The NBA’s Flopping Issue: Imaginary Solutions to a Very Real Problem

LeBron James had just been shot.  Recoiling in agony, his arms flying into the stadium-lit night air, he was assassinated in front of a crowd of 20,000 people.  I immediately began looking for a grassy knoll, eyes bulgingly scanning the crowd for the shooter, and somewhere members of LeBron’s crew probably leapt off their gold-plated chairs screaming into their Bluetooth headsets, “We’ve got a shooter!!!!”

He fell to the ground, tattooed arms instinctively reaching for his undoubtedly gaping exit wound.  Madison Square Garden had just become a gigantic crime scene; a nightmarish scene with thousands of eye witnesses to a brutal, brutal murder.  Nicolas Cage himself may have been the only one who could solve a diabolical murder plot at such a gigantic sporting event.

Then, a miracle!  LeBron was alive.  The Chosen One (*Author’s note: which he has tattooed across his bulging back, in case anyone was going to forget) decided, in that moment, to show us just how chosen he really was.  Like a majestic, 27 PPG-averaging Phoenix he rose from the ashes of certain doom.

He was going. . .to try. . .to. . .walk. . .it. . .off.

Grimacing so mightily he chewed through his mouthguard like it was a soggy slice of a peach, he stood.  The crowd held their breath wondering silently, “Was LeBron about to go all Teddy Roosevelt in this piece?”

He took a few steps, wincing visibly.  I was certain that his spinal cord had been exploded into runny pudding, you know, like the kind that’s been sitting on a buffet line for 4 hours.  I feel certain that I can speak for the entire nation when I say that tears welled up in our eyes as we watched this leviathan courageously attempt to fight through his traumatic injury.

He took a few steps. . .then grabbed wildly at his neck.  I felt certain that he was simply holding his now-decapitated head on with his bare hands and, at any moment, it would come tumbling off like he’d just been guillotined in the French Revolution.

Or at least this is what LeBron James wanted us to believe.

It’s this moving depiction of an injured player trying to fight through the pain — a shtick that’s so laughably overdone that it’s burned to a crisp — as presented by one of the NBA’s great new talents in the acting department that has fired up and pissed off so many NBA fans. 

An operatically dramatic one-man show, LeBron’s antics against the New York Knicks, while they happened a while ago, have stuck with me since.  Not merely because it was LeBron James, the guy who, fairly or unfairly, often times finds the entirety of his 6’8″ frame crammed under a microscope for scientifically thorough examinations but because flopping has become an increasingly problematic part of today’s game.

Moments after the aforementioned charade was done playing out, and it’s air-time was roughly the length of Titanic, LeBron was completely fine.  He stepped to the line and calmly, un-hurt-ly, nailed two free throws.  Occasionally he’d remember to grimace on a trip down the court, but for the most part he was back to doing what he does best: filleting defenses with his insane strength and world-class athleticism.

Here’s a video of a few of his transgressions from the same game that had me more wound up than usual.  In real-time?  It looks like a fairly hard hit.  It was definitely a foul.  But watch when it slows down and we get a frame-by-frame analysis.  (*Author’s note: also, LeBron weighs as much as a defensive end in the NFL, so he should be able to absorb a hard-pick without crumpling to the floor like a too-drunk bachelorette at her own party.  Also, he weighs more than Tyson Chandler.  Just saying.)

That the NBA has a problem with flopping isn’t exactly big news.  People know about it.  Players have reputations that can become inexorably linked to their on-court pantywaist-dom.  It isn’t just the European players, with their alleged soccer-influenced ideas on contact, and it isn’t just futbol that needs to be ridiculed for its Lifetime Movie Network acting jobs.

Blake Griffin does it.  LeBron does it, too.  Two of the biggest stars in today’s game are drawing heat from around the league (*Author’s note: Frank Vogel, the head coach of the Indiana Pacers got fined $15k for pre-criticizing the refs for the bad job in fairly calling fouls on LeBron James.  Not even Phil Jackson, he with the legendary penchant for racking up 5-digit fines, got fined for looking into a crystal ball and bombing on the refs. . .before the game.  That’s how concerned Vogel was about the calls.) for their part in the ongoing epidemic.

So then what?  Do we just grit our teeth, LBJ-in-faux-agony style and hope that the refs figure it out?  David Stern has gone on record about his disdain for the floppagebut has claimed to have his hands tied.  After mulling the problem, and potential solutions, here are a few ideas that I was able to come up with.

1.  A Committee of 5 Flopping Judges Must Be Formed

The committee’s 5-member panel should have: 

–  Two ex-players (guys that know just how detrimental and inexcusable a bad flop is from first-hand experience)

–  A former coach from the league and/or the collegiate ranks,

–  A fan who is appointed by the owners from a selection pool chosen by online voting (campaigning is encouraged, i.e. “I’m the candidate that’s tough on flops!”)

–  A hyper-judgmental tweenage girl, brainwashed from a young age to hate flopping, who will heap an inordinate amount of scorn and eye-rolling at any player she believes she is tougher than.

–  An old man who firmly believes that basketball should be more like it was when they played the games in cages and somehow, through a geographical oddity, did in fact have to walk uphill both ways to school.

These judges would have gametape sent to them to analyze and decide which infractions violated the newly constructed flopping legislation.  They will decide what types of punishment to dole out.  Here are a few ideas.

2.  Punishment, First-Time Offenders

–  Written warning

–  Verbal abuse

–  A literal slap on the wrist

3.  Punishment, 2nd Time Offenders

–  Flopper must publish and leave up for no less than 3 days a grouping of  60 straight tweets stating, “I will not flop.”  The 2012 version of writing on the chalkboard after class.

–  Flopper must pay for a 2-minute Public Service Announcement that airs during the NBA Finals that features slow-motion, high-def replay of their flop and Charles Barkley ridiculing them the entire time.

–  Flopper draws a random season ticket holder’s seat number from a hat and then must carry that person on their back for a TNT-televised suicide windsprint.

4.  Punishment, 3rd Time Offenders

–  Flopper must do a live, pre-game rendition of a James Blunt song to show the crowd how in-touch with his sensitive side he is.

–  Suspension (*Author’s note: I seriously think they should do this.)

–  Fines (*Author’s note: this too.)

–  Flopper will be walked out, hand held, during 10 pre-game introductions by his Mommy and will then be introduced as such: “And now. . . starting as Joakim Noah’s Hairdresser. . .he is a worse actor than the cast of the remake of Beverly Hills 90210 and the only one who “fakes it” worse than he does on the court is his wife in the bedroom. . .”

FIN

A Delayed NBA Midway Review

As we slip further into our mundane and football-less lives, there is one flare shooting brightly through the darkness; a beacon.  Light blazing through the pitch-black firmament and beating back that icy tendril of dread that is the upcoming wasteland known as “baseball season.”

That beacon is basketball.  Cling to it.  Dig your nails into it like Gail Devers and catwoman duking it out.

For now, and only for a brief moment, I’ll pass on talking college hoops.  The blitzkrieg of b-ball that is March Madness is a measly few weeks away.  I’ll get to that later.  However, this year’s NBA season has been a very good one.  Some might argue that, depending on the postseason, this season has been great.  At the very minimum, the storylines from this year have been very good.

Here are the top storylines at the NBA’s official mid-way point:

Blake Griffin

After blowing out his knee prior to his rookie year, NBA fans and pundits weren’t sure what to make of Griffin.  Some worried that he’d lose his explosiveness, the hallmark of his oft-dominant college career.   Some whispered that his promise would be remembered over his on-court exploits.

In case you’ve been sub-letting the basement apartment from someone who lives under a rock: Griffin is breath-taking.  While it’s still too early to stamp his career with inane amounts of praise, I can’t help myself.  He’s Charles Barkley plus P-90X.  He’s Shawn Kemp minus 8 illegitimate children.  I’ve been trying to get my nickname for Griffin to go big time: The Cold War.

When my parents were growing up they frequently had to practice putting their heads down between their legs and crawling underneath their desks which, presumably, could save you from the impending Soviet nuclear carpet-bombing.  Griffin’s savagery at the rim makes people react the same way.

They flinch.  They duck.  They cover.  He’s in the air long enough for people to construct make-shift fallout shelters, grab canned goods and bottled water and head below decks.

The crazy part is: he still has room to improve.  Griffin’s like that fist-sized, uncut diamond that Leo DiCaprio di-Capped all those South Africans for in “Blood Diamond.”  A once-in-a-million find, but still in need of polishing and cutting.

He’s already a very good scorer and elite rebounder — averaging roughly 21 and 12, respectively– and his overall potential for more resides somewhere in the stratosphere.

The West

The 2-time defending champs’ season reads like a failed psychiatric evaluation.  They’re all over the map, riding high early in the season and bottoming out with a loss to the Cavs and a bizarre dude-on-dude perfuming incident in the locker room involving Ron Artest.

(*Author’s Note: Did anyone not expect a sentence involving man-on-man perfuming in the locker room to somehow involve Ron Artest’s crazy ass?)

The Lakers have looked, in turn: disinterested, un-caring, and really tough to beat.  Their body language, which has fluctuated more than Anne Hathaway’s Oscar wardrobe, has ranged from Kobe-Bryant-intense to we-all-just-smoke-Phil-Jackson-personal-stash lax.  In short, they will have to ratchet up their intensity to stay in the hunt.

The Spurs, however, have looked to be every bit the consistent force that the Lakers have not been.  They look fresher and healthier than they have in years.   It’s as if the team jumped into a Delorean stretch-limo time machine and gotten younger.   Manu Ginobili’s bald spot almost looks smaller.  Tony Parker almost looks less divorced to Eva Longoria.  And Greg Popovich looks…well, like Greg Popovich.

Barring a collapse down the stretch, the Spurs look to be extremely tough as the 1 seed come playoff time.

The Oklahoma City Thunder are an almost equally terrifying matchup in the West.  With Serge “Air Congo” Ibaka guarding the paint, Russell Westbrook rapidly developing into an elite-level point guard, and Kevin Durant pushing Carmelo and Kobe for the “best pure scorer” title in many peoples’ minds the Thunder are a force to be reckoned with.

The Dallas Mavericks are also lurking and would present a Marc-Cuban’s-wallet-sized challenge for whomever they draw in the playoffs as well.

The East

With all the Charlie-Sheen-meltdown level of media attention focused on the Miami Heat during the offseason, the Boston Celtics have picked up right where they left off.  Defying age, knee-issues, and my near-constant “Jesus Shuttlesworrrrth!” screams every time Ray Allen hits a trey, they have continued to win.  They’ve done it with a gritty team defense that borders on dirty at times.  Junk-punching dirty.   However, the Celts lost the left jab of their interior 1-2 punch, trading Kendrick Perkins away to the Thunder.

The Miami Heat came into this season with an insane amount of expectations.   With LeBron predicting assinine levels of titles, famously counting on his ringless fingers how many the heat were destined for, and Chris Bosh looking more and more like a velociraptor from the “Jurassic Park” movies, the Heat’s play has finally caught up to the torrid pace their mouths set this offseason.

(*Author’s note: That “Jurassic Park” thing really doesn’t have much to do with the Heat’s season.  But c’mon, man…have you seen Chris Bosh?)

However, before I get too effusive with my praise, here’s a stat to chew on: the Heat have lost only twice all year to sub .500 teams and are 14-16 against squads with winning records.  Pat Riley, anyone?

Not far out of the mix in the Eastern Conference are the Chicago Bulls.   With Derrick Rose’s unparalleled athleticism at the point, and his MVP-caliber performances night in and night out, and the health of their big men getting better day by day the Bulls are as good as they’ve been in years.

Trades

Since this post is rapidly spiraling into “War and Peace” length, I’ll do my best to keep things brief.

The Knicks traded: Raymond Felton, Wilson Chandler, Timofey Mozgov, Mozgov’s translator, Mozgov’s birth certificate to see if he really spelled his first name like that, Spike Lee, the Empire State Building, Saturday Night Live, the entire Mets roster, and their limited edition Knicks seat covers for: Carmelo Anthony and Chauncey Billups.

And the Knicks probably made the right choice.

The last month of the NBA season teams were in full on ho-down, Do-si-Do mode, swapping partners every second and fourth beat.

When the dust cleared ‘Melo was in NYC and Deron Williams, the star point guard from the Utah Jazz, was in New Russia.  I mean New Jersey.  Well, New Jersey with a Russian owner.

In Conclusion

The NBA season has been a fascinating whirlwind of intriguing stories and wild trade deadline shifting.   And the best part is: it’s only going to get better as the playoffs approach.  Keep your eyes peeled and you’re bound to see an incredible finish to the 2011 season.

FIN

Slam Dunk Contest ’11: Improving on the Excitement

The Slam Dunk contest is today.  While you may have already known that, I doubt you know that the mere prospect of that makes me as giddy as an 11-year-old girl getting serenaded by Bieber in 3D.

It’s true.  While there’s a special, disdainful, spot in the most cynical chamber of my heart for most All-Star games (See: My post hating on the Pro-Bowl) I love everything about the NBA’s version of patting themselves on the back.

With all due respect to the Home Run Derby, the only watchable part of the MLB’s All-star festivities, the NBA Slam Dunk contest is the best part of any All-Star game.  Period.

This year’s contest promises to be one of the best dunk contests in years.  With Serge Ibaka, Javale McGee, DeMar DeRozan, and Blake Griffin battling head to head their promises to be some fireworks.   I may be physically unqualified, with my closest dunking attempt being slapping the backboard in the Freshman “B” team layup line, I do have some ideas on how to make this year’s dunk contest even more exciting from a fan’s perspective.

You may be saying, “But, Chris, you just got done jocking on the dunk contest, why do you feel the need to ‘improve’ it?”

Just think of this post as the guy that gets called in to refurbish the Mona Lisa.  He’s not re-painting the damn thing, just doing a little light brushwork.  Besides, football’s over and I’m running out of stuff to post about.

And so, Ladies and gentleman of Burnpoetry, without further ado I give to you: My ideas for the 2011 slam dunk contest.

Make Blake Griffin Dunk With Nate Robinson Riding Piggyback

Saying Griffin is the favorite this weekend is like saying that Martin Scorcese is a decent director.  Griffin is a dunker like we haven’t seen in some time.  He’s 1988 Mike Tyson; throwing vicious, angry haymakers at the rim with no regard for the devastation he might cause.  Like Tyson, his raw and unbridled power lave fans everywhere ducking and covering.

Griffin is that powerful in mid-air.  He’s a one-man Cold War.

So how do you slow down Seabiscuit?  How do you bring such a massive favorite back to the pack?  The way they actually brought Seabiscuit back to the pack.  Or tried to.  With weights.  In this case a 5 foot 7, 175 pound weight.
Robinson, for his part, seems to genuinely enjoy saddling up on his teammates and trying to make it 8 seconds.  He’s spent more time on Glen Davis’ back then Davis’ jersey.  If Griffin can continue to dominate with the NBA’s Spud Webb 2.0, then we’ll know he’s truly something special.

Have DeMar DeRozan Try to Dunk Over Mikhail Prokhorov’s Wallet

Prokhorov, the famous Russian billionaire owner of the Nets is so rich that if he laid down his sizeable wallet on the court it might just prove to be the biggest prop yet.  Whether jammed full of Rubles, dollars or tickets for his team’s games to give away. (*Author’s Note: Have you seen the Nets play?  He would have to give them away.)

If DeRozan can’t clear the Rusky’s own Berlin-wall-sized pile o’ cash then just have him wait until after the Nets ink Carmelo Anthony.  Prokhorov’s wallet will shrink significantly after that signing.

Have JaVale McGee Dunk From the Free Throw Line…Again

McGee, who most of us have never heard of, tried this dunk earlier in the year and wound up proliferating the tragic, sick-joke-of-a-punchline that is the Wizards’ 2010-2011 season.

Have Serge Ibaka’s Dunk Session Sponsored by Surge

Screw Sprite’s sponsorship deal.  Every kid my age would love the chance to relive the 4th grade slumber party memories that Surge used to provide: tweaking out from caffeine and sugar OD’s, feeling your tooth enamel wash down your throat as it disintegrates with just one glass, and contracting 1 new type of diabetes per 9 ounces ingested.

In short, who wouldn’t want to bring that back?  Have Serge pound some Surge and see if he can dunk.

I can see it now: Serge steps onto the court, holds a 2 liter of liquid amphetamine aloft, chugs half the bottle and performs the perfunctory scream.  After he shouts, “Suuuuuurrrrgggggeee!!!” and staggers towards the line we’ll see if he can even get off the ground, let alone dunk.

And finally:

Have One Dunk Per Round Judged by a Panel of Four 78-year-old Men

Old dudes don’t like dunks.  Most of them grew up in an era of basketball that spent about as much time in the air as a Wright Brothers flight.  Their favorite players were short, white dudes that smoked a pack a day and had names like Skip and Biff.  I can only imagine the hilarity of Ibaka throwing down a sick dunk and raking in 2’s and 3’s for “Showboating” and for “Hanging on the rim all willy nilly and such.”

My Grandpa used to tell me every time we watched basketball together that, “they ought to raise the rim to 12 feet to stop all that hangin’ on the rim.”   I think when McGee punches out that’s exactly the kind of crotchety feedback I’d love to hear.

The basketball is sure to be exciting with or without these changes.  However, since I’m sure Howard Stern’s a devoted reader, I think we should keep our eyes open for some of the newest changes.

FIN