A Letter to the Denver Nuggets

Dear Denver Nuggets,

You are all a bunch of pussies. You have no heart. You have no balls. You have no guts. You have no spine.

Instead of rallying around your coach - who's gone because he's fighting FUCKING CANCER - and deciding to do the one thing he's tried to get you to do since he got there, the one thing that would take you from a very good team to a legitimate, scary, championship contender ... instead of doing that one thing that takes effort, and sweat, and blood - you choose the easy way out. You want the spoils of winning, but you don't want to put in the work.

Pussies.

On the second night of a road back-to-back, in a game against a good offensive team, in a place you haven't won at in almost six years, in a game you need to win to assure yourself the Number 3 seed and home-court advantage for the first round of the playoffs, you do the worst possible thing: you decide not to do the one thing that would give you a shot - play defense.

I could bemoan your unwillingness to pass the ball, which any idiot with at least one working eye could tell you is increasingly to your advantage. I could bemoan Adrian Dantley's inability to do anything resembling coaching. I could bemoan the fact that none of your top three players - MVP "candidate" Carmelo Anthony, proven "winner and quarterback" Chauncey Billups, and only legitimate "big man" Nene - show any willingness, desire, or ability to lead by example.

You are all lazy. You play horrible pick-and-roll defense. Your switches and close-outs are slow and pathetic. You allow far too many and-one layups, because you have no idea how to foul hard at the rim. Your two legitimate defenders are banged to shit (Kenyon Martin) and a two-guard (Aaron Afflalo) - neither of which will help much in the Western Conference playoffs.

You all have a chance to give the sports world one of the best stories in the last decade - rallying around a sick coach and his son (which the team just signed and who also has beaten cancer) by finally getting his message he's been preaching for years - but you're going to piss it away.

You bitch and moan at the refs far too frequently (even when, unfortunately, many of the calls seem to go the other way). You take horrible shots and are way too inconsistent (looking right at you, J.R. Smith). You cannot win unless you're shooting the lights out of the building.

And, once again, you play absolutely zero fucking defense. It's no coincidence that no "D" in Denver = enver = never, as in Never Win An NBA Championship.

You're all just a bunch of fucking pussies with a giant inflated ego where your heart should be and no fucking balls and tonight I'm ashamed to be your fan.

Sincerely,

Phony Gwynn

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 2.2

It's almost a month into the 2009-2010 NBA season, and it's apparent that the Nuggets are lacking two things: a big-bodied, true center; and the discipline and focus to step on the throats of clearly inferior opponents early in games.

We'll address the first issue much later on in the season, when it becomes an even more glaring problem. But now it's on to the lack of focus and so-called "killer instinct." Denver has blown out a few teams so far this year on their way to a 10-4 record, but just about all of them have been second-half runs. This could allude to the fact that the coaching staff is making necessary adjustments at halftime, but I'm of the mind to believe that most of the time the players are just deciding to play defense more than every third possession or so.

Take last night's game against New Jersey, for example. Three weeks ago, with the year in its infancy, the Nuggets beat the Nets 122-94 on the road. That 28-point cushion has stood up as the Nuggets' biggest margin of victory of the year ... however, Denver actually trailed by one at halftime; it took a 44-point explosion in the third to make it a cakewalk. And even though they led by dozen at the break last night, the Nets had a 10-0 run at one point in the second. The highlights will likely show the Nets turning it over again and again in a montage befitting an 0-14 team. Yet they barely lost the turnover battle to the Nuggets, 23-22. If you're the only winless team in the league, your miscues define you. If you're a division leader, your sloppy play gets glossed over all too easily.

This may seem like nitpicking, since the Nuggets won by 14 anyway, but here's the thing: Chauncey Billups was 1-8 from the field. He actually airballed a 3 from the right wing at one point, which I don't think I've ever seen him do. He played "only" 27 minutes, but if the Nuggets effectively put this one out of reach early, Billups can take most of, if not all, the 2nd half off. They can get Ty Lawson even more involved in the offense, and J.R. Smith has shown - albeit sporadically - that he can also play the point. Chauncey is 33 years old. Those minutes, especially at altitude, are going to take their toll. The quicker you break a shitty team's will, the quicker you can sit your starters and get them rest they'll need in April. This team's good enough to look that far ahead. And they should start.

All My Friends Are Funeral Singers: An NBA Experiment Vol. 1.3

Editor's Note: The idea of team love is something that gets a lot of support throughout sportswriting. There's ESPN Philly and Boston and Chicago and all that shit. But there is seldom a writer that gets to expose their bias as completely as they want to (mostly because fans of other teams have no interest in hearing from us for too long). This got us to thinking. And thinking hard. So, throughout the NBA season, Pretzeltown is going to be an experiment: four contending teams (Boston, Denver, LAL and Cleveland) will be represented by four different writers sharing their thoughts on the process and progress. Now some Nuggets, uh, nuggets from Mr. Phony.

What is the idea of perfection? Some may a snowflake, or a circle, or a sunrise. Others may say Akira Kurosawa's oeuvre, a Jeff Tweedy lyric, or a rocking chair handcrafted in a backyard shed over many months, reeking of sweat and passion and love. Others - namely most NBA writers - would also add the Denver Nuggets' 2008-2009 season.

There's only one problem: they didn't fucking win anything.

Sure, they won the NW (but only via tiebreaker with the younger and not-quite-as-talented Trailblazers). They made the conference finals for the first time since 1985 (but beat two banged-up teams, the Hornets and Mavericks, to get there). They played the Lakers well in said conference finals (but posted an unforgivable no-show at home in Game 6). Call me crazy, but this sequence of but-fueled events doesn't sound "perfect" to me.

The logic was this: Denver was able to get rid of one thing they didn't need (A.I., a me-first shooter who didn't really make his teammates better) and get the thing they did need (Chauncey Billups, a floor general who would preach punchless George Karl's defensive mindset whilst simultaneously knocking down clutch shots; also, he's from Denver!). That this happened without a gigantic blow to their limited cap room was seen as quite the haul. The problem with this is that they were unable to persuade former Nugget Antonio McDyess to come with Billups, thus adding another veteran frontcourt body who could alleviate the rebounding-and-low-post-defending-the-pick-and-roll burden on Nene and Kenyon Martin. But, still, perfect, right?

Speaking of K-Mart and The Brazilian Hilarious one, that was the other part of the equation: Martin's knees didn't blow up like a suicide bomber in a crowded cafe, and Nene still has one testicle (that we're aware of). Apparently these two being healthy for two years straight is an unlikely scenario, but the Spurs staying healthy and possibly winning a title, with an average age of just under 47, is not.



And that's why nobody likes the Nuggets. Whenever prognosticators talk about who's going to win the title, it's always the same five teams: Boston, Cleveland, Orlando, LAL, and San Antonio. It's the whole "lightning can't strike twice" theory. But what is lightning? An athletic, talented team playing a bit of defense for the first time in forever, gelling at the right time in a down-year for the conference? And what is striking? That they started beating the teams they were supposed to beat, and eventually lost to a team that was superior to them?

It's true that the Nuggets didn't make any MAJOR moves in the off-season; signing Aaron Afflalo and letting Linas Kleiza and Dahntay Jones walk aren't big moves by any stretch of the imagination. It's true that they failed to land what they really need: a true center, like former Nugget Marcus Camby, or maybe Chris Kaman, aka someone who could allow Nene to move to PF, where he truly belongs and would likely dominate.

But it's true that they added something they lacked: a speedster guard (Ty Lawson) who would take crucial minutes away from the abonimable Anthony Carter, while at the same time saving Chauncey's aging legs. This made up for not taking DeJuan Blair in the second round. Almost.

Are the Nuggets the best team in the Western Conference? No. Are they the second-best? Probably not. Will they finish anywhere from 3-5, and again have a chance to reach the conference finals? You bet your signed Fat Lever rookie card. Sure, certain things have to happen - they avoid big injuries, Melo plays at a near-MVP level, JR Smith continues to mature and even show those playmaking skills he awesomely broke out in the playoffs, Birdman continues to be a defensive presence off the bench, Karl doesn't majorly jack shit up - but that is every team. This is the NBA, son - a marathon, a grind, a beast of a bitch with a mind to smack your whiny ass DOWN.

Lightning does strike twice. Mother Nature fucks Father Time without protection everywhere, around the clock. And Denver has a damn good team that is playoff-bound again. If you're a Nuggets fan, that's as close to perfect as you're ever gonna get.

This is all I got, son

And: Afflalooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

Ok, not quite the same cachet as SHEEEEEEEEEEED, but whatever.

Split

Phew.

Too much will be made of J.R. Smith's venture through the circle on the Gasol vs. Billups jump ball late in Game Two. Was it a violation? Of course. Did the Lakers get a ton of calls throughout the game (and Game One)? Ohhhhhhh, you bet your ass.

Some seem to think that David Stern and the NBA, in their not-so-subtle way, want to see Kobe vs. LeBron in The Finals. We know where Nike stands. But what about everyone else?

Leaving the Game Two recaps and analysis to other, more capable blogs, let's look (wishfully) ahead at why Nuggets-Cavs is more compelling than Lakers-Cavs (assuming, of course, Game One of the Eastern Conference Finals was an abberation).

1. Melo vs. LeBron - Why does everyone assume Kobe and LeBron would go head-to-head? Kobe is an aging superstar quickly losing his legs. Sure, he explodes to the hoop for dunks every now and then, but those are few and far between. A capable defender - Shane Battier, or a vastly improving Melo - can force him into a fairly deadly jump shooter. Kobe on LeBron is a gnat on a semi windshield. Melo has shown that he has the tenacity, temerity, quickness and strength to guard the all-around best player in the game. Or, you know, at least try.

It would also make for endless columns about which 2003 top draft pick is going to join D-Wade in the VIP Champions club behind the velvet ropes. And considering the effort the Lakers put forth in last year's Finals, a young, hungry club making their first Finals appearance against a young, hungry club making just their second would be huge.

2. Nene vs. Sideshow Bob - Ok, not quite as compelling as 1. But two big Brazilians with interesting hair going toe-to-toe? One of them with a vast array of low-post moves, the other with a vast array of low-post flops? Just the promise of any hot Brazilian chicks in the stands is good enough. But this matchup is a microcosm of...

3. The Irrestible Force vs. The Immovable Object - The Nuggets may not have had the "best" offense in the league this year, but it's fairly obvious that they have the most balanced attack, and are certainly the most explosive team left in the playoffs. The Cavs were basically one of the top two defensive teams in the league this year. They say defense wins championships. Well, wouldn't this be a fascinating and likely entertaining case study?

4. Denver vs. Cleveland (with apologies to Toby) - The Drive. The Fumble. Two things here: A) Doesn't matter if it was a different sport. B) Cleveland has NOT forgotten. Trust me on this. Never has, never will. Those two AFC Championships, in back-to-back years, were soul-crushing. You think fans in Cleveland - not to mention, oh, EVERYFUCKINGBODY WHO CAN TYPE OR SPEAK INTO A MICROPHONE - will fail to bring this up all the time? And that it wouldn't add an extra level of pizazz?

Am I biased? Of course. But I dare any neutral fan to give me any other matchups, besides the tired Kobe-LeBron hype-a-palooza, with as much flavor as the one I really, really, really hope happens.

C'est La Vie

It's 2 a.m. on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning. My knee is bleeding. My shoulder hurts. My forearm is sore. I opened a 40 at 1 a.m. I should be going to bed now, but instead I take my four-year-old laptop out and start it up, wait for the bugs and processes and crumbling sounds to subside, watch the excruciating post-game highlights, and lie back so that I can type out this sentence -

FUCK TREVOR ARIZA.

We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I'd rather swallow Chinese stars than lose. We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I'd rather move to Kansas and abstain from sex than lose. We lost 10-4 tonight. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing. I hate losing.

Oh. And I broke my brand-new bat. Got one opposite-field single and a walk out of it, then splintered the shit out of it. On a foul ball.

And then I promptly grounded out.

I hate losing.

I trekked home and turned on the game. DVR. Essential. Before I could settle in and eat one half of one half of a $5 footlong, the Nuggets jumped out to a quick lead. They were defending, making the extra pass, knocking down the open shots. They looked incredible.

And yet...

The other shoe would drop. They would outplay the Lakers, outshoot the Lakers (well, maybe not from the foul line), outhustle the Lakers, outbasketball the Lakers, and somehow they would give this game away, just roll it up in a "1985 2: More Tattoos" screenplay and hand it on over with a Zippo to Jack and Donald Sutherland, in his stupid white sunglasses.

There were free throws, there were numerous pissed-away possessions, there were stupid fouls.

And yet...

There was Carmelo Anthony, finally realizing the poetic basketball Adonis he can be if he just fucking wants to. There was Nene, cutting to the hoop for those dunks that start and make you think "he can't finish that with a dunk" and then he throws down a thunderous, one-handed Braided Brazillian special and you think "Well, he is one testicle lighter" before you say "Shit, he fouled out and was ineffective in the second half." There was JR Smith, playing Lord-awful ball, then seemingly turning a switch and hitting some big second-half threes, and then you think "he won't be that bad again." There was Kenyon Martin, making the aforementioned bad fouls, but also being physical, limiting Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom to virtual afterthoughts.

Fuck Trevor Ariza.

It was one play out of many, but it was the NBA Jam-esque "nail in the coffin." A steal of an inbounds pass, late in the game, is a playoff staple. Just as Kobe's shots will always find a way to rattle and bounce in. Derek Fisher will always find a way to hit that momentum-swinging three.

It was a horrific, brutal, soul-crushing defeat. And, needless to say, the fitting end to my shit-storm of a day.

But it is not over. This series is not over. I am not an optimistic person, and in fact I happen to think things happen better for my team when I daydream and wish the worst.

And yet...

The Nuggets can play with the Lakers. They can beat them.

And they better. Because I fucking hate losing.

But I hate not finishing an open 40 even more.

NEXT

Seven years.

It's been seven years since one of my Sad Four played for a conference title. Those Avalanche lost 7-0 to the hated Red Wings in one of the more forgettable games I ever remember watching. By my fifth or so beer I wished it was sulfuric acid spiked with cobra venom.

But after finally disposing of the Mavericks, the Lakers loom on the horizon. The defending Western Conference champion Lakers. The Lakers led by Kobe, presumably doin' work. The Lakers run by Phil Jackson, he of the nine titles. Nine.

That's fucking absurd.

This may have come up before in these parts, but if not I'll reiterate. Growing up, I vaguely remember the Doug Moe run-gun-and-fun Nuggets that routinely put up 130, 140 a game (while also giving up nearly that many). The last time the Goldens went this far, I was six. Not exactly in my basketball prime.

By the time I got into my teens, the Nuggets became a laughingstock. My dad and I would watch the games just so we could crack jokes about Blair Rasmussen's hair or Bill Hanzlik's nose. Then 1994 came along, and they became the first #8 seed to beat a #1. Denver got wrapped up in Nugget-mania. And in the second round they met ... the neighboring Utah Jazz.

I remember trying to will the Phons, Dikembe, Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf (ne Chris Jackson), Robert Pack and the rest back from a 3-0 hole. They almost did, too, taking Utah to a seventh game.

But something funny, and painful, happened after that.

The Nuggets turned to shit.

Having finally gotten on the basketball kick, and getting to an age where I could appreciate a good drop-step or close-out as much as a ginormous dunk, I wanted to see good basketball. So I started following the Stockton-to-Malone pick-and-rolls, the fluid ball movement ending in a Jeff Hornacek three. So the Nuggets became an afterthought.

Did I ever become a Jazz fan? I don't know. I'd like to say I didn't, but I remember owning a Jazz hat. So that's a part of my past, and I can't change it.

But I know that I never stopped being a Nuggets fan, even when they turned into jogging punchlines. And they may fall in the next round - I think they can take the Lakers, to be honest - but even if they do, the Nuggets have had a fantastic season, and are the only positive thing in my sports-rooting life. The Sad Four is now the Sad Three.

They are exciting, they are explosive, and they are fun as fuck to watch. And as of right now, the Nuggets still have a chance to be champions.

Movin' On

For the first time in 15 years, the Nuggets will advance to the second round of the playoffs.

Three things.

1) This was a decisive victory, but let's not start blowing smoke up each other's rectum just yet. This Hornets team was beat up, banged up, and nowhere near the "on-the-precipice-of-greatness" status they displayed last year.

2) When Carmelo decides he wants to take it to the rack, there are maybe a handful of guys on the planet who can stop him. New Orleans had one of them on their roster, but unfortunately they needed the 2003 version of James Posey. The Rockets have 2 of them, but luckily the Nuggets have a better chance of donning the old rainbow jerseys than meeting the Rockets anytime soon.

3) The Nuggets swept the Mavericks this year, and have won 7 of the last 8 against them. This series will not be a sweep. While the defense is much improved, the focus and discipline still wanes from time to time. Dirk and Kidd are savvy veterans, and the Mavericks have a bench capable of keeping up with the Nuggets' (something not seen with the depleted Bees). JR and Carmelo will probably shoot away a few games.

Prediction: Nuggets in 6.

But for now: HOLY FUCK WE'RE MOVING ON I DON'T BELIEVE YOU PINCH ME SUSAN!

Halfway There

God, I love this man. He's from Denver. He knows how to run a team. His name is Chauncey, which, when I was young, was our safe word for Doorknob. (When you fart you have to say the safe word before somebody says 'doorknob'; if you fail, they get to punch you until you touch a doorknob. Beware the dreaded Double Doorknob - you couldn't touch the doorknob on the other side of the same door.)

Speaking of young, it was 1985 the last time the Nuggets held a 2-0 lead in a series. 1985. I was six. Nuggets were little rocks of gold, not buds of weed. Twenty-four years. Wow.

It's a Live Blog. For No Reason. I'll Probably Break Something Or Cry at the End

It's a Thursday night, I've got a glass full of scotch, and the Nuggets are on the tube. It's Brandon Roy, a chalk outline of Greg Oden and Melo's salty tears battling for the top spot in the Northwest Division.

1Q
10:48 - K-Mart is hurt, so it's Johan Petro in the starting lineup. Why not Renaldo Balkman? I don't fucking know, either.

10:51 - Joel Godzilla swishes two free throws. Seems like that can't bode too well for the Nuggies.

10:55 - The Blazers finally miss their first shot. Former Nugget Steve Blake, who looks like a GoldenEye character, misses a three.

10:58 - J.R. Smith follows a Nene miss with a monster jam, then gets a T for taunting. Look, JR, we love you, man. Now calm the fuck down. (Roy misses the FT, proving that the ball don't lie).

Also, my girlfriend just started telling me a story about Cadbury eggs, and I ignored her, and now she's pissed at me. I just tried to apologize, and she's still mad. What goes on in a woman's head? I bet it's like a Rube Goldberg sketch: boyfriend says/does something, the boot kicks over the ball, which rolls down the ramp, turning the lever, rotating the fan blade, lighting the match next to the pool of gasoline.

11:05 - Chauncey has a three-on-one, and ends up trying a finger roll and commits a charge. I saw the dish to Melo for the ensuing dunk in my mind, and it made me pee a little.

11:14 - The Birdman throws down a dunk, gets fouled, and hits the free one to put the Nugs up 31-18. Portland has no energy, which means they'll lead by 2 at the break.

2Q
11:31 - Travis Outlaw gives Nene a sick crossover move at the top of the key and nails a jumper. Where's Bo Outlaw when you need him?

11:38 - 3 straight Denver turnovers, a Roy-Aldridge monster alley-oop, and the inevitable lapse begins ... oh, wait, Rudy Fernandez just hit a 3, 46-35 Nuggets.

11:49 - Brandon Roy loses the ball at the foul line, gathers himself, then hits the jumper. J.R. Smith comes right back and drains a 40-footer at the buzzer to put the Nugs up 53-44. A 16-pt cushion got Ginzu'd down to to 9, but it was a solid first half.

HT
12:03 - More scotch. Charles says he feels sorry for Mark Cuban, and Kenny Smith calls Cuban 'Slumdog Billionaire.' Kenny rarely makes me laugh out loud, but that was pretty fucking good.

3Q
12:12 - The Blazers come out firing, the Nuggets come out cold and bumbling, and it's a two-point game. I AM NOSTRADAMUS.

12:18 - Nene with an up-and-under and then a jumper, and the lead is back to 6. They say the NBA is a league of runs, and I ask, why not more toilet paper endorsements?

12:25 - Melo leaks out for a second straight time, and again finishes with a lay-in, this time with the foul. The Nuggets could be a solid defensive team, if they wanted to. (See: recent Lakers game; see again: yes, the Lakers were tired, on the second night of a back-to-back, bite me, etc.) They may not be big, but they're all quick and athletic and can be extremely active when they want to. Also, the guards rebound very well.

12:30 - Birdman blocks Rudy's shot right off his mug and out of bounds, then combs his hair. Man, let that dude smoke all the hillbilly crack he wants. He's fun as shit. (Update: Aldridge subsequently posterizes Andersen and lets him know he was not happy with his preening. Point taken.)

12:34 - Linas Kleiza hits a 3 and the Nugs finish 75% of the game up 81-70. Can they actually assert their dominance and step on a fucking throat? Or will they continue to take bad, quick shots, fail to rotate and close out, and let the lead dwindle? Oh, you know the damn answer. Quit being so coy. Dirty girl.

4Q
12:39 - They show a graphic of the Nuggets' fourth quarters in the last few weeks, and it's not good. More minuses than a nuclear town's pregnancy tests.

12:40 - I immediately regret writing that last sentence.

12:41 - It's time for a Greg Oden joke. Greg Oden is so old... (How old is he?) Greg Oden is so old, there are no current records for his date of birth.

12:48 - Roy steps up and takes a charge from Nene, who looked like he was horny and going to Carnaval. If you don't like Brandon Roy, you don't like basketball and I don't fucking like you. Take your fancy sweater and leave my apartment.

12:53 - Kevin Harlan is a charter member of the "Doesn't Look Like He Sounds" club. He sounds fat, doesn't he? Or at least pleasantly portly? Yes, he does. But he's not.

1:08 - Dahntay Jones misses a 10-foot baseline jumper. He's the only shooting guard in the NBA who can't shoot.

1:10 - Jason Hart just hit a midrange jumper for the Nuggets. I have no fucking clue who Jason Hart is.

1:13 - Nuggets put it away late as the Blazers succumb to tired legs and 5,280 106-90. It was a good night. I could've drank more scotch, but I didn't. I have a job. RESPONSIBILITIES.

Like drinking more scotch and looking up boobs. GO NUGGETS!

An Open Letter To Carmelo Anthony

YOU ARE A FUCKING MILLIONAIRE. HIRE SOMEONE TO DRIVE FOR YOU OR CALL A FUCKING CAB.

Sincerely,

Phony Gwynn

On Seeing a Really, Really Good Team in Person, and Being Completely Bummed Out By It

On Friday night, May the 21st of 2008, I took a bus trip to the Meadowlands and, in particular, an ugly, boxy whore of a stadium, emblazoned on its broad shoulders with orange hexagons and off-white columns and clearly marked by the large, unfurled pictures of hardball heroes of the present as a basketball arena but branded "IZOD CENTER" in strange, WASP-y golfing letters right there on the side, for all the people betting at the greyhound track or swooshing down the artificial ski slopes to see.

I, myself, was even wearing an Izod shirt, to which I say: fuck myself. Shame on myself, you yuppie, stiff-souled buffoon. You should have come prepared.

It may have been the woman proclaiming her undying and everlasting love for Allen Iverson over and over, screaming frailties and cloudy-sweet nothings into the ears of everyone but her intended target from way up in the nosebleed section, miles and miles and miles from the on-court action. Or it may have been the man himself, only two days removed from an extremely emotional and heartfelt return to his beginnings, his woven-haired womb, where he had the chance for the fairytale ending with a three at the buzzer to win it, but the clock struck the northern number, the ball struck the rim, and all was gone. But he is here tonight, and seeing him in person - hitting leaners and fadeaways and short-range jumpers and driving and slicing and knifing and cutting - is like drinking St. Ides from the Holy Grail.

It may have been the countless alley-oops to Kenyon Martin, the much-maligned one soaring effortlessly through the air and throwing down dunk after dunk after dunk after dunk after dunk after dunk, the microfracture surgery finally becoming itself in reverse: fracturing, shrinking, forgetting.

It may have been the unheralded bench players like Eduardo Najera, rattling bones and throwing elbows for the one thing he must have above all else: the ball. Or Linas Kleiza sprinting to the wing and splashing down threes here and threes there, all these threes everywhere, the son of artists painting with a palette made of all the colors of the rainbow.

But, unfortunately, it also may have been the rage welled up inside me when, after getting the Nets in the penalty, the petulant Nuggets would swing the ball around the perimeter only to have long-limbed Marcus Camby fire up a 20-foot jumper, which was all the more absurd considering Carmelo Anthony, unguardable by most all standards, looked at Richard Jefferson and Vince Carter in the eyes and deemed them unworthy to try to stop his tenacious forays to the hoop.

Or it may have been the countless times the Nuggets, clearly possessing more talent, would race out to a double-digit lead, then play pathetic and porous defense - flat-out failing to frolic on the help side - and let their adversaries back into the game, giving them life. Giving them hope.

I don't have any hope. The Nuggets are fun to watch, for sure. And on this night they delivered a 125-114 victory. Entertaining, yes. Exciting? Of course. Effective? They scored more than their opponents, did they not?

This team, however, is a very, very, very good basketball team that will, when the playoffs start, be throwing their locker-room belongings into duffel bags, exchanging off-season plans for vacations and whatnot, wishing each other good luck on whatever minor surgeries or procedures their gifted bodies require, giving each other the handshake-hug-backtap - that heterosexual male staple of hellos and goodbyes - and, generally, telling each other "We'll get 'em next year."

You can chalk it up to injuries. You can explain it away as the single greatest year in any one conference in the history of major team sports, and the Nuggets, a team named for a precious metal buried deep within the ore of the highest mountains, being a lonely heap of scrap metal filled with some brass here and some silver there, but with no feet or rope or claws to help them climb to the peak. You can do all that. But the truth is, for one night like so many, I saw the flashes, the inklings, the possibilities of greatness. Traits which will slither and die by the wayside, buried under the headstone "Denver Nuggets 2007-2008 Succumbed to injuries, a historically superior Western Conference, and the inability to play any semblance of team defense for an entire 48-minute stretch."

Such a shame, these things. Such a pity.

George Karl's Lawyer Is A Functional Illiterate, Possibly A 13-year-old Girl

As many of you have probably heard, a cartoonist by the name of Andrew Feinstein recently started up a little blog called FireGeorgeKarl.com. And oh, what a sensation it's become.

George Karl's lawyer, Bret Adams, got into the act by infamously e-mailing Feinstein. Hilarity ensued.

Before the Nuggets took down a tired Suns team 126-113 in Denver, I decided to get in on the fun, too. I wrote Adams an e-mail and tagged it "A heads-up."

I have been saying numerous bad things about your client lately, especially last week when they struggled to put away a poor Clippers team that was missing two of its top three players.

Maybe you should sue me into bankruptcy.

Signed,

A Nuggets Fan Living In New York Who Thanks The Heavens For FireGeorgeKarl.com and is contemplating starting HireLarryBrown.com.

The response was quick, and cobra-like.

Sorry you have so little going on in your life.

Sent from my iPhone

Ouch.

How did he know that all I do is work, fornicate, play Wii and drink?

After I responded that I was "[s]orry I don't have the entire internet laughing at me," Adams retorted with this gem:

Actually only people like u without a life, can deal with that

Sent from my iPhone

Adams then decided to take time out of his Wednesday to:

• swing by Forever 21 to check out the collection of spring skirts
• Google Image some shots of Chad Michael Murray from "One Tree Hill"
• flirt with the new counter guy at Jamba Juice
• play three games of Solitaire and two games of Free Cell
• ask Brittany about that knockoff Coach bag she bought in Chinatown
• download the new Vanessa Hudgens song on iTunes
  

After some head-scratching regarding his previous statement I unleashed the fury on Adams, mocking his sentence structure, age, intelligence, and ability to speak in his native tongue.

Thankfully, he didn't write back.

Ah, shit.

OK, so it happened. The unthinkable. Colorado, for one night, got revenge for that whole World Series thing. Phony got his revenge for me continually (yet, believe me, accidentally) bringing up the Padres before the new season washes away the pain of the Holliday incident. Allen Iverson got revenge on Rajon Rondo for that nasty fake behind-the-back thing he does to veteran guards (though you'd think Sam Cassell got enough revenge by clocking his jugular).

Even crazier, the Celtics dropped a winnable game against an opponent deemed lesser than themselves. Forgive me for bragging, but that hasn't happened all that often this year. I get the feeling it will happen a lot more as the post All-Star hangover wears away. They have exactly four cares in the world right now come playoff time: Dwight Howard, Chauncey Billups, LeBron James and Kevin Garnett's stomach muscle. The East, barring major mishaps, will be series of 81-75 games and will await Reggie Miller's tiresome jawing and off-the-cuff mispronounced phrasings.

Meanwhile, the West just solidified what could be the greatest playoff alliance in the history of the free world. When, basketball fans, can any of us remember a time so loaded with talent in one league from the aging vets (Kidd, Shaq, etc.) all the way down to their super-young counterparts (Bynum, MVPaul, etc.)? When? All in one side of the league? Are you sure?

The Nuggets win tonight isn't just exciting for Phony, it's exciting for all basketball fans. Yeah, Garnett was hurt, but he played and the Nuggets won. They just catapulted above 16 other West teams that had not been able to beat the team with the NBA's best record-- including the Spurs (who got no Garnett at all). Let's project the following teams into the playoffs in no order: Suns, Spurs, Lakers, Mavs, Hornets, Jazz, Rockets, Nugs/Warriors. Each of these teams has the potential to push a seven game series-- proven by the fact that the Nuggets are 1 game above the Warriors right now for the final spot, and they just beat the Celtics.

Random conjecture: If the Suns win the West and draw the eight-seed Warriors, HOW FUN WOULD THAT BE? HOLY SHIT. NOTHING BUT 133-131 shootouts? YES PLEASE. If the Lakers came into the third spot and had the Hornets (who I think will finish well below their current projection), who is going to stop Chris Paul? In that case, who will stop anyone? Consider this:

MAVS: Kidd, Nowitzki, Howard, etc.
LAKERS: Kobe, Bynum, Gasol
SUNS: Amare, Shaq, Nash
SPURS: Champions, etc.
NUGGETS: 'Melo, Iverson, whomever they trade for
ROCKETS: Yao, oh nevermind. They are out in the first round.
JAZZ: Deron, Boozer, team ethic/angry coach. Western Conference finalist last year, remember?
HORNETS: MVPaul, West, Chandler-- sure it ain't enough, but it will be fun to watch.
and then there's the WARRIORS, with he most improved player in the league Monta Ellis. His game will warrant a whole other post. It's undeniably perfect for that team RIGHT NOW.

The big three on any of these teams are as good as any other team, with the exception of the Hornets' youth (but still, MVPaul) and the Nuggets possible trade possibilities. The playoffs are promising to be the best we may ever see or even better, so as the season progresses, I am going to find a way to (not quite) fully and (un)extensively report on each of the contenders in the West until I am out of steam or I hyper-extend my brain... whichever comes first. I'm sure Phony will help, despite our lack of allegiance this evening.

One thing his for sure-- whatever happens will be fucking outstanding.

Reading Between the Lines

Earlier tonight the Nuggets beat the 76ers in Denver 109-96. Allen Iverson was his usual, brilliant self: 38 points, eight dimes, and back-to-back three-pointers to break a 62-all tie in the third.

Afterward, AI had some nice things to say about the Philadelphia organization.

Here are his quotes, courtesy of the AP, and what he was really thinking when he said them.

"I'm just happy we got the win. Like I said, it's just another basketball game, we went through that whole song and dance last year when they came in here. It wasn't any big deal to me. I just wanted to contribute."

I'd a rather eat a dead dog's ass than lose to these bitches like we did last year after I got traded. I told Melo I was bouts ta stick my dick AND a couple logs a summer sausage right up LaLa's ass if he ain't came through. Buncha Macarena-lovin' muthafuckers. Shit, I'm the fucking Charleston, Mashed Potato and the Twist up in this mafuck.

"They've got a lot of talent on that team. They've got a lot of guys that can do things, and they've got a lot of guys that care, guys with pride."

Yeah, guys that can do things - like Reggie Evans, that ball-grabbing queerbag. And have you seen Calvin Booth? Bitch look like a black version of the deformed giant in Big Fish. Shit, at least they got rid of that Ashton Kutcher-lookin' mafucker. But, yeah, those Sixers got some pride - they proud to be the only team in the league dumb enough to think Shavlik Randolph can ball.

"I'm pretty sure they want to prove they can win without me."

They fired Billy King, right?

"It could be easy for those guys to lay down. After I left, they could have just laid down."

They gettin' fucked either way. Layin' down, standing up, bent over the scorer's table - shit, you name it, they gettin' filled up like Kim Kardashian at the Saints' Christmas party.

"I just wish them well. ... I just want to see things get better for them."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Blow me 76 times, bitches.

Shit, I gotta run. I TiVo'd the season premiere of The Wire. Omar's my boy! ... You say he's what? Fa real? Ahh, fuck him then. It's all about Snoop! ... No shit? Snoop is a she? Muthafucka!