Posts Tagged ‘lance stephenson’


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The Minnesota Timberwolves have signed journeyman, famous ear-blower and Dion Waiters soulmate Lance Stephenson to a 10-day contract.  On the surface, this seems like it has no downside.  What can happen in ten days, anyway?  Oh yeah:


Stephenson is a bit of an anomaly.  He seemingly has all the physical talent in the world mixed with the maturity of a third-grader who didn’t get his Fruit Roll-Up.  He’s like Yosemite Sam without any guns or a hat or a home.

And yet, I’m optimistic.  I have to be, I’m a Timberwolves fan.  Optimism is all we have.  Every true Wolves fan is delusionally under the impression that “MAYBE THIS IS IT?”.  Michael Beasley, JJ Barea, Andrei Kirilenko…it always seems good on paper.  And then they smoke themselves silly (and leave an estate sale full of wine stains and decorative eggs), get into fights about who’s the alpha on the team even though they’re 4’2″ and physically crumble like a Russian tea cake someone left on Boris Yeltsin’s radiator.


Lance has a resurgence a la Dion Waiters in Miami and we sign him for the rest of the year.  He continues to blow in LeBron’s ear (because that is awesome).  His former mentor, Larry Bird, is so moved by Lance’s redemption story that he leaves the Pacers’ front office, gets a robotic spine and returns to basketball as a Timberwolves player, beginning our run of 33 consecutive NBA titles.


He accidentally kills Karl-Anthony Towns on Day 3 after bringing an ATV to practice.


Lance will be Lance.  And by that I mean an idiot.  He’ll have a few amazing shots, but mostly will swing his dick around and possibly bring a Nintendo Switch onto the court.  We will sign him for the rest of the year, because we are Minnesota.  He’ll be in China by summer, which is where former Timberwolves go to feel better about themselves.  He’ll average 45 ppg until he blows into Chinese leader Xi Jinping’s ear, after which he’ll spend the rest of his life making LeBron James’ shoes in a basement in Beijing.

Next up we play the Raptors in Minneapolis.  Screw you, Toronto!  You’ll never get Maple Jordan back!



Paul George attempts to dunk over Ronny "The Happiest Journeyman Ever" Turiaf.  Photo by Mike Brody.

Paul George attempts to dunk over Ronny “The Happiest Journeyman Ever” Turiaf. Photo by Mike Brody.

Boy, how a few years can make a difference.

The last time I went to a Pacers-Timberwolves game in Minneapolis the place was so empty, I could have walked to half-court and asked to play.  I think half the people there were accidentally there for a Rod Stewart concert.  We lost.  This time around, the Pacers are arguably the best team in the league, the place was mostly full, and we won!  And most people cared!  (Except the two girls next to us who were there for a Rod Stewart concert.)

I love going to see the games live, because you notice things that you don’t on TV.  Such as:

– Corey Brewer starts leaking out for the outlet pass almost immediately.  It’s crazy to see in person because the camera is usually still on the players near the ball.  Most players practice free throws or three pointers.  I think Brewer just practices his lizard run.

Corey Brewer leaks out for another fast break. Photo from National Georgraphic.

Corey Brewer leaks out for another fast break. Photo from National Georgraphic.

– Without announcers, it’s easy to not notice everything that Kevin Love does.  I knew he had a good game, but I was shocked when I realized he had 42 points and 16 rebounds.  It’s productive and dull at the same time.  He’s like watching a really bland vanilla machine make more vanilla than anybody’s ever made.

– Conversely, Lance Stephenson is a freaking maniac. The man is all over the place.  He’s Indiana’s JJ Barea. Dribbling side-to-side, yelling, complaining, flopping around.  At one point I think he set up an omelet bar on court.  The dude is all bravado and NYC swag and I’m not sure if he’s the next superstar or the worst player in the league. He had ten points.

– Ricky Rubio tied the franchise record with 17 assists last night.  He also got hit on the top of his noggin and I swear every woman in the audience’s mother/girlfriend impulse kicked in immediately.  Women were instinctively reaching for band aids and looking for blankets to swaddle Ricky in.  That man is so adorable.  He’s like a Spanish baby who likes to share.

– Crunch is a pimp.

Photo by Mike Brody

Crunch and the Rod Stewart girls. Photo by Mike Brody

Next up, we play the Jazz in Utah.  Okay, Utah, you don’t like us and we don’t like you.  But you’re tanking and we’re trying to make the playoffs.  So how’s-about you lose and we win and we’ll both celebrate over RC Cola or whatever soda company the Mormon church bought even though they’re not supposed to drink caffeine so they changed the rule to HOT caffeine.  Phew!

Go Wolves!