NBA News and Notes Pt.1...

Now that free agency is fast approaching and the Finals are winding down, it is time to access the action and what it means going forward for teams, contenders and pretenders alike. We'll start with transfer rumors that are making the biggest splash around the NBA.

The L.A. Clippers-

Stupid is as stupid does, and you can never put anything past Clippers owner Donald Sterling. This guy has mismanaged his team from the second he made the purchase, and has mishandled more quality first-round picks than any owner in league history. He's also a racist and a cheapskate, proclaiming out loud how proud he is that he underpays coaches, assistants, and players alike. Give it to him to have a small-market mentality in a big-market city.

As the NBA's premier idiot owner, he has stayed the course until a few years ago, when he drafted Blake Griffin and DeAndre Jordan and committed to keeping them. They make up a young, formidable front court that can run shit in the Western Conference for years to come if they commit to getting better. They also have a great point/shooting guard combo coming off the bench in Eric Bledsoe and Jamal Crawford. Why haven't I mentioned Chris Paul yet? Here's the reason...

Paul is a demanding point guard, who, despite his talents, has alienated his front court. Blake Griffin, the face of the franchise, can't stand him. But aside from his abrasive personality, here are two reasons Paul is at once their best player and their biggest liability-

1) No doubt he is one of the best point guards in the league. But he is looking for a max contract that will cripple the team going forward, given the financial obligations to Griffin and Jordan, with almost no hope of re-signing Bledsoe when he becomes a restricted free agent at the end of next year. Doesn't matter because he's on the trading block anyway, but letting Bledsoe, an up-and-coming point guard that many NBA teams covet, walk out the door due to salary restrictions will be a bigger mistake than anyone realizes, given the fact that...

2) Paul has almost no cartilage left in his oft-injured right knee. Signing someone like this to a five-year contract is suicide (see the Knicks and Amar'e Stoudemire). This has been completely underreported by the sycophantic sports media, and should be the Clippers' biggest concern. He has two-three years (and I'm being optimistic here) of high quality play left in him. His downward spiral will come sooner rather than later, and there are only so many trips to Germany he can take before that controversial blood platelet therapy many pro athletes undergo to prolong their careers stops working. The most egregious example of this is Dwayne Wade, who will be worth nowhere near his escalating contract when it ends in THREE YEARS.

Chris Paul has been making noise about playing alongside terminal head case and perpetually injured big man Dwight Howard. There are basically two teams that, again, given current salary cap restrictions, can make this happen-Atlanta and Houston. But with all that money being taken by two players, what type of supporting cast will these teams be able to afford? Especially Atlanta, who may not re-sign Josh Smith (addition by subtraction as far as I'm concerned, given his demands for a max contract, something he CLEARLY does not deserve. Not for lack of talent, but for lack of effort). Al Horford is going to demand big money on the free market soon-how are you going to keep these players if the Howard/Paul move goes down?

And why, oh why, would the Clippers remotely entertain a trade with Boston for coach Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce? Garnett says he won't waive his no-trade clause if Paul Pierce isn't involved, which makes no sense. They both had one year left of good basketball in them, and that was three years ago. In the uber-athletic Western Conference, you don't get better by getting slower, older, and more unathletic. When Garnett gets the ball, one of two things occur that shouldn't. He either settles for a layup because he can't dunk anymore, or he settles for  a jump shot because he's no longer quick enough to get past his defender and drive to the basket. You don't trade DeAndre Jordan for a septuagenarian bum (Garnett)who is 5 years past his prime only to pair him with another geriatric hobo who has lost the little athleticism he ever had and can't guard anyone (Pierce).

I must give credit where credit is due. Sterling managed to get the coach he (and more importantly, Chris Paul) wanted, overpaid him ($7 million a year for three years) and agreed with the stipulation that the Clips could not include Garnett and Pierce from Boston for the next year. Moot point, seeing as both players have relocated to New Jersey in one of the most bogus multi-player trades in NBA history.

The Boston Celtics-

Every single move they're considering will make them a better team. They need to get younger and more athletic. Getting rid of Garnett and Pierce for DeAndre Jordan and Eric Bledsoe would have the best move Danny Ainge has pulled off since gathering the original "Big Three" for a championship run that has netted all of one title instead of three they should have won. Yes, Jordan is a project and needs work. but he's twenty-three. Pair him up with point guard Rajon Rondo and Bledsoe, get rid of some more bums off the roster, and you'll have a team that may be able to make some noise in the weak Eastern Conference besides "No Mas". They may miss Doc Rivers now that' he's the new Clippers' coach, but there are a few quality coaches out there who would be a good fit for this squad-Stan or Jeff Van Gundy come to mind. Jeff because he knows his shit, and Stan because he's just a funny motherfucker.

But the Celtics are loath to pay for another high-priced coach now that Rivers and his $7 million a year contract is gone. They'll probably give some assistant a chance so they can underpay him and get away with their rebuilding process by losing more games than they'll win. It makes sense for everyone involved. It also made sense buying out Paul Pierces' contract for $5 million, seeing as his trade value right now is severely limited, but they decided to trade him instead. Now that Garnett waived his no-trade clause and got the hell out of Dodge, he won't have to suffer the indignity of grinding out another worthless season for a team that won't win shit. Their run as "the Big Three" is over. It was over two-three years ago, but Ainge,  like many basketball executives, mistakenly wait way too long to blow up a team that was in dire need of an overhaul a while ago.

The Celtics are collecting first-round draft picks like a pimp collects ho's, and my contention is Rondo will be traded next. He is an elite, championship point guard who can command some serious offers even though he's coming off ACL knee surgery. His game was never predicated on athleticism, anyway, and he was always the unsung and under-appreciated member of the Celtics. There is no use and it makes no sense for a player of his calibre to spend the best seasons of his career losing, which is the equivalent of a hooker standing on the corner selling a piece of ass nobody wants to buy.

The LA Lakers-

This team has too many problems that cannot be corrected by one or two moves. First of all, Steve Nash was good five years ago, and the Lakers are paying him for the player he once was. Signing a 39-year old point guard who eerily resembles porn star Peter North was not the way to start luring Dwight Howard into re-signing with them long-term.I still cannot believe he has two years left on his contract.

Who moves to LA to dress like Pee Wee Herman??

Sooo, Steve Nash and Peter North are both Canadian and have never been seen in the same room together. Hmmm...

The bloated carcass called Metta World Peace still has one year left on what is probably his last NBA contract that no one in their right mind would take off LA's hands. Pau Gasol, one of the best big men in the league has been maligned, beleaguered and treated poorly by not only Lakers management and coaching staff, but by it's resident prima donna, who has suffered the type of injury hardly anyone comes back from, especially at his age. The mileage and wear and tire of being the NBA's most selfish and prolific chucker has finally caught up with him, and there is no amount of deer antler spray that will turn back the hands of time after 18 years in the league.

Gasol is attractive as an expiring contract for a team looking for veteran leadership during a late-year playoff push. He needs to go already, and so does Dwight Howard. Bottom line is this-he is wasting the best years of his dwindling athletic career on a team that cannot rebuilt unless they start sacking their bloated contracts, which will mean they will be a bad team for quite a long time. A trade that would benefit both team would be Howard in a sign-and-trade with the Clippers for Eric Bledsoe and DeAndre Jordan, but that won't happen because Donald Sterling has made it official that he will not do business with his rivals from across the hall.

The Lakers have to do something. The $2.5 billion dollar television contract they recently signed isn't going to help them with an $80 million dollar luxury tax looming this coming season. That is just too much money being thrown down the drain for such a bad, old  team that is going to be terrible next year. They need to start cost-cutting and rebuilding right now, and the best place to start is to amnesty Kobe Bryant's contract and have him sit out a year, pride be damned. After 18 years in the league, you cannot afford to build around Bryant, who has two years left if he comes back totally rehabbed after sitting out an entire season. He still gets his money and can come back to the Lakers, but at a hugely discounted price. Next would be a sign-and-trade for Dwight Howard, or just let him leave for nothing. Trade the expiring contract of Pau Gasol for a first-round pick in next year's draft with a team that is guaranteed to be in the lottery-either New Orleans or Charlotte. Blow the team up, suck for a year and start from scratch.

The Golden State Warriors-

They were a cute story and made an entertaining little playoff run this year, but that was as good as it got. Sounds condescending? That's because it is. They are not going to get any better than they are right now, and will probably get worse because salary cap restrictions will hamper their re-signing of key players Jarrett Jack and Carl Landry. I don't want to spend too much time on this, but their terrible contract (every team has at least one) is Andris Biedrins. He sucked when he was good during the Warriors' last playoff run, and he's terrible now that he can't give them any minutes of consequence coming off the bench. He does have a nice tan for a white boy, I'll give him that.But that's where it ends. And when your kingpin in the low post is David Lee, retriever of the least athletic 20-and-10 statline in pro basketball, it's only going to get you so far in the Western Conference.

Here is how to go backwards in the NBA-have a  breakout year with a new coach (Mark Jackson), add an unconventional star, the everyman, undersized guard who shoots like Pistol Pete, and some media buzz. I appreciate the talents of Stephen Curry, but with a very limited inside presence and no Plan B coming off the bench, the Warriors will remain what they are in the West-an amusing sideshow. And there is no guarantee Curry will see the end of his recently signed contract because of chronic ankle issues that may guarantee we've just seen his best.

At least they have a shiny, new stadium being built with (yet again) more tax payer dollars-

(under construction)

Film Recommendation of the Week...

The Doctor
Release Date-June 10, 2013 on NBA.TV
Running Time-1 hour, 10 minutes.

There have been many great players in the NBA, but not one has exuded the quiet dignity, class and unbridled inner city playground game than Julius "Doctor J" Erving. Erving was America's biggest nightmare come to life-a stylish brother with the crazy-ass 'fro who dressed better than any uptown pimp this side of Bad, Bad Leroy Brown. As articulate as an English Lit professor. Possessor of the brashest, loudest game in combination with the softest-spoken demeanor of any superstar athlete before or since. An OG badass like no other who had the coolest nickname ever. He propelled the game into the 21st. Century with his insane vertical leap. Most NBA leapers can either jump up or across-Doctor J was the first cat to combine both seemingly disparate disciplines with the style and grace of a Baryshnikov.

He was the brother you wanted to be like yet would never want to meet because you know after getting his autograph, he was leaving with YOUR girl on his arm. He was the athlete you wish your kid would grow up to be. Freakishly gifted-tall, with long arms and legs, and hands big enough to grab a tabletop end-to-end, he managed to exude a physical grace rare for men of any height, and he did so with almost no airplay during the best years of his professional career. He even made that ridiculous red, white and blue ABA basketball cool.

After bypassing his senior year of college at UMass, Erving became the face of the renegade upstart ABA basketball league, which challenged the hegemony of the NBA by doing shit like drafting players right out of high school (Moses Malone, for example) and letting their teams run the type of offenses that catered to creative geniuses like George "The Iceman" Gervin, amongst others. Before a forced merger with the NBA due to financial problems stemming from no league-wide television contract, the ABA came to signify what was cool about the 1970's. Unfortunately, a large percentage of Erving's greatest moves have passed into posterity without benefit of game footage. He left his best behind him after the NBA merger, but he was still Doctor J until the day he retired.

Take two of these and call me in the morning-

His gift lay his ability to reign in the wild streetball game of Rucker Park with the discipline necessary to play at the game's highest level. Unlike many of his lesser-talented playground brethren who still stalk the blacktops of the 'hood talking shit about their playground exploits, the good doctor made housecalls everywhere he went and kept it moving. He didn't fall into the trap of constantly talking that "back in the day" bullshit that has grown so tiresome it makes me want to vomit (yes, I'm talking about YOU, Pee Wee Kirkland).

For all the playground legends whose reputations exist only in the minds of those who can't stop talking about themselves, the bottom line is always the same-"I could 'ah been a contendah". Julius Erving WAS the real deal-the game, the class, the flash, and more importantly, absolutely no excuses. The reason why there was only one Dr. J wasn't so much because of his talents but because of his personality. He was able to pull it together and keep it together throughout his whole college and professional career-no scandals, no public, protracted arguments with coaching staff or fellow teammates (a difficult feat to pull off considering he once played with World B. Free, George McGinnis AND Darryl Dawkins on the same team) and no bullshit.

The young Dr. J serving his internship at UMass-

Slicin' 'em up in the 'hood-

Standing room only at Rucker Park-

Regardless of whatever went on in his private life, he will always be "The Doctor" to his legion of fans. I'm glad the documentary didn't go into any of that peripheral stuff-the financial issues, the children out of wedlock, etc. We don't need to rehash any of that crap. It's not the reason any of us go to Youtube.com to check out his highlights. We do so because, despite the fucked up world we live in, we can still revel in the achievements of someone like "The Doctor", a singular talent who exemplifies the best his sport has ever seen.

Babe of the Week for April 27, 2013 is...

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The Allen Iverson Dilemma...

It's hard to fathom how modern-day athletes, with the insane amounts of money they make, can find themselves penniless within a few years of retirement or after being run out of their respective leagues, but that's exactly where Allen Iverson finds himself today. But before we go forwards, we must look backwards to see how this all played out.

Iverson developed what was at the time a well-deserved martyr complex after being thrown in prison while in high school over a racially instigated brawl in a bowling alley, where despite the number of people involved in the brouhaha and the requisite panic and pandemonium that ensued, only Iverson and three friends (all black) were arrested, with Allen singled out as the instigator and main protagonist. Turns out the motivations of the prosecution and the judge were nefarious and self-serving in a small-town type of way, but not necessarily racist, even though there was some of that thrown in for good measure.

Iverson attended a high school that was the direct rival of another high school which was in a more affluent part of town, where everyone who was anyone in his town graduated from. So Allen had the temerity to break the athletic stranglehold this particular school held by being the baddest motherfucker in basketball AND football, elevating his teams to elite status. For the bowling alley incident, where not one white person was held accountable for their part in the fight, Iverson was given a 15-year sentence that was rescinded after a pardon from the governor four months after he was jailed, just in time for the basketball and football seasons to end. No one is arguing that race relations in Virginia are peachy-keen, but the motivations behind this incident were mixed with jealousy, pride and envy just as much as it involved race.

For those of you who would like to see more on the trial and the ensuing madness, check out the ESPN 30 for 30 documentary No Crossover-The Trial of Allen Iverson"-

Hard not to have a chip on one's shoulder after all that, so I don't blame Iverson's defiant stance against the world, but it doesn't excuse his transformation from clean-cut high school athlete to wanna-be thug. Iverson was NEVER a thug. He wasn't much of a student, either, but that's besides the point. Here is the lesson black athletes who posture for the sake of street credibility fail to realize-once fans begin to universally embrace you, you can chill because everything's gonna be alright. Iverson never received that memo, and if he did, it was drowned out by his homeboys, an entourage that at certain points numbered around fifty. That's fifty jive-ass leeches, all with both hands out looking to bleed him dry.

Iverson's biggest mistake, aside from his idiotic allegiance to the very people that played a major role in his financial ruin, was having children he clearly neglected. He was never cut out to be a father, or any type of role model. He continually let his kids down with the constant boozing, gambling binges where he would sometimes lose as much as one million dollars in one night, and the irresponsible stewardship of his now depleted fortune. Yet he cries on cue whenever he speaks of them in public. I'm not a fan of this type of hollow, overtly emotional showboating, especially when we have records of his divorce proceedings where the judge himself stated he did not think he was fit to be around his own children.

How broke is he now is the question. nobody really knows. He's had his bank accounts frozen by the courts over unpaid child support, property confiscated, and half of his Reebok $30-million dollar endorsement contract, which he can't touch until he's 55, belongs to his ex-wife. What he does between now and then is pure conjecture, seeing as he's remained a recluse and refuses to get help for the only thing besides the cornrows and the attitude problem he'll be known for-a raging and out of control alcohol abuse problem. There is no "Answer" to this one. Blowing through an estimated $155 million in salary and $30-$40 million more in endorsements is inexcusable, especially given today's economic climate, so there will be no pity for this guy. What is unfathomable is how gullible these supposed street-smart cats are to let themselves be bamboozled by their useless friends, and in predictable fashion they all leave once the money's gone. I guess I would drink myself into oblivion too if I woke up one morning to find my career, family, cash, and friends all gone at the same time.

This is a disgraceful end to an incredible and highly improbable sporting life. At the age of 37, which is considered young by today's standards, Allen Iverson is already an old man, unable to pay for the necessities of his children and no longer able to cash any more checks doing the one thing he was ever good at. His problem wasn't just the booze. The drinking is a residual consequence from a life lived at the edge of two diametrically opposed worlds-the grinding poverty and family dysfunction of ghetto life and the bucolic bubble that surrounds any young star athlete. Most inner city dwellers who are out there catching all kinds of hell do so anonymously, where no one can see and no one really cares. They don't have the benefit of a community full of adults who gleefully find nothing warped about putting a teenager on a pedestal simply because he can play ball, and that's where the problem starts-with the enablers.

When the adults in your life who are supposed to supply you with guidance, discipline, and tough love, morph into groupies hovering around you because of your fame, when a young man like Allen Iverson sees how easy it is to manipulate grown men and women for the purpose of avoiding the responsibilities we must all face, when you have ass-kissers and yes-men telling you nothing is ever your fault and that you're the greatest, this is the end result. A fortune wasted, a life on the brink, and innocent children left behind as collateral damage as a testament to a life napalmed to oblivion.

Iverson was the apotheosis of the ultimate playground basketball talent. As a player, he exhibited the prototypical streetball game-a selfish, uncoachable one-on-one chucker with an attitude problem of Pythagorean proportions. The streets are littered with cats like this. The difference is Iverson made it to the big time and excelled despite himself, garnering a rebel-without-a-pause, me-against-the-world persona along the way. It served him well because his talent was incandescent, and suburban white teenagers ate up the myth of the ghetto pirate who made it while bucking the system to the tune of millions of dollars in apparel and sneaker sales. But when the all-night partying, drinking and gambling binges caught up with him, he now has to look at himself and explain to his children what demons drove him to the type of freefall that, unlike his less talented inner city brethren, he was perfectly positioned to avoid and chose not to.

Film Recommendation of the Week...

Little Fugitive

Release Date-October 6, 1953.

Running Time-1 hour 20 minutes.

First, there was the post-WWII Italian Neo-Realist Movement, which began with some excellent films like "Bicycle Thieves" and others previously featured on this blog. Then came this film, an American independent production from 1953 which is credited with sparking the French New Wave of cinema of the 1950's and 60's. Shot on a shoestring budget with hand-held 35mm cameras that did not capture sound (the dialogue was dubbed after filming) and using non-actors for all the roles (not one actor ever appeared in another role for any other film), "Little Fugitive" has been an inspiration to countless directors and film makers and still holds its' own as an exemplary piece of fine film making. 

The plot is sparse, capturing a day in the life of typical Brooklyn youths, where adventure is found in the escapist wonderland of Coney Island. It's charm lies in its' lack of pretense and creative use of cinematography, capturing the vibe of the borough through use of a hidden camera. This technique allowed the director license to capture everyday people during the course of their day as if life were being lived one step at a time. This period piece may sound dated, but its' innate charm of a bygone era is what makes the work so riveting. If you're not a sentimentalist or a nostalgia buff, this film is not for you. There are no explosions, no car chases, no damsels in distress-just the tale of a little boy who finds himself on a journey of discovery that would be unheard of in today's jaded and dangerous world.

It is a world where the innocence of youth isn't marred by pedophiles, freaks, and the myriad of hapless assholes that would make spending a day at Coney Island in peace practically impossible today. The little boy, who runs off after mistakenly thinking he shot his own brother with a bb gun, becomes lost and at the same time becomes a part of the carnival world of what was then the most famous amusement park in the world. It's almost shocking to think of Coney Island as a refuge for a boy who believes himself to be in such trouble, now that in the year 2013 Coney Island is basically one gigantic and pathetic slum. 

This film was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Writing and Best Motion Picture Story and won the Silver Lion Award at the Venice Film Festival. It was shown in over 5,000 theaters world-wide and was selected in 1997 for preservation by the Library of Congress to the National Film Registry as being "culturally, historically or aesthetically significant". High praise indeed for such a small, independent project. 

Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin-

What makes the film is the cinematography. Both Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin were established photographers at the time, and they took an approach wherein every shot is akin to a black-and-white photograph shot in living time. They both collaborated in two more films, "Lovers and Lollipops" and "Weddings and Babies", and all three can be purchased via the Kino Video site, which along with Criterion do their best to keep films such as these alive. If you fancy yourself a fan of film, these are three that are a must-have in any collection. 

NCAA Final Four...

We've just witnessed the worst NCAA basketball tournament in years. Aesthetically, it was an unwatchable, excruciating nightmare of incredibly fit athletes masquerading as basketball players. We were subjected to point guards who can't run the point, obnoxious shooting guards who can't shoot, and absolutely no big men to speak of. There wasn't one player 6'9" or over that anyone would consider a proper, solid NBA prospect, much less a future NBA All-Star. The highly politicized and incorrigibly corrupt meat grinder environment that is the AAU high school basketball circuit can be blamed for much of what has lead to this egregious stunting of talent, but it continues on the college level. Coaches have become the stars, signing multi-year extensions for taking a bunch of overachievers deep into the tournament through sheer grit and determination, with their seven-pass minimum offenses and tenacious man-to-man defenses that have taken all the joy out of the game. Then again, if there's no talent to speak of, how fun could these games be to watch?

Talent is elemental to the game. Without it, all we are left with are idiot, rage-a-holic coaches screeching at their players, while the scared-shitless players run plays with all the joie de vivre of an Eastern Bloc prison crew. Where was the charisma? Where was the panache? When was the last time we saw someone like Chris Jackson of LSU? Bobby Hurley of Duke? Kenny Anderson of Georgia Tech? Love him or hate him, Stephon Marbury was one hell of a player during his one and only year in college. He was incredible to watch. Even if you couldn't stand him, you had to appreciate the talent that put him head and shoulders above his peers-



What did we get THIS year? For the Michigan Wolverines, we got a bench scrub, Spike Albrecht (named after a WWII German general who was executed for taking part in the July 19th plot to assassinate the Fuhrer), a pasty white, unathletic 5'11" reserve who scored enough points in the first half of the championship game to land him a possible date with douchebag Hollywood celebrity Kate Upton. He tweeted her after the game, where no doubt her fleeting interest waned after he was held to ZERO points in the second half, putting paid to his underdog storyline. On the other side, the Louisville Cardinals busted out with the third-place podium finisher of the Minnesota Semi-Annual Paul Bunyan look-a-like contest, a burger named Luke Hancock, who is as dorky as his name implies. He won the tournament MVP and will never come close to being considered for an NBA tryout.

Corky going for his in the first half-

The law firm of Hancock and Albrecht-

As forgettable as the tournament was all the way around, Jalen Rose at least made it somewhat interesting with his incessant and non-stop whining over his former college teammates. Rose was the producer of the ESPN 30 for 30 documentary "The Fab Five", which featured the Michigan Wolverine team of twenty years ago that he cannot put in his rear view mirror. He has grossly exaggerated the cultural importance and legacy of a team that played together only two years, won absolutely nothing, and was party to the biggest bone-headed play in sports history, the infamous time-out called by Chris Webber that sealed their fate against a North Carolina Tarheels team that had no business being on the same court with these overrated cats.

Rose made a big stink on the airwaves of ESPN over the fact that Webber hadn't committed to going to the championship game to sit hand-in-hand with his old teammates, which being played in Atlanta, was about 15 minutes away from his crib. Newsflash for you, Jalen-maybe, just maybe, Chris Webber doesn't give a fuck about the whole contrived Fab Five mystique you've concocted out of thin air. Maybe that brotherhood you guys developed in college doesn't means shit to him anymore.



 Let's go into detail over why Jalen Rose can't let this shit go. Rose feels compelled to fetishize the Fab Five storyline because he feels the university owes it to them to honor the team and their achievements. The history books indicate a different reality, since their very existence has been completely stripped from the record books. According to the University of Michigan and the NCAA, the Fab Five never happened. I believe Rose thinks the university owes Chris Webber a personal apology, when the reverse is true. Let's not forget the school-imposed sanctions would not have come down if Webber hadn't lied to a grand jury about his relationship with Michigan booster Ed Martin. Not only was Webber found guilty of lying to a grand jury, he had to pay $700,000 out of his own pocket to pay for University's legal fees. None of this happens if Webber just tells the truth.

It's in Rose's best interest to keep the memory of the Fab Five alive, because he benefits financially from the promotion and sales of the documentary, the highest-rated doc in the whole ESPN 30 for 30 franchise. But it seems as if hindsight is blinding him to the realities of what the experience meant for others like Chris Webber. This is understandable, given that despite the talent on that team, two members never made the NBA, and Rose and Juwan Howard became pedestrian journeymen professionals with careers that were nothing to speak of. The only one who lit it up in the pros was Chris Webber, considered one of the most talented big men to play during his era. Collectively, the did pretty much nothing in the NBA. The only player from the Fab Five to win anything was Howard, who won an NBA ring last year riding the pine for the Miami Heat.

Since Rose had a forgettable pro career with almost no highlights to speak of, maybe this is why it's so important for him to let everyone know how badass his college team was. Impotent and ineffectual is a more accurate description of the legacy of the Fab Five. Maybe if there was some justification for how things turned out this would make sense. But from the current standpoint all this bellowing and posturing is nothing more than the flatulent, flailing gasps of a man who, despite having gotten paid very handsomely playing pro sports, still cannot let those all-too-fleeting glory years go. All two of them. And oh yeah, Michigan lost, so it doesn't matter.

Reeva SteenKamp...

In Memorium-Reeva Steenkamp 
Aug. 19, 1983-Feb. 14, 2013

This woman should never have died such a senseless, violent death at the hands of her boyfriend, the  paranoid, rage-a-holic gun nut Oscar Pistorius. Yes, it turns out that this hero to the disabled athlete community, and the first person to have taken part in the Olympics as a track star with state-of-the-art prosthetic legs, had issues. To be fair, in South Africa, violent crime is at outrageous proportions, and it's well-heeled citizens must take extra security measures to protect themselves from the marauding herd of thugs that terrorize South African society.

But famous star athletes, due to their financial situations, can take extra security precautions the average person cannot. Pistorious lived in a gated community with 24-hour security. Yet his paranoia ran so deep he had guns strategically placed all over his home "just in case". We here in the states know all too well that the nutbags who call for more guns for the sake of protection are the ones who live in communities where they are touched the least by minorities and gun violence, a combination many right-wing maniacs equate as going hand-in-hand. Here is a photo taken of his bedside back in 2010, and as we all know, happiness is a warm gun. Nothing like a silver Taurus 9mm pistol with a full clip to help one count sheep when irrational paranoia doesn't let you get any shut-eye-

The couple in happier times-

Unfortunately, a dismaying fact of life the world over is that celebrities like Pistorius always get away with behaving poorly because pretty young women will always be attracted to them. And if he had some sort of bad-boy persona brewing beneath his clean-cut, pretty-boy image, then he would appear all the more alluring to the opposite sex. This does not mean Reeva Steenkamp had to perish in such a manner because she found him attractive, shot four times through a bathroom door in the middle of the night by this lunatic. But what it does mean is that if he had exhibited a previous pattern of abnormal, anti-social behavior, someone should have called him out on it. And if she had any inkling that this dude had problems, she should have stayed away from him. And yes, she dated star athletes and was a reality-show star, something we loathe with abandon here on "Busting Chops", but her life also revolved around intellect and doing good for others, so she gets a pass.

The details of the initial investigation have been well-documented. The original detective assigned to the case was released from it due to his own issues with crossing the law, under investigation for some charges that include murder. then there is the question of the cache of performance enhancing drugs supposedly found in Pistorius' home on the night of the murder. His contradictory story about what happened aside, the facts that have been established are bad enough to seriously question who this man really is. He deserves a fair trial no doubt, but what he doesn't deserve is to make his deceased girlfriend into an active participant in her own demise. What we need to know are the events that preceded this madness, and only Pistorius knows the truth. Don't expect it. A man fighting for his life is going to lie to get out of this situation, so let's celebrate this beautiful, intelligent young lady, a model since the age of fourteen, law school graduate, and a fighter against bullying and violence against women, something to which she needlessly lost her life to.