Jannero Pargo does an impression of Kobe Bryant, then buys a suit

In a practice for his new team, Olympiakos, Jannero Pargo launches in a spontaneous Kobe Bryant impression, looking every inch the exact replica of his former teammate. Apart from missing the uncontested 6 incher.



In more delicious Jannero Pargo news, here is Jannero Pargo buying a suit. This clip is notable for the fact that it depicts Jannero popping his smile cherry when struck by his own radiance, as well as for another impression of his, when he briefly lapses into The Robert De Niro Face at the 1.07 mark:



Kudos to the original film maker for being able to book Borat for the voiceover, and to Jimmy Lee Farnsworth for bringing its joyful pointlessness to my attention.

Insert Intricate Wordplay

In the unlikely event that you hadn't noticed, defense wins championships.

In the 6 games of this NBA Finals series, the Celtics ran about 2 perimeter isolation plays, not including ones at the end of quarters. They didn't need to run any. The offense took care of itself from running only the simplest stuff. All they had to do was push the ball off of Laker misses and turnovers, occasionally post up Kevin Garnett, have the shooters run to the wings on the break, and keep setting screens. As well as let Ray Allen shoot open threes.

The defense is what won it. (By the way, I feel like I'm telling you what you already know with this post, but oh well. I feel obliged to write something amateur. I'd speculate about why Jackson left Lamar Odom in, but I can't be bothered.) L.A.'s offense was contained with relative ease. The only times the Lakers could get the ball in the paint in the last three games were on entry passes to Pau Gasol, and Pau's options from there were limited to the extra-pass, the re-feed, or staggering to the rim like a drunk pre-teen girl looking for some balls to fumble. They became nothing more than a turnover, a shot clock waster, and a back rimmer respectively (giggidy) as Boston routinely denied the Lakers every option possible from their multi option playbook.

Kobe Bryant could not get to the rim. The best player on the planet at contorting his body and knifing his way through holes that the defense did not know they that had left, suddenly found a defense that hadn't left any. All but a handful of Bryant's points came from contested jumpshots, a resource which dries up eventually, no matter how good you are at plundering it. Whenever the Lakers attempted to make the skip, extra or entry passes that Boston made so routinely, a turnover ensued, as a Celtic defender always managed to get a hand in the way. Not a single thing came easy. And that's how it should be. The Lakers defense had no such boast. Instead, they had Vladimir Radmanovic.

Boston wins the NBA title while starting a point guard who passes up layups, a centre whose shooting range is as long as his right forearm, and a primary backup big who can't get his layups above rim height. Three of their top seven players can be doubled off of. And they won anyway.

This is the mock-up with which to style your team, even if Danny Ainge's methodology in doing so was decidedly fucked up. Get yourselves some athletes, who know the meaning of defensive rotation. Then teach them how to make jumpshots like Ray Allen.

Congratulations to the Celtics on the most bipolar 24 months in NBA history. It's nice to see you finally get rewarded after being such a historically barren franchise. I will now ooze maximum resentment towards a team that I don't especially like, but one that I respect highly, and whom thoroughly deserve the crown of the best team in the NBA. Contrived celebrations all around.



Alternative post: 39 POINTS??? 39 POINTS?????

39 POINTS?????

You shitting me?

Now someone quickly Youtube Garnett's "interview" with Michelle Tafoya. God invented the internet for this reason.

Highlight of game 4

Coming back from commercials to start the fourth quarter, ESPN ran a Doc Rivers Totally Enthused Moments Montage. Firstly, to his team in a timeout:

"We got to keep fighting! We GOT to keep fighting!"

Secondly, to his team in a post-timeout huddle:

"Do you belieeeeeveeee???"

Thirdly, while smacking Kevin Garnett on the arse as he is subbed out of the game:

"Never stop believing, baby."

---

Immediately following this montage, ESPN cut to Michelle Tafoya interviewing Phil Jackson. The following slightly paraphrased exchange ensued, with Jackson using strangely slurred speech.

Tafoya: What happened back there in the third quarter?
Jackson: I don't know, what happened?

........

Tayofa: What did you do wrong in the third quarter, and what will you change to start the fourth?
Jackson: It was just momentum.

........

Tafoya: Do you think you can come back?
Jackson: It's momentum. It will change.

Strange times.

Jackson was wrong. It didn't change. You could argue that he handled the interview in a way that defines his calm, unflustered, and extremely experienced nature in situations such as this. But all it did was ooze complacency. And, as Detroit Pistons will tell you, complacency loses.

Say what you like about Doc Rivers as a coach. He has his flaws, and Bill Simmons will happily document them for you. But that clichéd motivational shit worked.


Other highlights include: Sam Cassell's contuned decline towards borderline insanity, P.J. Brown's airball/poster dunk dichotomy, everything Kobe Bryant did, the spectacularly bad fourth quarter play of Pau Gasol, and me feeling slightly vindicated about my earlier opinions on Trevor Ariza just to then watch as Jackson didn't go back to him in the fourth quarter.

Go Lakers.....maybe.

NBA Finals Anal

By unpopular demand, I won't talk about baseball. Instead, I'll talk about basketball. I shall retread the observations of the hundreds of other writers who are covering the subject, while adding no unique spin. It's how we roll around here.

---

1) There's no reason why Lamar Odom shouldn't be able to defend Kevin Garnett better than he does. None whatsoever. He has the length to bother his jumpshots as well as anyone can bother them, the athleticism to prevent any easy drives to the basket, and the reasonable man to man post defense to cope with the rare times that Garnett plays back to the basket. But he doesn't do it that well. And not only does he struggle at it, but he doesn't do it much at all, as Pau Gasol seems to end up with the assignment a lot of the time. This doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Also, this is somewhere where Andrew Bynum would come in handy.

2) Something that also doesn't make a lot of sense is Vlad Rad starting and playing as much as he is. I understand the Lakers need for shooting and spacing. I do. But Radmanovic is spectacularly bad in all other aspects of the game. (His rebounding numbers in this series have been quite good, but try and think of a single Radmanovic rebound. You can't - they were all gimmies that his replacement could have gotten, too.) And when you're matched up agaisnt a team that starts Ray Allen, Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett at the 2-3-4 spots, you're left with the unattractive prospect of having Radmanovic guarding one of those three, particularly when Kobe Bryant spends so much time on Rajon Rondo. And Radmanovic just can't bloody do that. Leave him in as a token starter if you must, but don't actually PLAY him. Trevor Ariza can't shoot, but he still needs these minutes. Note - this is also a situation where Andrew Bynum would come in handy, as Radmanovic wouldn't be a starter.

3) This is more of a general point than a Finals specific point, given his performance thus far, but people should probably stop calling the "Celtics Big Three" by that name. Ray Allen never was as good as his two peers, and unlike those two, Ray Allen has also lost something. He's a fine third option to have, but the label "Big Three" implies some kind of parallel between all parties, that everything isequal, and that each is as important as the others. And that's wrong. Maybe they should switch it to Rondo instead.

4) In the fourth quarter of game three, Kevin Garnett hit a long jumpshot, one that boosted his shooting percentage to about 84%. The camera cut to Garnett running back on defense, and showed him puffing his cheeks with gusto, like a man who had just narrowly avoided driving into his own mother. Perhaps there's something in this "Garnett not clutch" thing. (Still, at least it wasn't a fallaway.)

5) Kobe picked up a technical in the first half of game three. At some point in the fourth quarter, when Kobe protested a rather obvious foul call made against him, he complained for a minute, and then walked away. Mark Wunderlich (great name by the way) walked after Kobe, yelling aggressively, almost as if he was goading Kobe into his secodn technical. Am I the only one who saw this? Is this really kosher? It seems unlikely that Wunderlich wanted to T him up given the Donaghy accusations out this week, but still.

6) Last year, Sasha Vujacic couldn't dribble and run at the same time. He couldn't shoot, pass, play defense, or generally avoid fucking up. Now he's the second best player in the NBA Finals. How the hell did that happen? I will now go grow my hair out long, hone my jumpshot, and give myself an Eastern European girls name. Hi, I'm Martha.

7) Sam Cassell's play in this series is startling, weird, and amusing if you don't like the Celtics. Every time he touches the ball, he winds up shooting it, and whether he hits the shot or not, it wasn't a good one to take. Essentially, Sam Cassell is out there playing like Eddie House.....on a team that also has Eddie House. Strange times. (Insert Anchorman quote beginning "Take it easy, Champ".) Doc Rivers finally figured this out in game three, gave Cassell the quick hook, and let Eddie House himself play the Eddie House role, but not before Cassell had managed to get up 4 shots in 7 minutes. Hooray for heady veteran play!

8) Speaking of heady veteran play, congratulations to P.J. Brown for needlessly starting on Jordan Farmar, travelling, setting moving screens, being unable to get his layups above rim height (that old quandry!) and geenrally doing absolutely nothing worthwhile apart from one frozen rope jumpshot. It was certainly the signing that put the Celtics over the top. And I heartily endorse having P.J. stay out there for 18 minutes in game three doing absolutely nothing worthwhile as Leon Powe watches on the sidelines, wondering quite what the hell he did wrong in game two where he had more points scored than minutes played. I heartily endorse this because I want the Celtics to lose.

9) If James Posey wasn't a malicous dirty drink driving prick, I could totally respect his game. But, as it is, fuck him.

10) At some point in this series, there's going to be a game where the Celtics score 21 in the fourth quarter, and Kobe scores 23 by himself. It may be tomorrow. You need to remember this.

11) You know that thing where a player runs into a cameraman while chasing a loose ball, there's a few seconds of silence as the director whispers into the announcer's ear, and then the announcer (now aware of the man's name) goes on to congratulate the cameraman's professionalism while generally acting all buddy buddy towards a man whose name he didn't know until ten seconds previously? Yeah. We could probably do without this.

12) The announcing crew for these games has been awesome. Mike Breen is the new industry standard, Jeff Van Gundy is FAR better than I ever would have thought possible, and Mark Jackson is a lot more comfortable and less painful when you give him a third guy to work alongside. They have been intelligent, humorous, and fair. The presentation has been good in general, although bear in mind that I don't get to see the ESPN studio lineup with Jon Barry and friends. (Readers note: I'm not unhappy with this, per se, but our replacement English equivalent over here is absolutely God awful. Just trust me on that.) We even managed to get through game three without a single unnecessary Michael Jordan comparison. Good times.

If they could stop the courtside celebrity shots, particularly those of Jack Nicholson, then we're onto a winner.

That is all. Go Lakers.

Kobe Bryant

Today is the day on which it hath been decreed by someone called Matt that NBA fans the world over are to loudly vociferate their rampant and slightly homosexual man-love for Kobe Bryant. Whether or not you like Kobe has been deemed irrelevant - today, we talk about him nicely, for today is the day that the Lakers face Toronto, the team which Bryant obfuscated and subjugated on the way to his Jalen Rose-induced 81 point outing.

(Sorry, I'm just playing with an online thesaurus. I'm also on a bet to try and get "imbibe" (to drink) in this post. And I can't shave Drew Gooden's beard off until it's done.)

You may expect at this point to be swamped with the kind of Kobe-related trivial bollocks (the unsuccessful follow-up to Trival Pursuit) that defines this website. Perhaps you would expect a list of anagrams of Kobe Bryant's name. Or perhaps you would want to see a list of Kobe Bryant lookalikes. Perhaps you would prefer to see an archive of photographs of all the women that Kobe has obfuscated over the years. (By the way, I'm trusting that that word really does mean "dominated".) Perhaps you want to see video clips of him playing, offered up in lieu of any actual written analysis. Or perhaps you just want to see pictures of him looking a bit gay.

Well, as L.A. Clippers fans used to say, you'll ne'er be disappointed if you have only pitiful expectations to begin with. So here are those things.



1) Toby Banker; Bye, rat knob; Nobby taker; Botany Berk; Try-on kebab. (Yeah, they're all crap, what do I care.)

2)

3)

4)


5) ....Oh Christ, there's millions.



Yet, in addition to all of that anti-climactic petulance, today is a day for celebrating the more basketball related facets of basketball, something rarely done around here. (And something never done without wildly overzealous amounts of parentheses.)

This does, however, present a problem. With so many people blogging about the same subject on the same day, it's going to be difficult to find anything unique enough to say. This is a problem that I struggle with a lot, as evidence by the title of this post.

What approach can I take? What can I say that hasn't been said? What angle article will not have been taken? Maybe I could do some comparisons. Is Kobe the best player in the game today? Is he the best thing since Michael Jordan's sliced bread? Will he win another ring without Shaq? Did he rape her? Will he ever win an MVP award?

No. I shan't. These questions have all been done to death. And they're also not very exciting. I need something insightful.

(Answers to those questions, in order: not quite, so far, probably, innocent until proven guilty, don't know or care.)

So, in place of actual thought, effort, graft or insight, I'll turn to the thing that I know best, and what appeals most to the captivated audience of 5 people: My earliest NBA memories.



For those unaware and yet interested enough to have read this far, I am an Englishman. And, like so many of my Englishman peers, I live in England. If you've never been to England, it may or may not come as a shock to you that the sport of basketball here is about as widespread and savoured as the ebola virus, and despite the NBA's unsubtle efforts to liberally daub our nation's fine capital in basketball's highest calibre custard, the sport remains a distinct afterthought, having to compete with Argentinian soccer and The World's Strongest Man for early hours TV coverage. Britain and basketball go together about as well as America with dieting, Damon Jones with humility, Gary Payton with an understanding of the ravages of time, and the French with steely resolve. And your country's basketball outlook would be the same if your national team shamefully boasted the powerhouse high/low post threat of Robert Archibald and Andy Betts.

(Mind you, if Steve Nash and Michael Olowokandi switched their allegiances, we could have one hell of a running game. Just as long as Olowokandi, Betts and Archibald weren't involved.)

In recent times, though, multi-toothed overrated starlet Luol Deng has decided that he wants to be English more than he wants to be Sudanese or American. This decision, which I would imagine to have been about as simple as deciding whether to deliberately contract rabies or not, has led to a renewed interest from all 15 basketball fans left in this country. With Deng obtaining a British passport, with the potential addition of Ben Gordon, and with the British nations combining to form the first ever British basketball team, the sport has a new zest for life over here, as evidenced by the fact that we we now get one game a week (often live, sometimes taped delayed) played at 1am on Tuesday nights/Wednesday mornings. Woohoo!

This wasn't always the case, however. As the incoherent ramblings on the profiles of Austin Croshere and Pat Garrity allude to, our NBA coverage used to be even more limited than this. A Saturday morning magazine show existed in the early to mid 90's, but then disappeared, and for a while there was nothing but tumbleweed. Then, in 1999, a different channel started runnning a half-hour Saturday afternoon magazine show, cleverly called NBA '99, and presented by the lovely Beverley Turner.


In 1999, I was 15 years old. What does a 15 year old boy does at 2pm on a Saturday afternoon, particularly when he lives in the middle of nowhere?

He sits indoors, and channel hops looking for the attractive ladies. Obviously.

This is what I did. I doubt I was alone. (Well, I was alone while I was watching it, but what I mean is I'm sure other people did this too. Maybe.)

What I didn't realise, having never played basketball in school or otherwise, was that I actually quite liked the sport. It only took about 20 minutes for me to realise that I wasn't watching the show for Beverley Turner any more, but for the sport itself. (And that's no slight on Beverley Turner, who we can clearly see is basically perfect.) From there, I became an avid watcher of the sport, recording every magazine show and imbibing (hooray!) every last morsel of NBA coverage that was thrown our way. These morsels were few and far between, but each was savoured more than the last, and I'm not ashamed of the fact that I can remember entire pieces of Kevin Harlan's commentary from the Knicks versus Pacers Eastern Conference Finals series of that season. Which explains my Marcus Camby love.

A new NBA fan was born, and a pathetically keen one at that. It took only the purchase of a copy of Total NBA '96 for the Playstaton to cement a powerful life-long lust towards the art of watching men in shorts run around sweating. (And by "purchase", I mean "borrow from an acquiaintance to whom you have no intention of ever given it back". I still have it.)

Yet only the half-hour weekend magazine show offered any actual coverage. Total NBA '96 could only teach a man so much - its rather antiquated game engine based a player's scoring ability off of their previous season's shooting percentages, which made from great fun halfcourt shootouts between Olden Polynice and Eric Mobley, both of whom went 1-1 on threes the previous season. These were also pre-internet days, if only in this household, and so my entire NBA knowledge stemmed from what I could collate from 3 minute highlight montages of games.

For some bizarre reason, such highlight montages seemed to focus on the usually white bench players. Or at least, that's how I remember them. Despite hiring former Olympic sprinter Derek Redmond as Beverley's co-presenter, purely to meet an ethnic minorities quota, the coverage then focused on the flair plays of not particularly good white guys, such as Croshere and Garrity, or Jason Williams and Vlade Divac. (Except those two were brilliant, obviously.) This trend continued to see out the whole of the 1999 NBA season, and was odd and yet brilliant. (Oh and for all doubters out there, you know Pat Garrity's got flair.)


In 2000, however, the show underwent a couple of changes. Gone was the original title, as the show was now called NBA 2000, the producers mercifully refusing to go for the 2K abbreviation. Also gone was Derek Redmond, as he was no longer needed to fill a black person quota due to the show's inclusion of Michael Olowokandi as a presenter. (I'm not making this up.) While Beverley Turner would hold down all the in-studio work, the three players in the league at that time with English connections - however tenuous - would host their own little pieces to camera, with varying degrees of success. Steve Nash (before he was good) would have a brief segment on record holders throughout the history of the game, Olowokandi (before he was crap) would have a little slot describing some of the rules of the game for those who did not understand, and John Amaechi (before he was gay) had short interviews with Beverley about multiple uninteresting subjects.

If you're wondering why all this is relevant to Kobe Bryant, you'll now find out.

Kobe started getting his own little airtime toward the end of the series, too, in which he chose his own personal favourite starting 5, one per week, and then talked about them to camera for a bit. It was, to those of us whose NBA knowledge was limited to Polynice's three point range and White Chocolate's inevitable superstardom, our first introduction to Kobe Bryant. Kobe chose himself as a sixth man for his list, seemingly leaned on by producers to do so, and immediately following this were some highlights of Kobe's play and highlights of a recent Lakers game.

I liked him.

And there, over 1700 convoluted words in, we finally arrive at my point - I like Kobe Bryant.



I don't need to fake liking him for today, for I already do like him. I know that, as a non-Laker NBA fan, I should dislike him for so many reasons. I know that he's an arrogant little git. I know that I should dislike him for being outrageously good. I know that I should dislike him because of all his endless dick-riders who talk about how fantastic he is at all times, despite this not being his fault. As a Bulls fan, I know that I should dislike him for that whole anti-climactic trade talk surrounding him to open this season, despite that also not being his fault. I should hate him for the fact that he's a massive bastard, and for his constant overexposure to which we are subjected every minute of every day. (Assuming you have dull days, that is.) And, if I were to be as stubbornly intolerant as some of my peers, I'd hate him for the consensual sex outside of marriage that led to an unsubstantiated rape accusation. (Seriously. Some people are still powerfully into that thing. Gotta let that go, you know?)

But I don't hate him. I kind of like him. And I can't explain that.



As an Englishman, you are trained from a young age that supporting the underdog is an enjoyable and infinitely more worthwhile experience. It is a mindset first installed into young minds during Second World War lessons at secondary school, and one that is carried over to the world of tennis, where we turn up at Wimbledon in all our pomp and regalia and then we lose.

This is the reason why I support the Chicago Bulls - having gotten into the NBA in 1999, when Chicago was staple gunned to the foot of the Eastern Conference standings, they seemed like the logical team to support. For those not aware of how this logic works; if you support a team that isn't any good, it's hard to be upset when they lose, because they're supposed to lose anyway. But, if they win, bonus! False hope rules! (Note: The L.A. Clippers were actually worse that year. But, unlike the Bulls, I'd never heard of them. Nor was I entirely sure what haircare products had to do with basketball team names.)

So where does my liking of Bryant stem from, given that it flies in the face of my national identity as a futility chaser? I couldn't say.

Maybe it stems from a lifelong desire to be deliberately obtuse and contrarian.

Maybe I'm totally lusting and gay after him. (NOTE - unlikely, because I'm straight. Thought I should clarify this.)

Maybe his eloquence and surprisingly good humour during his guest spots on NBA 2000 sold him to me.

Maybe I'm just won over by how extremely good the man is.


To be honest, I don't know.

Whatever reason it is, Kobe Bryant has achieved something in this country that has only previously been achieved by Shaquille O'Neal and Michael Jordan. Non-NBA fans - of which there are about 55 million - have heard of Kobe Bryant. (The rape trial helps with this, but play along anyway.) They might not know anything about him, and most of them may spell his name like Kobe Karl's by mistake. Yet they have heard of him. When discussing today's Kobe Celebration Day with a female friend not even remotely interested in basketball, she re-affirmed this point by telling me that she knew who Kobe Bryant was before I'd even asked if she knew of him.

(She then followed up this statement with the seminal sentence, "oh there's that other one, isn't there? Shawn O'Shearer?". Good times. Sorry, Shaq.)

So when you watch Kobe be his brilliant self, and whether this makes your heart a-flutter or your anger arise, remember that you are arguably watching the best basketball player that you will ever watch. Even when he annoys you, be grateful that he makes you care enough to be annoyed by him. Where you want to place him in the all-time hierarchy is an unwinnable debate, so choose your own stance on the issue. But, wherever you place him, you know he's up there. So savour it.

Not just today, but every time he plays, and every play he makes. Because he really is special.




And for the love of God, can someone PLEASE show me where to watch the 81 point game? I still haven't seen it.