Archive for January, 2013

Well, stick a fork in this season.

We just lost back-to-back games against the weak-ass Wizards and the bottom-of-the-barrel Bobcats.  Pathetic.  I’m pretty sure a team consisting of Andy Dick, Chris Christie, Betty White and the cast of Glee could beat us right now.

Chase Budinger

The Minnesota Timberwolves “Catfished” its fans.  We were promised this amazing, hot, sexy woman of a season.  She said she’d be with us forever.  But when we met her she didn’t have an arm.  That’s okay, we thought.  Those are the girls we can get: The ones that are missing something.  But then her other arm fell off.  Then her nose.  Then her butt swiveled like a picture frame falling off a nail and dropped to the floor.  Three months later she’s just a torso that you have to carry around in a BabyBjörn.  Enjoy your new girlfriend!  I’m sure she’ll be better next year.

Sexy Kevin Love

I love the NBA and I love the Timberwolves.  I don’t ask for much in this world.  But by the laws of probability and statistics, aren’t we supposed to be good again eventually?  When in the name of God is that going to happen?  How can we still suck after all these years?  Don’t tell me it’s that nobody wants to play here because of the weather.  We have Russians!  They are descended from polar bears and yetis.  Minnesota is Cancun to them.

It’s just hard to imagine the Timberwolves ever having a winning season again.  We’ll get the #1 pick in the Lottery and accidentally draft a volleyball player.  We’ll trade for Kobe Bryant when he’s 55.  Kevin Love will decide to re-sign with us and then the training staff will accidentally remove his frontal lobe while he’s stretching.

Brandon Roy

We’re screwed.  We’re cursed.  We’re %#$@ed.

Next up we play the Los Angeles Clippers at home.  Even the Clippers managed to get good.  The. Clippers.  Dear God, make it stop.

Get over yourself, Brooklyn.  Nobody thinks you’re special just because Jay-Z and a Russian supervillain bought you.

But that’s what Brooklyn’s best at: Thinking they’re special.  Have you seen the Brooklyn Nets’ reality show, “The Association”?  At one point, Rosie Perez (Rosie Perez? There’s nobody else from Brooklyn?) walks new Net Joe Johnson around the “neighborhood” to show him how much it means to the community and how really small and tight knit they are.  As if 3/4 of them wouldn’t steal your hub-caps.  Spare me the “I’m just a kid from Brooklyn” underdog bullshit.  Oh yeah, you’re just a regular hayseed there, Cleatus.  You want to talk about small towns?  I grew up in a small town in northern Iowa.  Everything’s 20 years behind.  Pearl Jam “Ten” just came out on cassette there.

We’re not falling for your awe-shucks “America’s Team” ruse, Brooklyn.  The rest of the country knows exactly who you really are.  Allow me to volunteer my take:

DERON WILLIAMS:  Infamous coach-killer with weird flat/shiny/tin-foil hair.  If he were a movie character he’d totally be the guy who pretends to be your friend and then pushs you into the zombies to get away.  Never trust anybody who’s friends with Dwight Howard.

JOE JOHNSON:  Joe Johnson would probably be much more famous if he didn’t have the most generic name of all time.  Why not “Man Guy” or “Basketball Player #2”?  Listen, he’s a good player but he’s old enough to remember when Reebok “Pumps” and Hypercolor first came out so tick-tock there, Man Guy.

BROOK LOPEZ:  I’m convinced somebody gave steroids to Screech from Saved By The Bell and changed his name to Brook Lopez.  And how does a 7’0″ man average only seven rebounds a game for his career?  I guess jumping in the air leaves you vulnerable to Slater-wedgies.

Screech Brook Lopez

Brook Lopez’s high school basketball card is highly collectible. Photo from mirror.co.uk.

KRIS HUMPHRIES:  He humped Kim Kardashian.  Supposedly he plays basketball too.

ANDRAY BLATCHE:  Douchebag.

JERRY STACKHOUSE:  Born during World War I, Stackhouse is the all-time leader in barnstorming and peach-basket shot attempts.

REGGIE EVANS:  You were an Iowa Hawkeye.  Iowa code forbids hating on another Iowan unless they are an Iowa State Cyclone.  Proceed.

GERALD WALLACE:  The greatest Charlotte Bobcat of all time!  Which makes him the 1,000,000th best player in NBA history.  Dude, growing corn-row/dreads doesn’t make you look any less balding.  It just makes it look like your hair is jumping off the back of your head in a single-file line.

Gerald Wallace just realizing he spent his glory days as a Bobcat.  Photo from examiner.com.

Gerald Wallace just realizing he spent his glory days as a Bobcat. Photo from examiner.com.

Next up, the Timberwolves play the Wizards in Washington. For the love of God, let’s get a win.  These guys are horrible.

We got a sympathy player!!!

We actually had so many hurt players that the NBA left us sign a 16th player for an injury exception.  In addition to that, we also signed a legit for-realsies 15th player.  We are 1-1 with these noobs and they’ve actually shot 75% from the field.  Granted, that’s like ten shots total but screw it!  New blood!

So who are these mystery men and how long will they last?

Meet your new Timberwolves:

Mickael Gelabale

Mickael Gelabale

NAME: Mickael Gelabale

HEIGHT: 6’7″

WEIGHT: 215 lb.

POSITION: SF

NATIONALITY: French

LIKES: Balancing hats on his head like a thimble.

DISLIKES: When people call him Jellybelly.

Chris Johnson

Chris Johnson

NAME: Chris Johnson

HEIGHT: 6’11”

WEIGHT: 210 lb.

POSITION: C/PF

NATIONALITY: American (USA! USA! USA!)

LIKES: Refusing to look at cameras.

DISLIKES:  Being on a team for more than 10 days at a time.

When I saw that we were going to sign another European (and a French one at that) I thought “Oh, here we go…another white dude.”  But oh snap, he’s BLACK!  BOOM!  Throw in Chris Johnson and we just raised our black player ratio by 200%!  Granted, we just raised our PLAYER ratio by 400%.  Whatever.

Remember in the movie Jaws when all the shark attacks happened and the mayor and the rest of the town refused to acknowledge that it was happening because there was money to be made?  I feel like that’s the Timberwolves season right now.  Just switch “Oh, there’s no shark.  Keep swimming” to:

“Oh, they’re just a little injured.  Keep paying for tickets.  See, we got this French dude!  They’re totally known for being good at basketball.  And this other guy that’s bounced around the league like a beach ball at a stupid Phish concert.  Playoffs here we come!  Never mind what’s floating in the water there.  No that’s not Brandon Roy’s leg.  Of course that’s not Kevin Love’s hand.  Don’t be silly, that’s not Chase Budinger, that’s a clown wig.  How’d that get in there?!”

I’m running out of injury jokes.

This is pathetic.  Kevin Love, Ricky Rubio, Chase Budinger, Brandon Roy, Josh Howard, Malcolm Lee, JJ Barea, Andrei Kirilenko and Lazar Haywood have all been injured significantly this season or are completely out for the rest of the year.  Now add to the pile: Nikola Pekovic and Alexey Shved, who both got hurt last night.  Our goddamn coach has missed half a dozen games.  Derrick Williams and Luke Ridnour are the only major players to not get hurt and that’s because Luke can’t afford to miss a game and Derrick’s too dumb to realize that’s the thing to do.   I say we bring back our Muskie jerseys from last season.  Maybe the curse of those jerseys will negate the curse of this season and we’ll magically heal?

The Minnesota Timberwolves' prospects for the future.  Photo from well-rendered.com.

The newest addition to the Timberwolves team. Photo from well-rendered.com.

I will continue to watch and root for the Timberwolves, because they are my team and I’m not going to stop now.  But the season has become about two things for me:

1) I hope the Lakers don’t make the playoffs.  Or, at the very least, I just want them to continue to in-fight and suck and cry like a rich kid that doesn’t get their own helicopter.  God, I hate the Lakers.  I hate their spoiled, pampered, bandwagon-fake fans.  I hate Kobe Bryant and his wishing-he’s-Jordan, wannabe ass.  I hate Lamar Odom and he doesn’t even play for them anymore.  And guess what, bitches?  Five of your 16 championships are from the MINNEAPOLIS Lakers, so as far as I’m concerned the Celtics are up six rings on you.

2) Let’s get a lottery pick.  Is it even possible to make a bad choice?  We just need bodies.  Throw a dart at a dartboard.  Draft a baseball player.  Draft a crash test dummy.  Draft THE Crash Test Dummies.

Once there was this boy who
Got into an accident while doing knuckle push-ups
But when he finally came back
His hand re-broke again in the same place
They said that it was from when
His hand smashed the wall so hard

Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm

Once there was this boy who
Tore his ACL while colliding with a rapist
But when he finally came back
He seemed to forget how to play basketball
He couldn’t quite explain it
He’d always just known how

Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm

But both of those boys were glad
Cause one kid had it worse than that

Cause then there was this boy whose
team made him retire because he had no cartilege in his knees
And when he tried to come back
His knees said are you fucking kidding me
He couldn’t quite explain it
He didn’t know that knees talked

Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm
Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm

Next up, we play the Houston Rockets, who’ve also lost five games in a row.  What’s their excuse?  I guess I’d rather suck by acts of God instead of just plain sucking.

Rolando Blackman - Forgotten 80s superstar.  Photo from tumblr.com/tagged/rolandoblackman.

Rolando Blackman – Forgotten superstar. Photo from tumblr.com/tagged/rolandoblackman.

Rolando Blackman was my favorite basketball player when I was a kid.

Well, that’s not true.  Michael Jordan was.  But everybody loved Jordan.  Jordan wasn’t human.  He was Zeus mixed with Willy Wonka splashed with Dr. J and Flubber.

In actuality, Rolando Blackman was my first non-superhuman basketball hero.  And what a forehead!  Little known fact: Germany almost accidentally knocked down Rolando Blackman’s forehead in 1989, mistakenly thinking it was the Berlin Wall.  Luckily, they spotted his tiny, tiny green shorts and stopped before anybody was hurt.

"Close your eyes, QUICK, Kareem!" Photo from bleacherreport.com.

“Close your eyes, QUICK, Kareem!” The shortest shorts of all.  Photo from bleacherreport.com.

Really, I love Rolando Blackman for one reason and one reason only:  He was the first athlete to ever sign a basketball card for me.

When I was 12, in 1991, I became obsessed with the NBA and basketball cards.  I memorized every single player’s stat that was available in the early 90s.  Don’t believe me?  Shawn Kemp averaged 15.0 and 8.5 rebounds per game in the 90-91 season.  Boom.  How’d I know that?  No, not Google.  I had zero friends.  I had a basketball board game that involved dice and a calculator that I played by myself.  You could ride a chuckwagon to Oregon faster than you could finish a game.  Another thing about Shawn Kemp: He fathered more illegitimate children than Bob Marley and Dominique Wilkins combined. And ‘Nique allegedly paid money on 20 paternity suits.  “Human Highlight Reel” indeed!

I used to mail out self-addressed stamped envelopes and basketball cards to all the NBA teams (or index cards when my allowance/can recycling fund was depleted) and waited months, years, decades for them to send something back.  It was probably only a few weeks, but you know how time moves when you’re a kid.  Rolando Blackman was the first one to send a card back.  Almost suspiciously fast.  I actually checked a couple times to make sure he wasn’t squatting in my garage.  He beat the second fastest by a good three months.  And screw you, Kevin Johnson.  You think I can’t spot a stamped signature when I see one?  I hope your assistant got carpal tunnel from doing all your dirty-work and sued your autograph-avoiding ass.  I bet you’re a lousy mayor!

So yeah, the Timberwolves got stomped by the Dallas Mavericks on Monday.  But Rolando Blackman was a Maverick.  Twelve year old Mike Brody is giving you a pass.  Thanks Rolando.

It’s the year 2030 in the NBA:  The Minnesota Timberwolves have their first winning season since 2005.  Retired star Metta World Peace is serving the second of his ten year sentence for murdering Lakers coach Kobe Bryant for not returning his mind telegram.  (Mind telegrams still don’t exist in 2030.) And Tim Duncan breaks his own record for oldest NBA Finals MVP at the age of 53 as the San Antonio Spurs quietly win their twelfth NBA championship.

As usual, the experts count out the Spurs in the pre-season.  “Too old,” they say.  “There’s no way Tony Parker will come back from his hip replacement surgery to play again.”  “It’s sad that Manu Ginobli has Alzheimer’s but he needs to start wearing pants on the court.”  “Cyborg David Robinson will surely short out again in the playoffs.”

As usual, the experts are wrong.

Always the stylish one: All-star Tony Parker in 2030. Photo from marshallmatlock.com.

Always the stylish one: All-star Tony Parker in 2030. Photo from marshallmatlock.com.

Some say that bringing the Phoenix Suns’ heralded training staff on board makes the difference.  Others think they made a deal with the devil.  But regardless, the San Antonio Spurs keep winning and winning.  Star after star from other teams fades away.  And as new players come and go, the Big Spur 3 remained intact.

Manu Ginobli makes a move in practice. Photo from shakadula.com

Manu Ginobli soils himself in practice. Photo from shakadula.com

Finally, in 2029, Tim Duncan revealed their long coveted secret:

“Mummification.  We are in a mummified state nearly every second that we’re not on the court.  Pop’s not one for extravagance but he said you have to make exceptions sometimes.  So we had an old pharaoh’s aid from Egypt brought in and he wraps us up with toilet paper, masking tape and Gorilla Glue every day.  The most annoying thing to me is the blood sacrifice to Mithra.  It takes forever!  So many pigeons!  But we have twelve championship rings to show for it.  I’ll deal with being Osiris’ afterlife slave when I get there.”

Tim Duncan preparing for a big game. Photo from historylink101.net

Tim Duncan preparing for a big game. Photo from historylink101.net

Will the Spurs win their thirteenth championship in 2031?  Conventional wisdom says no, but Egyptian sorcery says otherwise.

UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!

At least last year our season wasn’t ruined until March.  How is this season turning out to be worse?  We have eight and a half uninjured players if you count Ricky Rubio.  If we keep at this pace pretty soon we’ll be able to fit all our players into a bobsled.  Dear God, I just wished we still had Michael Beasley.  My brain is turning on me!

We had an 18 point lead (!!!) in the first quarter and ended up losing by 12 because our players were tired.  Luke Ridnour fell asleep in his jammies by the bench like it was Christmas morning.  We need to trade for anyone or anything, pronto.  The Birdman, Rudy Gay and his ginormous contract, a sack of potatoes that we throw at opposing players.  Glen Taylor and David Kahn themselves wouldn’t be as bad as seeing Steimsma and Amundson doucheball it up out there.  Let Kahn run around for 40 minutes and get plowed over by that weirdo with the unibrow. Seriously, am I the only one who is freaked out by Anthony Davis?

This pic is not photoshopped in any way.  Think about that.  Photo from yardbarker.com

This pic is not photoshopped in any way. Think about that. Photo from yardbarker.com

Alright, we can’t let ourselves lose hope.  Things can happen.  All the other teams’ stadiums could fall into a sinkhole and we could win the championship by default.  The 2004 Lakers, Pacers and Pistons could be found guilty of giving their players PCP and the title could be retroactively given to us.  You never know!

I am just full of delusional optimism.  I have to be.  I’m a Timberwolves fan.  So here’s a few things to remind yourself of, so as to not fall into a Timberwolves induced depression:

1) Remember that all of our players are eventually coming back.  Well, except Brandon Roy probably.  I’m pretty sure his knees are held together by gum and soggy spit-wads.  But nobody’s dead.  Right?  Wait, has anybody seen Lazar Haywood lately?

2) Good seats will most likely be much easier to get soon.  During the Rambis era, I would just buy upper level seats and sneak down to the floor.  Nobody bothered to stop me.  I’m pretty sure I could have coached if I’d wanted.  Two more months without Kevin Love means I might even be able to buy the team soon and make Jack Sikma run me around in a rickshaw.

3) If (when) we don’t make the playoffs we will have a fancy lottery pick to use on Shawn Bradley Jr. or some conjoined twins from St. Cloud.

4) It could be worse: We could be Sacramento