Title or Tease: A Tale of Two Teams

"Maybe next year, sprout"

I’d like to start by telling Philip Kates to stuff it. I don’t want to hear your non-stop stream of grating chatter. I will not answer your heckling phone calls at 12:53 in the morning. You are insufferable: in your John-Starks-except-white line of steady trash talk, your denial of common sense, and somehow – against all logic – your unfailing accuracy.

Philip Kates, my best friend and basketball nemesis, is always right.

I speak, of course, of the series of annual, NBA-related bets we make in late October – the same ones that inevitably come back to bite me in the ass in the form of A) Manu Ginobili’s fractured extremities B) Gloria James’ appetite for Delonte West C) a total failure of world order or D) a combination of A, B and C.

Last year, I picked the Cavs to win the title. As I did the year before. And the year before that. PK picks the team that wins. His formula seems to be “watch Heat all year + scream at TV + talk shit + ignore rest of league + bet on contender whose pending title would infuriate me the most”.

Said equation is full-proof, as it’s prevailed over the likes of analysis/reason/common knowledge for five years running. I pay out the ass every June. This is our tradition.

Anyway, to make a long story shorter than it’d be if I kept bitterly bitching, I picked the Celtics and Lakers preseason to play for the title. I added the Bulls a week ago. PK, a self-admitted homer whose teams prevail whenever my disdain for them reaches an irrational threshold for hatred, tapped the Heat – just the Heat – in October, and then smartly picked up the Thunder and, just to spite me, the Spurs pre-playoffs.

Needless to say, I’m off to a start that would make envious only a one-legged marathoner. And Kobe Bryant. And Tim Duncan.

Still, I’m not here to launch a reverse jinx, but instead to compare the starts of two teams seemingly on a collision course for the Eastern Conference Finals. One will presumably deal the final blow to a reeling Celtics squad. The other will cost me 50 dollars cash and my dignity.

Chicago, I fear, is the latter: a should-be juggernaut undercutting its potential with careless mistakes, sloppy ball-handling and, most startlingly, an unwillingness to respond to a swift kick in the ass (see: Game 2 vs. Indiana). After exploding out of the gate (like a gimpy gelding with a 300-pound jockey) in an amped United Center, the Bulls followed game 1′s tepid groping with an equally flat, come-from-behind victory very much in need of future MVP Derrick Rose’s 36-point performance.

The Bulls committed 22 turnovers, managed a combined 5 of 23 shooting between Luol Deng and Joakim Noah and, in general, played to the level of their relatively inept opponent. They also won, no small feat for a team with a playoff series victory since the departure of one Air Jordan.

Because I’m a self-loathing optimist, I’ll present the alternative viewpoint to the random Chicagoan’s “we’re seriously f*cked” stance, which is this: the Bulls haven’t played sloppily because they’re overly hyped or nervous – as young teams with expectations are wont to do. Instead, they’ve sucked because they’re bored. Like a loaded defending champion might against a 37-win team with limited offensive potential.

This is a dangerous kind of arrogance – ’cause you can get burned – but it is an arrogance nonetheless. Chicago, now the hunted, has shown another gear (that of The Rose), stepping on the pedal at will when need be.

Which brings me to the Miami Heat and LeBron James’ personal crusade on my heathen soul. The James Gang has pounded the most overachieving team in the league not with a compensatory three-on-five offensive barrage, but with clampdown D and a this-is-what-I-do display of nonchalant brilliance from the best player in the universe.

Mario Chalmers.

Nah, just kidding. D-Wade’s the one with the ring, but it’s his superior teammate who’s so far set the no-nonsense tone in Miami’s first two games. Sure, the Heat sauntered to a leisurely Saturday afternoon start, but unlike their Eastern Conference foes, they responded to a game one scare by jacking up the intensity and ending Monday’s contest early despite a sickly Wade.

Said Sixers coach Doug Collins of an opponent that’s now won 17 of 20, “If they are playing on top of their game, they are a better team.”

Thanks, Doug.

I’m heartened by the fact Collins’ group of hapless hustlers is amongst the most nondescript, offensively anemic playoff teams of all-time. I’m also holding tight to the time-tested theory three guys alone does not a champion make. Then again, I’ve long been of the opinion Joel “I Give White Players Hope” Anthony, the Heat’s block-handed center, is the worst big man in basketball.

To this, Chris Bosh, perhaps feeling the high of four straight double-doubles, countered: “He’s awesome.”

Awesome? Well shit.