No Regard Recaps: Potato Skins

One Game We Watched Last Night:  USA vs. Australia

Yanks: 119, Aussies: 86

I think Kobe heard the guy behind me at a T.G.I. Friday's in midtown Manhattan call him old.

Cause then he went off. Enough firepower to untuck his shirt. Not nothing.

And that was the story of the game. Or wait. Maybe the story of the game was Patty Mills doing his best Monta Ellis impression, but still falling short of a victory (so, actually, doing a pretty faithful Monta Ellis). No, the story may have really been LeBron's triple-double, first in Olympic history. Well, really, the story was probably the three-point-obsessed USA offense.

Sorry. My mistake. There was no story.

There's never been a story, at least throughout the entire 2012 Olympic campaign. Recently: The 2008 Games had the redemption plot. The 2010 FIBA World Championship team told a story about young players staking their claim of worthiness. But this 2012 team? They don't have anything and it's kind of boring. They are just so much more talented than the competition that they've rendered any discussion about them moot. The reason the Dream Team vs. The 2012 Team debate has enjoyed so much traction is that we have nothing else to talk about. This team's lack of bigs? Stop it.

We're forcing narrative and, in turn, forcing interest. Just because we've replaced one side with majesty and the other with nationalism, these games really aren't all that different from a Heat-Bobcats blowout in February. Except that they are on more televisions and only a few ticks away from a championship.

To get to the bathroom at the T.G.I. Friday's on Fifth Ave., I had to cut through some of the thickest malaise I've ever come across. These people had given up. Knives all around me cut through hardtack chicken with zombie determination. The condensation on over-sugared margaritas left rings of tears on the tabletops.

At its most base, we watch sports because we need something to fill the time. They distract us from tedious minutia, from unpleasant work, from crippling realities, from the fact that we're eating a Jack Daniel’s® Chicken Sandwich. The escapism is most effective when the narrative is strong, relatable, comforting. We gravitate to the underdog because that is perpetually us. A group of revolutionary minds upending social mores, a la Nelson or D'Antoni, excites us and gives us hope. Watching greatness gives us the optimism that Anything Is Possible.

But watching the Heat ruin the Bobcats? Just reminds us once again that the big guy always wins. And this Olympic team? Until we find a narrative string to lift us up, it's the same thing.

I left the T.G.I. Friday's and walked fast to distance myself as quickly as possible. It was still light out.

No Regard Previews: Calm Go The Wild Seas

One Game We Will Definitely Watch Tonight: Chicago Bulls vs. Miami Heat


While Dwyane Wade is doing his best John Kerry impersonation regarding if ballers should get paid to represent their countries in the Olympics, the Bulls and the Heatles prepare for a Titantic clash between two Eastern Conference favorites.

With the Heat trailing the Bulls by three games, the result of tonight's game should have serious implications on which side ultimately nabs the top seed. With Derrick Rose still hobbled and more than likely to continue his stint wearing a suit on the sideline, the Bulls will continue to look for Hot Deng, who has been hotter than hot all season long, for offensive production. They'll also need contributions from Carlos "I spray-paint my head," Boozer and Rip Hamilton.

As for the Heatles, recently transformed starter Ronny Turiaf will play a crucial role in Miami's pursuit to slow Chicago's superior rebounding. I was tickled to find out he was on the squad the other night. The Frenchman really rounds out the supporting cast of characters that make up this Heat roster. It includes some classic NBA employees and No Regard all-time faves: the ever-endearing Super Nintendo Chalmers, Shane "Clean-cut" Battier, Coach Erik and Chris Bosh. (If you only click one link today, please, please, please make it the Bosh one.) Pat Riley really has brought together a wonky group. Well done, Pat Riley.

As always, the key to stopping Miami is slowing down their transition game, controlling the clock and forcing LeBron and Wade into half court sets—which they still haven't seemed to figure out after almost two seasons worth of trying. Here's a hint: Give the ball to King James and everyone else get out of the way and try to get offensive boards. Outside of the super-intriguing Turiaf/Noah battle, it should be interesting to see how Miami attempts to handle Hot Deng. LeBron, Wade, Battier, or play a "Box and 1" on Kyle Korver when he checks in.

While the Celtics are playing the best ball of anyone in the East right now this is still a potential Eastern Conference finals preview, so start popping that popcorn (which, apparently, is full of antioxidants these days, who knew?) and enjoy another episode of the LeBron James featuring Dwayne Wade vs. the Chicago Bulls show.

One Game We Won't Watch Tonight: Golden State Warriors vs. Dallas Mavericks

Two individuals, who you might remember from their time dabbling in No Regard had a Facebook exchange about the Dallas Mavericks a few months back. Mugsy2Manute made this status one fateful afternoon:

"Dallas Mavericks = Most unimpressive reigning champs of all time."

Here's is (resident MFFL) Endless Pat's response:

*Warning, explicit.*

"Listen you feckless snob - there's a lot of shit going on this season, not the least of which is an aging championship team falling behind the curve of dealing with this schedule. No one is more frustrated than me with their performance, but your smug, low-hanging-fruit-pickery, is not accomplishing much but making you look like a pair of shorn balls. I'd also like to take this opportunity to point out that one of our teams is paying Tyson Chandler Dirk money and the other is paying it to well, Dirk."

Just thought everyone who reads this website should know that this dialogue took place.

Celtics-Heat Game 1: Let's Get Physical, Physical

Yesterday's game one matchup in the Eastern semis between Boston and Miami presented what is likely to be the case for seven games: chippy basketball between two teams that so clearly hate each other, it's beyond Romeo and Juliet shit. Here are some (increasingly belligerent) thoughts that I jotted down as I watched in anguish, sipping Bud Light Wheats (or whatever they're called; good though, very good beer) and yelling at my television.

The Case for Dallas

Let's start here by putting a few cards on the table.

1) I love Dallas. I love Dirk Nowitzki and his off-balance rainbow fadeaway. I love Mark Cuban being a 12-year-old dodgeball captain of an owner with an infinite allowance. I love Jet Terry, even when he punches people in the crotch (if not especially then).

2) Like everyone else at No Regard (and anyone with pulse and a television set), I love LeBron. He is the King of Wow and watching him play is the most consistently exciting thing in sports today.

But that's not the point here. While I'm far from unique in my wishing for the King to reign in my home team's realm, the point is this: I'm right.

That's right, you heard it hear first. I'm saying it publicly and bluntly: LeBron James will wear a Mavericks jersey next season. Why not? Let's set aside the near impossible sign-and-trade scenario necessary to bring this about and have some fun in Conjecture Town.

If You See Something, Say Something

IYSSSS is our semi-regular Internet intelligence report, a liberal arts approach to following the NBA on the Web. E-mail us at jewsforjesusshuttlesworth@gmail.com if you've got any suggestions.

Brain On Funk: Amazing how Doc Funk was able to get on that space station with Jay-Z and Prokhorov.

Slam Magazine [via FD]: Preview of Lang Whitaker's cover story on Rondo. "I didn’t watch the NBA until maybe my freshman year of college, because I was trying to get there. It just wasn’t interesting to me." Says he never saw Jordan, never saw Garnett, never saw Hakeem. Makes sense in that his aesthetics are wholly unique and his approach is so blue-collar, but he just keeps moving further down the list of players I'd want to hang out with. Let's all pinky swear to buy this issue when it hits newsstands, underline all our favorite parts and keep it under our pillows.

Slam Magazine: LeBron on stage with Drake. Is LeBron so timid about throwing up the Roc because he doesn't want to offend Drake's Young Money sensibilities or because he suddenly realizes he's not entirely sure what he's supposed to do at a hip-hop show? Because he's a basketball player and all. (He is, right?) I hope he signs with No Limit Records in July instead of an NBA team and records "Make 'Em Say Uhh! Pt. II" featuring Mystikal and Troy Hudson, with Artest dropping Jeezy-level ad-libs.

Don Cannon/ Vitamin Water "Mixtape": In case you wanted to hear all the stale "reasons" why LeBron should/will come to [insert team with cap space here] spit by Jadakiss, Mikey Rocks and others (seriously, doesn't matter who), that's what this is. They all rhyme way too literally here, but Mikey Rocks drives home one thing we can all agree on: "Just no more rings for L.A./Nah, no more rings for L.A."

The No-Look Pass [via BDL]: Ignoring the urge to try to figure out if I would think this was gross if it was an NFL player wearing a comparable shirt. Because it's not. It's Kevin Durant and it's hilarious.

Shadows and Dust

LeBron got two new tattoos before these playoffs. One on the right arm says, "What we do in life," while the one on the left arm completes the phrase with, "Echoes in eternity." Well, game five definitely will at least.

Since that quote is from Gladiator, here are a slew of other quotes from Gladiator that would also be fitting right now:

"You have a great name. You must kill your name before he kills you."
Yes, this is the question we have to ask following that loss: What does "LeBron" mean right now? Since his days at St. Vincent-St. Mary's, he has existed as potential personified; the name "LeBron" standing for the coming roundball epoch when he would raze the league then rebuild it in his image without letting any of the crumbs touch the ground. But a game like he played in game five is nowhere to be found in the scriptures.

Of course we're judging him harshly; that's what you do to supposed saviors. So no, this was not just another bad game. That cannot happen with this man. If he wants to fulfill the prophecy, he has to always be the best, always. And he needs to do this all the time, and never not do this. Additionally, he can never not be the best. He was way not the best in game five.

And if it happens in game six, the name "LeBron" may start to stand for something else.

"The frost, it sometimes makes the blade stick."
This Angry LeBron thing? I don't know if that's his jam. Seems like he just saw that Kobe does the angry face, so figured he should do the angry face. Nah. This is Lebron:



Or this:



"I may die here in this cell or in the arena tomorrow. What possible difference can I make?"
I know LeBron, it must be hard to have your impact pretty much negated by Mike Brown's choice of lineups. Because Mike Brown doesn't seem all that good at choosing the most effective lineups, does he? How about Delonte or Varejao or Hickson? But most importantly, Mike Brown needs to remember that the better team is the one who is supposed to impose their style and character on the game. But who knows who the better team is here.

"He sleeps so well because he is loved."
This is the dude who dressed like this after getting bounced from the playoffs last year:



Losing needs to start mattering to him if he wants whatever legendary basketball players are supposed to want.

"I don't pretend to be a man of the people. But I do try to be a man for the people."
I don't speak for each writer on this Website when I say that LeBron James will never be in my Fave Five (and, actually, I know I kind of am speaking for the other writers on this Website, but we all have our own reasons).

But: I love watching him when he asserts, I love that he can turn every muscle twitch into an event and, as a life-long fan of this semi-niche professional league, I love his importance. I love that he developed his own calling-card dunk (you know, his arm juts out perpendicular to his body, his legs just about cross and he freezes for like a minute before putting it through), because I love dunks. I love that he's the first true NBA icon that I've been able to watch from day one and truly digest every nuance of his sprawling narrative as it happens (although I was there for Kobe and Iverson's entrance, I was a touch young to really grasp the meaning).

"He will bring them death, and they will love him for it."
I don't want to get into what this means for free agency too much, but those catty comments in the post-game press conference—"I spoil a lot of people with my play. When you have a bad game here or there, you've had three bad games in a seven-year career, then it's easy to point that out."—are really helping his bid for league supervillain if he does decide to go to the Knicks.

"Ultimately, we're all dead men. Sadly, we cannot choose how, but what we can decide is how we meet that end, in order that we are remembered as men."
A win in game six does not wash this performance away. The only mouthwash for this is a championship.