Since the NBA failed to give me game action for Memorial Day (see “Massacre” at Boston Garden, circa 1985, and “Miracle” at the Alamodome in 1999), I shall dutifully look ahead to the Finals.
Say this much for the Celtics and Lakers: They did their part.
Two seasons ago at this time, when commissioner David Stern gave a championship effort to try to put the term “rogue referee” in the rear-view mirror, the league’s two storybook franchises came to its emotional rescue by thumb-wrestling for the title.
Now, with LeBron & Combine’s free agent countdown clock to July 1 being watched like the ball at One Times Square, the Vitamin C’s and Purple People Eaters again are allowing us to zero in on who is actually still relevant.
Does Boston get its 18th title, or are Los Angeles’ stars in perfect alignment for No. 16? For those who care about such things, the Celts own an outsized 9-2 advantage against the Lakers franchise on the Supreme Court.
That concludes today’s history lesson.
Let me be among the first thousand analysts to notify you that Kobe Bryant is the one player opponents can’t defend, plan to defend or hope to defend.
Does that make the Lakers a lock to repeat as champs? Not necessarily, even if there were long stretches during the regular season, and even at times this postseason, when Boston has looked my age.
Remember, this series (Thursday, Sunday, Tuesday, then replicate) is so prolonged everyone may be in assisted living by the time it’s over.
As often as I preach Paul Pierce from the pulpit, the Celtics’ title chances begin and end with Rajon Rondo. Especially if the referees let the games breathe a little and Ron Artest isn’t forced to play like Betty White.
Unable to out-quick defenders and embarrass them as he used to do regularly, Pierce is boundlessly limited (if you catch my drift) to dominating games with one prized move — bump and fade away, name the distance.
Question is, can P-Squared create enough space against Artest for an accurate sling shot? If he cannot consistently, that means Rondo must bring that much more, that much more often, to the adult table with his devastating talent to scramble defenses and locate receivers where they’re most effective.
Does Phil Jackson wait until those things happen for an extended stretch and Rondo becomes unmanageable before unleashing Kobe on him, or does he pit his predator on Rondo before the point guard is able to make the Celtics go?
And we’re not talking about getting up in the middle of the night to go.
“He’s not good every night like Kobe,” remarked a head coach, “but when he’s good, he’s near triple-double good.”
In the 2008 Finals, Kobe took some justified grief for not demanding to guard Rondo more than the spurts in which he did. On Jan. 31, when the Lakers won in Boston this season, Kobe got into Rondo like a termite. Four-to-seven games of such an attachment figures to affect his legs (i.e. jump-shooting), and then there’s the real possibility of foul problems to consider.
Does even the “Black Mamba” have enough venom to debilitate on offense and incapacitate on defense?
“Wear and tear could be more of an issue than fouls,” the same coach said at first.
Upon reflection, he felt it might be less strain to cover Rondo than to tailgate Ray Allen: “Running the gauntlet of screens you have to navigate probably takes more energy.”
This is principally true should Rondo not be fully healthy. He landed hard on his back in the Magic clincher, but pinkie-swears he’s fit to give Kobe conniptions. If Rondo is hurting for certain, that’s even more of a reason to put him into Kobe’s “protective” custody.
Particularly since nobody is more conscientious at getting over Boston’s gauntlet of expert screens set for Allen — or seems to accept their associated punishment more — than Derek Fisher who, like Obi-Wan Kobe, is competing for his fifth championship in 14 seasons.
I’d forgotten L.A.’s starting backcourt began as rookie understudies on the ’96-97 team. Neither scared anyone with their outside shots when they arrived, but it took Fisher, who is four years older, a lot longer than Kobe to develop his (37.3 percent for his career) trifecta.
Amazingly, that’s Fisher’s singular weapon of choice. He’s not a good finisher and his middle-range game is nothing to brag about. Get him off the 3-point mark and he becomes ordinary (40.2 percent shooting overall). Yet opponents continue to cheat off him and he frequently makes them pay dearly.
Big Shot Bob is long gone, but Fisher, whom I buried several times during the 82-game season, is still around blasting caps.
In Game 5 against Phoenix, Fisher downed 22 points. Five of them occurred in the last two minutes, a three and a long deuce that kept the surging Suns from shaking the Lakers when it mattered most. In Game 6, he responded for two baskets in the fourth quarter to take the edge off the home team’s comeback.
You’d think by now we would’ve learned to stop writing off a guy so impervious to playoff pressure.