We just lost to the Sixers.  THE SIXERS!  A fricking squad possibly made up of two basketball players and a gaggle of Lacrosse rejects.  You know how people never count George Mikan as one of the top ten players of all-time because he practically played with peach baskets and definitely only played against rigid, dorky white men who never left the ground without a ladder?  The Sixers would lose to elderly George Mikan laying on his back.

And still they creamed us.  It’s like getting beat at Monopoly by your dog.  It shouldn’t even be possible.  I’ve been trying to keep it positive this year, but screw it.  I can’t take it anymore.  My Minnesotan passive-aggressiveness has reached full capacity and it’s nuclear meltdown time.

It’s time to fire Sam Mitchell’s sorry ass.

He sucks.  He sucks so bad.  He is the DeAndre Jordan free throw of coaches.  He is 85% of the reason why we are losing.  The other 15% is a combination of youth and Wiggins’ Canadian side thinking beating a team is too mean.  The only coach worse than Sam Mitchell is Byron Scott and I’m still not convinced they’re not the same person.  They’re both so antiquated, I wouldn’t be surprised if either of them starting telling their players to shoot granny-style.  If Sam Mitchell were a life coach he’d be telling people to sell their car, buy a pile of silver and stack it for safe-keeping in their mailbox.

Some people think we can’t fire an interim coach.  After all, he’s only the head coach because Flip Saunders passed away.  Interim coaches don’t often get fired.  Well, Popes don’t usually resign but Pope Darth Sidious did and look how shit turned out after that.  Is Sam Mitchell Catholic?  Can we implicate him in some shady priest relocations?  At this point, I’ll settle for any excuse.  He hasn’t seen “Hunger Games: Mockingjay”?  Fire him!

Fire Mitchell’s ass.  Do it in ways that he’ll understand.  How did people fire people 100 years ago?  Shit, send him a telegram.  He’ll think Randy Breur is finally returning his message.

Dear Sam Mitchell, STOP

You are fired. STOP

You are fired because you wouldn’t play the good players when it mattered.  STOP  You are fired because you run an offense that hasn’t been used since basketball shorts hugged players’ assholes. STOP  You are fired because you have the ego of a reality TV chef without any of the ideas or success.  STOP  You are fired because thinking Zach LaVine is a point guard is dumber than Zach LaVine himself.  STOP

Just stop.  STOP  That first stop was a real stop. STOP


Sincerely, STOP

Minnesota STOP

Next up we play the Denver Nuggets at home.  What does it matter?



Manu Ginobili in training camp. Photo from

The San Antonio Spurs seem perfect.  Everything that’s ever been a weakness to them, they’ve turned around and made an advantage.  Think they’re too old?  They just used their Social Security to buy anti-aging blood transfusions.  Think they’re boring?  Now they’re the most exciting team in the league.  Wait, now they’re too flashy?  Look again, they’re boring again!  You can’t keep up with these bastards.

The Timberwolves play the Spurs on Wednesday night and while it’s highly unlikely that we’ll get a win, we do have a chance if we focus on their minuscule faults.

Everybody knows the Spurs are old.  It’s getting old that they’re old.  They’re so old they actually can’t remember the Alamo anymore.  They’re starting to get so old that they actually look young.  Like a first term president.  Maybe the fact that we’re so incredibly young will confuse the Spurs, like rap music to Baby Boomers?  I’m assuming that the Spurs’ locker room has a high-tech ADT system that won’t let anybody in under the age of 32.  Perhaps the three actually old Timberwolves can infiltrate the Spurs’ pre-game Gold Bond party as spies and steal their game plans?

Another potential weakness of the Spurs is the relative unfamiliarity of their newest star, LaMarcus Aldridge, to the San Antonio system.  I suggest we expose this situation by trying to make Aldridge forget he doesn’t play on the Portland Trailblazers anymore.  Unused Wolves players like Adreian Payne can carry their weight by yelling Portlandy stuff like “Pass it to Lillard!” and “Hey guy on a unicycle, is this basketball certified organic vegan?”  It’s not fair that the Spurs got Aldridge and I full-heartedly support bad sportmanship to equalize him.  The Spurs getting him is like the Wu-Tang Clan getting Kendrick Lamar.  Haven’t you had enough success you, pampered rodeo clowns? Time to ride into the sunset, Kemosabe.

It’s really hard to think of another crack in the San Antonio facade.  My last guest is that maybe they’re tired of winning.  The Spurs, even before Duncan, have been a 50 win season 99% of the time since the early 90s.  Did you ever see that shitty Nicholas Cage movie where he’s an angel and he decides to become human because he’s an idiot?   That’s what San Antonio should do.  They know what it’s like to win five championships.  Now it’s time they turn into the Sacramento Kings.  I want to see locker room fights, coaches that hate the players’ guts and star players only if they are also complete dickheads.  That’s going to be a tough one.  Tim Duncan seems like the kind of guy who runs a freelance Model UN for orphans.  The only chance I see is of a last minute trade for Lance Stephenson, who then gets the whole team addicted to street Adderrall which makes them all think Poppovich is a NARC and they beat him unconscious with ten gallon hats.

Damnit, we’re screwed.

Go Wolves!

I’m not an analytics guy.  I don’t understand math and I don’t give a crap what PER is, because it makes my head hurt and it feels like reading Latin backwards.  I watch the NBA to be entertained, not figure out if Zach LaVine would get to St. Cloud faster on a train heading west at 75mph from ten miles away versus Gorgui Dieng two feet away on roller skates.

I’m an emotional NBA fan.  I judge players like my mother judges me: On a day-by-day basis depending on how “neat” they are.  Steph Curry could have a five point, 1-12 night and I’d be ready to consider him the next Kwame Brown.  In other words, I’m an idiot.  So here’s this idiot’s emotional, irrational list of the best rookies in the NBA so far.

1) Karl-Anthony Towns

This one’s in the bag.  KAT is a beast and once his minutes get past the length of a Daily Show clip he’s going to lead the rookies in most categories.  My favorite things about KAT include his intensity and the fact that at 20 years old he has an imaginary friend.  I’m 37 and go on ghost hunts so any time a successful person is crazy it makes me feel like I’ve got a shot.

2) Kristaps Porzingis

I still can’t pronounce his name so I just call him “Portishead”.  A lot of people think Portishead looks like Dolph Lundgren in “Rocky IV” but I see him in more of a Dolph Lundren in “Kindergarten Cop 2” light.  I didn’t know it existed until recently but sign me the fuck up.

3) Larry Nance Jr.

Larry is not a super great rookie, but for some reason I find it hilarious that Larry Nance has a son in the NBA.  Other sons of former NBA stars I’d like to see in the league include Spud Webb Jr., Andrew Bynum Jr., George Mikan Jr. (he’s 65) and Shawn Kemp IX.

4) Jahlil Okafor


Me trying to understand ORtg ratings. Photo from

Okafor got into a street fight last week and unfortunately it’s the most exciting thing the 76ers have been associated with in years.  Was Okafor a dick before Philadelphia or is there just something about the City of Brotherly Love that turns people into raging psychopaths?  Turns out the fight started when someone came up to Okafor and his teammates and started talkin’ about PRACTICE.

5) Justice Winslow

I would pay $10,000 to have Justice Winslow’s name.  It sounds like an old-timey street-vigilante’s moniker.  “Hey mac, drop the diamonds.  Justice Winslow is coming!”  BIFF PAFF BLOP!  When he’s not busy being a promising NBA rookie, Justice Winslow shoots judge gavels from his fingertips fighting his notorious gangster arch-enemies Mugsy Bogues, Tiny Archibald and Vinny “The Microwave” Johnson.

Next up the Timberwolves play the Clippers in Los Angeles.  DeAndre Jordan has said he’ll be there, which means he won’t be playing.

Go Wolves!

Goddamn these Timberwolves up and downs.  If we were Philadelphia I could just go dead inside and pretend like I don’t base 95% of my happiness on how well a bunch of strangers in mesh polyester put a ball into a hoop.

But I can’t.  Because I’m excited.  And it feels weird to be excited.  I think I just talked myself out of being excited.  No, I’m excited again!

There is a perpetual doom and gloom about being a Timberwolves fan, where we just assume that the team will be broken up, or moved to Seattle or Wiggins will inevitably lose an eye in a tragic Jucy Lucy squirting catastrophe.  I refuse to succumb to it.

Karl-Anthony Towns is my favorite Timberwolves rookie since Kevin Garnett.  The great thing is, I said that about Andrew Wiggins last year.  Ricky Rubio continues to be the best NBA player that the rest of the league never notices or respects.  KG is the best mentor a team can ask for.  Gorgui Dieng is playing awful this year but he moves around like a confused lava lamp and that’s soothing in a way.  All positives!

No team is immune from breakup, but our core of Rubio/Towns/Wiggins are all top-notch dudes that want to win HERE.  Plus, nobody leaves on KG’s watch.  KG is the mafia boss of the NBA.  You can try and leave, but you better get a fake identity and join the Hungarian badminton team to be safe, otherwise you’re waking up with a horse head and Stephon Marbury’s bloody jersey in your bed.

I’ve been paranoid for half a decade about this team being moved.  Turns out they’re on contract for renovations through 2032 so it’s technically impossible.  The relief!  This is like thinking you have smallpox and finding out you just have small palms.  Sorry, Supersonics fans.  Guess you’ll just have to hope Portland grows big enough to touch Seattle.  Hope you like hipsters!


“We win games, but only ironically.” Photo from

There’s no way this team won’t end up being great someday.  Even we can’t screw this up, right?  It’s not like we’re a team that traded away two superstars, had a point guard focus more on a hip-hop album that made the Chicago Bears look like good rappers, drafted a player who’s not even in the league anymore over arguably the best player in the NBA and tried to coax women to games by offering a cup of wine and a free DVD of “Girls”.

Oh shit, we’re screwed.  We are the Insane Clown Posse of the NBA and nobody but meth-heads will ever love us.

No, no.  We’re the future NBA Champs and they’ll close the league after us because nobody will ever be able to top it!

Go Wolves!

Photo from

Photo from

The Minnesota Timberwolves are ass-backwards right now.  4-0 on the road and 0-3 at home.  My first instinct is to burn the Target Center down, but I’m pretty sure it’s full of 1989 asbestos and Tony Campbell’s spare tires.  We can’t risk poisoning Prince on the one day a year he goes out to buy purple shoes.

It’s all perfectly explainable.

November 2 against the Portland Trailblazers – 

Even Blazers fans know the referees screwed us.  OJ’s verdict made more sense.  We can only hope that the Blazers end up stealing some sports memorabilia, go to prison for 20 years and write a book called “If We Did It – The Story Of Paying The Refs”.  Glen Taylor must have dry-humped Adam Silver’s mom at the sweetheart’s dance in 1916 to warrant this kind of hate.

November 5 against the Miami Heat – 

Sam Mitchell played Rubio, Towns and Wiggins a total of negative three minutes that game.  Dwayne Wade had 150 points.  Goran Dragic summoned Veles, the Slovenian dragon god of cattle and trickery, to intercede and make us forget how to play basketball.  Tom Brady deflated our balls.

November 7 against the Charlotte Hornets –

We didn’t have Rubio, Wiggins or KG in the line-up.  We also had to go up against Jeremy Lin and his giant, cartoonish fauxhawk, which should be illegal because it gives him three feet more space to flop with.  Lin is a devout Christian.  Well, buddy, the Ninth Commandment says “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor.”  And according to this Wikipedia page I just read, the punishment for bearing false witness was having the same thing done back to you.  So…I guess if you’re a good Christian you will come back to Minneapolis and let 30 people pretend to get hit in the head by you.  That’ll show you!

“Finish him!” Photo from

Next up we play Golden State Warriors at home. Oh boy.  Nothing says breaking a home losing streak like playing arguably the most dominant team since the ’96 Bulls.  Veles, be with us!

Alzheimer patient Sam Mitchell tries to remember who's on his team. Photo from

Alzheimer patient Sam Mitchell tries to remember who’s on his team. Photo from

The difference between two games can be startling.  One minute you’re hopelessly falling into Kurt Rambis 2.0 Land and the next you’re beating a Eastern Conference contender on the road and dreaming of 80-2.  Damnit Wolves, you’re never boring.

After Thursday’s game, I was in a depression spiral about our team.  I could never be an NBA coach.  I couldn’t even coach third graders shooting at a Nerf hoop.  But I think I could be a better coach than Sam Mitchell.

How in the hell do you play Karl-Anthony Towns for only 22 minutes?  And Ricky Rubio for 24?  It’s like we’re driving this fancy SUV to dinner and 1/4 of the way there we go “Fuck it, let’s take the unicycle.  No, no, let the drunk guy steer.”

It must be hard being an NBA coach, having idiots like me telling you how to do your occupation.  It’s a high-pressure, high-blame job and he got thrust into it out of necessity because of Flip’s passing.  BUT WHAT THE HELL, SAM?!   You don’t start someone if they’re old enough to have starred in Space Jam, okay?  I’ll give you a pass on KG because he’s the heart and soul of the team but the only thing Tayshaun Prince should be starting is his AARP subscription.

I wasn’t expecting a championship this year, or even making the playoffs.  But I expected to watch entertaining basketball where we got to see our young studs earn their chops in the fire.  Instead, we got mind-boggling rotations that seem to be picked by a drunk parakeet pecking at pictures taped to a wall.

I began to feel that familiar feeling of “we’re totally fucked and we’re going to have to sit through another long season of Kevin Martin holding onto the ball longer than it takes to charge a cellphone and Zach LaVine exhibiting the control of a methed-out Roller Girl.”

Then Saturday happened AND WE ARE THE GREATEST!

Karl-Anthony Towns is the next Tim Duncan/Karl Malone/Shaq/Jordan/Jesus!  Wiggins is literally made of superpowered maple leaves from Hell!  Zach LaVine is exactly the same!

And get this:  Ol’ Black Hole Chicken Wing Shot Kevin Martin misses a game and suddenly everybody gets the ball.  Unfortunately, he was out because of personal reasons involving his family.  That’s sad and I don’t like that, but I do think we can find a way to make him miss more games without personal tragedy or getting hurt.  I understand Martin is very polite.  I suggest we start inviting him to every birthday party, going away party and bris we can think of.  Tell him Pooh Richardson invited him to Burning Man, Crunch is getting married, Milt Newton is building a Kevin Martin shrine in Madagascar and he has to cut the ribbon.  I think if we do this right we can make him miss at least 75 out of the next 77 games.

Next up we play the 7-1 Hawks in Atlanta.  We’re 3-0 on the road but this is going to be a rough one.  Hopefully Dominique Wilkins will punch a guy again for non-payment on a suit and it’ll throw them off.

Go Wolves!

Minnesota Timberwolves point guard Ricky Rubio. ] CARLOS GONZALEZ - September 28, 2015, Minneapolis, MN, Target Center, NBA, Minnesota Timberwolves Media Day

Ricky Rubio for President.  Or Prime Minister.  Or Top Spaniard or whatever they have over there.  Photo from

I love Ricky Rubio, goddamnit.

Do you know who doesn’t like Ricky Rubio?  People who don’t watch Minnesota Timberwolves games.  People who tell the teacher when they forget to assign homework in school.  And ISIS.  Go on and get your info from lazy commentators and out of context stat sheets.  Gregg Poppovich knows more about twerking than these people do about Ricky.

My two favorite people.

My two favorite people.

There’s a lot of misconceptions about Ricky Rubio.  The most common one is that he can’t shoot.  In past seasons, he’s looked as comfortable shooting as Mike Huckabee at a Lilith Fair concert.  But on Wednesday he lit up the Lakers for a career high 28 points and 14 assists in a one point victory.  None of the Lakers had an answer for him, because they weren’t expecting it.  They’d have been less shocked if Jack Nicholson ripped off his sport coat to reveal a Minnesota jersey and yelled “I’ve always hated you, Kobe”.


You ever dance with a unicorn in the pale moon light?

Another thing people say is that Ricky can’t play defense. That’s like someone telling me I don’t walk like a duck.  Look at his steals and look at my feet.  Case closed, assholes.

And no one can say he’s not one of the most brilliant passers in the game.  He’s like “Pistol” Pete Maravich mixed with John Stockton minus the nut-huggers.  You never know when and where a pass is coming from.  If I were a player I’d just stand there with my hands constantly open in case something comes my way.  On a pick, on a fast break, during timeout, in the shower.  There’d be some awkward moments but I’m not gonna be the guy who gets hit in the head with a basketball at Sneaky Pete’s.

Ricky’s a genuinely good person and he wants to win here.  That’s why the world can shove the trade rumors up their ass.  No true Minnesotan would ever want to part with Ricky.  He’s as much a part of Minnesota as Jucy Lucys and smiling to people’s face then talking shit behind their backs.

There might be conventionally better players out there, but there’s only one Spanish Unicorn.  Everybody say “NEEEEIGH!”

Next up we play the Nuggets in Denver with their illegally high town.  Hopefully Adam Silver received my oxygen mask petition.

Go Wolves!