Book review: Let me tell you a story, by Red Auerbach and John Feinstein

John Feinstein has made a career of being a "thinking man's" sportswriter.  He shot to prominence with the oustanding 1986 Season on the Brink, which detailed a season spent with Bob Knight and the Indiana Hoosiers.  Some of his other works have been critically acclaimed as well, but have on occasion - eg. The Punch - tended to be too po-faced and serious for their own good.

Let me tell you a story, a collection of tales Feinstein could have knocked out in his sleep is the perfect antithesis to such overbearing seriousness.  It describes his invitation to lunch with Red Auerbach, the former President of the Boston Celtics and acknowledged King of Boston basketball.  What the casual fan probably fails to realise is Red's assocation with Washington D.C. hoops as well.  He was an alumni of George Washington University, his wife and children (and him, during the offseason) lived there and he maintained connections with several of the city's basketball aristocracy.

The book begins with Auerbach growing older and more aware of his mortality.  He therefore decided to invest time in his closest friends, which manifested as a regular lunch with the likes of his brother Zang, secret service agents and The Best High School hoops coach of all, Morgan Wootten.  Feinstein - who was working as a columnist for the Washington Post - smelled a story, managed to get an invitation and became a regular lunch guest.  He then proceeds to describe what the lunch became for him and his compatriots.

courtesy: betterworldbooks.com

The book is named because even though there were upwards of a dozen regular diners, these were Red's lunches. He had the central seat, so he could hold court and opine about almost every issue - starting most of his stories with the words "Let me tell you about...".  The bill was also Red's, until the Celtics got wind of the events and insisted the team paid.  Red talks candidly (as if  he could speak any other way) about his time with the Celtics, the owners he worked for and even of his lack of malice at being replaced as Celtics President during the short-lived Rick Pitino era.

What impresses you so much is Red's reasoning - there were always completely logical reasons for every decision he made.  When he explains those reasons - even why he lit his trademark cigar when the Celtics had secured victory - he makes absolute sense.  (If you're wondering, he lit the cigars when the Celtics were up by a heap as a subconscious signal that his team was relaxed and not seeking to rub the victory in their opponents faces).  His tales stand in stark contrast to those of another Celtic great, Bill Russell.  As Auerbach became more acutely aware of his ageing, he became more congnizant of the importance of spending time with his friends; in stark contrast Russell became more and more arrogant, distant and spiky.

Throughout, you can't help liking Red.  It's obvious that Feinstein - and the entire Lunch crew - absolutely adored him.  He was fair, friendly and fun to be around, which in turn makes the book an easy read.  It is occasionally slightly stained by Feinstein's own opinions - what little he thinks of Rick Pitino is obvious, and his memorable description of Scottie Pippen as Scottie "I've got a headache when it matters most" Pippen are fine examples of unwanted editorialisation.

It's lightweight, but really enjoyable read.

Reposted from Books with Balls, a now sadly mostly-disregarded affiliate.

Book review: Tip Off, by Filip Bondy

Tip Off isn't a bad book, but it's hard to get excited about.  In fact, a one-word review would simply be "meh".  Filip Bondy presents us with the equivalent of watching a player take a 17' jump shot when he could have dunked on three guys - it's just as effective and may even be the right play, but leaves the audience slightly underwhelmed.

This is a shame, because Bondy chose a fascinating topic: the 1984 NBA draft, which saw Michael Jordan, Hakeem Olajuwon, Sam Perkins, Charles Barkley and John Stockton arrive in professional basketball.  It also provided the backdrop for the most high-profile draft blunder in history, when Portland selected Kentucky center Sam Bowie instead of Jordan with the second overall pick.

It's a succinct read which touches on the leadup to the draft, what each team was thinking when making their selections and also a brief look at how each player fared.  There's little coming together of the players - of every player drafted, the book may as well be about the six guys listed above.  Nobody - well, nobody except the most hardened basketball-philes - wants to know Chicago's thinking behind taking NBL legend Butch Hays with a seventh-round pick, or the reasons that Indiana chose Charlotte legend Stuart Gray.

Bondy writes to get the facts out rather than to entertain.  It is well-researched and the author has obviously researched and interviewed broadly, which all serves a purpose but at times upsets the book's flow.  Each chapter focuses on one aspect of the draft process, be it Chicago or Houston allegedly tanking (leading to the institution of the draft lottery in 1985), the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics or Sam Perkins' background in upstate New York.  The result is that there are minimal shared experiences which takes away from the Draft's inherent maturation storyline.

The information is all there, but given the storied nature of that draft, the reader is left feeling as if they're in some way short changed and that perhaps a writer with a greater sense of the event may have made Tip Off  more enjoyable.  As it is, it's intriguing at times (did you know that Philadelphia offered Dr. J or Andrew Toney and the no. 5 pick for the no. 3 pick so they could take Jordan?) but labours with an invasive flatness.

A perfectly average read.

Graphic: US arena naming rights

The following graphic shows the startling range of companies that have the naming rights for North American major league sports arenas, broken down by company market.  That is, each company is categorised according to its primary industry.

The category "other" includes all companies which sponsored only one arena, eg. Petco Park in San Diego is the only stadium sponsored by a pet service company.  Traditionally named stadia are those whose iconic status is enough to generate income rather than relying upon corporate sponsorship - for example, Candlestick Park or Arrowhead Stadium.  (It is debatable whether multinational sports companies like Fenway Sports Group or the Madison Square Garden corporation in fact "sponsor" their arenas; for this purpose, they are lumped in with "traditionally" named stadia.)

As you can see, Financial Service, banking and mobile telephone companies dominate the naming rights landscape.

Book review: In the Hornets' Nest by Joe Drape

A re-post from our affiliate book review site, Books with Balls.

The sheer sweaty bodyweight of beat writers attached to American sports teams makes books which chronicle one team's journey over an entire season relatively commonplace. It's not an original concept, and basketball teams lend themselves to these diaries more than most. The Jordan Rules, A Season on the Brink (by John Feinstein) and The Breaks of the Game are required reading for hoops fans.

In 1988-89, two season chronicles emerged simultaneously about compelling storylines at opposite ends of the NBA. The Franchise examined Jack McCloskey, the General Manager of the Championship-winning Detroit Pistons; the other, by Atlanta Journal-Constitution journalist Joe Drape, detailed the Charlotte Hornets' first NBA season. The result is In the Hornets' Nest.

Breaking down Forbes' Top 100 highest earning athletes

Forbes is perhaps the highest profile business magazine in the world. It certainly boasts as much clout as any, and an effective part of this has simply been their willingness to create reams of lists: the Best Paid Actors, the most overperforming stocks for 1955.  The internet loves this stuff.  These aggregations are easy on the eye - and almost as easy on the brain.  But because it's easily digestible information, a interweb culture raised on instant gratification laps it up.

The following chart has its origins in one of Forbes' more popular lists.  It was released yesterday and estimates the net income for those highest earning athletes.  Typically, players in sports with broad appeal played by Average Joe do better in endorsements: those with the most lucrative sponsorship are usually golfers, tennis players, footballers and basketballers.  The best in motorsport earn as much or more in endorsements as they do in prize money or salary.  Players who form part of an extensive rotation - ie. baseballers and NFL players - can earn as little (!) as $100,000 for the year in endorsement deals.

The chart is broken down where an athlete's endorsement income is plotted against his earnings from salary or prize money.  Minimum qualifying income for 2011-12 was $16.6 million (US) for the year.  Athletes are coloured according to their sport.  As always, we recommend clicking on the chart to enlarge it.

Copyright Balanced Sports

The list is relatively easily broken down.  The two highest earners were both boxers who pulled in relatively minimal endorsement deals - considering the world's most highly paid athlete was Floyd Mayweather, who is currently serving a prison sentence for threatening his ex.  You can see the obvious trends - those most marketable NFL/MLB stars earn up to eight figures in endorsements (Peyton Manning and Derek Jeter respectively), but generally the highest paid players in those sports earn comparative peanuts by selling their name.

The list comprised four boxers, one sprinter (Usain Bolt), five golfers, eight motorsport aces (4x NASCAR, 3x Formula 1 and Valentino Rossi), five tennis players, ten footballers, 13 basketballers, 30 NFL players, 22 baseballers and two Indian cricketers.  It almost goes without saying that the three outliers - top red, and far-right greens - were Tiger Woods, Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao.

Only two women made the list, tennis players Maria Sharapova and Li Na, who came in at 26th and 81st on the list, respectively.  Both only earned a small fraction of their total endorsement value in prize money, making them typical for their sport.

Kobe vs. Jordan - a tale of two flu games

Kobe Bryant has played a careerlong game of one-upmanship with the NBA's greatest. This is most pronounced with Michael Jordan, the player with whom he is most often compared. It's no secret that Kobe wants to be the greatest ever and that he's almost painfully aware that to be so considered, he has to surmount Jordan in achievement and legacy.

There is no end of comparison. Their careers cross over on many levels, from skills, to gifts, desire and even career achievement. Despite his stated protests, by so patently aiming to dethrone the NBA's all-time greatest, Kobe actively invites the Jordan comparison. And he can't ever hope to win. This futile struggle, perhaps more than any other, is the core of his narrative. He will never be as universally respected and admired as Jordan; his presence in the internet era (where naysayers proliferate) and the simple fact that he is so often compared to his motivation underlines that.

Bryant is certainly admirable: his desire to be the best and to work hard to achieve is laudable; his blatant pursuit of the title “Greatest Ever” even lays bare an honesty not normally associated with pro ballers, least of all the enigmatic Bryant and calculating Jordan. However, that honesty works against him: Jordan never felt the need to publicly state his ambition/case for being the best baller ever; it was unstated and dignified.

It is telling that Kobe has felt – and at times appears to service – that need.

What do Chelsea and Dwight Howard have in common?

Wednesday provided the sporting consciousness with an almost – but not quite – final irresolution. Both the world's most public roundball sports suffered from the implacable inevitablity of more uncertainty.

In the NBA, the Orlando Magic's Dwight Howard opted into the final eighteen months of his contract, depriving the free-agent market of it's best big man since Shaquille O'Neal in 1996.

And Chelsea won in the Champions' League.

Initially, there may seem little to connect the two, but similarities soon emerge from the internet's murk. By committing to the Magic for one more season, Howard automatically keeps every hoops rumour-monger in cyberspace flush with “content” – and I use that word in the loosest possible terms – until he signs a long-term contract extension or departs in July 2013.

Who has enough space under the salary cap to keep him? Will a team trade for him without him committing to extend his contract past 2013? Does anyone still care?

Similarly, for their improbable 4-1 win against Napoli at Stamford Bridge on Wednesday evening, Chelsea should be congratulated. The unwelcome – by club and fan alike – result, however, is the fuel the club has unwittingly provided to football equivalent of Star magazine, the abominably-sourced Bleacher Report and other like sites, until the Blues' core players definitively leave the club.

Experts and know-alls-from-afar have penned myriad eulogies for Chelsea since the 2008 Champions' League final; sometimes this has been reasoned, other times speculation. Most recently, these have been the sum of the team's transfer policy moving towards youth amidst yet more nebulous and smoky “player power” reports. Already the Chelsea core has been shorn of two fringe elements, Anelka and Alex, while other veterans are publicised not necessarily for accomplishment but a lack thereof.

Common knowledge suggests disassembling a imperfect squad is prudent and inevitable if not overdue. In this case, the prevailing view may be as flawed as a Fernando Torres finish.

The fine Neapolitan win intimates they can still compete for what should now be known as Abramovich's Folly; the result of which appears to be that short-term savage transition from age to youth will be postponed until the next high-profile stumble. As long as Chelsea retain the so-called cabal, supposition will follow. A humbling defeat at the hands feet of Napoli would only accelerate that disintegration; now, fans are damned to read stories that should all begin with “I reckon”.

Apart from the Blues, who will now face Benfica in the quarter-finals, it seemsthe Perez Hiltons of the football blogosphere are this week's big winners.

Book review: Basketball Junkie, by Chris Herren and Bill Reynolds

Oh to be young, rich and talented.

Over the past twenty years the NBA has a remarkable success rate at weeding out drug addicts. In the mid-eighties, the league instituted a three-strikes policy aimed at ridding the league of the American popular image of '70s pro basketball: that of overpaid and over-coked players who cared more about fighting than defense. Several of the league's top talents fell victim to nose candy in the 1980s: David "Skywalker" Thompson and Walter "The Greyhound" Davis managed to sustain effective NBA careers. However, guys like Chris Washburn, Richard Dumas and Roy Tarpley - I could name a dozen more off the top of my head - couldn't, and found themselves banished to eternal European ball.

Of all of these players, the one common denominator was talent. Each of them, from Thompson, who could have been the best player in the game, to Washburn, who was drafted third in 1986, was supremely gifted and capable of multiple All-Star games. Many were unable to control their habit, let alone sufficiently enough to function at NBA levels.

The same could be said of Chris Herren, one of the best ballers ever to come out of New England. His memoir "Basketball Junkie" portrays the life of an athlete blessed with talent, but cursed with addiction.

http://www.basketballjunkie.net/where-to-buy/

Herren was born to be a basketball star, and followed his brother as one of the greatest players in the history of Durfee High School, a storied Massachusetts basketball programme. At sixteen, he was so good - and messed up by "maturing" in small, working class Fall River - he was the subject of the best-seller "Fall River Dreams". The book, by journalist Bill Reynolds (with whom Herren collaborated in writing Basketball Junkie), reported the licence afforded teen athletes in a town where basketball is king.

Chris Herren managed to play two NBA seasons around the the time of the last NBA lockout. I use the verb "managed" because he did played while fighting, and eventually succumbing to, addiction to alcohol and opiates (including oxycontin and heroin). That he had the talent to play basketball was for a time perhaps his one saving grace, even though it was no longer a game for him: it was expectation, pressure and success. At his leve, playing basketball - in Denver, Boston, Italy, Turkey, China or Iran - meant he had the money to buy the drugs he needed to function.

There are two striking features of Herren's memoir: how easy it is to slip from "partying" to addiction; and secondly, simply, how functionally dependent he (and by extension, other addicts) became on opiates. What started as "Hey, I'd like to party with you" turned into mailing packages of Oxycontin to hotels he would be staying at on road trips so he could sustain his NBA form - and pay cheque. Herren wasn't addicted to getting high, but his body so craved the gear that he was completely unable to function without it. Graphic descriptions of withdrawal symptoms and his fear of both those symptoms and his future make for compelling and memorable reading.

His yearlong spell as a Celtic is effectively a haze, as it was for him at the time. He writes about how he could obtain drugs in almost any setting, from deepest, darkest China and Iran to flying into Providence airport, finding a dealer and then flying out again. The lengths he went to in order to score - like driving around Fall River with a needle in his arm and his baby daughter in the back seat.

He writes frankly about substance abuse beginning in his teen years to final, gut-wrenching, sobriety in 2008. This should-be joyous occasion, isn't so much celebrated as Championship victory but, in typical Herren matter-of-fact fashion, describes the rehab facility and every fearsome slip he made throughout.  You can sense some of the hallmarks of rehab in his words: ownership, reality and an almost total lack of astonishment at his past.

 The rehab process is depicted with the same grit and fear characterising the rest of the narrative. There is only one epiphany, the choice he describes as leading him to the choice he says all recovering addicts have to make in order to survive.  There's no trophy at the end of this longest season, only normalcy most take for granted.

This isn't a basketball book. Because Chris Herren scored more in back streets than in the NBA, it's an addict's memoir where the author is also good at basketball. There's little doubt in the reader's mind he would have been in a similar, but less fiscal, situation had basketball not taken him out of Fall River. The young Herren didn't dream of the Lakers, but Durfee High School and State championships.

To lose one's independence is a frightening thought; in fact, it may be the very concept people fear most. To become utterly dependent on a chemical is even more of a scary concept. Basketball Junkie tells how Chris Herren became totally dependent and later details the factors which allowed him to regain his life

Basketball Junkie is dirty, honest and frightening. Five stars.

For more book reviews, see our affiliate site, Books with Balls.

Book review: Sacred Hoops, by Phil Jackson

Phil Jackson is one of the greatest and the most respected coaches in the modern era. Jackson is famous for being the man who moulded the Chicago Bulls from being almost solely reliant upon Michael Jordan, into a NBA championship force as a team (with a lot of help from Jordan as well). Following from this he was able to control the egos of Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal as he coached the Los Angeles Lakers to championships as well.

Cover Image Courtesy of bookdepository.co.uk

Jackson is also described as being not your a-typical personality of professional sports and someone a little 'left of centre'. Although this may be true one must recognise the following: 1) That in the egotistical world of professional sport it is hardly difficult to be considered different; and 2) having read this book I wonder how much of the perception of Jackson is objective and not down to his own self prophecy.

Sacred Hoops purports to be a description of the spiritual journey that Phil Jackson has gone on during his life and career in basketball and also the spiritual journey he sought to lead the unstoppable Chicago Bulls on as they won six championships in the 1990's. At best it is a philosophical reflection as rarely could it be said that Jackson describes his research or reflection as looking beyond his self for the divine.

In reality as I read through the book it felt more like a cobbled together series of quotes from Christianity, Buddhism, and Native American tribal culture that speak to the events in Jacksons career with the benefit of hindsight. This probably is not a 100% true statement, Jackson no doubt is widely read and has been for a great proportion of his life, but it appears too cute in places during this read that these single quotations from religious texts can speak wholly to the scenarios described by Jackson without reference to the greater contexts of the religious texts themselves. One could even go as far to say that it is disrespectful to practitioners of each of these religions that Jackson seemingly cherry picks bits and pieces that suit him and his story.

For those of us who grew up through the 1990's and loved Basketball and the Chicago Bulls for a period will get some satisfaction from reading back through the history of these great seasons where basketball glory rained heavily on the Windy City. Jackson does provide an honest insiders view of what he believed made the Chicago Bulls tick during this period and what helped them to be one of the most successful teams in history.

But it is not a great read. Particularly so if you reflect back (with greater hindsight) that if Jackson truly led this team (and its individuals) on a spiritual journey to betterment should they have obtained some more permanent value? Why is it then that most have seemed to continues living as ego-maniacs post their playing days?  One star.

By Ben Roberts

Book review: Man in the Middle, by John Amaechi

A re-post from our affiliate book review site, Books with Balls.

John Amaechi's NBA career comprised a series of "What if" moments. What if he hadn't been spotted in the street by a basketball talent scout? What if he went to a different college? What if he hadn't turned down $17 million guaranteed from the Lakers to stay in Orlando for one thirtieth the salary?

In his memoir "Man in the Middle", he adds one more: what if he had stepped out of the closet during his basketball career?

When England wicketkeeper Steven Davies came out this year, his actions were seen as heroic and a positive step in the battle to fight bigotry in the testosterone-fuelled major leagues.

When Amaechi published his autobiography in 2007, it was met with disdain from Tim Hardaway and comments from stars like Charles Barkley and LeBron James which were equal parts helpful and harmful. The truth is that no matter how much it may have helped others, John Amaechi would have been seriously disadvantaged - or unable even to play in the League - by admitting his sexuality. Telling a teammate would almost certainly result in pariah status and significantly lessen his chances of making a difference in the world.

courtesy: barnesandnoble.com

Where some deny themselves snacks, business opportunities or even a normal social life to play in the NBA, Amaechi denied himself so much more.

A nerdy kid encouraged to take up basketball in his late teens, Amaechi worked hard to go from Manchester to the NBA via high school in Ohio and a couple of colleges (Vanderbilt and Penn State). First discovering his true sexual orientation at Penn State, he kept it a secret for nearly a decade before coming out to a counsellor from his alma mater while struggling to live with crippling loneliness playing in Greece.

His book isn't a tale of victories, stats or achievements. He was good player in certain situations, but not a star; his book is a tale of a man who enjoyed basketball, but found it a means to an end. He seems more settled and comfortable now, excised from a me-first environment and running his business, Animus Consulting.

There's a certain amount of egotism - but surely Amaechi has more to be proud of than the average basketball star. His most telling statistical indicator is not a matter of average, but of luck - he scored the first basket of the year 2000. While at college, he was active in the Big Brothers, Big Sisters program and basically adopted a bunch of kids coming from unfortunate backgrounds. He did likewise in Orlando - leading, along with a bunch of enjoyable teammates, to his infamous rejection of the Lakers' millions.

Basketball autobiographies are often a glimpse into the psyche of the athlete, no matter how flat-batted they attempt to be. For example, Larry Bird's Drive is without question the most boring autobiography I've ever read - but this indicates much of the man. He is boringly obsessed with basketball. Bird the player was admirable - Bird the man, not so much. Drive, like Bird on anything other than hoops, never says anything worth reading. Amaechi is the polar opposite - basketball provides a background to which he nods occasionally, but his life seems so much broader.

You never get away from Amaechi's sensitive - and frequently pretentious - nature. But to deny either would bear false witness of the man. Any pretentiousness isn't overpowering - just his manner. But certainly, you can see how he wasn't universally liked (especially by Utah Jazz coach Jerry Sloan) simply because he refused to adhere to the overwhelming jock mentality of regular basketball stars. Where others pay lip service to the importance of basketball, Amaechi does not.

Man in the Middle is an easy read. It's rewarding, as well. Like many sports stars, his perspective has become his reality - events large for him sometimes not seen as such by others - but his perspective is panoramic, rather than focused intently on basketball. In fact, Man in the Middle is one of the first books in a long while that I've made time to read. Footballs.

Book review: Chocolate Thunder, by Darryl Dawkins and Charley Rosen

A re-post from our affiliate Book Review site, Books with Balls.  

Darryl Dawkins is nothing if not an entertainer.  The names he gave his dunks were awesome, his proclamations about coming from the planet Lovetron were - and still are - amazing, and he was an effective NBA center for a decade before succumbing to injury.  He broke two plexiglass backboards during his days in the League and another one when playing for Torino of the Italian League - dude was a beast.

His book, penned alongside experienced basketball ghost-writer and free spirit Charley Rosen, is therefore a very entertaining read.  In fact, it's one of the books I've most enjoyed going back to pick up in recent times.  It's lightweight, honest, good for a chuckle and well worth a read.

At the same stage, it's also hardly a work which will truly describe the NBA's Dark Times to younger generations with the appropriate reality.  While it ploughs head-on into drug use - especially the casual stuff of Dawkins and the sadness of teammate Micheal Ray Richardson's addiction - it also presents most authority figures as broken men trying to compensate for a lack of control. 

In fact in places, it appears as if Dawkins - always the most likeable of souls - is simply unencumbered with an accurate version of reality.  The rate at which he bitches about referees and - without the same malice - most of his NBA coaches enlightens the reader as to why he wasn't the All-World player his talent said he should have been.  While refs did perhaps victimise DD (kiiiiind of), he was a notoriously bad defender and bought up-fakes like they were Internet futures in 1996.

courtesy: sportclassicbooks.com

We've been writing at Books with Balls for a while.  Chocolate Thunder is also the first book I've ever read where I've bookmarked certain pages for either being so deluded they're worth mentioning in and of themselves.  Examples?  How about when he suggests Phoenix Suns coach Alvin Gentry is so bad "he must have a photo of an NBA GM f***ing a goat or something"(pg 135).  Or when he says he "practically won Game 5 [of the 1980 NBA Finals] on my own".  In reality, Kareem led the Lakers to a huge win after really badly spraining an ankle and Magic Johnson jumped center in the decisive Game 6.  Maybe that's what he meant by "practically".

Some inaccuracies, like "Fast" Eddie Johnson being dead, or Micheal Ray Richardson embarrassing white Point guards like Mark Price (whose NBA career only barely overlapped "Sugar's") can be put down to poor editing.  Others can only be thought of as fallacies brought about by a combination of ego and a grasp on reality which perhaps occasionally slips, unhelped by the cocaine he freely admits to taking during his playing days.

Despite the obvious ego, there's a real sense that Darryl Dawkins loves life, no matter how hard it has occasionally gotten for him.  In fact, he comes off as a really admirable guy, which in itself is testament to his likeability.  For his words to burst off the page as they do, the reader is left not only with a sense of DD's conviction, but also of his irrepressible joy.  Naming dunks, sleeping with maybe 1000 women and enjoying coaching as much as he does are all signs of la joie de vivre.  And Chocolate Thunder's got that in spades.

Darryl Dawkins is a fascinating man and in some ways it's a pity he's chosen to deliver such a lightweight memoir.  In other ways, however, apart from his physical size, Dawkins is a man driven by levity.  That in itself makes this book about a "coodabeen" well worth the 220-page read.  Recommended, but only if your knowledge of basketball history doesn't object to occasional inaccuracies.  Three stars.

Giving it a red hot go

by Balanced Sports columnist Ben Roberts

ESPN.com recently ran a story about Boston Red Sox third baseman Kevin Youklis, who they described as the definition of the 'blue collar athlete'. Youklis is a hitter not taken to niceties, he has a job to do every game and will give his all every time he steps up to the plate.¹ Working hard to make the pitcher work even harder and get himself on base, Youklis may not put up the performances that win awards, but he can be relied upon to get himself on base a high proportion of the time. Getting players on base is something my own San Francisco Giants appear destined to continue to fail at while they remain dedicated to sticking with the highly paid and under-motivated.

Despite being an Australian and therefore morally (and spiritually) bound to never allow Americanisms to enter my vernacular, I have to defer to Uncle Sam in this instance as I reckon their word for the type of player Youklis is just about perfect. Youklis is a 'Gamer'. A gamer relishes competition and the heat of the moment when they need to be relied upon. They 'have a crack' or give it a 'red hot go' always and this is their strength.

On one of the few televised games of Major League Baseball that enter the Australian airwaves I was able to watch Youklis and his Red Sox play against the New York Yankees that included another player who works hard at bat and maybe (at least to my untrained eye) meets the definition of a gamer, Nick Swisher.² Swisher like Youklis makes the pitchers work to his strengths and does not tire of doing the un-dramatic such as drawing walks.

I remember watching the NBA during the Michael Jordan era and being surprised that among the flashy skills of players like Jordan, Karl Malone, Scottie Pippen, or Tim Hardaway here was this white guy³ making all-star teams and holding his own. This white guy was Chris Mullin, and he was a gamer too. Mullin's gamer effort was as much about his work on the practice court as it was in game play. In honouring his elevation to the Hall of Fame Grantland.com called Mullin a dying breed, a rarity not blessed with natural athleticism who made the grade. Mullins drive to succeed and develop his skills took him to the top of his sport.

Jumping across to the most notable of the world games leagues the EPL and we find gamers there too. Unlucky not to secure all the major individual awards for last years Premier League, Scott Parker proved to be a larger than life character for West Ham as they fought to retain their place in the top flight. Parker routinely was the only reason why the Hammers managed to secure points throughout the season because he was always up for the fight and was willing to grab his team mates by the scruff of the neck to do likewise. Unfortunately it was all in vain⁴.

Newcastle's⁵ Joey Barton is another player always up for the fight, though he is an example of erring on the side of going over the top, and probably the aging Phil Neville. Both players were potential targets of both North London clubs who need hardening up this year if they stand any chance of finishing above 5^th and 6^th in the league.

You may begin to get the feeling that the definition of a gamer is restricted short on natural talent or natural athleticism but gets the most out of what they do have. This is not true. Moving to our third continent we find a phenomenal gamer who has both the huge amount of natural talent, and athletic capability.

Chris Judd in 2011 continues to prove that he is the best player Australian football has currently, and will finish up at the very least in the top ten of all time. All followers know how amazing his skills are and his athleticism and strength are amazing, but his insatiable desire for the contest is what drags him to be a cut above the rest. West Coast won a premiership because of him, and Carlton stand a chance of winning one in the near future for the same reason. Take him out of either team and they may still be a chance, but I reckon he almost doubles the chance of any team he plays in.

Looking back into history you find Michael Jordan, the greatest on the hardwood of all time and a serious gamer. Take the opportunity and watch his 'flu game' in the 1997 championship series against Utah. The only reason the Chicago Bulls won that game was Michael Jordan. Illness stripped him of his usually immense physical capacity, yet his drive to win dragged his team over the line. Even the greatest of skills and athleticism can get taken to the next level.

I love watching these players in any sport. They are the reason why we as spectators enjoy the contest. I wrote recently about my favourite cricketer of all time Allan Border, without him I would not have witnessed the great success of the Australian cricket team.

We owe these gamers the most respect in the games they play.

1 First time in my life I have ever used this phrase literally rather than figuratively.

2 Previously only notable to me for appearing in an episode of 'How I Met Your Mother'.

3 With a buzz-cut tribute to Dolph Lundgren.

4 Trouble is that no matter how great Parker was, Avram Grant was more than equally bad.

5 Just.

Shaquille O'Neal Retires: Olympus beckons for Big Aristotle

Shaquille O'Neal has retired and the NBA has lost one of it's born entertainers. The league, and the sporting landscape in general, will be poorer for his departure.

He entered the league with the inevitable comparisons to Wilt Chamberlain, succeeded Wilt in rings won while owning basketball in Los Angeles, won a ring with "Flash" and then turned into a role-player for hire. At times the most overwhelming inside the force the game has seen (remembering Chamberlain often favoured the fadeaway jumper to show he had skills as well as size), he played nineteen years in the league, won four Championships and took part in probably the best feud the NBA has ever seen that didn't involve Charles Oakley.

Even after his athleticism declined he remained a viable second option in Phoenix and Cleveland, before becoming an overstated but important part of the 2011 Celtics. The list of players assembled around him is notable for its extreme quality and without question, his enormous on-court presence added to each of their collective legacies. At times, even he seemed amazed by his remarkable mix of power and explosiveness. While his lithe early years showcased a more fluid offensive game (his first NBA bucket was a fadeaway jumper from 12 feet), he didn't have the breadth of experience that's shaped him into the statesman he is now.

Though his game was extraordinary and a thing of awesome power, the most appealing part ofabout Shaquille O'Neal wasn't necessarily those skills.It is his lighthearted nature. He was, and remains, a fun guy to be around. While others treated the NBA like a game of life and death, Shaq played in the league.

His early years in the league marked him one of the sport's rising cross-media stars. He rapped, did Shaq-Fu, acted (mostly terribly - have you seen Kazaam?) and won scoring titles. He went to the Los Angeles Lakers in 1996 to pursue those interests and after the demise of Jordan's Bulls, led the Lakers to three straight NBA Championships. In each Finals he was unstoppable despite the best efforts of designated "Shaq-stoppers" like Dale Davis, Dikembe Mutombo and (cough) Todd MacCulloch. As well as owning the lane at both ends, he had finally developed the inner steel to back his outer confidence leading his teams to destroy the title aspirations of many of the league's recent greats. No-one was stopping the Lakers during that time - not Allen Iverson, Reggie Miller, Chris Mullin, Jason Kidd, Dikembe Mutombo or Kenyon Martin.

He walks into the sunset boasting a more garrulous and accessible media profile than any athlete since Magic Johnson, all part of a man with myriad off-court interests. He has maintained a strong interest in law enforcement and in keeping with his multimedia empire announced his retirement through Tout, a new video-sharing form of Twitter. No-one gave pressers or interviews like Shaq. That his first target here is the notoriously intense Kevin Garnett - who responded well - says volumes about the way his teammates responded to his slightly alternative methods of communication in 2011. When he owned the NBA at the turn of this decade, Shaq played in the league.

Perhaps his background, growing up an Army brat watching his mother and stepfather work for everything they had gave him this unique viewpoint, a sense of perspective allowing him to understand life was bigger than the twenty-nine NBA cities he frequented. To play basketball, be a cross-media baron and basically to do what he wanted with life was fun - and fun things are to be enjoyed. So he did. This awareness contributed to his movement from being thought of as a young punk to being respected across the entire spectrum of the league. As a spokesman for the league in 2011, there are few who speak with the authority - and intelligence - that he does.

In a poll on ESPN today, 72% of respondents said the thing about Shaq they'd remember most outside basketball wasn't the feud or Blue Chips, it was his outgoing media style which prompted his self-appointed moniker "Big Aristotle" among many others. Critics may suggest that these outside activities took his focus away from the game but when a man has four NBA rings, it's a difficult game suggesting he didn't earn them.

Shaquille O'Neal leaves behind a trail of devastation unseen since Willis Reed's (very different) NBA tour of duty. He also leaves behind thousands of happy memories.

Image of Kazaam courtesy: fixingflicks.net

Image of Shaq dunking on David Robinson c1992 courtesy: bleacherreport.com

NBA: Never Been Altered

Ben Roberts

I potentially risk the ire of Balanced Sports' editor-in-chief with the following reflection. Having been on paternity leave recently an old flame has been reignited. Probably it has been since the Chicago Bulls collected their first 1990s 'three-peat' when I last engaged with Basketball and watched the NBA consistently.

Not only have I been taken in by the current play-off series' but I also decided to borrow a couple of DVDs from my brother (who has maintained the fire for the hoops over many years) containing two of Michael Jordan's great performances: 1995 just out of retirement against the New York Knicks, scoring 50 plus points, followed by a flu-ridden Jordan in the 1997 NBA finals helping the Bulls to victory over the Jazz in Salt Lake City (see image).

The combination of the current play-offs with the trip into history led me to surmise that really the game of Basketball hasn't changed all that much, thus the title. Don't read into this negatively or positively, I certainly haven't made a judgement call, nor will I probably be able to back it up with expert opinion. But is it not surprising that someone can make such an observation 18 years since there last serious viewing of the game?

Watching a current match compared to these now 15 years old matches only three things stood out to me as clearly indicating a difference: The sepia toned film of the older matches, the fashions of players differed (though only slightly, spectators differed dramatically) and finally the logos of teams adorning the court. Noticeably none of this reflects the actual gameplay despite some rule changes having occurred.

While I may be mistaken, if it's true, what does this say about the game? Is the controlled environment – constant climate, consistent court, combined with the smaller number of competitors limiting the amount of variation. Minimal adjustment to rules over history? Again let me say that this is no means a negative, just an observation. Most other sports to watch bear little to no resemblance to past matches, certainly Australian football has changed markedly even since the mid 2000s and continues to change season by season and does not have the aforementioned characteristics.

Potentially this observation extends to other USA sporting pursuits where statistics play such an important part of analysis. Few sports with cultural centres outside the United States ever feel free to compare statistics half a century even a century apart, yet this is common place in Basketball and other US sports. Two sports that I have the longest history of following, Cricket and Australian Football, you cannot compare generations with great success given the changes in gameplay, but they do not exist in the heavily controlled environments that characterise Basketball and other USA centric games.

Many have been drawn once again to the NBA this year. I have heard more “water-cooler discussions” on it this year than I probably have in the last 10. How should this be viewed?

To look at it negatively; does this mean that despite my interest being pricked to continue watching this year's play-offs (and supporting the Bulls again), the fact that I cannot see any marked change potentially means that I'll tire of the sport like I did previously. Positively a generational consistency exists. If its true, you can genuinely ask the questions of whether Wilt Chamberlain could have cut it today, or Kobe Bryant in yesteryear; would the Celtics of the 1960s, Lakers of the 1980s and Bulls of the 1990s be successful at any point in history?

Image courtesy: argumentking.blogspot.com

Balanced Sports published on The Roar

Balanced Sports has been published on The Roar, a leading Australian sports opinion blog. This time, we examine how the NBA Playoff matchup between the Memphis Grizzlies and Oklahoma City Thunder is viewed in the Pacific Northwest.

Memphis Grizzlies vs. Oklahoma City Thunder a sad Pacific Northwest Basketball tale

This year's NBA Western Conference Semifinal series between Memphis and Oklahoma City is a particularly painful one for many NBA afficionados to watch. Not for the quality of the play: the Grizzlies cuurently may be playing the best basketball in the West, while Oklahoma City's roster includes superstars Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook combined with feel-good role players like Serge Ibaka and Kendrick Perkins. It's hutsome - especially in my current home city - because it showcases two NBA franchises that relocated from the Pacific Northwest to smaller Midwest markets.

In 2008, the club formerly known as the Seattle Sonics bolted town after forty-one years ingrained into Northwest folklore. That span included twenty-two playoff campaigns, three NBA finals appearances and the 1979 NBA Championship where a three-guard rotation of Gus Williams, Dennis Johnson and "Downtown" Freddie Brown were anchored by the outstanding hair (and post game) of young centre Jack Sikma. It rankles Seattle fans so much that many now take no interest at all in pro basketball. Nearly three years since new owner moved the franchise to Oklahoma City, there's still enough ire for the man who sold the team, Howard Schultz, to eject fans from a book signing in upmarket Bellevue. Many of the disenfranchised Sonic Nation now boycott his company, Starbucks, for having the nerve to sell to a man whose known aim was getting the NBA into Oklahoma City.

Even though the city of Seattle refused to relinquish the Supersonics' name and the yellow and green which defined their jersey, Seattleites still seethe at the factors and faces involved in taking a young playoff team (comprising Westbrook and Durant) away from a staunch basketball city. even during periods of basketball droughts, the fans turned up. Key Arena, the Sonics' home for most of their Northwest tenure, is now home only to the Seattle Storm and the Rat City Rollergirls.

Vancouver's is a different story - the city simply wasn't given a viable chance at NBA life. They existed in their expansion form for only six years before Michael Heisley purchased the team and moved them to basketball purgatory, Memphis, home of exactly zero other pro sports franchises. The Grizzlies allegedly haven't been profitable since moving to the Midwest, which led to a series of costcutting moves and Heisley's consistent presence on "NBA's worst owner" lists. That their current roster is successful runs almost in spite of Heisley's ownership as time and again he has failed to pay the right players and forked over for the wrong ones. According to reliable hearsay, the decision to draft uberbust Hasheem Thabeet over almost every other draftee was his, overruling his personnel division. Only recently has he started to dig into his own capacious pockets, realising the only way to be profitable is to win. Even with this new fiscal policy, his lucrative extension to Zach Randolph (while bidding against no-one else) proves he still struggles to get it right.

While it's true that basketball has no chance to be the number one sport in Vancouver, it could well establish itself as a solid second behind a beloved Canuck team which consistently folds in the playoffs. Rogers Arena is a beautiful, state-of-the-art complex which could easily, comfortably and profitably house an NBA franchise (The Vancouver Pacers, anyone?). As someone who is a recent resident of both cities, there's certainly demand enough for pro basketball in both cities: witness the support that both cities' new MLS franchises have so quickly accumulated.

Seattle, however, is a basketball town. The list of great basketball players who grew up in Washington is remarkable: Brandon Roy, Jamal Crawford, John Stockton, Jason Terry, Detlef Schrempf, Doug Christie and Aaron Brooks all attended High School in the state. Shawn Kemp, Fred Brown, Slick Watts and Bill Russell, among others, all still reside on Puget Sound. During NCAA tournament month, bars go crazy with expectation for the Universities of Washington, Washington State and Gonzaga. Now, playoff time in Seattle is met only with the green and blue of Seattle Sounders scarves.

Game One was a typical Grizzly win, as the club rode Z-Bo's inside scoring. To even the series, Game Two saw the Zombie Sonic bench blow up behind young guards Eric Maynor and James Harden. The Thunder, even though they won 55 games this year, lost three of their four games against the 46-win Grizzlies this season, although key post defender Kendrick Perkins did not play in any of those matches. With the teams evenly matched, the series should be an exciting spectacle for the average NBA fans, especially in light of a pending lockout. Here in Seattle, there's a small, sad shrug and hope the Mariners don't suck as bad tonight.

Pro basketball's dead to this city. It's why all in Sacramento fear the Anaheim Royals. They should.

Image courtesy: http://www.thearch-info.com/Sports/Basketball/White_HOF.html

Basketball's Gypsy Kings: Sacramento's relocation crowns Anaheim Royals

As the Sacramento Kings prepare to exit stage left and re-enter existence as the Anaheim Royals, it's worth examining their twenty-six year stint in California's capital and how this latest move reflects the very existence of the franchise.

The Kings' existence since their last title sixty years ago has been a hurtsome one. Since the NBA instituted the salary cap, even their sprinkling of great players has dried up: from the early days of Jack Twyman and Maurice Stokes, through their great two point guards Oscar Robertson and Nate Archibald and finally their modern-era stars Mitch Richmond and successor Chris Webber. Just as Anaheim looks likely to replace Sacramento in a chain leading from Rochester through Cincinnati, Kansas City and Omaha, the likes of the Big O and Jerry Lucas look upon Tyreke Evans and DeMarcus Cousins as their Royal descendents. Anaheim, Orange County even, looks to be the next NBA destination for pro basketball's most vagabond team.

No team has moved more often - or farther - than the Royals/Kings. Their 5000km journey has encompassed several cities but no titles and the closest the franchise has come was 2002, where they were eliminated in the Conference Finals by the Lakers. The story of the Royals/Kings has been a nomadic tale and the nomads rarely claim the prize. They've been everything from unfashionable - like the 40-42 1981 club who were led by Scott Wedman to the Conference Finals against Moses Malone's Rockets - to the glitzy, when Rick Adelman led the West's glamour team of Webber, Peja Stojakovic, Mike Bibby Doug Christie and Vlade Divac.

It's been a long road for the Kings, but hardly a lonesome one. Their number six jersey is retired in honour of their sixth man, the fans of California's capital. Cowbell Kingdom will grieve the loss of the city's only major league franchise, who they've nursed through the early days of Otis Thorpe, Eddie Johnson, Reggie Theus and Mike Woodson. The fans remained staunchly supportive of their adopted team through the bad times of Ricky Berry's suicide, Bobby Hurley's horrible car accident and even more recently where headlines weren't made by off-court mishaps but by Paul Westphal's nonsensical coaching and the immaturity of the face of the franchise, Evans and Cousins. They've been responsible for two sellout streaks - one of 497 straight games (over twelve years) and another of 354. It's not their fault - and probably not that of the owners, the Maloof brothers - that they're looking at the lucrative Honda Centre in Anaheim: the all-important corporate entertainment structures simply don't bear comparison.

Whether the move will be a commercial success is still debatable. Although Anaheim has the strongest combination of arena-plus-drawing region, twenty-two of thirty NBA franchises lost money last year and suggestions clubs will relocate are rife. Over the past ten years, the Vancouver, Charlotte and Seattle franchises have moved cities while rumours persist over whether the Hornets, Pacers, Hawks, Kings and even Bobcats will remain in their current homes. Neither the Grizzlies nor Hornets have reaped major financial benefits since relocating which must surely play heavily on the Maloof brothers' collective intelligence.

While the NBA is in great shape on the court, the business minds behind it appear to be struggling more than at any time since the drug-crazed days of the 1980s or even the Bad Old Times during the ABA wars. No matter how appealing the product is now, it would pay to remember that during Michael Jordan's initial fourteen years in the league, only the Kings moved locations. Even that happened after his rookie year. The twenty-year Golden Age of Pro Basketball - from the first rumblings of the Magic/Bird rivalry in 1979 to Jordan's retirement in 1998 - saw only two teams move digs. In the ten years before there were six relocations and in the thirteen years since a further four, plus the Nets' impending move to Brooklyn for the 2012 season.

The Kings have remained - like Rick Barry - a team of basketball gypsies. Which is, ultimately, fitting. Gypsies are either loved or loathed, the element of society which provides entertainment to the more established portions; a part of our culture who sometimes have come to terms with their nomadic existence and are happy and sometimes not. The Kings/Royals are the NBA's gypsies, moving anew to pastures fresh. They'll be welcome in Anaheim, surely, but will they come to terms with their ancestry there and thrive? For the hope of those basketball fans hoping to snag a relocated team in Vancouver, Cincinnati, Kansas City and most obviously here in Seattle, our prospects depend on the latest station of these pro sports vagabonds.

Book review: Slick Watts' Seattle SuperSonic Stories, by Slick Watts and Frank Hughes

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Having just moved to Seattle, being somewhat of an NBA history-phile and having just joined the public library, I was intrigued to come across Slick Watts' Seattle SuperSonic Stories. The work is a collection of anecdotes by Slick Watts, who during the seventies was the most popular athlete in the state of Washington. They even made him Grand Marshal of of the Sea King. Twice. Not sure what that means, but he's pretty chuffed about it. It's a short, ninety-minute long read about Bad Old Times of the NBA - the 1970s - where public perception of the league was that it was populated by overpaid, oversexed and overcoked players.

Perhaps the best thing about Watts' story is that it isn't overdone in any way, an admirable trait considering sporting autobiographies are invariably either overplay the grittiness or are too self-congratulatory. In this work - one of a series of Player X's Team Y Stories - he includes several references to his on-court play, yet just as much to team dynamics, his relationship with his coaches and how he became so iconic.

The first player ever to rock the baldie and headband, the writing style matches the way Watts' played - a series of short anecdotes, herky-jerky and with really only the bare facts laid out on paper. He doesn't delve too deep into any one particular issue or relive too many moments on court, just seems to shell out featherweight anecdotes like he's finding shooters in the corners; like Slick's play it's inconsistent and has several holes and lacks depth of context. This is an autobiography, so tunnel vision is forgiveable, but not when it leaves the reader asking if there's a bigger picture that we're not seeing.

He devotes an entire chapter to his first NBA coach, Bill Russell. He's honest about the Celtic great, suggesting him a poor coach with an alpha-dog mentality. This attitude meant he was unable to cope with popular players, often benching them simply for being popular enough to overshadow the great Russell. His words "I had a love/hate relationship with Russ. Most players had a hate/hate relationship with him" are particularly telling and fits in with what I've read previously about Russ: confirming once and for all his place as sport's greatest ever a***hole (and that's against some pretty stiff competition - I've met Dean Jones).

Describing his time in Seattle and with Russell - who coached Watts for four seasons - takes up a fair amount of his meagre word count. During his tenure with the organisation, he played with ABA expats Jim McDaniels, John Brisker and Spencer Haywood as well as some Seattle greats like "Downtown" Freddie Brown and Jack Sikma. Unfortunately you get very little detail about any of these guys, few character pieces and are left only with the feeling that some probably should have had to work in order to stick as Watts did rather than being guaranteed their money.

What's more interesting is his description of how and why he became such a marketing boon to the organisation Simply, Slick Watts is a friendly, outgoing guy who reflects well on first, second and forty-fifth meetings. He doesn't come out and say so in the book, but it's easy to infer that he just likes people and enjoys being around others. The average NBA player in the 1970s had to make three personal appearances per year. In 1977, Slick Watts made over three hundred and was simply unable to say no to anyone who asked him for help - it was an attitude like that which earned him Two Sea King Grand Marshal gongs.

After Russell was replaced by Bob Hopkins and then Lenny Wilkens, the book takes a sharp turn as Wilkens decided that Watts didn't fit his mould, subsequently trading him to New Orleans. Watts details Wilkens saying "There isn't room in town for the both of us", supporting his argument that Wilkens has never been a good coach of "stars". Unfortunately here's where poetic licence comes in - Watts was a good player, but never even approached great with major fundamental flaws like defense and shooting - and while it's true Wilkens got the best out of rosters without superduperstar talent and history says that after the trade in 1977-78, the Sonics went to the NBA Finals and won the Championship the following year.

You can tell even though he's honest, happy and forthright, he still hasn't fully come to terms with being traded to basketball purgatory from a city he practically owned. Bitter isn't the right word at all - he's still the happy, go-lucky Slick - but the reader's left thinking that perhaps it just was the right mix of player, team, city and personality which would be impossible to recreate anywhere else. Given Watts has moved back to Seattle and teaches physical education to primary school kids, the affinity he has for the city is obvious and pleasing to read. After his Seattle departure the book falls away as quickly as Slick's NBA career did. He was King of Seattle in 1977; out of the league by 1980.

Entertaining, especially for basketball history buffs, but ultimately Slick Watts' Seattle SuperSonic Stories is a lightweight piece suited for an easy Sunday afternoon's reading. As usual, the best tales are about ABA expats (in this case Jim McDaniels and John Brisker). The final, definitive lesson to take from Slick's first entry into authordom: Bill Russell was, and probably always will be, a tool of the first water.

It's all your fault, Carmelo Anthony.

Since the trade in which the New York Knicks acquired Carmelo Anthony, the Knicks have won only seven of seventeen contests. Their loss last night at home to Orlando took them below .500 on the season (35-36) and for the first time since they were 8-9 on November 27th. The blogosphere is now asking if the trade was in error, especially given the price the Knicks paid - Wilson Chandler, Danilo Gallinari, Raymond Felton, Timofey Mozgov, two second round picks and a first rounder.

Early in ESPN's telecast, broadcaster Mike Breen mentioned Nueva York's recent 1-7 record and was interrupted by his colour commentator, former Knicks coach Jeff Van Gundy, who blurted out "You can't put everything on one guy. Is it's Carmelo Anthony's fault that Chauncey Billups had eight turnovers? Is it Carmelo's fault that Toney Douglas shoots one for twelve"?

In short, Jeff, we can. It may not be entirely accurate, but it's possible.

'Melo decided that there was only one place he wanted to play, New York, to play with Amar'e Stoudemire and for his hometown team. Though popular opinion had the Nuggets preferring the New Jersey Nets trade offer, Anthony steadfastly refused to commit to extending his contract in Jersey and publicly nixed any other potential relocations by doing the same. A further complicating factor included Anthony wanting (needing?) to sign a new contract in-season (rather than after the season) because delaying until northern Summer would cost him somewhere in the region of $20 million. In that scenario it's eminently possible he would have signed for whoever threw him the most money and unlikely to be in Manhattan.

In almost the truest sense of the word, Carmelo Anthony wanted his cake and to eat it, too. The Knicks wanted him and were prepared to pay handsomely; Anthony wanted the Knicks and he wanted a maximum-dollar contract extension. The entire Melodrama (sorry) was engineered by Carmelo Anthony and his agent and it worked out well for the small forward - until the Knicks' form took a sudden turn for the worse. Mid-season trades usually mean one of two things for a team: a club could struggle to incorporate the player into their tactical schemes and form suffers; or the club is revitalised by the talent injection and start to win more games.

To go back to our initial question, can you blame all the Knicks' recent woes on Carmelo? Because Anthony orchestrated the entire scheme to play where and for the salary he wanted, he is indirectly responsible for the current New York Knicks playing roster. He forced Denver to deal him, and compelled New York to come and get him. The Nuggets then had the responsibility to get the best package possible, meaning rather than Danilo Gallinari or Wilson Chandler taking shots, it is Toney Douglas - an inferior outside shooter. Instead of Raymond Felton with the benefit of a training camp, it's Chauncey Billups charged with bringing the ball up the floor, a player trying to learn coach Mike D'Antoni's system on the fly.

In short, we can blame Carmelo Anthony for the Knicks' recent woes. It may not necessarily be entirely accurate, but the argument is there.