It’s 94′ x 50′. Focus on it. Bathe in it. Damn all else.
by Chris Deaton / @umlikedude
All the hoopla turns to hoop.
It’s a loop, no matter how low it stoops.
‘Cos the (yup) makes the pastures greener,
The product meaner;
“Meaner” like “sweeter”, not “Travis Diener”.
You gotta think there’ll be this massive payoff, right? To the heated tormentors of LBJ’s Twitter feed: His drama (or, yes, shit) ignited the biggest arms race since the Cold War, and as the landscape shifted, the stories got bigger, the hype got bigger — the game remained.
Always has. No matter the earthquake, whether it was James bolting Cleveland or Mike bolting the game or the game bolting everything, these 94′ x 50′ shrines to Naismith somehow emerged unscathed. What happens off of those hardwood slabs is mostly inertia. What happens on them are enchantment and evolution — not necessarily for the better, but rarely for the worse and always for increased fascination.
We benefit. We, the writers, the commentators. We, the viewers, the fans. We, everybody.
This year belongs to the simultaneity of new-school and tradition: the Heat, rebels by mere existence and hated for merely existing, and the Celts and Lakers, the well-equipped old guard not lacking in experience or chemistry. This year belongs to prototypes: the potential for LeBron Oscar Earvin Johnson James, the certainty of Kevin Durant. This year belongs to renewed hope in a heartening number of locales: Chicago and New York, deservedly optimistic despite missing on the grand prize; Los Angeles and Washington, home to rookie number-one picks; Golden State and Sacramento (wildly fun youth without the wins!) … more, of course.
This year belongs to them, to us, because it’s a new chessboard and an interesting one, and it’s timely to count the fortunes.
That doesn’t require further prattling, but a simple reminder that world-class will unfold before our eyes, same as it ever has. No nonsense. No gossip.
Just ball. Just beauty.
No Decision but to watch.