Celtics Doom

Fresh dispatch from putative television comedy writer and CelticsDoom intern George Meyer! George writes:

“Chesty, Ran afoul of the thought police in the form of Bob ‘Opus’ Day and Roy Hobs, two surly thugs who trample on free expression like so many drunken elephants on a highway of frozen rum (sic). As a fellow Californian, I implore you to stop setting staring at the fires in the Hollywood Hills and get back to the task at hand – writing Celtics articles that cite German cinema and over-labored philosophy, and leave the God-hawking to the pee-brains.”

I think it’s actually “pea” brains George, but we get the message. As for Celticsblog, we remain friends and supporters, but we fear for the health of Jeff’s stat counter should these overzealous actors continue to front the franchise. Lighten up gents, no one’s getting rich off this work.

But onto the important stuff. A new feature we like to call, “How Stupid is Paul Pierce?"

We were going to use our connections in the entertainment industry to set up a “are you smarter than a fifth grader” appearance for the Captain, but no sooner had we stalked out super-producer Mark Burnett at the local Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, than did Bob Day’s God gift us with this Ghastly Idiocy.

To recap: Paul Pierce suffers through an injury-filled stinker of a season that engenders a lifetime of sympathy and “see we can’t win without him”-isms from gullible Celtics fans, but then,“pee” brain that he is, he destroys this goodwill in an embarrassing interview with Jackie Mac wherein he refers to himself as a “great player” no less than three separate times, and plays the victim for accepting a huge cap-crippling extension, apparently at knife point. For those of us who have spent many years parsing Globe articles to count the number of times The Captain refers to himself as a “veteran all-star,” this was the most concrete evidence yet in the case of “Paul Pierce – ‘I am my own best friend.’”

First of all, the age old debate, is Pierce a “great player”? Of course not. He has made one all-NBA third team and has never been considered the best player at his position, even in his own conference. Kobe is a “great” player, Kidd is a “great” player, LeBron is a “great” player. Ray Allen, Vince Carter and Paul Pierce are not.

Pierce is an over-extended cog in a poorly built machine, a fool who in his heart knows he will never set foot on the moon, but goes around wearing a home made space suit with “NASA” written on the back in crayon. “Where’d you get that thing?” someone might ask. Pierce would answer, “the government gave it to me because I’m such a great astronaut.”

Old news, of course, but now the Captain has thrown his young teammates under the bus as a means of further embellshing his talent and abilities. Is there need for a discussion about why the man entrusted with the captaincy shouldn’t go around endorsing a trade of the guys he's supposed to be leading? Particularly when the only one of these guys anyone wants is a dim-witted manchild who underwent such a dramatic transformation (for the better, thankfully) when he learned he was inches away from being shipped out with a bag of cash for Allen Iverson? Put said man-child's name back in the rumor mill and he might literally turn into a pumpkin.

It’s just poor form. It’s stupid and it’s selfish and Pierce does nothing but hurt his image by airing his “no shit this team sucks” laundry to the newspapers. Would Paul have been so forthcoming had Jackie Mac asked him why such a “great player” melted down in the Pacers playoff series? Or why he routinely jacks up terrible shots and makes stupid turnovers during crucial stretches of winnable games?

For all of Pierce’s bitching and whining, he’s had a fairly easy pass in a town that’s known for hating its heroes. He makes around a quarter of the team’s payroll, he is the face of the franchise, and he plays in a system that gives him his points and all-star stats. Most importantly, he gets to lose more games than he wins and blame the whole thing on the two GM’s, four coaches and dozens of teammates he has played for as a Celtic. He catches heat now and then, but for the most part he is held remarkably blameless by the legitimate media.

By mouthing off about how much his largely self-created situation "sucks," however, he invites the unfavorable comparison to past Celtics players who presided over teams that did not shame the franchise in the way his have. While yes, we've learned that a Pierce-less team is almost unimaginably bad, we also know that a Pierce-led team is by default, mediocre. No matter how much he wants to pretend otherwise, that is Paul Pierce's legacy. That is the Truth.

Labels: God-hawking, homemade space suits, Opus Dei

Thank you Coc!

The ethics of this stuff be damned. If we needed to suffer through this ghastly season, at least there should be the hope of reward.

CelticsDoom salutes, in particular, the use of the handy old "cut inside the mouth" as the most emasculating and imaginative faux-injury possible to foist upon the Captain. Someone alert "Behind the Glory" of this crucial new addendum to the stabbing story: "Mighty Pierce felled by errant bicuspid in under-publicized eating mishap." Tony Battie is sure to offer valued incites!

So cheer up Celtics fans. No more need for those "Free William Ragland" signs at the TD Tanknorth Garden. This franchise just grew some balls. Ping Pong Balls!

Labels: Coc as Force For Good, ethics, TD Tanknorth

Contrary to popular belief, I want the Celtics to succeed. But I do have a tough time swallowing the idea that beating San Antonio for the first time in 17 years stands as any kind of meaningful development. To me, it never was anything more than a weird statistic that served as an example of how the lottery plays a huge role in building a winning NBA franchise.

So in that sense, finally defeating the Spurs in a game that further jeopardizes our impending draft position is all the more appropriate as an example of how fucked up the Celtics are run as an organization.

It takes three things to win in the NBA – money, balls (as in, “nerve”) and luck. Two first two of these things are in the owner’s hands (so to speak), and the third is overrated. That the Celtics have been perceived of as “cursed” or “unlucky” is simply a shorthand for acknowledging they’ve been chronically mismanaged by cheap owners who made a bad situation worse by refusing to take a financial hit while rebuilding the franchise correctly.

The Celtics have not had a clear-cut vision as a franchise since at least the early 90’s. During the current era (or “blog-era” as I’m starting to think of it) they lucked into Al Jefferson at #15, but they remain a team primarily comprised of talent drafted mid to late in the first round (or busts like Bassy who we traded a low lottery pick for). The team flirted with a marginal and shameful definition of success during the O’Brien era (typified by OB’s “we did play for a championship, the Eastern Conference Championship” quote), but it was with a team built out of hope, spare parts and an unearthly commitment to team defense. It was built to fall short, ultimately, and should rightfully have been dismantled ENTIRELY.

But instead, Ainge came in, traded Antoine for a headache, and we suffer to this moment, finding embarrassing joy in a meaningless regular season defeat over a declining Spurs team that has won three NBA championships over a period of time where the Celtics have won exactly three playoff series. Yeah. Exactly. Pop a fucking cork.

Which brings me to the point of this whole thing. Why the fuck are the Celtics winning games? We have within our grasp the one single opportunity to turn the franchise around and bring some purpose to the suffering the fans have endured for lo these endless seasons. Yet, suddenly we’re playing like the 38 win team we’re destined to be, beating crappy lotto teams and keeping it close against superior squads. And yes, taking down the Spurs on a good night.

Whatever. We must tank. We have to tank. There is nothing to be gained from not tanking. Do people truly believe poor cuddly Delonte and dim witted Big Al are going to lose faith and crumble as men (and ball players) if Paul Pierce comes down with back-spasms and suddenly Allen Ray gets 32 minutes a night? Please. These guys play for a paycheck, first and foremost, and any mental trauma they may incur during this season will be well and duly offset by having a franchise center stabilizing the defense and turning this team into a real playoff threat.

You see, basketball players are not, in the real world, the loveable, fragile altruists that fans project their epic fantasies of redemption, fraternity and fairness upon. Basketball players are either talented or untalented, smart or dumb, driven or lazy. Just like you and me! It’s not magic, really. For the most part, players can play on a bad team one year and on a good team the next. It depends on the mix of talent around them, the coaching, and whether or not their skills fit the system.

Rarely, as in the case of Magic or Bird or Shaq or LeBron (kind of), one guy can come in and turn the whole thing around. A guy who won’t tolerate losing and who has the talent to make everyone around him better. If we had a guy like that, I could buy the argument that his mind and spirit might be warped by a tank job.

But we do not have one of those guys. We have a bunch of guys for whom no one will weep should they finish with the 2nd worst record in the NBA securely in their grasp. We do have a bunch of guys, however, who might actually be worth watching next year if the best player among them is named Greg Oden.

And that’s why these dipshits who run this team ought to grow a pair of balls and do everything they can to make it happen.

Labels: balls, busts, fragile altruists

A grim lesson in the ugly realities of the NBA food chain, tonight the Lakers abused the hapless Celtics with such ease and facility that it truly seemed as if they were playing two different sports. For the Lakers, it was professional basketball – with their workmanlike squad of NBA journeymen surrounding the supernova glow of Kobe Bryant, they were an unspectacular but well oiled machine, competently executing at all facets of the game. For the Celtics, it seemed as if they were playing charades, with their limitations in skill and physical ability serving as a point of contrast from which their effort seemed nothing more than the game of children emulating the play of a real team. In short, at one point I wrote in my notes – it’s the fucking Washington Generals.

The first quarter encapsulated the reason why the persistently hopeful Kool-aid crew believe this team is “a player away.” The Celtics were aggressive, ran the floor and moved the ball. But it was simply a matter of the Lakers, particularly Kobe, taking the game seriously, and soon enough they claimed a lead that they never relinquished. Kobe had 22 in the first quarter, abusing Paul Pierce to such a degree that the captain seemed rattled and broken to a degree that even this hard heart felt a tinge of pity.

By the third quarter, the reserves were playing big minutes and the Laker announcers were reduced to reminding the audience about upcoming schedule changes and the fact that the late Dennis Johnson played his college ball up the road at Pepperdine. The LA announcers generally try to put a positive spin on their opponent’s efforts, particularly as the Lakers had lost six in a row, but tonight it was a whole lot of “Talk to me when they beat a real team.”

On the player side of things, Gerald Green scored 21 of the most meaningless points ever witnessed in a professional basketball contest. Rondo flailed around like a rugby player in a cricket match (meanwhile Marcus Williams scored 19 points on 7-10 shooting tonight in New Jersey). Telfailure somehow went 1-7, but most who watched the game barely remember him being on the floor. Pierce looked like a slow, dazed, 5th generation facsimile of Kobe, Al Jefferson continued to compile impressive stats in losing games, and Leon Powe attempted a career high 10 free throws.

In short, it was every bit the waste of a Friday night in LA many observers feared it would be. Thankfully, it was cold out and raining, and even great men like Garry Shandling and David Duchovney suffered along with us.

Player of the Game - Kobe Bryant. An unimaginative choice with his 38pts 9 assists, but he bitch whipped the Celtics so badly in the 1st quarter that he wins simply for serving as an illustration as why it takes a truly transcendent talent at the guard position to qualify as a “franchise player.” That and beating a rape rap.

Hamcock – Delonte West. In the few games I’ve seen this year, it’s been shocking to see how much Delonte has regressed. His numbers might be respectable, but he just makes lots of dumb plays and seems to try to do far too much. The CelticsDoom battle cry has been, for years, “get the ball out of Pierce’s hands and into a real playmaker’s.” We formally add Delonte’s name to the list of players whose hands the ball should be taken out of.

Quote of the Night - “He took a great all star in Paul Pierce and made him look like, ‘what’s he doing on the same court with me?’” Paul Westphal in the post game, talking about Kobe. With the relatively sober analysis of the Lakers announcers, I couldn’t cull a single brokeback-esque malapropism to make an immature joke out of. A tragedy of sorts, truly. But as for the quote, Westphal was right on the money, even though he’s a tired old smug fuck with bad hair and cheesy jewelry. The Celtics should have enjoyed the local beaches, took a stroll down the 3rd street promenade, and just forfeited the fucking game, for all it mattered tonight.

Labels: David Duchovney, rape japes, ugly realities

We missed the game, of course, but Intern Bob Dylan reports –

“Were no Kings on the court tonight. Just two losing teams smacking each other in the head until one got too dizzy to stand. Gerald Green wore a golden bib from his pie eating contest and showed he ain’t learned a thing about baking bread. Of course this team already has its share of bakers and candlestick makers. Minor men like Gomes and West, who know the recipe but can’t be counted on to feed a hungry crowd in a professional cafeteria. We got plenty of them. What we need now are angry jackals and lottery sharks - beasts with nerves of steel, low body fat and a consistent outside jumper.”

And in a hastily assembled follow up cable he tells us:

“It’s no secret that the winds of sin blow from the West and that the city of trees has brought out the worst in the franchise before (scroll down). But tonight at least Corrine Grousbeck kept her pack of sad Cinderellas and Hatchet MILF’s away from the players locker room, allowing them to change out of their failure soaked gameworns and into their travel pants in peace. I don’t know whether the Maloof brothers were pestered in the owners box for shoulder autographs and complementary snack foods, but only a fool would think millionaires wives get rich from buying their own Carl’s Jr. burgers.”

Indeed. Thanks Bob!

Also, the Associated Press reports - “Actor Donnie Wahlberg watched from a front-row seat near Boston's bench his annual Sacramento pilgrimage to see his beloved Celtics. Rondo nearly landed in his lap in the fourth quarter while diving to save a ball.”

Sounds like Mark sent big brother Donnie on a snipe hunt while he preps for his impending Oscar win, but it’s good to see “Super” fan making the trip up north to support the ever more pointless cause. Huzzuh for Team Wahlberg. Go Departed! Go Saw 7! Go home!

Labels: Hatchet MILFs, pie eating contests, Superfan Donnie Wahlberg

Few things in life are as dispiriting as being patronized by the dim witted and wealthy, so news that Wyc Grousbeck was handing out free “inspirational” literature to the Celtics squad during their recent losing streak, struck us hard here at the nearly abandoned CelticsDoom HQ. We needed to respond quickly and without equivocation, so we’ve dispatched our new intern Dr. Bob Dylan to spread the word of Grousbeck-ian folly.

Dr. Bob writes exclusively to us at our hideout in Satan Monica, CA to explain his disdain: “Wyc ain’t a man so much as a slinky beast that crawls on his belly, jiving up the ghosts in the rafters with a bunch of California whores dressed in green pasties and hot pants, like some kind of carnival of the damned and/or easily entertained.” We concur. Thanks for reviving us with your hard work, Bob.

Anyway, as the NBA trade deadline approaches and Celtics fans scurry to concoct all manner of unbelievable trade nonsense, we present as a public service, the CelticsDoom "assets" chart, presented in order of descending value.

Trade "Value" 2007

2007 Number one pick – undoubtedly the only “asset” of the Celtics that teams are actually calling to inquire about, the quandary of course is that by shipping it out for an established player, the pick immediately becomes devalued. So if someone is looking to acquire the pick simply to enter the Oden sweepstakes, it’s unlikely they can give us something worthwhile in return. Outside of Jason Kidd, I don’t see any player on the block who will turn this team into anything resembling a winner, but getting Gasol or Vince Carter or someone along those lines would probably knock us back into 4th or 5th lotto position. Thus, management is faced with either 1) taking a chance by being very bad at getting someone very good, or 2) trading a semi-valuable pick for a semi-valuable player.

Al Jefferson – as valuable as one can be after “starring” during an 18 game losing streak, Big Al still remains an enigma to fans and the rest of the league. Yes, he had gaudy rebounding numbers, but watching him go for 21/6 while still being destroyed by Elton Brand in early February is enough to give even his boosters pause. Al is not going to land a great player all on his own, so it’s likely he’d have to be packaged with the pick in order to land a top 20 talent. If that’s what Memphis is asking for in exchange for Gasol, I can understand Ainge’s reluctance. However, if Al and Green and a protected pick/future pick are the cost, he’s fucking nuts for not making that deal.

Theo Ratliff – a kind-of expiring deal MIGHT be tempting to a team that is looking to shed some money down the road, but it’s hardly the great silver bullet some have made it out to be. Theo is still a gold star for Wyc’s bean counters, the $10 million man who cost us Brandon Roy and inflicted us with Sebastian Telfailure. Here’s hoping he at least fulfilled Wyc’s “good character” demands.

Gerald Green – barely worth anything on his own. We have learned this year that Gerald is not a basketball player in any self-respecting sense of the word. Until he gets some brains and consistency, he’s a pot sweetener at best.

Paul Pierce – Pierce’s perceived value is probably at an all time high, but his savage contract extension and the fact that there are so few teams that have the right parts to exchange make the task of trading him daunting. The only winning team with anything to offer is the Bulls, and they don’t really want/need him. Phoenix is an outside possibility, but salary concerns make them unlikely as well.

Delonte West – Delonte’s stock has plummeted in the hearts of Celtics fans, bringing his perceived value on Celticsblog closer to what the rest of the league thought about him all along. He’s a spare part.

Rondo – Rondo has a strange and at times, oddly compelling, game at the moment, but some GM might find his potential as a shorter, weaker, worse shooting Marcus Banks appealing enough to toss a precious 2nd rounder Ainge’s way.

Tony Allen – we hear that the going rate around the league for our favorite inmate is two cartons of Kools. I know, I know, he was good for 10 games. But he’s a spastic ball hog without a brain, and no one in the league will touch him.

As for the rest, they are fundamentally untradeable and/or worthless. Unfortunately for those who believe in the Ainge “assets” myth, a bunch of crappy players cannot be combined to get one good one. These are men, not carbon nanotubes. They don’t gain value when joined together.

So what should we do?

This franchise is completely fucked, from top to bottom. Assuming that a Pierce trade is a no-go (which is still the best course of action if you care about this team over the next ten years), the only option now is to trade away everything we can to make this squad less of a complete embarrassment and more of a benign headache.

Trading Jefferson for Gasol makes a lot of sense, simply because Jefferson will be lucky to ever be anything close to that caliber of player. Gasol is a legit top 20 talent that you can actually build a team around. With Pierce and our cut-rate glue guys they’d be adequate to compete in the east.

I still think Kidd makes more sense, simply because he accomplishes the most important goal – that is, to get the ball out of Pierce’s hands and maximize the limited talents of Ainge’s bargin basement supporting cast. It’s unlikely New Jersey wants to move him within the division however, so it’s probably moot.

The most important move for the future, however, is holding on to the number one pick. The chance of landing Oden is simply too powerful an incentive to make a rash move this late in the season, and the accumulating value of the pick as the team continues to lose makes it all the more crucial to hold on. If by some stroke of fortune the Celtics could win the Oden sweepstakes AND trade for a Gasol or Kidd type vet, then Ainge will walk ass backwards into a respectable legacy.

The sad fact is that the good teams in the NBA have profited from the draft lottery and already have their untradeable impact types under lock and key. The Celtics need to take the chance at finding their own savior in the ping pong balls, and let luck redeem the franchise from the past decade (plus) of chronic mismanagement and a complete lack of vision.

Labels: Bob Dylan, Grousbeck, Satan

Now that we know everything we need about cardiologists and Pinochet...

Anyway, I don't know what that was all about. I assume it's a disgruntled Kool-aid'er, perhaps "Gant,"expressing through performance art his distaste over watching a mid-lottery "team" flail around on the basketball court in a grim impersonation of 11 brain damaged hamsters, a zombie, and a declining Paul Pierce. The again, it could be Wyc putting the Dance Squad to work on their nights off from shaking their tits at disgruntled season ticket holders and/or stripping at the Fuzzy Grape. "Idle hands are the devil's bad character builder," or so we imagine Wyc believes. Case in point, remember that time Tony Allen told a bawdy anecdote replete with hand gestures to Marcus Banks on the bench in full view of the entire FSNE audience? Those 29 people were witness to horrors they'll carry with them all their lives. That was certainly not part of Wyc's plagiarized vision of a Total Entertainment Experience.

But whatever the case is with these morons, it has happened to better blogs than this, and we will persevere. And sorry I wasn't on top of it, I've been busy with trying to not go bankrupt, and also, this lack of internet access thing is a bitch and a half. If it (the spam) continues I guess we'll have to go to blogger comments or something. Anyone with any suggestions, feel free to email.

Also, BIG NEWS! CelticsDoom is returning to the east coast for a few days and will provide exclusive coverage of three upcoming games. Yes, the return of the Hamcock, the Quote of the Night, and fatigue-driven taint humor. Myself or Will Roberts will provide you with the pertinent info as the day approaches!

As for now, the quest for the 10th pick in the draft continues apace. Pau Gasol rumors = slow day at the office for Danny boy. I imagine the reaction from Memphis was one of condescending mirth. But that's our Danny. We predict a drunken midnight text message to Jim Paxson offering Leon Powe and a lottery protected #1 for LeBron James and five 2nd rounders. "This deal gives the Cavs a reliable back up in case Drew Gooden goes down." Message boarders rejoice!

But, we give credit where it's due, supposedly Ainge gave the "we're going to get worse before we get better" jive to an SI hack, indicating that perhaps he is of the mind to tank the season, something we wholeheartedly support. Also, big ups to our pal Jeff at Celticsblog for iterating to the masses the need to keep our pick, or at very least, not trade it without top 10 protection. Kool-aid or no, next year's draft is crucial to this team ever emerging from the mire of mediocrity, something we all want to see.

Yeah. So anyway, please don't let these spam fuckheads deter our good time.