Archive for February, 2015

Words cannot begin to describe the straight up love, euphoria and pandemonium of Kevin Garnett’s return to the Target Center last night.  I was lucky enough to witness it myself and it was honestly one of the greatest nights of my life.  Imagine if the world was liberated from overlord aliens by Davy Crockett, who just came back from the dead and also brought everybody pizza.  This MIGHT get close to the feeling.

Think about it: This was a Wednesday day night regular season game for a (then) 12 win team.  Sold out!  The crowd stood and cheered during the entire WARM-UP 25 minute shootaround. Then they played the spin-chilling intro clip of KG’s best MN moments and everybody lost their mind like it was a Phish concert after the mushrooms kicked in.  One hefty Mayor Tom Ford clone even took his shirt off and danced around with KG’s name painted on his chest. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have anything meaningful happen on a Timberwolves team.  This felt like the playoffs.  It felt like 2004.  Actually, since Montell Jordan played the halftime show it actually felt like 1995.  “This is how we do it! It’s Wednesday night!”  Maybe next game we’ll get Skee-Lo?

Garnett finished with only five points and eight rebounds in just over 18 minutes, but nobody cared.  This game wasn’t about stats.  KG instantly changed the culture of this team.  He barked on the court, on the bench and during time-outs.  He whipped the crowd into a frenzy.  People were literally chanting “KG!  KG!  KG!” in the streets outside the Target Center afterward.  I’m pretty sure he inspired the conception of 10,000 Minnnesotan babies last night.  I think I had a baby on my own just from being there.  I will name him “We Love You, Kevin”.


Seeing KG do the old chest-fist bump in a Wolves uniform only caused me to have 9-10 sporadic nostalgic conniptions.

Yes, I’m aware that we are still a 13 win team and don’t have a shot in the world at the playoffs.  Us Timberwolves fans haven’t had a lot to cheer about the last ten or so years.  It’s been a sad, confusing parade of blunders and disappointments.  Derrick Rose’s knees have been more promising.  But just for a little bit, maybe even just one night, we were perfect.

MAY have been a little typo here.

MAY have been a little typo here.

Speaking of Derrick Rose, next up we play the Bulls in Chicago on Friday night.  The Bulls are one of the few teams that can rival us for tortured fanbases.  Except they have six rings and when they fall apart they still make the playoffs.  Go ahead and look for the world’s smallest violin in Pau Gasol’s Brillo Pad beard.



I am disproportionately excited about Kevin Garnett returning to Minnesota.  My wife even told me she doesn’t think I was this happy on our wedding day.  I had to take a Tylenol PM last night just to fall asleep before 4am.

People who don’t follow basketball or the Timberwolves just don’t get it.  “What’s the big deal?  He’s a shell of his former self.  He’s 95.  Why not sign Betty White’s mom too?”  I don’t care if Kevin Garnett had dementia, progeria and lost both his arms and legs from diabetes.  I would push him out there on a skateboard myself.  Don’t you see?  He came back to us.  The greatest superstar in our history.  The only superstar in our history.  A giant with whom we slogged through 12 years of pain, triumph, loss and glory.  Our identity.  And he chose to come back.  Because he loves us and we love him.  We never stopped loving him.  He’s the Prodigal Son returned.  Quick!  Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it.  Let’s have a feast and celebrate!  

I told you I was disproportionately excited.

Let’s get something out of the way here:  KG is not going to average 25 and 12.  He’s been playing 20 minutes a game for the Nets this year and averaging 6.8 points and 6.8 rebounds.  Who knows if he’ll even play 2/3 of the remaining 30 games?  That’s not what bringing Kevin Garnett back is about.  The Big Ticket is all about the big picture.  Here’s what Kevin Garnett will do for us now and in the future:  He will provide much needed leadership and competitive nature in the locker room and the bench.  He will help guide Andrew Wiggins into superstardom.  He will yell at Anthony Bennett for eating gravy-covered, fried Twinkie pancakes during halftime.  He will scare everybody into having pride.  And then he will retire a Wolf, transition into a front office job and buy the team from Glen “Cosby Sweater” Taylor as a minority owner.  He will be a fucking beast.

And he might just save our franchise.

No pressure, KG.

Next up we play the Phoenix Suns tonight at home.  Garnett will NOT be joining the team in time for this game, so no need for me to show up at the Target Center in my full-size KG adult footsie.  Yet.

Welcome back, Real Kevin.


Photo from

Photo from

Supposedly, this was a really exciting All-Star Weekend.  Apparently Steph Curry made 13 straight shots to win the Three Point Contest.  I guess Andrew Wiggins got MVP in the Rising Stars Challenge.  Rumor has it that Russell Westbrook stopped dressing like Urkel for long enough to win the All-Star Game MVP on 41 points.  I wouldn’t know, because my brain has been melted into anesthesia because of this:

Holy Mary Mother of Jordan, did you see that?  There are coked-up kangaroos that can’t jump that high.  They need to check those shoes for illegal Flubber!  How can a human do this?  I can’t even tie my shoes without grunting and peeing a tiny bit.  The only way he’ll be able to top this next year is if he does 30 cartwheels in a row while on fire.

And he wasn’t even done yet.  He had three more mind-benders:

Admit it, you haven’t cared about the Slam Dunk Contest in years.  They’ve paraded out a long line of lame rookies and future D-Leaguers.  I think they let Paul McCartney do it in 2010.  When a star does do it, it’s only because they got paid $1,000,000 to jump over a Kia hood or wink and eat a Johnsonville Brat off the backboard.  Weak, weak, weak.

But Zach LaVine changed all that faster than Allen Iverson can ruin a bowling night.  He didn’t use any props and he didn’t yell “State Farm!” midair.  He just used good, old-fashioned, unearthly hops.  And a star was born.  Now, as Timberwolves fans, we aren’t going to tell anybody that at this point LaVine doesn’t know how to pass or hold onto the ball or understand plays.  That’s our little secret.  Right now the league’s fans think that between Wiggins and LaVine we have the next Durant/Westbrook.  Bless their souls.  Join the bandwagon, people!  Trust me, there’s lots of room!

Next up the Wolves play the perennially 9th seeded Suns in Phoenix on Friday.  The trade deadline is the same day.  Will Goran Dragic even be around by then?  Will the Timberwolves trade for the Papa Smurf version of Kevin Garnett?  Will Zach LaVine try and wear his Space Jam jersey every game from now on?  Tune in and see.  Go Wolves!

Great Sprewell’s spinning rims!  The Minnesota Timberwolves are healthy!  We haven’t been injury-free since Troy Hudson’s first rap album.  I don’t know what this feeling is.  For the last umpteenth years we’ve been able to blame everything on injuries.  Lost a game?  Ricky hurt his ankle.  Didn’t make the playoffs?  Kevin Love broke his hand.  Didn’t find a parking spot at the Target Center?  Oliver Miller wrecked himself pooping.

But now we’re uninjured.  And the irony is it’s probably going to hurt us.  I’m convinced that we are a slightly below .500 team when healthy.  However, there is a person named Jahlil Okafor that we want and we need loser-loser lottery ping-pong balls to get him.  What to do?  How do we tank without looking blatantly sad and lonely like Philadelphia?

I have a few secretly sad and lonely ideas:

This bastard better be good. Photo from

This bastard better be good. Photo from

1) Play Zach LaVine a bunch –  Zach LaVine is the “Beats By Dre” of basketball.  He looks good, but when you hit play it’s just a bunch of expensive rattling.  LaVine holds onto the ball about as well as a newborn golden retriever with a wet bar of soap.  Statistics have shown that we’d play better with a makeup-less, pantless Gene Simmons than Zach LaVine.  We get points for building hype/fanbase with Zach’s crazy jumping and get one ping-pong ball closer to a number one pick that’s not from Canada.  Win-win.  And by that I mean losing.

2)  Drug Flip Saunders on the bench – Not like a ton.  I don’t want any accidental overdoses here.  But look at Flip’s eyes.  You can’t tell me he doesn’t eat a brick of weed at least twice a week.  Put some salvia in his Gatorade cup.  That stuff’s supposed to make you go bat-shit for five minutes at a time.  Perfect!  Just enough to mess up a few plays here and there and spoil the game.  Maybe we’ll even get some bonus video of a half-there Flip pawing at Sam Mitchell’s face “Face-Off” style.

3) Falsely accuse owner Glen Taylor of being senile and imprison him in a 50s style insane asylum – Taylor will live out the rest of his days drooling, playing checkers with David Kahn and being forced to watch draft footage of him selecting Jonny Flynn over Steph Curry until the apocalypse comes.  This actually won’t make our team any worse but I just think it’s something that he deserves.

Two games ago we played the best team in the league, Atlanta.  Then we played the second best team, Golden State.  Next we play the 1992 Dream Team, Pac-Man after eating his roid pills and Jesus.  Go Wolves!

Ricky Rubio has returned!

Yeah, we lost again.  Whatever.  Like Dwight Howard being a douche-canoe, it’s to be expected.  But we were actually competitive for the first time in a long time.  And if we’re going to lose, I’d rather lose with amazing highlights like this and this and this AND THISSSSSSSSS!

You can’t really see what Rubio brings to the table unless you watch Timberwolves games regularly.  Admittedly, at this point the only people doing that are me, Ricky Rubio’s sister, Crunch and Zach LaVine.  I’ve seen things maaaaaan.  Dr. Seuss-y things.  I saw him twist a Kip-Kap Blommer into a fuzzle-buzzle.  You’d know if you watched.

Ricky still needs help though.  They say the NBA Lottery is rigged.  If so, what do we have to do to get a #1 up in this bitch?  Here’s some bribe ideas to toss NBA Commissioner Adam Silver’s way:

1) Get his hair did:

Perhaps a nice Jamaican Rasta look to tell the other league commissioners "I got my groove back!"

Perhaps a nice Jamaican Rasta look to tell the other league commissioners “I got my groove back!”

2) Get David Stern to do his famous “Levitate a basketball by doing my cat impression” trick: 


3) Free Tinder advice from Chase Budinger: 


Brah, brah.  First I swipe right.  Then I tell them I’m Brian Scalabrine.” 

Next up we play the Heat on Wednesday in Miami.  I look forward to hearing their nine remaining fans sing that awful White Stripes song.  Go Wolves!