, Lebron, and it should have started far sooner.

Hee'ssssss baaacccckkkkkk.

Kendrick Perkins caught a pass from Ray Allen, with nobody between himself and the basket. Naturally, Perk brought the basketball down to his knees before releasing his layup. He made the layup (and even got an and-one), but there was no need for Perk to bring the ball so low.

On most nights Perk’s worst habit would piss me off. Why not just keep the ball high, Perk? You’re damn near seven feet tall! You don’t need to scrape the ball to the floor before every easy layup! But tonight? Perk’s habit brought a smile across my face — I was kind of like the homesick boy who sees his annoying older sister for the first time in a full year. Even if I sometimes hate my sister, seeing her means I’m home. Seeing her means I don’t have to be homesick anymore.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

Perk made his return during tonight’s 112-95 win (“no kidding, Jay”), and he didn’t look half bad. Though his game shape is still a work in progress (Perk was clearly gassed after a few trips down the floor), his physique looks great. He still knows how to play defense, he still works hard as hell, and he’s still a physical presence to contend with. He still scowls like his dog just pissed on his most expensive carpet, and he still sets screens that permanently teeter on the edge of legality.

He’s the same guy we remember, and it’s never felt so good to see him on the court. If you told me this summer that Perkins would return on January 25th looking so svelte, so mobile and so, well, Perk-ish, I would have grabbed you by the cheeks and kissed you straight on the lips. For his next trick , Perk has to keep himself from doing two things: muttering the term “foot” a dozen times in a press conference, and losing to the New York Jets in the playoffs — because Perk’s quick return is positively Welker-ian.

I went to the gym today, trying to get my fat ass back into shape. When I checked my cell phone after my workout, I discovered that Perk had been given the go-ahead to play tonight. After almost passing out right in my gym, I hopped up and down. A couple old fogies looked at me like I had two heads, but I didn’t care. The O’Neal brothers have both revealed bodies of glass this season, and it’s more clear than ever that the Celtics need Perk. To have him back so soon, before February, is beyond my wildest dreams. And to see him play tonight, and to see how he still looked so much like the Perk I remember, was spectacularly fabulous.

I’m not sure how long it will take before Perk’s “bringing the ball to his knees when he doesn’t have to” move starts to piss me off again. For now, I’m just happy to have the big fella back.

Perk dusted the hard hat off tonight, looking closer to full strength than I ever would have expected. And the Celtics inched one step closer to that unattainable utopia — full health.

If you want to see some real Boston Celtics hoops analysis, I suggest you click here or here. If you’re in the mood for the random musings of the former worst player in all of NCAA basketball, stay and read the rest of this post. I might not disappoint.

Yes, in 2006-2007 I considered myself the worst player in all of NCAA basketball. My team was 2-22, and our two wins were gifts from above. One wasn’t even against an NCAA team; it was against an NAIA team called Lyndon State. Lyndon State somehow fielded a basketball team, but I’m almost positive no more than two players in the entire school knew how to dribble. We beat Lyndon State by something like 30 points, and losing to us is like getting beat in the “Best Actor” category by Channing Tatum — after a loss like that, you should feel truly ashamed.  My Skidmore College Thoroughbreds were bad, and certainly one of the worst teams in college basketball.

On a team that wasn’t even worthy of calling itself a college basketball team, I received no playing time. Yeah, I got into some blowouts. Sure, I made a few token appearances while a game was still in doubt. (If any games that season were actually in doubt. We lost most of our games that year when the schedule was announced.) But for the most part, I was on the outside of the rotation looking in, a colossal bum among a historic crop of bums. Thus comes the title I made for myself — the worst player in college basketball.

In all honesty, my team probably wasn’t the worst NCAA basketball team that year. In all honesty, I wasn’t my team’s worst player. But it’s more interesting to be college basketball’s worst player than to be the 11th-best player on your average shitty Division Three team. So I coined myself college basketball’s worst player. And I’ll tell you, that year sucked.

Before college, I’d always been on good teams. My high school teams made the playoffs each year, reaching the regional finals once and semifinals twice. My prep school team finished fourth in New England, falling in the New England playoff quarterfinals. Even my AAU teams were competitive every weekend. I was used to teams that cared about winning; that would do anything in order to win; that expected to win every night, no matter the opponent; that practiced with a purpose, and held each other accountable for mistakes. I was used to teams composed of winners. Then I arrived on Skidmore’s campus.

My first indoctrination into a losing environment occurred my very first day on campus. The team played pickup basketball, and one guard — we’ll call him Andy for the purposes of this post — killed anyone who tried to defend him. He’d drive left, pullup, swish. Drive right, take it to the hoop, and finish with a floater off the glass. I’m telling you, Andy looked like the best player in the Northeast Region during these pickup games.

After Andy scored nine points in a game to eleven, I looked at one of my teammates and said, “Damn, Andy’s real good. I didn’t know he was so talented.”

“Don’t get too excited,” my teammate responded. “During games, Andy sucks. He shits his pants. During games, we all suck.”

Well, alright then. That’s the attitude! Pickup games the rest of the fall went much the same way. Andy destroyed his opponent, nobody on either team really tried or passed the ball, and my frustration mounted as I played with selfish, disinterested players for the first time in my life. To this day, I believe Skidmore College is the only place in the world where “an extra pass” refers to the first pass.

The regular season came, and we almost won our first game. We actually had some team (I forget which team; I guess all the losses blend together) on the ropes. By “on the ropes”, I mean we were within one point a little before halftime, at which time we lost our scruples and ended up losing by 25 or so points. My grumpy teammate was right — Andy sucked. He got into the game, and a poo stain immediately formed in the back of his shorts. Nobody else played well, either. To make matters even worse, players laughed about the loss after the game.

“Get used to it, Jay,” one of them told me. But I was thinking to myself, Shit, we should have won that game. We could have done so much better. I’d barely played during the game, and I was more pissed off than any of my teammates.

The year continued, and the losses piled up. Players stopped trying in practices altogether. (Did they even try to begin with?) Even my coach gave up on the season. At one point, on the day before playing the second-best team in our league, we practiced for 45 minutes. At that point, my coach used his raspy voice to say, “Alright, have some grab-ass time.”

Grab-ass time? What the hell is that?

“Just do whatever the fuck you want,” he said. He then demonstrated by launching a half-court shot. In typical Skidmore fashion, his demonstration shot missed everything.

Grab-ass time. You’ve gotta be shitting me. There I was, playing college basketball, and we had grab-ass time on the day before one of the season’s biggest games. I normally rebel against the phrase I’m about to use, but fuck my life.

Before games, players would concede victory. Never mind that every team in our league sucked. Never mind that we didn’t play any top-25 teams all season. Never mind that winning would have been a nice change of scenery. We entered every game conceding victory, and 22 out of 24 times that season we were right.

I’ve never been a part of a sorrier group of basketball players. I’d always heard of losing environments and how debilitating they can become, but I’d never seen it first-hand. I’d always been surrounded by winners, always been a part of winning programs. But this was different. Losing grabbed hold of everyone in the program and the season spiraled out of control, ultimately ending with me being the worst player in college basketball.

As everything fell apart, that Skidmore College team had no heart. It had no soul. It kept losing, and losing, and losing, and never changed anything to make improvements. In other words, that team was a lot like the Cleveland Cavaliers.

Don't worry, Samardo. It could have been worse. Your team could have lost by 56 points. (AP photo)

I remember the Cleveland Cavaliers I saw during their opening night, when they erased a double-digit third quarter lead to defeat the Boston Celtics.

I admired them that night, a scrappy team which overcame its lack of legitimate NBA players by outworking its (far more talented) opponent. Byron Scott said he could only promise one thing, and that promise was that his team would play hard. For one night, against the Celtics, Scott’s team proved him a smart man. The team was Cleveland in a way Lebron James — though nearly a hometown boy — could never be, a blue-collar team with blue-collar aspirations in a blue-collar town.

But if you look now, the canvas represents an entirely different painting. Actually, it looks like someone took a baseball bat to the prior canvas, and the previously existing painting no longer exists. A 112-57 loss? After trailing 72-27? Yes, 72-27. In the NBA, with professional basketball players playing against other professional basketball players, a loss like that shouldn’t even be possible. Even if it’s the Cavs vs. the Lakers. Even if Anderson Varejao’s out for the season. Even if Lebron James wasn’t playing for the Cavaliers, but instead tweeting that karma’s a bitch. Even if Alonzo Gee, the most productive Cav yesterday, is so well-known that the Lakers’ PA announcer called him Anthony.

The name Anthony reminds me of St. Anthony, which reminds me of a prayer my aunt used to say when I was younger: “Dear St. Anthony, please come down. Something’s lost and can’t be found.” I’m not a religious person, not by any means — I didn’t even attend church on Christmas. But the Cavs’ heart has been lost, and it can’t be found. And if this St. Anthony character really has any powers, he’s probably the only one who could find it. Then again, the Cavs’ heart is not an easy find, not even for the Patron Saint of Lost Things. After eleven straight losses, and last night’s 55-point defeat (55 points!), finding Cleveland’s heart is like finding  a bottle of perfume in a waste facility.

Antawn Jamison said the Cavs have hit rock bottom, which, if you listen to Eminem, occurs when this life makes you mad enough to kill. But in his song Rock Bottom, Eminem also said, “It’s cool to be the player, but it sucks to be the fan.” And that’s another aspect of the Cavs’ 11-game losing streak.

The Cavs can talk all they want about hitting rock bottom, and how upset they are with their performance. But the point is, they’re the ones who played that badly. Who barely even tried. They’re the ones who played 48 minutes of half-assed basketball, who have played like a bunch of mononucleosis patients for the past month or so, who were behind by 39 points at a time when Kobe Bryant had scored only one bucket. They’re the ones with a choice in the matter. They deserve all these losses, and the 55-point shellacking, and all the public shame that comes from it. But the fans don’t have a choice.

The fans don’t have a choice now, when their team looks like a high school team, and they didn’t have a choice when Lebron James bounced town. They could break all ties with the team, but that goes against everything being a fan’s about. Fans, true fans, stick with their teams when Marty Conlon receives substantial minutes, when a Ricky Davis trade actually seems like a decent thing, and even when Mark Blount starts at center. True fans stay by their team’s side even when Christian Eyenga’s the most interesting player, Ryan Hollins and Manny Harris both start, and Lebron James is somewhere across the country tweeting about how “It’s not good to wish bad on anybody. God sees everything.”

Many moons ago, on the night of October 27th, Cleveland’s head coach Byron Scott promised that his team would work hard. A lot has gone wrong since then — the season-ending Varejao injury and J.J. Hickson’s regression, to name just two — but Scott’s promise was never supposed to waver.  In the wake of eleven straight losses and one of the most humiliating blowouts in NBA history, Scott’s team has proven him a liar.

It’s cool to be a player, but it sucks to be a fan. And sometimes, it just sucks to be associated with an organization on any level. Especially a sinking organization, one with little hope for the future and no heart in the present.