Bold new direction. Bold new direction. Bold new direction. Just keep whispering that to yourselves Blazer fans. It's a load of crap, but at least it sounds positive, right? We didn't just fire the guy who changed our team from a cellar dweller to a perennial playoff contender, we just took a bold new direction.
Other bold new directions in history: Fidel Castro in Cuba. Trading for Shawn Kemp. Manifest Destiny.
Too bad our direction isn't really bold at all. Nor, particularly new. Out with Kevin Pritchard last night was Martell Webster, because honestly, why would the Blazers want a guy who has roots in the area, works his ass off on defense, and has a great outside shot? Okay, I'm judging too harshly, through the prism of Martell fanboyism. He was by far the most honest and funny (non French-speaking) Blazer on the team. It'll be sad to see him go.
Coming back in the trade, though, was Luke Babbitt, who basically is Kyle Korver Jr, minus the trucker hats and punking. Also involved was Ryan Gomes. Initial red flag: the dude can't even pronounce his own last name. Still, he could be the down-low banger that Blazer fans have been aching for ever since the departure of Brian Grant. He probably won't be. Overall, as a cost-cutting measure, this trade was a huge success. From a human perspective though, we came out way behind. Babbitt looks like the kind of dude who would try to steal your girlfriend.
Next, we got Elliot Williams, because why not carry four different point guards on the roster, right? Hey, at least NBADraft.net has his closest comparison listed as Larry Hughes. Jesus. Honestly, though, I could see him working out, if we get rid of Jerryd or Rudy, both of which seem pretty likely.
The final guy was Armon Johnson, who's big and strong and likes to create for himself and get to the line. Basically, PG #5. Here's the irritating part, does anyone think that either of these guys will actually end up better than Jerryd Bayless? Hopefully there's another move in the pipeline, because I haven't seen any improvement in this draft.
Still, the worst loss was KP. Before, as a Blazer fan, I always felt we had something on everyone else, like the Blazers were always going to figure out a way to be better than everyone, just because of KP. During this whole ordeal since the Penn firing, I've had my head buried in the sand, acting like the US before World War II. Who's Mussolini, don't care don't care don't care. Then we had the Blazer equivalent of Pearl Harbor firing Pritchard. Right now, the Blazers are a lot worse for it. For once, though, I'm happy we have a long summer ahead of us to get this sorted out.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Jarrett Jack Hates America 9:41 AM
I don't know how Algeria did it, but they managed to recruit former Blazers point guard Jarrett Jack to their cause. Jack had one of the luckiest days I've ever seen between the posts, with US players missing open point blank shots again and again, to say nothing of the goal the referees waved off. Fortunately, the Americans broke through Jack's stout defense in stoppage time. Jack never could play defense at the end of games.
Long short: Jarrett Jack looks exactly like Algerian keeper Rais M Bolhi.
Long short: Jarrett Jack looks exactly like Algerian keeper Rais M Bolhi.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Winning It All 12:00 PM
When the Lakers won it all, things went predictably. Cars turned over, fires, police, general mayhem. They've been there before, that's what they do. Asking Laker fans not to turn over cars when they win it all is like asking LaMarcus Aldridge to rebound. You can try, and they may do it for a while, but in the end, they'll give in to their baser instincts.
A recent experience I went through gave me a much clearer picture of what it would be like if Portland won a title. I was in Chicago when the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, their first in almost fifty years. Think about that number. That's more than fifteen years longer than we've been without a parade.
We all have our vision of what it's like when our team wins it all. The event in Chicago didn't fit into any notion you'd expect. When Patrick Kane hit in a goal from an impossible angle, the initial second was silence and confusion. I shot up cheering while the rest of the bar was seated. "Did that just happen?" "Did the Hawks win?" Then the horn sounded. Cheers rise, "Chelsea Dagger" played over the loud speaker, victory smoke fills the air, cups of Miller Lite spilled all over the place. The cheering and celebrating and hugging at that bar went on for an hour straight. Everyone was telling other people stories about their experiences with the Hawks, I nodded like I knew how to pronounce "Jonathan Toews." On the television, there was an helicopter shot of Wrigleyville with the title "Fandemonium!!!!" (yes, the four exclamation points were necessary), and we knew our next destination.
The walk over was filled with screams and yowls. The love in the air made Woodstock seem like a GWAR concert. High fives in were in plentiful supply, as a simple yell of "Go Hawks" made you the most popular man alive. Stopping at a buddy's fourth floor apartment, we took a breather and looked out on the deck to check the scene. Four helicopters were circling the area with spotlights, and the only sounds you could hear were sirens and car horns. It was Dawn of the Dead.
As we got closer to the epicenter, I expected the LA-style celebration featuring turned-over cars and open flames. Instead, I got a lot of people just strolling around with open containers giving each other hugs. There was a father and son rollerblading through the ruckus in jerseys. The cops set up a boundary, and the people inside were just left to do what they wanted, which apparently, was to just hang out.
Being in the middle of that is a moment you can never forget. Winning it all is when the true character of a city bubbles to the surface, as the exhilaration of victory removes all social conventions. Some cities, like Detroit, see a championship as an excuse for looting. Chicago saw it as a chance to get drunk with friends.
Portland wasn't far from my mind during all of this, and I easily saw our celebration of that imaginary future championship going the same way. The clock would wind down, and a deafening cheer would arise from across the city. The celebration would crowd the Broadway Bridge and the Steel Bridge as fans streamed from the Rose Garden to downtown, where Old Town and Pioneer Square would be clogged with celebrants. Portland would behave the same was as Chicago. Cars would be relatively unharmed. The only lasting consequence from that night would be a wave of children named "Brandon" nine months later.
That night in Chicago was the first time I've been in a city for a championship. I can only hope that the next experience is in the near future.
A recent experience I went through gave me a much clearer picture of what it would be like if Portland won a title. I was in Chicago when the Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, their first in almost fifty years. Think about that number. That's more than fifteen years longer than we've been without a parade.
We all have our vision of what it's like when our team wins it all. The event in Chicago didn't fit into any notion you'd expect. When Patrick Kane hit in a goal from an impossible angle, the initial second was silence and confusion. I shot up cheering while the rest of the bar was seated. "Did that just happen?" "Did the Hawks win?" Then the horn sounded. Cheers rise, "Chelsea Dagger" played over the loud speaker, victory smoke fills the air, cups of Miller Lite spilled all over the place. The cheering and celebrating and hugging at that bar went on for an hour straight. Everyone was telling other people stories about their experiences with the Hawks, I nodded like I knew how to pronounce "Jonathan Toews." On the television, there was an helicopter shot of Wrigleyville with the title "Fandemonium!!!!" (yes, the four exclamation points were necessary), and we knew our next destination.
The walk over was filled with screams and yowls. The love in the air made Woodstock seem like a GWAR concert. High fives in were in plentiful supply, as a simple yell of "Go Hawks" made you the most popular man alive. Stopping at a buddy's fourth floor apartment, we took a breather and looked out on the deck to check the scene. Four helicopters were circling the area with spotlights, and the only sounds you could hear were sirens and car horns. It was Dawn of the Dead.
As we got closer to the epicenter, I expected the LA-style celebration featuring turned-over cars and open flames. Instead, I got a lot of people just strolling around with open containers giving each other hugs. There was a father and son rollerblading through the ruckus in jerseys. The cops set up a boundary, and the people inside were just left to do what they wanted, which apparently, was to just hang out.
Being in the middle of that is a moment you can never forget. Winning it all is when the true character of a city bubbles to the surface, as the exhilaration of victory removes all social conventions. Some cities, like Detroit, see a championship as an excuse for looting. Chicago saw it as a chance to get drunk with friends.
Portland wasn't far from my mind during all of this, and I easily saw our celebration of that imaginary future championship going the same way. The clock would wind down, and a deafening cheer would arise from across the city. The celebration would crowd the Broadway Bridge and the Steel Bridge as fans streamed from the Rose Garden to downtown, where Old Town and Pioneer Square would be clogged with celebrants. Portland would behave the same was as Chicago. Cars would be relatively unharmed. The only lasting consequence from that night would be a wave of children named "Brandon" nine months later.
That night in Chicago was the first time I've been in a city for a championship. I can only hope that the next experience is in the near future.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
World Cup for Blazer Fans 4:10 PM
So, the World Cup is coming up, and you don't have a team yet. Of course, the United States seems like the easy pick, considering personal geography, along with the fact this year's team is full of great young talent and are lovable underdogs. They're basically what the Sonics would be if they were still in Seattle today. Great stuff. Well, why limit yourself to only one team?
A recent post from the Unlikely Fan makes a great case for a team Portland fans can root for:
A recent post from the Unlikely Fan makes a great case for a team Portland fans can root for:
Holland:
From a land of free spirits comes a team who will never be able to completely let slip of the long-hair hippie image their greatest sides exuded. They’re not in the list of never-wons, but they’re not quite among the all-time greats either, as they’ve fallen victim to a) some of the greatest performances ever, b) some gut-wrenching choke jobs and c) some horrible injuries to players who could have been all-time greats. Still, this is a widely admired team, respected for the way they play the game and their amazing fans.
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