Posts Tagged ‘jimmy butler’


I’m convinced that God hates Minnesota.

Maybe it’s because we have a town named Odin?  Maybe he hates the Mall Of America because having four magnet stores is the modern day Tower of Babel?  Maybe he thinks Atmosphere is wack?  All I know is that the Minnesota Timberwolves are 27-16 right now and we can’t jinx this shit by acting like we’re all fancy pants.

Whenever a Minnesotan thinks we’re doing all right, we get the rug pulled out from under us.  Think 2004 Wolves, think 2016 Vikings, think season 2 of the TV show “Vikings”, think Prince after the Batman soundtrack because fight me that shit was awesome, think me in yoga class when I finally got crow pose and then fell on my face and possibly farted.  We haven’t had this good of a record since I had hair and I’ve been bald for a really long time.  If we screw this season up I’m gonna lose my eyebrows from stress and then how am I supposed to act surprised when Shabazz Muhammad passes the ball?

So I’m gonna take one for the team.  Literally.

We suck.

We deserve to lose and surely this is not reverse psychology towards God and the universe.  Jimmy Butler?  Dude’s horrible.  We’d be better off with that Finnish guy who looks like Screech.  Karl-Anthony Towns plays Twitch so much because he’s trying to drown out the voices that tell him to strangle baby ducks.  Andrew Wiggins is the Defensive Player Of The Year (<— reverse psychology inside of reverse psychology, bitches!) and has a really gross smile.  Taj Gibson is LAZY.  Tyus Jones is actually from Des Moines.  Jamal Crawford is afraid to shoot because all of his tattoos are fake and they might smudge off when he moves.  Jeff Teague voted for Trump.  Gorgui Dieng’s arms are physically incapable of leaving his hips while running (this one’s actually true).  Marcus Georges-Hunt hates “Gorgeous Gorgui” because he thinks HIS nickname should be “Gorgeous Georges”, which does make more sense phonetically, but SCREW THAT LOCKER ROOM POISONER!  Belly doesn’t shovel his sidewalk in the winter and just puts down salt that hurts your dogs.  Cole Aldrich hates “Mighty Ducks”.  Aaron Brooks puts “Smooth Move” herbal laxative tea in Shabazz Muhammad’s Gatorade and it doesn’t matter because Shabazz plays three minutes a game.  Justin Patton and Anthony Brown are conspiracy theories made up by Kyrie Irving.  Tom Thibodeau is just a tree stump that someone drew a face on.  And all Timberwolves fans think Nikola Jokic is better than Towns, miss David Kahn and Kurt Rambis dearly and can’t wait until the most exciting thing at the Target Center is the Cherry Berry give-away again.


You’re welcome.

Up next we play the Knicks in Minneapolis, where we’ll surely lose because we really screwed up by getting rid of Michael Beasley.



“My name is Mike Brody and I’m a diehard Minnesota Timberwolves fan.

That really feels like an AA introduction.  Actually, being a Wolves fan is a lot like being an alcoholic. Years of crying, frustration, denial and blame followed by moments of clarity and giving up.  Then the relapses.  ‘This year’s going to be different!’  Sure it is.  Just keep telling yourself that while you pee your pants at Denny’s.”

Those were the first words I ever posted on this blog over five years ago and on the surface the situation feels eerily similar.  We were 5-3 at the time (we are 7-3 right now) and about to play the Golden State Warriors (we play the Dubs Wednesday).  However, there is not a single Timberwolf (coaching staff or player) left from that era.  The only thing still the same is owner Glen Taylor, the fans, DJ Mad Mardigan and an ensuing sense of dread that something horrible and beyond our control is going to come along and ruin everything.  In 2012-13 it was Kevin Love’s stupid broken hand and the infamous, bullshit “knuckle push-ups”, which we all know was him punching someone at Augie’s because they didn’t notice he had 74 rebounds in a game we lost by 45.

This year is actually for real different, though.  The ensuing dread is there, make no mistake.  But this time it’s muscle memory, not the inevitable.  And there is one reason and one reason alone.  Not Andrew Wiggins, not Karl-Anthony Towns and not because they got rid of the pig pee troughs that made you get someone’s ocean spray on your trousers/shoes/beard.

No, the reason this year is different is because of Jimmy G. Buckets Esquire.

I won’t even go into his stats.  Yes, his numbers are off the charts low this year.  Sorry, your fantasy league is fucked.  I don’t care.  Numbers do not apply to Jimmy G.Q. Buckets.  Jimmy is like a Minnesota winter day, where the thermometer says 25 degrees but we all goddamn know it’s -10 with the wind chill.  Mr. Buckets is the reason your nose hairs are frozen the second you walk outside.  He’s that sound the snow makes when it’s so cold it feels like you’re stepping on Styrofoam.  You can’t quantify this shit.

We’ve never had a player like this since Kevin Garnett.  Kevin Love was more concerned about his “Numbers”.  Ricky Rubio tried so hard but ultimately was like an adorable Red Bull flugtag in a 747 race.  Al Jefferson did whatever Al Jefferson did.

This feels different.  I had nosebleed seats at the Target Center during the Hornets game and average Minnesotans in camouflage up there were getting excited.  These people rub deer urine on themselves on purpose.  It’s happening.

Thank you, Jimmy GG Allin Buckets.

Next up we play Golden State in Oakland.  Maybe two of their players will get hurt and we’ll only have to go up against the other two top 15 players in the league?

Go Wolves!!!


Darren Collison, Karl-Anthony Towns

(AP Photo/Jim Mone)

Well, that was some sad sack shit.

The Minnesota Timberwolves just got their nipples handed to them 130-107 by the headless husk of the Indiana Pacers, without Myles Turner, at HOME.  There are few words that accurately describe how embarrassing and disheartening this loss was.  Discommodious?  Unpropitious?  Timberwolvesian?

Yeah, we didn’t have Jimmy Butler, who was out with an upper respiratory illness and with our luck will be dead by Friday.  However, that doesn’t account for how bad we were without ONE player.  If we are going to make the Western Conference Playoffs for the first time since “The Notebook” was released in theaters, then we cannot lose games like this.  We have to be perfect from now on.  We have to go back in time and win every single game since 1989.  We have to steal Michael Beasley’s weed, convince Stephon Marbury that Minneapolis is China and then sign David Kahn up for adoption to Charles Lindberg circa 1912 or whenever he was born.  That’s how perfect we have to be.

How is it that year after year, no matter who the players or coaches are, we are still the same lousy Timberwolves?  We are like the town from “It”, where the faces change but the clown remains the same.  There were actually boos at the Target Center last night.  Do you know how hard it is to make Minnesotans boo?  We would rather cut off our fingers and put them in our lutefisk than show emotion in public.  All of our emoticons on our phones are the same blank face.  We booed these punks.  I’m pretty sure someone from St. Cloud is self-flagellating themselves in a closet right now for expressing sentiment in public.


The all-purpose, all-emotion emoticon of Minnesota.

Some of our bandwagon fans this year are probably wondering how us Minnesotans deal with all this year in and year out?  Here’s five quick, easy steps:

  1. Displace your anger –  Push it way, way down.  Don’t address it mentally or verbally.  Let it come out sideways towards your co-workers when they take too long at the copier.
  2. Get depressed – It’s gonna happen anyway due to lack of sunlight and vitamin D during the winter, so why not blame it on things that are out of your control like grown men who can’t achieve mediocrity at the sport they’re paid to play?
  3. Eat – Get fat.  Get real fat.
  4. Next year – Oh man, we’re gonna be good next year.

We play again tonight against the Pistons in Detroit.  Jimmy Butler is out again (RIP J-Buckets).  Let’s win this shit so we can all pretend, in true Minnesota fashion, like last night didn’t happen and everything’s fine.  Repress, rinse, repeat.