Here's the most depressing part about the 2011 Cavs: This might not be as bad as it gets.
Gulp.
Well, maybe we won't lose 48* games in a row ever again, but my point is things are going to be bad for a long time -- and I'm not sure we're all fully realizing this.
(*forecasted)
Someone asked me the other day what I would do if I ran the Cavs. My first plan would be to lock everyone in the Q and burn it down. If, for some reason, that plan didn't work, I would probably trade everybody on the team minus Boobie Gibson and JJ Hickson for draft picks and prospects, Cleveland Indians-style. There's no way to rebuild this other than to totally blow it up and create a completely new basketball team.
Why not keep Varejao? Because he's our only truly valuable asset, and by the time this team is ready to contend again, Varejao will either be in his mid-30s or playing for another team anyway after he leaves as a free agent. Yup - the Cavs are not going to be contenders for at least five years. Minimum.
That last statement caused this text response: FIVE YEARS?!?!
That's when I realized that we in Cavalier land aren't fully accepting our position. We're making jokes about the losing streak, we're making sure to not attend games and we're feeling very, very sorry for ourselves. We're doing our part as fans of the worst team in basketball. But many of us still seem to think that after we pick in the top 3, and maybe make a trade, we're going to be right back in the mix. Call it Post-Dramatic-Success Disorder, or just call it Total and Utter Delusion.
Any time you think to yourself "Well, if we pick an All Star with the No.1 pick, and then use our trade exception to get another decent player ..." go ahead and watch film on Ryan Hollins. That oughta wake you up.
Recent top 2 picks in the league have turned out to be awesome players: Blake Griffin, Derrick Rose, Kevin Durant (maybe even John Wall)-- they are supposed to bolster the argument that any team, including the Cavs, is one player away. Nevermind the Greg Odens, Michael Beasleys, Evan Turners and whomever-came-after-Blake-Griffins of the world; nevermind that even with Blake and Eric Gordon and a rejuvenated Baron Davis that the Clippers still suck; nevermind that none of the projected top 3 picks this year are very inspiring -- with the big-time luck of Cleveland sports, we're bound to get a bonafide superstar with this pick and turn things around quickly! ... Umm, right?
Say we get the Ping-pong ball, and say the dude we draft is a stud, where does that put us?
Let's flashback to 2003. Ping-pong ball, No.1 pick, LeBron James. Effing great, right? It took the Cavs three years just to make the playoffs -with the best player on the planet. Is my five-year-best-case scenario starting to make a little more sense?
We had a great run with a once-in-a-lifetime player. And it's over. Waaaay over. Now we're officially among the Bobcats and the Grizzlies of the world. Not as a stepping stone. Not as a one-year blip on the radar. Most teams that pick near the top of the draft stay in the lottery for quite awhile, and now we're one of those perpetual lottery teams. Is it sinking in?
Actually, forget the Bobcats and the Grizzlies. You know what we are now? The Cavs. That's right. Gilbert can write Comic Sans emails until Antawn Jamison's contract expires, but if he really wants to send a message to the fans, he should reinstall the blue seats, sign one of Shawn Kemp's 15 kids and bring back Whammer. In a way, the Cavs we once knew are long gone, but in another way, they are BACK, baby!
Go Cavs.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Nope. I'm not watching.
Quick story about a 6-year-old boy named Christopher Donald Crowell. The year was 1990. Most of the dumb little boys Christopher Donald's age liked sports, and most of those dumb little boys rooted for the Dallas Cowboys and the San Francisco 49ers. Emmitt Smith folders. Jerry Rice backpacks. And so on. The reason for that? Those teams were good, and dumb little boys are front runners. No one likes to follow a loser, especially not little kids. They're coldly logical at that age.
Like any other dumb little kid, Christopher Donald liked watching sports too, and like most dumb little kids, he didn't fully grasp the concept of rooting for your hometown teams yet. Don't get me wrong, Christopher Donald liked the hometown teams more than most — the Browns, Indians and Cavs were all his favorites, but he also had another football team he rooted for.
That team was the Buffalo Bills.
Yup. Even as a dumb little kid, when the world was new and exciting, and one could choose to root for any team in the world — when the common practice was to follow the Cowboys (3 Super Bowls during that time period) or the 49ers (3 Super Bowls during that time period), young, stupid Christopher Donald chose to root for the Buffalo Bills (4 straight Super Bowl losses).
... Even as a front runner, I lost.
I tell you that to tell you this: I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl this year.
Seriously, what is the point? Someone rationally explain to me why I should watch this game. The Steelers are going to win. It's predestined. And I'm tired of watching the Steelers win. Nothing about it is fun. Getting frostbite on my face would be more fun. Even if they somehow don't win, is there really joy in that? It's not like a loss is going to crush all of those insufferable, black-and-yellow dickheads anyway. They've already won two Super Bowls in the last five years. This is just eating more turkey on Thanksgiving when you're already full. It's gluttonous at this point. I'm tired of it. The whole grotesque affair can go on without me. I hear the Animal Planet is hosting another Puppy Bowl this Sunday — just a bunch of puppies running around for a few hours. Sounds good to me. Everyone's a winner during the Puppy Bowl.
But the Super Bowl is a party! It's an unofficial holiday! Everybody watches it! As a sports fan, you have to, right? If not that, then as an American. Would you skip opening presents on Christmas morning?
Yes. If every time I opened a present on Christmas somebody punched me in the face and told me I was ugly and nobody loved me, I would most definitely skip Christmas. I watch enough of my shitty teams play like shit in every shitty game they play. I see no need to pile on to my misery. I see no need to watch Big Ben Rapelisberger scramble around for first downs on third and long. I see no need to watch Hines Ward's shit-eating smile. I see no need to watch the Pittspuke fans celebrate yet another championship (which STILL puts you one behind Cleveland all time. Suck it.) I don't see a need to watch the Green Bay fans and players celebrate either. Screw them too. Until I see orange helmets on the field, or until the NFL brings back The NFL Championship Game, I'm not watching.
Listen. It's February. It's time to miserably watch my 8-win NBA team lose by double-digits; it's time to wait patiently for my last-place baseball team to take the field; and it's time to study up on the NFL draft. Everything else can go to hell.
Everything except puppies. Go puppies, and Go teams.
Like any other dumb little kid, Christopher Donald liked watching sports too, and like most dumb little kids, he didn't fully grasp the concept of rooting for your hometown teams yet. Don't get me wrong, Christopher Donald liked the hometown teams more than most — the Browns, Indians and Cavs were all his favorites, but he also had another football team he rooted for.
That team was the Buffalo Bills.
Yup. Even as a dumb little kid, when the world was new and exciting, and one could choose to root for any team in the world — when the common practice was to follow the Cowboys (3 Super Bowls during that time period) or the 49ers (3 Super Bowls during that time period), young, stupid Christopher Donald chose to root for the Buffalo Bills (4 straight Super Bowl losses).
... Even as a front runner, I lost.
****
I tell you that to tell you this: I'm not going to watch the Super Bowl this year.
Seriously, what is the point? Someone rationally explain to me why I should watch this game. The Steelers are going to win. It's predestined. And I'm tired of watching the Steelers win. Nothing about it is fun. Getting frostbite on my face would be more fun. Even if they somehow don't win, is there really joy in that? It's not like a loss is going to crush all of those insufferable, black-and-yellow dickheads anyway. They've already won two Super Bowls in the last five years. This is just eating more turkey on Thanksgiving when you're already full. It's gluttonous at this point. I'm tired of it. The whole grotesque affair can go on without me. I hear the Animal Planet is hosting another Puppy Bowl this Sunday — just a bunch of puppies running around for a few hours. Sounds good to me. Everyone's a winner during the Puppy Bowl.
But the Super Bowl is a party! It's an unofficial holiday! Everybody watches it! As a sports fan, you have to, right? If not that, then as an American. Would you skip opening presents on Christmas morning?
Yes. If every time I opened a present on Christmas somebody punched me in the face and told me I was ugly and nobody loved me, I would most definitely skip Christmas. I watch enough of my shitty teams play like shit in every shitty game they play. I see no need to pile on to my misery. I see no need to watch Big Ben Rapelisberger scramble around for first downs on third and long. I see no need to watch Hines Ward's shit-eating smile. I see no need to watch the Pittspuke fans celebrate yet another championship (which STILL puts you one behind Cleveland all time. Suck it.) I don't see a need to watch the Green Bay fans and players celebrate either. Screw them too. Until I see orange helmets on the field, or until the NFL brings back The NFL Championship Game, I'm not watching.
Listen. It's February. It's time to miserably watch my 8-win NBA team lose by double-digits; it's time to wait patiently for my last-place baseball team to take the field; and it's time to study up on the NFL draft. Everything else can go to hell.
Everything except puppies. Go puppies, and Go teams.
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