Despite coming into the Garden 0-8 on the road recently, the Bucks were oddly confident. They had watched a tape of the Knicks’ home setback to the Suns and were happy to see them employing the same defensive principles assistant Mike Woodson used as head coach of the Hawks.
“They switch on just about every play, and it creates a lot of favorable mismatches for opponents,” a member of the Bucks disclosed before his team broke the schneid with a 100-86 win Jan. 20. “Check out how many times Tyson Chandler wound up having to guard Steve Nash.”
If the answer is Baron Davis, what is the question? Column contributor Sam Lefkowitz ominously offers some personal perspective on Baron’s precarious disk condition: “Four of mine are herniated in my lumbar spine, the result of a minimal fall. The slightest tweak, wrong move, sleeping on the wrong side, hitting a pothole while in a car, and I’m out of action for weeks. One blind side pick and he’s done.
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During an official timeout in the third quarter of the Knicks’ 91-81 Jan. 25 loss to the Cavaliers, Byron Scott and Jared Jeffries yukked it up in front of the scorer’s table for about a half a minute. Their respective teams should’ve fined and flogged them.
Could they have spent their free time more unwisely?
OK, so the Cavs’ coach probably had nothing important to convey to his players and Jeffries had nothing to gain by getting within earshot of Mike D’Antoni, but still. The least the two court jesters could’ve done was to wait until the postgame chapel meeting to socialize. What, 2½ straight hours of undivided fidelity to the game is too much to ask?
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Memo to Carmelo Anthony: “When you’ve got the ball, your teammates are just not moving. Much like Nancy Pelosi’s facial muscles,” column chondriac Richie Kalikow underlines.
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Immediately after my Hedge Clippers had pruned the league-leading Thunder the other night, I switched to HBO … and wished the Joe Namath documentary had gone on for days.
Despite crossing paths innumerable times over the years (we were both born in 1943 and shared similar tastes, tendencies and stomping grounds), I never met Namath or even spoke to him, though I often caught him in “action.”
Like every other warm-blooded New Yorker, I tailgated Namath from the moment the Jets signed him to the present. In the beginning, I rooted against him. A girl down the block in Hollis, Queens, was dating (and married) Heisman Trophy winner Notre Dame QB John Huarte, also drafted by the Jets. My younger brother was singing folk songs in the Village and on the Staten Island Ferry with her younger sister.
For most of the 1960s, I went halves on season tickets for both the Giants and Jets, though my team was the Bears — just one look at QB Johnny Lujack was all it took.
The last game I ever saw in person was the Jets’ frostbitten 27-23 victory over the Raiders in ’68 for the AFC Championship, preceding Namath’s guaranteed Super Bowl dissection of the 17-point favored Colts.
In the documentary, Namath stated the head-on collision with the Raiders was the hardest-fought game he ever played in … “that I won.” For emphasis, he shot the camera his get-over grin and repeated himself, “That I won.”
I wore my steel-toed jump boots and as many socks as I could stuff in ’em to that bone-chilling game. Only my eyes were exposed to the whipping wind, but there was no escaping its wickedness. Days later, I wasn’t sure I would ever feel my toes again. When it came time to renew my tickets, I didn’t even reply.
Been addicted to indoor sports since.
You can’t win ’em all.
Listening to the unpretentious Namath relive his life made me wish I hadn’t been so hasty to renounce football … wish I had gotten to know Broadway Joe and wormed my way into his confidence … wish I had heard his straight-up stories over an intermittent scotch on the rocks before we both abstained.
Then again, I’m a big fan of the Discovery Channel, and I love learning things late in life … in this case, that Namath is no pretend person. I found his spontaneous smile communicable and his weighty reflections plain and plausible.
I love that Namath spared no misery, perceptively speaking to the heart of every matter and everyone who matters.
Love that he savors setting a bizarre bar in the upright, uptight elliptical world.
Love that Namath doesn’t act as if he was someone else back then, got in touch with his inner being and is someone else now.
Love that Namath isn’t shy about reveling in his accomplishments or poking fun at his status as sports’ first sensuous superstar.
It’s easy to see why women and men, young and old, found/find him so fascinating.
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Kobe Bryant passed some guy named Kareem in the category of Lakers field goals. He immediately was offered a contract by the Baltimore Ravens.
Until the other night when Blake Griffin used Kendrick Perkins as a step-ladder to suffocate the rim, the most remarkable air show I ever saw was as a little kid when the cow jumped over the moon.
Apparently everyone isn’t as impressionable. Hollis-honed Hornets radio voice Gerry Vaillancourt, who played at Jacksonville, raises an objection or three.
“I saw Ronnie Johnson (Van Buren HS) dunk on Artis Gilmore at the Kings Mountain Recreation Center in North Carolina. And I saw Herbie Larkins and Corky Calhoun throw down some vicious [junk] back in the day. If they had YouTube back then, folks would see some serious stuff.”
And they did it with thin sneakers, too.
“Jumpin’” Jackie Jackson, Herman “Helicopter” Knowings and Earl Manigault were unavailable for comment.
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Mid-air chest bumps are in order for the Heat, who channeled their inner Floridians by wearing throwback togs Jan. 22 vs. the Bucks. Sources say the uniforms were created by noted designer Mack Calvin Klein. In a related development, first man on the moon Neil Armstrong announced he was changing his name to Neil Jabali.
After the Nets got wiped out by the Thunder at the Rock (3-for-23 from the Outer Bridge Crossing; 31 percent overall), they put the blame squarely where it belonged … with the building.
“I don’t like this arena one bit,” Deron Williams said. “It’s a good thing it’s not our arena after this year. Even last year, it didn’t feel like a home arena.”
At least the Nets are first in something: Nobody else has ever had trouble shooting in Newark.
How horrendous does Dirk Nowitzki (2-for-15 in Wednesday’s loss to the Thunder) have to look before Mavericks owner Mark Cuban insists he shut down business until he’s rehabilitated to the satisfaction of the detached? It’s not like Dallas doesn’t have a capable understudy in Lamar Odom (sent home sick against Oklahoma City), who needs appreciably more time and responsibility to be effective. Clearly, four games off hasn’t helped heal Dirk’s right knee. His movement is noticeably limited and, admittedly, he’s timid to make a sharp cut.
Hard to understand how the Jazz lost to my Hedge Clippers on Wednesday night. How did L.A. manage to prevail by two points in Salt Lake City by matching the point guard shrewdness and skill of Chris Paul and Chauncey Billups against the aptitude and ability of Devin Harris and Gordon Haywood? Why would Ty Corbin want to keep Jamaal Tinsley on the floor at the end or bother to instruct him to bring up the ball and control the offense for the seven minutes he was out there? Why would the Utah coach use a playmaking specialist when he has Haphazard Harris (35 minutes, four assists, 2-for-6 field goals) to rely on exclusively?
If there was ever a season not to miss for Allen Iverson, this is it: No practice, no practice, no practice.