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red storm

Pride Goeth Before DePaul

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I wrote recently on an obscure website after last night’s disastrous victory over DePaul that

Mike “Coach Third Choice” Anderson has saved his job. This makes me very happy, because I root for St John’s to lose every game and St John’s will struggle to achieve mediocrity for as long as he’s coach.

A fan responded:

Why is this reason for celebration? We have to now go through another shit year next year with no tangible hope to be competitive and make the tournament in the near future. The goal this season was always to get Anderson fired as he continues to hold back the program. As far as I am concerned, the season was a failure because we did not achieve that goal.

Dear fan

Your assessment of Mike Anderson’s once and future tenure at St John’s is spot on: kudos.  That said, the reason that Mike Cragg’s unwarranted extension of Mike “Perpetual Seventh Place” Anderson is a reason for celebration is because I hate St John’s basketball and despise St John’s basketball fans. I was for most of my lifetime a die-hard St John’s fan and in fact had a highly successful blog that examined in minute detail the team’s fortunes. Perhaps you heard of it: it comprised the best sports writing to come out of New York City since Red Smith. Unfortunately the respect and affection I felt for the program – and for the pantheon of greats who wore a St John’s uniform of whom I doubt you’ve ever heard: George Johnson, Glen Williams, David Russell, Reggie Carter, Boo Harvey, Walter Berry, Malik Sealy, Paul Berwanger and their ilk – has been beaten out of me. Because rooting for St John’s is like betting on the Indians in a John Wayne movie: there’s no money in it.

It was very early in the Anderson years that things changed for me – and admittedly my feelings had a lot to do with the ignominious firing of the great Chris Mullin by shovel faced moron Mike Cragg and the subsequent embarrassing coaching search, where first Cragg was played for an imbecile by the lesser Hurley brother Bobby and then played for a fool by a midwestern mediocrity called Porter Moser and then played for a complete fool by alleged basketball coach Jeff Capel, who advised Cragg that washed up never-was “Iron Mike” Anderson – and what kind of moron gives himself a nickname like that – would be a “home run,” Anderson being a home run in the same way that a ground out to short is a triple. Because Mike Anderson stinks and that’s me being uncharacteristically charitable. Because Anderson is a hack and a buffoon.  Coach Third Choice is currently (approximately, because I can’t be arsed to go back and update this statistic, which I looked up last week) 26–40 (.40) in the BE coaching against hacks like floor slapping dope Steve Wojowhatshisname, and Pat “Choke” Ewing and Lavall Jordan and has never made the post season. Whereas the universally reviled Norm Roberts was 32–70 (.31) in the BE coaching against Rick Pitino, and Jims Calhoun and Boeheim, and Bob “do you know who I am” Huggins; the same Norm Roberts who made two post seasons in six years and recruited the best St John’s team in recent memory. Which seems about a wash to me.

<interlude>

One of the things the desperate no-hopers at the internet cesspool formerly known as redman dot com often have recourse to when discussing Iron Mike’s evident to everyone but his ball-washers flaws is his character: he is, they say, “classy.” Leave aside that those mutts wouldn’t recognize class if a class of classicists held a master class on The Theory of the Leisure Class in their colons. (And note that as I usually caution, if someone from RDC mentions “class” in your presence you should check to make sure you still have both your kidneys.) Pardon me, but what exactly is classy about Mike Anderson? Is it the way he blames everyone else for his failures? Is it the way he dog-houses kids and buries them on the bench? Is it his extensive collection of sweat clothes? His soul patch? I mean, I could spend pages describing Mike Anderson and the word “classy” wouldn’t occur to me. But then, I have a pretty extensive vocabulary.

</interlude>

So now I root against St John’s. My most fervent wish is that St John’s loses every game where the team flight does not crash into a mountain. And the distress of people like you – people who root for St John’s to win – makes it all the more betterer: your disappointment is to me sweet a elixir. From the whinging of paunchy geriatric one foot in the grave red and white club members riding the subway home in their stupid St John’s gear to the tears of disappointment shed by the grandchildren they have chosen to subject to decades of disappointment like those I’ve endured as a St John’s fan, all of it is to me delicious: I am drunk on your tears.

That’s why it’s reason for celebration.

Best wishes, your pal,

fun

red storm, redmen dot com

SchadenFreud

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A reader writes:

Fun

As you know, the multitude of fans that enjoyed your game recaps hope you will soon publish more editorials on BEB-The Dead Storm as yet another season spirals out of control and is ripe for your award winning humor.

Things have become so predictably boring after games that we yearn for comic relief. The leftist mob that now inhabits Redman Dot Com is much of the same old crapsters.

We know how busy you are shoveling snow in that God forsaken remote village you have chosen in the witness protection program, but please dip into your ink well and give us the insulting news we deserve for being St. John’s fans.

Your fan,
Johnny Rotten

Well Johnny Rotten – if that is your real name – here’s the thing. I used to write my hilarious japes and monkeyshines about the disaster that is St John’s basketball because St John’s basketball made me miserable. It was way to let off anger, angst and frustration. Nowadays though I hope that St John’s loses every single game they play. And since they almost never win games – meaningful ones anyway – I am rarely doleful. Quite the opposite: rooting against St John’s is like rooting for Dook or the Yankees, fans of which I assume enter each season with the expectation (or at least the possibility) of a favorable outcome. Which is how I feel now that I root for the other guy: because the other guy invariably winning is now a favorable outcome. Call it foul weather fandom.

Personally I hope Anderson never gets fired, because he sucks and his stupid Fugazi system sucks and St John’s will suck for as long as he’s the coach, and St John’s sucking makes me happy. I’m mean sure, do I sometimes get the urge to pound out 2000 words rubbing the suck in the faces of smug dopes like Lawmanfan and the rest of the former seventh grade girl AAU coaches that comprise the Anderson / Cragg fan club at Redman dot dum. Of course I do. And maybe someday I will. But not today: because tomorrow’s game day, and St John’s is going to lose, and that’s going to make me happy. Relatively speaking obviously.

red storm, Uconn

Uconn’t Make This Up

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I’d say after the week that was that I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a St John’s fan but I can, because I used to be one. First the team goes up to Storrs and despite Uconn’s nonchalance plays like absolute garbage, somehow claws its way back into the game, hits a miracle three for the lead with 4 seconds left, gets called for a phantom foul at the buzzer leading to a tie and then falls completely apart in overtime. What a kick in the balls. And then they play arguably their best game of the year, except it’s against worst team in the Big East Georgetown – they’re just atrocious – and besides which it’s up against the Cowboys playoff game, so to the extent that anyone watched SJ play its best game of the year, no one did. Even I was flipping back and forth. On the bright side the win has resulted in many Johnny fans crawling off the ledge, meaning their disappointment will be that much more acute when the inevitable happens and another Anderson team proves itself almost good enough but not quite.

During Sunday’s interminable display of atrocious basketball the once competent Tim Brando – who should retire, it’s over – mentioned that the highlight of Mike Anderson’s playing career was starting as point guard on Nolan Richardson’s 1981 NIT champion Tulsa Golden Hurricanes. (In another of a string of Louie’s masterful post season showings a St John’s team featuring David Russell, Wayne McKoy, Billy Goodwin and Kevin Williams was bounced from the NIT that year in the first round by Alabama, in a home game at Alumni Hall. I might even have been there.) Considering which maybe Iron Mike’s plan is to recreate his 1981 triumph by building an NIT champion right here in Queens. Because if he’s doing something other than building a middle of the bottom tier Big East team, he’s doing it wrong.

*** 

A read writes:

Fun

I love it when you take the piss out of the dopes at redman dot com. You should make a regular feature of it.

Your pal

Marco Baldi

Well Marco – if that is your real name, it sounds made up – believe it or not I’ve kicked around the idea of doing a weekly or so retrospective of the opinions of the worst most ignorant sports fans on the internet. I enjoy making fun of stupid people and finding creative ways to call them cunts and there’s certainly no dearth of fodder on that site. The drawback is that I’d have to read their drivel on a regular basis and think about it and then deliver 500 words on how dumb they are. Because searching for a cogent opinion compellingly expressed at redman dot com is like searching your toilet for an intact kernel after a hearty meal of corn on the cob. Even I have better things to do with my time. I’d be remiss though if I didn’t point out that delusional posters there have identified Ron Linfonte as a frequent contributor, evidently he’s spending his golden years anonymously imparting inside scoops to the 14 regular RDC posters. (Ron Linfonte – who I only went to follow on Twitter because he owns horses – has for some reason blocked. Jarvis has me blocked, I get that. Lavin too, for obvious reasons. But Ron Linfonte? What could I have done, mocked his unguents?) 

***

Today is Martin Luther King Day, which strikes me as something of an odd holiday. Not because I’m a right wing troglodyte – although I am – and not because I think civil rights and MLK’s contribution to their advancement unworthy of celebration.

But he’s the only individual with his own US holiday – the presidents share one, which was created as part of 1971’s Uniform Monday Holiday Act, part of an ambitious effort by to generate more three-day weekends for government workers. What MLK Day does is resign to the back of the bus the sacrifices so many others made in the cause of freedom: ten million Africans slaves; half a million woke white men who died in the civil war; and various individuals who dedicated their lives to the same cause MLK did: Malcolm X, Medgar Evers, Justin Smolleee, Tawanna Brawley. Nobody asked but I’d be much happier with civil rights day that celebrates the struggle for everybody’s freedom – negroes, broads, orientals, queers, everyone – and the blessings of liberty, with which we would have been endowed by our creator if we had one, which probably we don’t.

I don’t see that celebration of our collective rights and liberties coming to pass. Today we live in an Orwellian dystopia under a rapacious government that works relentlessly to diminish freedom and personal autonomy, based upon a myopic vision of what comprises the public good, which fuck the public good even if it could be defined it, which it can’t. We’re halfway down a very slippery slope, at the bottom of which are the rice paddies that your grandchildren will be toiling in. They’re going to be slaves and to the extent that any of them realize it a great many will embrace the yoke.

***

 

Finally, a bit of fluff about the diaspora.

The European slave trade started more or less with Henry the Navigator in the 15th century and was run for 400 years in approximate order by the Portuguese, Spanish, Germans, Dutch and then finally the English, all under papal aegis. For hundreds of years various eurotrash sailed down the west African coast, traded trinkets and rum to African slaveholders and transported those slaves to South America to work in sugar cane fields; white indentured servants, while ubiquitous, died too quickly, not being accustomed to the heat.

Of the 10 million or so Africans transported, 7 million were delivered to Brazil and 2 million to Cuba; a scant 500,000 to the United States: most US slaves were, as civil rights activist Jimmy the Greek astutely noted, domestically bred. So to recap: the slave trade comprised mainly Hispanics purchasing blacks from blacks and selling them to Latino landowners who worked them to death. Which means that when the US gets around to finally paying reparations Gisele Bündchen is going to owe Pele a lot of Tom Brady’s money. Happy civil rights day.

red storm, redmen dot com

It Ain’t Easy Being Green

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I watched yesterday for the first time in a long time nearly a whole St. John’s game, which, predictably, St. John’s lost. (I say predictably because they stink.) In the old days I’d have probably been disappointed in the result and to alleviate my funk written a bit of a gambol about the free throw discrepancy and then spent an enjoyable 20 minutes looking for just the right bit of cheesecake with which to festoon it. These days though I actively root for St. John’s to lose and so was delighted, both in the outcome and also in the fan base’s reaction to it, because the tears of St. John’s fans are to me Veuve Clicquot.

I don’t have much to say about the game itself: Anderson is a lackadaisical recruiter with a one trick pony fugazi system designed to not bring out the best in his better players and St. John’s will flirt with mediocrity until he’s ridden out of town on a rail. As such, the details of it don’t matter much at all, except to the purists among you. And anyway I’m only writing this to get the the important stuff at the end. Feel free to skip ahead. But first a couple of observations.

* Does Coach Third Choice ever take the blame for anything? When he’s wins it’s a credit to his system and when he loses it’s always someone else’s fault. Yesterday someone else was once again the referees: “The thing I was really disappointed in was the free-throw discrepancy, that was awful … They made 26 out of 30 free throws, we made eight out of 17. That’s a big difference in the game.” Because that’s how classy individuals like Iron Mike respond to adversity: they point the finger at someone else. Perhaps he thinks that an undisciplined team that presses full court on one end and chucks up random threes (4-22 yesterday) on the other is going to shoot a lot of FT’s? Where’s this guy think he is, dook?

* Some fans are asking what happened to Stef Smith, who many had penciled in as a third team all BE player. What happened to Smith is that after averaging 13 points a game over his career at mighty Vermont he decided to test his mettle against stronger competition in the Big East and his mettle was found wanting. Expecting Smith to average 15 ppg in the BE is like expecting a guy who hits .280 in double A ball to hit .310 in the majors. What happened to him is: he’s not that good. Unfortunately for SJU fans not that good is good enough if you have Coach Home Run’s faith in his genious system. Which let’s face it has only worked a handful of times since the Reagan administration and when it worked for Nolan Richardson his 40 minutes of hell featured Scotty Thurmond and Corliss Williamson, whereas Anderson’s version features Montez Mathis and O’Mar Stanley. 

* Finally, congratulations to Ed Cooley’s diseased head on his 300th victory. Congratulations are also in order because Cooley’s no longer the most hideous coach in the Big East, that honor having devolved to Tony Stubblefield. Jesus I saw that guy for the first time the other day, he’s a fucking gargoyle.

And now the important bit.

There was a thread this week over at Redman dot com – home of the worst most ignorant basketball fans on the internet – asking about the continuing viability of another Saint John’s fan site, this one called Johnny Jungle. (Which yes, Johnny Jungle is a completely stupid name). The thread devolved as threads at RDC often do into shout-outs of increasingly desperate and obscure references. Like if there’s a thread at RDC called “SJU Top 5 Bigs” the list will start out reasonably enough with Zendon Hamilton and Bill Wennington, and then someone will say hey you left off LeRoy Ellis or George Johnson or Mel Davis or whoever, fair enough, but by the third page some dummy will drag poor Rudy Wright or Ed Searcy into it and another dope’ll chime in with don’t forget Paul Berwanger until finally some drooling geriatric mentions a random golem like Archie Oldham and the whole thread collapses under the weight of its own absurdity.

So it was with “Johnny Jungle.” After the introductory whatever-happened-to-JJ talk, the conversation turned quickly to me (a sporadic JJ poster), I being a legend still spoken of reverently at RDC despite the fact that I stopped posting there when Lavin was coach. One poster said gee I miss fun and a conga line of others chimed in

his posts were hysterical.

I miss Fun the most

One of a kind and hysterical … I wish he’d come back.

He’s still twisted and witty.

Which this last one I don’t know how I feel about the word “witty,” it’s kind of ghey. Oscar Wilde was twisted and witty. I’m fucking hilarious.

So anyway the JJ thread devolved into whatever happened to this or that guy of ever increasing tangent until someone called Monty (not his real name) said hey does anyone remember a person screen-named CRGreen. Now, CRGreen was a UCLA alumni who migrated to the #SJUBB boards in the early teens after Lavin got hired: he was a deluxe fanboi. I didn’t put much credence in CRGreen’s opinion and we clashed often – despite all available evidence he maintained that Steve Lavin was a competent basketball coach, of which opinion I was forced to repeatedly disabuse him – but the thing about CRGreen was that he was a walking CBB encyclopedia. He knew knew more about CBB than me, and I know more about CBB than any 10 of you combined. But this guy, he knew everything.

In 2013 it came to light that CRGreen was facing various health challenges: esophageal cancer — which is essentially a death sentence — and because he was a fat bastard tipping the scales at near 400 pounds, heart failure and diabetes. (Note to any fatsos reading: put the donuts down, you’re killing yourself.) Eventually CRGreen passed and was mourned.

https://web.archive.org/web/20130831034752/http://www.bruinzone.com/b12/messages/96749.shtml

And like Marlowe he’s been dead lo these many seven years.

All of which to get here:

In the JJ thread, what this Monty guy (again, not his real name) said was:

I did think that [CRGreen] was a plant by Lavin or a family member. The timing of his illness and alleged demise was awfully coincidental. If I remember correctly, it was right around the time that Lavin was, ah, terminated, that CR Green announced that he departure was imminent. Now, I do not mean to make light of the situation … [if he] was in fact terminally ill and about to meet his demise, but the whole story just smelled fishy to me.

Yes, we wouldn’t want to make light of someone choking on their own putrescent flesh while dying a slow agonizing death from throat cancer, we here at RDC are far to classy for that. It’s just that like Lazareth, CRGreen’s corpse stinketh of fish (John 11:39). (Ed. note: if someone from RDC uses the word “classy” in your presence check to make sure you still have your wallet. And both your kidneys.)

Leave aside the to-the-best-of-my-recollection factual inaccuracies and consider the tacit premise: Steve Lavin, a recent cancer survivor suffering from an acute case of narcissistic personality disorder, in the midst of being exposed as a coaching fraud whilst simultaneously being cuckolded by his famous actress wife because his once proud Irish penis refuses to stand at attention and perform its husbandly duty, that guy’s sending spies to an obscure corner of the internet to refute the opinions of 30 or so active RDC posters, most of whom can’t read and those that can can’t figure out the forum’s quote function and all of them basketball ignoramuses nearly to a man. That seems an unlikely course of events to me. A more likely scenario is that Steve Lavin’s never heard of you and if he had wouldn’t piss on you if you were burning even if he still had control of his bladder, which seems dodgy.

And for those reasons I correct the record.

The Roanoke Times (Virginia)

December 1, 2013 Sunday

Metro Edition

Craig Green, of Blacksburg, died on August 26, 2013, from medical complications following a long period of illness and declining health. He was 59 years old. In his last years he put up a hard battle against three serious diseases: esophageal cancer, heart failure, and diabetes.

Craig was born in Glendale, Calif., and grew up in nearby West Covina, where he graduated from Edgewood High School. He studied at Mount San Antonio College in Walnut, Calif. His life’s work was in the field of computer technology. His early career in the 1970s began as an employee of Wang Laboratories followed by employment as a computer specialist in the banking industry. He formed his own computer consulting company in the early 1980s. In 1993 he founded the company VCS Computers which he moved from Indiana to Blacksburg, Va, in 1995. He was President of VCS Computers from its inception to the time of his death. VCS built, sold, maintained and serviced computers for the local community and members of many incoming classes of Virginia Tech students. He was an ardent follower of his beloved UCLA Basketball Bruins and became an enthusiastic fan of Virginia Tech sports after his move to Blacksburg. He loved to sing and had a lifelong passion for playing the guitar. Craig was a fine and decent human being who enjoyed the loyalty and admiration of his friends. He is much missed.

He is survived by his mother, Nellie Thurman of West Covina, Calif.; his brother, Glenn (wife Karen); and step-nieces and nephews.

Requiescat in pace CRGreen and condolences to his mother Nellie. It’s always sad when a parent outlives their child. Unless Lavin planted the obituary as part of a diabolical plan to outwit Monty obviously, in which case fuck her.

red storm

Figueroa Boat Ashore

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Hello sports fans. I hope you’re enjoying this psyops operation designed by the Davos Bilderburg one world government crowd to see how much shit Americans will eat in exchange for a government check and a false sense of security. Which evidently in your case is quite a bit. Don’t wear a mask, wear a mask, hide under your beds, put on your tin foil hat, take off your tin foil hat, it’s quite a hoot. For the record Missus fun and I are fine and in fact my life hasn’t changed almost in the slightest: I’ve been social distancing since the early 90s. The only blip on the radar is that the missus has been home from work for four months and it turns out that I’m not a very good 24 hour a day husband. I’m more of like a two hours in the morning four hours in the evening kind of good husband. Still, I’ve managed not to strangle her and deposit her dismembered body parts off I-88 near the Auriesville shrine, so there’s that.

Anyhoo, I thought to post my thoughts about LJ Figueroa’s decision to enter the transfer portal, and especially after reading the hysterical commentary by the herd of Karens over at Redman dot dumb, who are to nearly a woman engaging in slander and wild conspiracy theories, at least those who haven’t taken to the divan with smelling salts. I nearly created an account for the sole purpose of calling them all cunts but then I remembered I had this stupid blog and that I could call them cunts here, hence this post.  Herewith is a sample of their measured classy (classy is their favorite word, especially when it comes to describing themselves) commentary.

+++

a scumbag move

a poor move by Figueroa and really shifty

terrible form by Figueroa.

LJ Figueroa just strung us along

Being classy (ed note: like CTC) doesnt get you anywhere in this world

good riddance to Figueroa

Good riddance

there’s very much something sleezy going on in this situation, LJ probably wants a little cash

Figgy is selfishly trying to enhance his prospects of a pro career while st johns is concerned with team play.

LJ hung us out to dry

LJ screwed the staff and SJU

he had enough time to figure out which tampering program was the best fit

LJ had the keys to the City

Listening to someone in Nebraska?

they’ll be much better off without him.

total screw job, plain and simple!!!

$$$’s have got to be in the picture

Cut ties, no waiver granted, good luck in Europe.

a disservice to both himself as well as the program

LJ handled this poorly

never liked his game would not consider him a premiere player, anyone is expendable.

a bad basketball player

It looks almost spiteful at this point.

addition by subtraction
addition by subtraction
addition by subtraction
addition by subtraction

+++

So sayeth the worst of the worst most ignorant fan base in all of sports.

Let me tell you what really happened.

Figueroa didn’t want to come back last year but had no shot at getting drafted and didn’t want to transfer and sit out so he came back to play for coach third choice. He had a disappointing year in a system that does not flatter his talents, on a team that by all metrics sucked. Knowing that he was in for more of the same, after the season ended he took enough credits so that he could graduate this spring and therefore transfer without sitting out. Because again, he had no shot at getting drafted. On May 19 2020, finals ended. A week later LJF got his grades, found out he passed all his courses and was a college graduate. Being a college graduate he can be a graduate transfer in basketball, which means he did not have to sit out a year. A day or two later on May 26 2020, he put his name in the transfer portal. Buh bye.

Now, that’s what happened. You can believe it or you can believe that LJF is a shifty back stabbing scumbag who’s looking to get paid ba$ed upon advice from Matt Abdelma$$ih. Which if you believe that no doubt you believe that Jeffrey Epstein killed himself, which makes something of a prize rube.

See you in the funny papers.

Coach Third Choice, red storm

True Recruiting Lies

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Evidently Saint John’s will this weekend be hosting a JUCO called Isaih Moore, and no that’s not a typo, that’s how he spells his name. And even more evidently I’ve never heard of him before three minutes ago because who cares about recruiting. But it seems that Isaih is a 6’10” 180 pound 2-star recruit who in limited minutes last year at College of Charleston shot 40 percent from the floor, 60 percent from the free throw line and averaged nearly a third of a rebound a game. As such he sounds exactly like the sort of recruit Coach Iron Mike Anderson and his cadre of tireless assistants are going to be able to coach up to challenge Jay Wright for dominance in the BE and I hope he commits this weekend and maybe after that has a bag of White Castle or something because he seems a tad skinny. Tarik Owens weighed 205 for goodness sake and he got thrown around like a rag doll.

The reason for my post though isn’t to bury Isaih or even praise him. It’s to note that when Isaih was at C of C he last November lit up a team called PC for 13 points and 5 rebounds in 19 minutes and I was like whoa, he lit up PC as in Providence College like that, the PC coached by Ed Cooley’s diseased head, that PC?  Well no. It turns out that the PC he lit up is a place called Presbyterian College in Columbia South Carolina, a first year division one program, and this PC’s nickname is the BLUE HOSE and their college slogan is BE A BLUE HOSE and their alumni weekend slogan is COME HOME BLUE HOSE which weekend they advertise this way on their official college website:

 

Having considered these hose carefully I think I’d marry the one on the left because she looks like she can cook, kill the two hose in the middle because they have terrifying smiles and bang the one on the right because she looks enough like Jamie Lee Curtis so that if I squinted I could pretend I was railing Laurie Strode, especially if I was wearing a hockey mask.

bethune-cooke, red storm, saint john's

Make Alibegovic Great Again

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trump

HERE WE GO AGAIN: An old saw says that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. And so here are we Saint John’s fans once again in November thinking optimistic thoughts about the program and here am I once again to dissuade you from them. I frankly am not looking forward to my task this year. When I started writing these things it was out of a sense of frustration with the fate of the only sports team that I follow with any sort of passion and a loathing for its awful coach, the repulsive Steve Lavin. But now Lavin is gone lo these many years and with him the stench of failure and of his players only one remains and in the meantime the prodigal son has returned and the fatted calf is slain and the pieces are in place and things frankly are looking up – or as far up as things look in Jamaica anyway. And so what’s a boy to do? Sure I’m a cynic but not so far gone that I’m going to trash Chris Mullin and honestly even the skeptic in me believes that happy days will be here sooner rather than later. Where that leaves this experiment I am not sure and for the time being I’ll proceed in good faith but I suspect a time is coming when I’ll be happy enough to just watch the games and leave the commentary to the many genyiouses who so generously share their wisdom on various SJU forums … About what to expect this year I have not too much to say having only seen now 80 minutes of basketball, which is not enough for even the most astute observer to form an opinion. I will admit though that what little I’ve seen leaves me cautiously pessimistic: the newcomers look all of them like the real thing, the returnees look bigger and stronger, the staff looks energetic and engaged and the recruiting is better than it’s been forever. It’s probably too soon for any of that to translate to success on the court – college basketball being one of the few endeavors in life where age often trumps beauty – but it would be nice to see this year when all things shake out double the win total from last year (~16), a mid pack finish in the Big East, and an NIT bid, which is not an outlandish expectation considering that Chris Mullin is the coach and New York the television market. But as I say almost every year in November, wait till next year bums … About this game I have little to say as well: they ate the cupcake and although it was delicious there are no lessons in the empty calories. We’ll have a pretty good idea of how things are going to be by Thanksgiving, once Tom Izzo gets through with us … On my television last night Mullin’s hair was the same color as Frank Costanza’s. Hopefully that was an aberration and not a dye job

PLAYERS: Speaking of the real thing, Marcus Lovett did not start, despite being the best player on the court last night. Was it just one of those things or was Coach Lavin Mullin trying to teach his young point guard an important life lesson. I don’t know but if the latter get the orange jumpsuit ready … Federico Mussini had 20 points in 18 minutes, gladdening the hearts of racists everywhere. I’d remind those people that last year Mussini made 30 percent of his total threes (16 of 56) in November versus D2 competition, so I wouldn’t get too excited just yet. To be fair to FM he looks bigger and firmer and more athletic than he did last year, although I’ve seen fence posts that look more athletic than he did last year and he still this year can’t cover a pillar … Tariq Owens continues to impress although he’s going to have to manage more than four puny rebounds to make anyone forget Christian Jones, who had 13 last night versus real D1 competition … Shamorie Ponds led all players with 26 minutes and looked not much like a freshman doing so …. Bashmir Ahmed on the other hand played only 18 and looked to be pressing … At first thought I was disappointed that fun fave Kassoum Yawke only played 20 minutes and didn’t do much of anything with them but then I remembered just how young he is and what a luxury it is to be able to bring gifted players along slowly, rather than just throwing them to the dogs … Sima had 11 points in 15 minutes, confounding those who are already predicting his transfer … Like Mussini Malik Ellison looks bigger and stronger this year and seems poised to take a step forward … Richard Fredenburg will have to do better than zero points in 23 minutes if he expects me to learn how to spell his name …. Speaking of spelling, Alibegovic had a nice put back immediately upon entering the game and did a nice job of waving his towel thereafter. Anything they get from him beyond that will be a bonus … Darien Williams spent garbage time looking like someone whose had a bunch of surgeries and hasn’t played ball in a couple of years.

NOTES: Friday was Veteran’s Day, a public holiday intended to memorialize those who have served in their nations military, even, presumably, Germans. To those volk folk we offer a humble and heart felt thanks. Veteran’s Day falls on November 11 because the first world war – that’d be the war to end all wars for those scoring at home – ended on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1919, when the Huns surrendered to the Allies in a railway car in the North of France. (Ever the kidder Hitler had the French surrender in the very same railway car 30 years later.) In the United States the holiday was first promulgated by then President Woodrow Wilson, who besides being generally acknowledged as the first political “progressive” was the worst president of the 20th century and is on the short list for the worst president ever: an unrepentant racist, Wilson segregated the federal government, firing most black government employees – like most progressives he thought blacks “an ignorant and inferior race” – and consigned those who remained to colored bathrooms; in his memoirs he described the Ku Klux Klan as a “great” organization designed to “preserve the white race” and segregation as “a great benefit” to the negro; not content with that legacy he presided over the creation of the Federal Reserve system, instituted the first federal income tax, jailed his political enemies for treason and gleefully passed while as governor of New Jersey a bill requiring compulsory sterilization of felons, the mentally ill, and the differently abled. Add that all up and he makes Jimmy Carter look like Pericles … Speaking of politics, Theo R_______ (not his real name) writes:

Fun, could you share your thoughts on the recent election? As a millennial and a progressive I’m devastated and could use some solace.

Well sure Theo, I’d be delighted.

Louis Brandeis wrote that the right most cherished by civilized men is the right to be left alone. By that he meant that the essence of liberty is the right to opt out: from people, from relationships, from community, from ultimately from civilization. And so although I have firm opinions about the body politic – my belief that humanity is a dung heap and history the story of those who were ambitious enough to scale it has me positioned politically just to the right of Caligula – I’ve never voted. And this election was no different. Instead of participating I’ve endeavored to arrange my life so that it’s unaffected by the vagaries of government. I have no children and few attachments and enough money to tithe the state and afford my vices and since I’m interested in practically nothing other than my own comfort it doesn’t much matter which partisan hacks are ravening at the public teat at any given moment. All I want is to be left alone and for the most part I’ve achieved that.

Which is why I was pretty surprised late Tuesday evening when I realized how extremely unhappy I was going to be if Hillary Clinton were elected president. It wasn’t just the idea of living in a country governed by a cheap pant-suited grifter who’s spent her adult life feeding at the public trough in the name of public service. It wasn’t even that she’s married to a serial rapist and has a daughter that looks like Mister Ed. No. It was much more than that. Because by failing to elect Donald J. Trump president of the United States my fellow Americans would be squandering the opportunity to make so very many people so very fucking miserable and opportunities like that only come around a couple of times in a lifetime.

Mind you, I’m not talking about just the public mortification facing the likes of appalling no talent blowhards like Cher and Alec Baldwin, corpulent fuckhead Michael Moore, no talent whores Katy Perry and Lady Gaga, obese cum dumpsters Lena Dunham and Amy Schumer, rug munchers Rosie O’Donnell and Rachel Maddow, banana nosed bozo Barbra Streisand, ignorant fucking slut Madonna, and various smug and sanctimonious left wing stooges like Whoopi Goldberg, Joy Behar, Sean Penn, Ed Asner, Jane Fonda, Woody Harrelson, Jessica Lange, Norman Lear, Martin Sheen, and Oliver Stone. And neither do I mean the disappointment felt by herds of coddled youth of the stupidest generation who flooded the internet with hilarious heart wrenching videos of their weeping disappointment before fleeing to safe spaces where they could share their feelings with grief counselors and assuage their disappointment with play doh and coloring books.

(Fans of irony will relish the fact that these ministrations to the feelings of the current generation of delicate snowflakes occurred on the eve of a holiday dedicated to remembering the bravery their great grandparents displayed storming the beaches of Normandy and will swoon with delight at the idea of millennial comparisons of the disappointment they experienced on 11-9 to real events that happened on 9-11.)

No: it was much bigger than all that.

See, it all came to me right about 2:00 AM, watching DemonRat toadies Wolf Blitzer and Van Jones frantically trying to parse their way to a Clinton win in the electoral college: I suddenly flashed on Hitler in his bunker pushing nonexistent Panzer divisions across a map of Eastern Europe. And it came to me that come morning whole continents would erupt in a glorious symphony of weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth: dog faced PM Angela Merkel and her Germanic hordes; Canadian Prime Minster Zoolander and the myriad citizens of his third world hamster in a wheel socialist shit hole; entire nations of stinky cowardly frogs, murderous Huns and Cossacks, pathetic impotent Swedes and Sprouts, various rag and towel heads; and lest we forget those one billion inscrutable Orientals who’ve been buying up our country for the past 20 years, all of them singing in one voice: we are the world, we are the disconsolate, waa! Because there’s only one thing that’s sweeter than the feeling that comes from good things happening to me and that’s other people’s fucking misery. So take solace Theo: you might not feel so good but there are many many other people who feel worse, and that’s always cause for celebration. And if you worry about all the concentration camp fantasmagories that terrify you about the new president just remember that nothing that he could ever imagine doing will ever reach the depths plumbed by Woodrow Wilson and they’re still naming public buildings after that guy. So god bless America and god bless President Donald J. Trump. Schwing!

 

 

red storm, saint john's, Xavier

X Parte

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heart

RECAP: Usually when it comes to Saint John’s I’m hard to surprise – mostly because always I expect the worst and usually they deliver. But today I am: Saint John’s beat Xavier 78-70 in Cincinnati Saturday afternoon. Consider: Saint John’s was on the road where they play poorly and out of state where they’re atrocious; Chris Obekpa was hurting; Rysheed Jordan got in early foul trouble; D’Angelo Harrison went down late in the first half after looking to have seriously injured his calf; and Steve Lavin was coaching. None of that is a recipe for success and most of it a recipe for disaster. And yet they managed to pull it off and in doing so absorbed a few punches along the way: Xavier went out to an early 10 point lead and SJU responded, outscoring them by 20 over the next 16 minutes; Xavier started the second half on a 9-2 run to tie the game and SJU went on an 8-0 run of their own; and Xavier overcame a 10 point deficit late to pull within three and SJU put them away. In each case Saint John’s made plays when it counted. Thank goodness for seniors … Once again SJU shot well: 50 percent from the floor, 35 from three and 80 from the line. Some of that is fool’s gold, as they continue to take bad shots – especially Pointer and Greene – that continue to go in despite the laws of physics and thermodynamics. Because of which I assume they’ll come back to earth eventually, so enjoy it while it lasts. As for Xavier, they’re two teams. The one with Matt Stainbrook is not awful. The one without him stinks. Despite the importance of the game – and no matter how SJU finishes the season this loss is going to look awful on Xavier’s tournament resume – they came out with zero energy and got worse as the game wore on. Even the crowd was lame; they might as well have played at Carnesecca. Xavier shot poorly and turned the ball over and basically stunk. If I were charitable – and we know I’m not – I might blame the early start, or maybe they’re still upset about that whole Porkopolis thing. Whatever. Suck it Musketeers … Lavin once again appeared to be wearing make-up, although today it looked like it might be some sort of spray-on tan. Perhaps he’s auditioning to take Monasch’s place? Who knows. Anyway, he did a good job of stealing minutes here and there with the bench and called some dubious time outs and clapped his hands a bunch. That is, business as usual about which the less said the better … SJU has now won 4 of their last 5 and is suddenly .500 in conference, albeit still in seventh place. Assuming a split with Georgetown, a loss to Villanova and one bad and inexplicable loss to some seeming pasty, 9 and 9 seems likely. That would put them in about 5th place and firmly on the bubble going into the BE tournament. If they keep playing the way they have they probably deserve a bid – what? – and will be a team no one’s going to want to play in the first round. Glass slipper anyone?

PLAYERS: Dom Pointer was once again a wrecking ball: 24 points on 9 of 10 from the floor and 6 for 6 from the line, 5 rebounds, 4 steals and 2 blocks. It’s only a shame the lightbulb didn’t go on sooner … Harrison had 18 points, 13 of those in the first half. He scored only one field goal after injuring his calf – fortunately it was the other one – late in the first half. My notes regarding which say: “and there goes the season.” He limped off at halftime and was limping in the second half warm ups, but despite being graded as questionable played the entire 20 minutes. On a team where players miss games because of sore throats, sprained ankles and paper cuts that sort of heart is refreshing to see … Jordan was mostly missing in action, but he had a huge three late after Xavier had pulled to within three. Threw an absurd lob to Pointer on a breakaway late but like everything else today it worked out pretty well … Jordan was spelled in the first half by Jamal Branch, who had 11 points on 5 for 7 shooting, this after scoring 2 points over his last four games. Despite which, he did not play barely at all in the second … Obekpa had zero points but the game changed in the first half when he entered at the 16 minute mark: Xavier, which had been scoring at will on the inside for the first 4 minutes, suddenly became tentative around the basket. Provided an amusing moment in the second half when after Pointer made some dopey play he pointed at his head. At first I thought Obekpa was reminding Pointer where the best place to throw an elbow was but then it occurred to me that he was telling Pointer to think … After Phil Greene fouled Xavier’s JP Macura in the first half Macura gave Greene the sort of run of the mill pat on the ass that passes for sportsmanship on the basketball court. Greene spun around and got in Macura’s face: “Don’t touch my ass” he said. By his reaction you would have thought Macura tried to slip a fist in there. Doth the lady protest too much? Greene had 15 points on 14 shots – many of those ill-advised and out of control, especially late, when he sometimes gets it into his head that he’s the team’s star, as opposed its weak link – including 3 of 8 from three, to go along with no rebounds, no blocks, no steals, and 1 assist … I’ve figured out what Amir Amirovich reminds me of: a Russian Olympic wrestler, except less grabby …. Balamou started the game but did not play much in the second. Which is just as well. Hopefully he takes some assertiveness training over the summer, because I’ve known more aggressive geishas… I don’t find much occasion for mirth when reading the various SJU fan forums, because let’s face it most of you people wouldn’t recognize a joke if Bill Burr recorded a comedy special in your small intestine. But I nearly did a spit take this morning when some astute Saint John’s fan recommended that Joey De La Rosa start, because “he matches up favorably well with Matt Stainbrook.” Update for that poster: Joey DeLa Rosa doesn’t match up favorably with a stanchion. He makes Tom Bayne look like Mikhail Baryshnikov. JDLR played a minute at the beginning of the second half, during which time he committed two fouls and turned the ball over after which he went to the bench, never to return.

NOTES: I cannot comment too much on the broadcast, except to say that Bob Wenzel started talking at 12:15 and did not shut up until I muted the television at around 1:30. The most insightful thing he said during that time was “Yikes.” I have in the past catalogued Wenzel’s myriad shortcomings at length and will not do so again except to remind you that the only thing he knows less about than broadcasting is basketball: as a coach he had only 6 winning seasons out of 15 and won 20 games only once; he was 73 and 95 over his 6 years at Rutgers and a dismal 20-34 in the Big East. Shut up Bob … Yesterday was Friday the thirteenth and today Valentine’s Day, a perfect confluence for those of you unlucky in love. The origins of superstitions relating to the number 13 are obscure – some postulate that it’s because there were 13 apostles at the last supper, Judas Iscariot being the odd man; others that is due to the mass execution of a slew of Knights Templar by King Phillip on that day in the 12th century; and others still others because it’s one more than 12, which is a regarded as the perfect number: 12 months in a year, 12 hours in a day, 12 apostles, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 signs of the Zodiac, 12 in a dozen and so on. Friday is of course unlucky because it was on that day of the week that the Baby Jesus was crucified. Together they are the perfect storm. There’s no evidence that Friday the 13th is anymore worse than any other day and none of this seems very scientific anyway: in Spain Friday the 17th is considered unlucky and in Greece Tuesdays and let’s face it most days don’t work out well for most people most of the time anyway. The best practice seems to be my own: expect the worst at all times, that way at least you’ll never be disappointed … Valentine’s day is named for Valentinus, a Christian decapitated by the second Emperor Claudius in the third century on February 14th. This explains why head is the traditional Valentine’s Day gift. How a 2000 year old decapitation came to be associated with modern day romance is anyone’s guess, but associated it is: traditionally February Fourteenth features the exchange of gifts between lovers, traditionally flowers, which makes a perverse sort of sense, as flowers, themselves severed vegetative sexual organs, are delivered to females by males castrated by capitalist convention. My own Valentine’s tradition is to give the old lady a break by making my own sandwiches. Through the years Valentine’s Day has come to be associated with the Roman God Cupid – Eros in Greek mythology – the son of goddess of love Venus (the Greek Aphrodite) and god of war Mars (the Greek Ares). Quite logically those two genetic strains combine in Cupid’s special power: he owns a bow by which he inflicts lust upon the recipient of his arrows. You don’t have to be Fellini to figure out the symbolism there. In the original version Cupid was a grown ass god married to a mortal broad called Psyche. After a bit of tomfoolery that need not concern us here Psyche finds herself wandering the country side where she’s discovered by the half horse Pan, who betrays Psyche to her evil mother in law Venus, who never approved of the marriage in the first place. To have her revenge Venus first locked Psyche away in a dungeon and then sent her off on a series of quests, the last of which found her in Hell, where in an odd twist she found redemption instead of everlasting torment; afterwards she is returned to earth, made immortal, and reunited with Cupid. Despite all this grown up adventure Cupid somehow through the ages came to be portrayed as a fat baby in a diaper, who in the middle ages was often portrayed by artists astride a dolphin. Scholars suggest that the dolphin has to do with his mother’s origins – she is said to have spontaneously generated out of the sea – but you can’t fool me: it’s just a giant penis, which also makes a perverse sort of sense, as Cupid is sort of a dick. Apropos of which, this, by Stephen Crane

In the desert I saw a creature,
naked, bestial,
Who, squatting upon the ground,
Held his heart in his hands,
And ate of it.
I said, “Is it good, friend?”
“It is bitter – bitter,” he answered;
“But I like it
Because it is bitter,
And because it is my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

providence, red storm, saint john's

PU: The Sweet Stench of Success

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salt-and-pepper-8

GAME: That explosion you did not hear last night was the sound of the Steve Lavin regime not imploding. Oh, it was close. Saint John’s oh and three in the Big East, on the road, a player down and a 17 point second half lead suddenly down to three. It was all about to come crashing down, because this was a loss they’d probably never have recovered from. This would have broken them. Even Harrison. But instead they gutted it out and came away with an 83-70 win at Providence Wednesday night. Perhaps the most remarkable thing about it is that even taking into account all the edge of chair nail biting inherent in a relatively glorious victory in a must win game SJU is still only in 9th place and looking at a long climb to respectability. Fortunately for them (or us for those of we who prefer that) they’ve 6 of their next 8 against the weak sisters in conference, which gives them the chance to be mid pack come the middle of February, when as everyone knows Steve Lavin’s delicate genyious kicks in … There’s really only one thing you need to know about Wednesday’s game: Saint John’s shot a higher percentage from 3 (59) than Providence shot from the FT line (56). That’s a remarkable statistic and even more remarkable considering how awful Saint John’s is at shooting 3s: they’re at 33 percent for the year and if you take out Harrison they’re at 28 percent. Which is pretty appalling. Whereas last night they made 10 of 17. And meanwhile PU missed 11 free throws in seven-point game and nearly everything else they attempted too: they shot a storm-like 40 percent from the floor and 28 from three. All I can figure is that they were still hung over from their 2OT win over Georgetown over the weekend. Because they were flat and awful and even the usually raucous crowd was listless … Perhaps the biggest surprise of the night was Jamal Branch did not start. Ha! Just kidding, it’s that Steve Lavin wore a shirt. Who knows what happened. Perhaps he spilled gravy on his dress sweat suit at the pregame meal. Maybe his wife packed for him. Anyway he was dressed appropriately; in other words, Mrs. Fun’s, “he doesn’t look like a psychopath.” Which when you think about it is not a lot to ask for 2 million a year: don’t dress like Richard Speck, and try and win 1 and a half games for every one you lose. Expectations could not be lower. This is a fan base that would consider a first round NCAA tournament loss an enormous leap forward. But I digress. Yes, so Lavin wore a shirt with a collar and in fact if you take the repulsive deformations in the back of Ed Cooley’s head into consideration you could even say that Lavin was the most dapper head coach in the arena. Re the game he subbed appropriately and called at least one time out when I advised him to (that is, he called a time out shortly after I said “take a time out Tesla” to the TV screen) and didn’t cock anything up spectacularly, for which we can all this morning be grateful.

PLAYERS: Harrison had 20 and passed chucker Felipe Lopez on the all- time scoring list. It’s unlikely that he catches Sealy, and as far as 4-year careers go, third is a pretty appropriate place for him … Greene had 20 points, several of them important. But let me tell you something about Phil Greene. He’s a dumb basketball player. One of the dumbest I can remember in a while, and I remember Donald Emanuel and Jason Buchanan like it was yesterday. And because he’s dumb, among his other myriad faults is that he rarely takes a good shot. So even if he scores 20 points, which he does every once in a while, and even if he scores 20 points by taking fewer than 20 shots, rarer still, he’s still dumb, and he still stinks, and I still can’t wait till he gets the hell out. Here’s an interesting statistic about Phil Greene: last night he secured his FOURTH offensive rebound of the year, in over 500 minutes. (By way of contrast Balamou has 6 in 60 minutes.) You’d think you could stand at a random place on the court for 500 minutes and that a missed shot would land in your hands say every 120 minutes, but no, not PG4’s hands. Here’s another whopper: PG4 has attempted 21 FTs for the entire year. (By way of contrast Harrison has over a hundred in about the same minutes.) Here it is by the numbers, FTA per FGA.

DH .50
RJ .50
PG .16
DP .38
CO .58
JB .31

That means that for every 10 shots FG takes, he shoots 2 FTs. Good grief. So to recap, Phil Greene is awful but did not suck as much as usual last night … I have been an active participant on various SJU fan boards for a long time and during that time have learned a great deal about logic and rhetoric. Here’s the sort of syllogism I learned to construct during discussions with various basketball gurus and nostradamuses on those sites over the years:

Rysheed Jordan started.
Saint John’s won.
Therefore SJ won because Rysheed Jordan started.

Addition by subtraction. Try and disprove it, you can’t. … Jordan started because Branch “cut himself.” I think what probably happened is that Branch was overcome with shame at how poorly he plays basketball and attempted to commit hari kari but because he’s Jamal Branch he dropped the knife halfway through the procedure and inflicted only superficial wounds. Get well soon Jamal … I didn’t notice while it was happening but evidently Pointer had 18 points. Twelve of those were from the free throw line, which is 4 FTs fewer than Greene has made all year … In a performance sure to impress any NBA scouts in the audience watching LaDontae Henton, Chris Obekpa scored  2 points before fouling out in 23 minutes … Branch’s failed suicide attempt meant more minutes for the bench. Jasilionus II got most of them , 4 points, two rebounds; shot-a-phobic Balamou had two FG attempts, making one and blowing the other at the rim; JDLR showed little.

NOTES: The game was called by Liza Minelli John Stockton, formerly a respected broadcaster. Stockton was relatively coherent during the early part of the game but later on as it got past his bedtime he seemed to have a harder time keeping up. For example, towards the end of the game Vin Parise opined that SJ was doing a good job attacking the basket, rather than using up the shot clock in an attempt to not lose, to which Stockton replied to the effect that yes, SJ had every reason to be patient on each offensive possession. Which is fact the opposite of what Parise said. Probably they both were wrong. Anyway Dick, it’s over, get out … Another interesting cut in to a Lavin TO, where in we heard the Lavin tell his players to give them a little “salt and pepper.” I was disappointed that we did not see enough of the TO to get the full context. Was Lavin perhaps giving the injured Jamal Branch a recipe for some nice cacciatore he could make while convalescing? (Unlikely, as Branch is a vegan.) Was he describing to foreigner Alba Albavokiovich which hip hop trio is best for getting American women in the mood to push it real good? (I swear by the Geto Boys.) Personally I’d like to think he was telling them that they’[d be watching on the ride back to the city his favorite Rat Pack movie Salt and Pepper, in which Peter Lawford plays Chris Pepper and Sammy Davis Charlie Salt, two groovy nightclub owners in swinging 60s London who thwart a plot to overthrow her majesty’s government and get the girls. It’s a gas man … Speaking of the Geto Boys, it ain’t shit:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

red storm, saint john's, villanova

Standing Novation

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B6nCLvCCYAE-dAk

 

GAME: I’m not a big fan of 9 o’clock starts. My usual practice is to record the games and watch them later so that I can fast forward through the commentary and commercials but there’s no practical way to do that when the festivities start past my bedtime. Not to mention the difficulties inherent in regulating my body chemistry so that I’m awake and upright at the ungodly hour of 11 pm. Last night I was at least for my troubles rewarded with 30 minutes of entertaining basketball, which is unfortunate only to the extent that basketball games are 40 minutes long. Which is why this morning I am a tad crankier than usual and Saint John’s is oh and three in conference, in last place in the new Big East, and plummeting out of the top 25 with the force and velocity of a spaceship reentering the earth’s atmosphere. It must be a bitter pill to swallow for delusional Saint John’s fans who were two weeks ago clamoring for showdowns with DoOk and Kentucky… The loss itself was no surprise. Nova is ranked in the top 10 and has beaten Saint John’s 8 times in a row and 14 of the last 15. They also have about nine serviceable basketball players of varying sizes and skill sets, which I’m led to believe is an important part of winning basketball teams. Steve Lavin has a different strategy: he has assembled a small group of players of roughly the same size, some of whom have little or no skill at all. In spite of which seeming hardships Saint John’s last night led at halftime. However for the second game in a row the opposing coach has made the necessary halftime adjustments – don’t ask me what they were, personally I think halftime adjustments is a phrase rubes use to describe the outcome of a game they barely understand, but whatever – despite which adjustments Saint John’s kept it about even until the 12 minute mark, when Nova’s depth and skill started to wear SJU down, resulting in a 38-18 run to end the game. By the 10 minute mark Nova had a 7 point lead; at 8 minutes it was 11 and by 6 minutes it was 14. It was like watching a building crumble in slow motion. Even if Lavin had some vague idea of what to do to turn things around he lacked the bodies to do so, having taken a couple of years off recruiting and having anyway failed to develop those players he recruited …. Saint John’s shot respectably: nearly 50 percent from the floor, 40 percent from three and 80 percent from the line. But once again they did not share the ball – Nova had 22 assists to SJ’s eight – and they got absolutely killed on the glass, 40 to 20. I know that Steve Lavin said that “rebounding is the least important statistic in basketball” but it seemed to make a difference last night … Under normal circumstances you’d say it was a good loss, or at least not a bad loss, playing the number 8 team in the country to a draw more or less, except when you’re 0 and 2 there are no moral victories. So now oh and three, and up next Providence on the road and then first place DePaul on the road and then we’re oh and five just like last year but with the prospect of playing our best basketball in February, just like last year. Don’t worry, Lavin’s got them right where he wants them.

PLAYERS: Harrison carried the team on his back for 30 minutes despite having nearly broken his leg at the end of the first half and having his jaw busted about halfway through the second … Phil Greene was 6 for 14 from the floor and now has more field goal attempts than points, a statistic that would be mind boggling if you had never seen Phil Greene play basketball. Most of those 14 were off balance jumpers with one foot on the three point line and 32 seconds left on the shot clock: it’s like watching Michael Jordan try and take over a game after having suffered severe brain trauma. One of them he banked in and another couple he air-balled, which sort of consistency is one of the signs of a deadeye shooter. It was a strip of Greene with a couple of seconds left in the first half – he was attempting to go one on three at the time – that led to the breakout that left Harrison writhing under the basket holding his knee. Harrison had hustled back on D; Greene, not so much … Obekpa missed a dunk in the first half and then feigned injury as he trotted up court after the play, asking to be taken out of the game. Justice was served when he suffered an actual injury later … Pointer fouled out with 8 minutes to go. Before that he was engaged in an entertaining game of H-O-R-S-E … Rysheed Jordan return was shall we say  inauspicious. No field goals, three turnovers. It’s a shame we couldn’t have worked through these issues in the pre season. Oh well. On the bright side he made both his free throws, which improvement could be huge in a one and done tournament like the CBI … Jamal Branch did his usual little bit of nothing … Christian Jones played 10 minutes. Involved in a remarkable sequence where his would-be dunk was blocked on one end and then he raced down the court only to fall down, allowing the very guy who blocked his shot to dunk himself … Garbage minutes for the rest of them. Miles Stewart displayed nice form on his jump shot.

NOTES: The game was called professionally as usual by Bill Raftery and Gus Johnson, although this game it was Ed Corbett, not the repulsive Jim Burr, who Johnson called “one of the great referees in college basketball history.” Note to Gus: all referees suck. Halftime contributors included Dudley Do-Right clone Austin Croshere and Ben Howland, who has all the charisma of a pillar. I’ve seen more dynamic deadfall. There was though an interesting feature on Chris Obekpa’s pants in the pregame, which is I guess what you talk about when you’re in last place. It’s entirely possible that next year at this time when we tune in and Saint John’s is oh and three in the big east and in last place the studio host will be Steve Lavin, who having left SJU better off than he found it returns to the west coast and a lucrative gig at ESPN LA, where he can replace cancer victim Stuart Scott, who it won’t surprise you I hated, but, you know, RIP and whatever, but not as much as Neil Everett, who’s just the worst. …Speaking of many happy returns, Lou Carnesecca, 90 years young … Interesting exchange between Wright and Lavin during the post-game handshake. Lavin said something to which Wright replied “You’re fucking crazy.” Could have been anything really.

“What do you think of my suit”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

 

“I’m a good basketball coach.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

 

“Rebounding is unimportant.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

 

Make up your own Lavin quotes. It’s fun for you and the entire family … I was casting about for something interesting to write about, and came upon Howard Porter. Porter was a three time All American at VU and most valuable player in the NCAA tournament his senior year, despite Villanova losing to UCLA in the finals. But when the ever vigilant NCAA discovered that Porter “had begun dealing with an agent before the season ended,” it was all VACATED. The run, the award, everything. Sure, any idiot could have googled that. But I noticed Porter died in 2007 and it turns out he was murdered and I thought oh, that’s too bad and then I Googled some more and found out that

“Former Villanova star and Ramsey County probation officer Howard Porter was trying to trade money and crack cocaine for sex with a prostitute when he was beaten to death, according to murder charges filed Tuesday against a St. Paul man … A prostitute … told police four masked men rushed in to her apartment and … beat Porter “real bad, God real bad” and that “there was blood everywhere.”

At which point I wished I’d stopped while you were ahead. Because that’s awful on a bunch of levels … Villanova lost the national championship game 68-62 to the Wicks/Rowe/Bibby version of UCLA. Whereas after Porter Villanova’s best player was the immortal Hank Siemiontkowski. Two teams had their appearances vacated in 1971, and oddly neither was called UCLA. The other was Western Kentucky, which was disqualified after it was discovered that Jim McDaniels had signed an ABA contract during his senior year. The contract was for $1.35 million, to be paid over the next 25 years. Does not seem fair: one point three million wouldn’t even pay Sam Gilbert’s bar tab.