Dear Chicago Bulls Fans,

You’ve probably noticed the rash of injuries our team has endured this postseason. This plague seems to have touched nearly every member of the roster and as such, almost everyone has gotten to play more minutes. Everyone that is, except me. I’ve written this letter to confess to all of you: I am 100% responsible for these injuries. Every bruised shoulder, strained calf, case of the flu, and plantarized fascia…it was all me. I did all of these horrible things and as a result, ruined the Bulls’ chances of advancing in the playoffs. I did it all for one simple reason: I want to play more than you can imagine. As you can see, I’m willing to do anything I can to get in the game.

Before we continue, I need you all to know I had absolutely nothing to do with Derrick Rose’s injury. I know you probably don’t believe me given the fact that I’ve just confessed to a plethora of misdeeds, but I assure you, I have an excellent alibi. The night he got hurt, I was in Boston playing for the Atlanta Hawks. Plus, it’s pretty clear to me Reggie Rose was behind Derrick’s injury. Like E from Entourage, the man is trying to build a brand.

Read the rest at BallerBall

 

Editor's Note: This is my first piece for Hardwood Paroxysm. HP is The New Yorker of ESPN's Truehoop Network. Enjoy!

Gunners. Players who do nothing on offense but shoot and score. When they’re on, we love to watch them. When they’re off, we love to hate them. And all the while, advanced stats tell us they do more harm than good. But sometimes advanced stats take the fun out of the game. Sometimes a guy chucking off-balance 20-footers is more fun to watch than ruthless efficiency. Love ‘em or hate ‘em, gunners have a place in the NBA.

But who is the biggest gunner of them all? How do we rank and quantify the “achievements” of those whom advanced stats have sought to expose? I give you the Gunner Rating.

Gunner Rating = (% of possessions ending in a missed FG) – (Assist Rate) – (Offensive Rebound Rate)

Read the rest at Hardwood Paroxysm

 

Hannibal
Editor's Note: Summer is nearly here. Basketball season is nearly over. It's time for the Spectavius pendulum to swing back to movies and TV. Please accept our sincerest apologies those of you who read this site for stuff ofther than sports. We promise this summer will not let you down.

Hipster Menu Description (HMD) of Hannibal: The bad guy from Casino Royale, Morpheus, cruelty-free radicchio, Mr. Claire Danes, Prosciutto, murderous dream sequences, Top Chef-quality cannibalism, emmenthaler, and absolutely no fava beans or chianti.

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The following is an excerpt from a piece I wrote for ESPN TrueHoop's Valley of the Suns:

There is a reason most former players spend a decade or more as an assistant before becoming a head coach. To be effective, they have two cross two boundaries – one internal, one external. Internally, they have to divest themselves of their desire to play – not their desire to win and compete, just their desire to play. Coaches who were once players were almost always the type of players who gave 110% every night. This is definitely true of Hunter. Often that prevents players-turned-coaches from being able to understand, connect with, and get through to players who don’t give that type of effort. The problem that arises is that players who don’t always give maximum effort are the ones who need the most coaching. Former players turned coaches have to internally transition from being disappointed with those players to taking on the challenge of motivating them. Hunter’s comments in this piece by Kevin Zimmerman make it clear he is was still in the former state of mind.

The external boundary former players turned coaches have to cross is in the eyes of the players. Some guys in the NBA will respect whoever sits in the first seat on the bench because he’s their coach, and that’s how they roll. Others won’t respect a coach until he earns it. In the NBA, coaches earn respect with consistency, fairness, and above all, winning. Hunter, by all accounts, was consistent and fair. But the Suns were horrible this season. Hunter’s 12 wins didn’t gain him any respect.

Estadio_Azteca

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I’m going to get this out of the way up front: this is a column about soccer. I make that pronouncement because A) the title is a bit ambiguous to non-soccer fans and B) tricking a soccer hater into reading a soccer column is a good way to get your ass kicked. For those of you about to close this page and return to Facebook to stalk the hot girl from your office, I urge you to give me just a few minutes of your time. I understand soccer hate, and I wouldn’t presume to judge you for it.

The United States played a match in Mexico City last night. It was one of 10 matches the team will play as they chase World Cup qualification. The final score was 0-0. How you feel about this match perfectly sums up how you feel about soccer as a sport. Guaranteed. There are four possible reactions to last night's game.

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When I was a boy, I wanted so badly to be a superhero. More specifically, I wanted to be one of the X-Men. I had my name and powers all picked out.

Mutant Dossier #21785

Name: Ryan Weisert

Power: The ability to copy anyone or anything. The subject can imitate any person’s voice. He can also copy digitally encoded objects such as credit cards, security keys, and compact discs.

Secondary Power: The ability to fly.

Clearly my powers would have been more useful in an Ocean’s Eleven-style heist than in a battle against Magneto, but nevertheless, I held out hope that one day superpowers would come to me.

They never did.

Eventually girls became more interesting than my desire to be a mutant and my dreams faded into memories.

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