Today’s missive is spon sored by the letter “P” — as in “Pivotal.”
If I had a buffalo head nickel for every time the word “pivotal” was/is used leading up tonight’s Game 5, I would have doubled my investment in BP.
The NBA Finals are hammer-locked at two games each for one simple reason: Neither the Lakers nor the Celtics have been able to take charge for more than one late show. That’s because the best their principal performers have been able to do is dominate for two bits, four bits, six bits (at most), but never a whole dollar.
Production of leading men has been so patchy that Kobe Bryant, having clanked three straight springers early in the fourth quarter, snatched Game 3 by turning over the offense for the next six minutes to Derek Fisher.
Renowned for centering playoff-winning smart bombs, this time he provided 11 points, and the drop shots were exceptionally contrary to his normal 3-point, standstill one-dimension.
That’s the first and last time we will ever Fisher out of water like that, I suspect.
On the other hand, the Lakers may not be able to prevail unless there’s an encore. In case you haven’t noticed, Bryant has played nearly 160 minutes in the series — an average just under 40, second only to Pau Gasol’s 172.
That’s fairly tiring when harassed by two and three Celtics (I swear I saw Larry Siegfried in his grill twice), as evidenced by his 40.9 field goal percentage (38-for-93).
I can count the number of Bryant’s open looks on both Lady Gaga’s middle fingers.
Nevertheless, until it’s proved otherwise, that and every other perceived promising trend registered by both teams has been short-lived.
Then again, Andrew Bynum’s sustained right knee problem (required draining Friday) that limited him to 12 minutes in Game 4 turned back the hands of time (shades of ’08 Finals) in Boston’s favor.
Minus Bynum’s 7-foot, hands held high and kept that way following a rebound — just the way John Wooden taught centers at boarding school — how are the Lakers supposed to stop the Celtics from trespassing inland?
“No doubt, everything Bynum brings to the party is very important,” says ABC/ESPN analyst Mark Jackson. “But L.A. still has enough quality big men to compete evenly.”
Except, that Gasol often appeared to punk out when Bib Baby Glen Davis got pushy jostling for offensive rebounds and occupation of the paint. And he’s not the lone member of Boston’s Brute Squad to employ such bullying.
“When Bynum is unable to go Kendrick Perkins gets reassigned to Pau and softens him up with body blows,” says Jackson, notified Friday by general manager Rick Sund that Hawks’ assistant Larry Drew had been chosen as the team’s head coach. “That allows Kevin Garnett to cover Lamar Odom, a matchup that favors him because of his length.
Of course, Gasol’s recourse is to make Perkins guard him on the perimeter where he’s vulnerable to being taken off the dribble, or have jumpers stuck in his Bernard King-replica game face.
“Interesting that Pau punches [Kevin] Garnett’s Ticket on defense, but freezes up against Davis,” offers column contributor Ray Negron.
Bewildering that Phil Jackson hardly uses undaunted Josh Powell (a mini Glen Davis) and never calls on bruiser D.J. Mbenga, it says here.
As for Lamar Odom, he’s looking awfully lazy of late, as his 30 points, 21 rebounds and 19 fouls attests — hellooooo, anybody home? Odom might want to think about raising his intensity to Davis’ altitude and attitude. He let too many Celtics shove him out of the way in Game 4 (all series) or got out of their way far too often.
What, too chilled to take a charge?
Odom’s most flagrant peccadillo was standing still and tall rather than coming to the ball when Bryant passed out of a double team with 30-something seconds left in the fourth quarter — unlike on-the-move Rajon Rondo, who converted the steal into Bryant’s seventh turnover and cemented the victory (94-86).
So, take these sage words of wisdom going into Game 5 of this max prize mini-series — anyone that says they know what’s going to happen is either a liar or a Van Gundy,
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For months now I have argued with myself whether Davis’ pros “outweighed” his cons.
This past summer, I felt the competition was unfathomably remiss for not trying to pilfer his nimble posterior from the Celtics, who were averse to putting too much bread in his jar.
Eventually, Davis, a restricted free agent, had no choice but to accept Boston’s chickenfeed contract — $3 million per over two seasons. Granted, he’s colossally over the calorie cap, yet how is it possible, I quacked, not a single team thought he was worth at least double that in terms of years and yards?
I mean, we’re talking about someone who had proved conclusively that he was all heart, no flutter in must-score playoff conditions.
Then, all too abruptly, it became apparent why teams deemed Bib Baby off limits. He broke his hand in a fight with a former LSU buddy during a car ride argument and missed a third of the season.
It took months for Davis to work himself back into freighter shape and Doc Rivers’ good graces, as well as regain teammates’ trust.
After Game 4, I was back to square one — disparaging 29 teams for missing out on the motherload. Effective throughout much of the playoffs, Davis was two hands full in the fourth quarter when his contribution reached a crescendo — notching half of his 18 points as the Celtics’ nuclear subs (36-to-18 points vs. L.A.’s understudies) torpedoed the Lakers’ luxury liner, 96-89.
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As much as I would love to overlook Nate Robinson’s dozen-point donation in 17 minutes the rising free agent deserves credit. IncrimiNate is just what a team wants, a bastard-sized Rasheed Wallace.