The Lakers are the last remaining undefeated (the Celts just knocked off the Hawks via Paul Pierce jumper), sitting steady at 7 up, zero down. In this still-infant season all signs, immediate and cosmic, point toward redemption, a destined rematch with those same Boston Celtics in the Finals. Though, last season's mental and physical Finals drudging at the hands of those green-eyes won't likely happen again. History repeats itself, and nothing is more historic than redemption. It's about Time, and it doesn't include unsustainable roster quick-fixes, green, luck or leprechauns.
During last year's playoffs I blogged about the link between postmodernity and new sincerity, between the Celtics and the Lakers, the struggle of the new in overcoming and transitioning past the incumbent hegemony. In quick summation, I mentioned a few things. Last year we weren't yet ready, it wasn't yet meant to be. The Lakers, as sports patterns are early outgrowths of cultural yearnings, are a source of present symbolism and a telling signification of the Great Work. Our maturing offensive flow was disrupted by the fracturing, unforgiving defense of the Celtics (and all their hyper-machismo, pseudo-masculine fits of barking and howling and chest-throttling). Our shortcomings were exposed and mercilessly exploited in all its fragile, inexperienced development. It came down to us lacking that sheer determination, that unwavering focus to triumph. We didn't yet have that hunger to complement our drive, that toughness to complement our offensive and athletic prowess. After all, new sincerity's about striking and consummating that great inner balance, that true dynamic, and a limiting singular excellence.
If you were an avid Laker follower last season, you knew that while every media hound dog and outsider was caught up on the absence of Bynum, there was another youngblood just as revelatory to the Lakeshow's present and future-sustaining success, Trevor. In those 30-odd games he played early in the year last season, he was a defensive ninja and a fast break's dream, and with a newly-polished outside stroke this season, watch yo socks. He's dropping 10, 5 boards and 2 steals in 22 minutes so far in this young season. Sixth Man of the Year?
I realize and you should too, that it's still November. But with faith, just like the simple genius of great universal narrative, we all understand and feel in the eternal waves the beatific outcome. Last season's dismantling in the Finals was more than just a matter of missing personnel, missing Bynum and Ariza. From a numerological holism, 200(8) is when change, in all its torrential growing pains, takes root. 200(9) is when that transition's consummated.
And the numbers are evident, they're locking down their opponents to 86.7 points while averaging 104.7, still have yet to allow a team to break the century mark, 8 players are averaging 20-plus minutes (keep your esteem up Machine and Luke, we'll need you). But most impressively, at 35 minutes a game, Dobermamba's playing nearly 4 minutes less per outing than last season.
This new incarnation of the glitzy 80s Showtime are the Real Showtime, a consummating perfection of their harbinger. They're a deep, cohesive group who can score lights out, can run, spread the floor, execute half-court, and most importantly and tellingly, have realized that brazen focus. They're an ensemble cast of role players, including Mamba himself. Lights, camera, live action.
Showing posts with label Boston Celtics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Boston Celtics. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
heaven can wait
"Heaven Can Wait"
As the headline on ESPN.com reads, The Boston Tea Party all smiles hoisting the organization's 17th NBA title trophy. A well-deserved victory.
Before the series began I already understood deep inside my romantic cognition that this year, 2008, was not meant to be. But, believing and willing is all you can do. Even though there lied an innate sense of inevitable loss, you must always maintain hope and support. What would we be without? See, 2008, the number eight, is the year that the genesis of change, turnover, and upheaval take motion. I knew this. This journey to the finals, if we would have won, would have been nothing short of a unlikely fairy tale. And this, the age of humanity, is no such fairy tale. It's more beautiful than that. We rode into the finals with athleticism and potential. We didn't have Bynum. Ariza was still rusty from his early-season injury. These two the defensive forces that were lacking in the finals against the more aggressive, hungrier team, the Celtics.
We often talk about how the Lakers, as the official channel of Los Angeles sports, has the potential to drastically influence the collective esteem of a city detached and superficial. And, during the finals, the crowd was called out, for what else, lack of passion. In that Game 5 win, they responded. In the end, it came down to desire and experience. Jordan, Sasha, Ronny, and the young tyke bench fell short this year, but assuredly, they're quick learners and next year will come sage. We are a fragile cause, a movement barely out of infancy and already thrust into young adulthood, and indicatively, sometimes when we fail, we do so catastrophically, as in last night. We don't hold grudges, but do the ultimate motivator, a chip on our stubborn shoulder.
So, this headline "Heaven Can Wait", means something so much more profound and symbolic than the cliche reference suggests. New Sincerity is the journey toward sincerity, heaven on earth. Scroll down and peep my other blogs for further elaboration. But, surely, it can wait. Not much longer, but it can wait. I'm patient, and in a year, in 2009, we will be ready to consummate change. The number 9 is brilliant, it is conception.
As the headline on ESPN.com reads, The Boston Tea Party all smiles hoisting the organization's 17th NBA title trophy. A well-deserved victory.
Before the series began I already understood deep inside my romantic cognition that this year, 2008, was not meant to be. But, believing and willing is all you can do. Even though there lied an innate sense of inevitable loss, you must always maintain hope and support. What would we be without? See, 2008, the number eight, is the year that the genesis of change, turnover, and upheaval take motion. I knew this. This journey to the finals, if we would have won, would have been nothing short of a unlikely fairy tale. And this, the age of humanity, is no such fairy tale. It's more beautiful than that. We rode into the finals with athleticism and potential. We didn't have Bynum. Ariza was still rusty from his early-season injury. These two the defensive forces that were lacking in the finals against the more aggressive, hungrier team, the Celtics.
We often talk about how the Lakers, as the official channel of Los Angeles sports, has the potential to drastically influence the collective esteem of a city detached and superficial. And, during the finals, the crowd was called out, for what else, lack of passion. In that Game 5 win, they responded. In the end, it came down to desire and experience. Jordan, Sasha, Ronny, and the young tyke bench fell short this year, but assuredly, they're quick learners and next year will come sage. We are a fragile cause, a movement barely out of infancy and already thrust into young adulthood, and indicatively, sometimes when we fail, we do so catastrophically, as in last night. We don't hold grudges, but do the ultimate motivator, a chip on our stubborn shoulder.
So, this headline "Heaven Can Wait", means something so much more profound and symbolic than the cliche reference suggests. New Sincerity is the journey toward sincerity, heaven on earth. Scroll down and peep my other blogs for further elaboration. But, surely, it can wait. Not much longer, but it can wait. I'm patient, and in a year, in 2009, we will be ready to consummate change. The number 9 is brilliant, it is conception.
Monday, June 9, 2008
obstacle 3
Leaving Boston, The Lakers are trailing 2-0, in a hole smaller than its appearance and inevitable in its presence. It ain't gonna be easy the ring sliding on Lakeshow fingers. Not this year. The moment of upheaval never is. The grotesque animal of past hegemonies, with malfeasance and stubborn, indignant disregard for its fateful reckoning, will fight till its inglorious demise. And the souls, lost, hesitant, or simply oblivious to the forthcoming waves of soul power, unwittingly or not, will aid those same oppressive institutions that have stolen and coerced their livelihood and repressed their soul power. Change always those bright-blooded few against the world. Old habits die hard.
So, it only makes sense that insofar this series hasn't been Celtics vs. Lakers, but Lakers vs. the world. Game 1 was sincerely a loss. The Celtics came out hungry, as expected when one's own fate lies waiting, and played mediocre. The Lakers played rattled, subpar and, although not without opportunities, deserved that Game 1 loss. It wasn't the few errand foul calls down the stretch that cost the Lakers victory, but the lack of execution. I have no qualms about that game, the bull will always come out charging. But, I also saw a Celtic club, for all its carnal hollering and testosterone and arrogance and intimidation, falls short of true confidence. I saw the facade up close, frail, insecure. A charade. The moments leading up to the Pierce injury saw moments of juvenile uncertainty in the eyes of supposed man-beast Kevin Garnett. All that fierce shouting, provocation, and redundant chest-pounding and head-knocking dissipating into cribbed fear.
"The Los Angeles Lakers should know by now not to expect any pity. The Lakers surely understand that they traded away their rights to sympathy, maybe permanently, when they shipped so little to Memphis and stole Pau Gasol...No one with a neutral interest in these NBA Finals is bound to feel sorry for the Zen Men. Or when they clinched a series-turning road win over the savvy Spurs on a non-call that the league later publicly acknowledged as erroneous," Marc Stein speaking reality, to be sure. But, let's apply some contextualizing. The Celtics didn't have the best offer on the table for KG, either. If not for McHale, KG could've easily been a Chi-Town phenomenon. Especially since Chicago offered up a better package of players. And, let's not be all revisionist about the Spurs series either. Those savvy Spurs until that awry 3-point attempt by Barry and uncalled foul, received the majority of the calls, similarly to the Celtics in this series.
I have no issue when a team I have love for loses deservingly, I only hate when the outcome arrives from unfairness. And Game 2 was an unfair night of inconsistent refereeing, no-calls, and overall, a game decided not by the players but by the zebras, the whistling herders that won't let the wild roam free. The first half was a joke, and I'll be the first to say when a foul isn't a foul or when there should or shouldn't have been a call. I live fair and I perceive fair. But, if it's getting called on one side, it should be the same on the other. The sheer amount of and-1's the Lakers were disparaged could have been sufficient enough to reverse the final score. As it were, symbolically, the Lakers lost, got knifed by the same way it all began, by a foul call. Down by 2, 104-102, the ghost call that sent Pierce to the line effectively ended the game. Only fitting.
The truth of the matter is the Lakers are the quicker, more athletic team, and for whatever disillusionment, perhaps that which constructs from appearance, the refs just don't believe this is true. I mean, KG looks so mean and dark, and screams and shoves his teammates. Gasol doesn't, he's soft. Let me tell ya, appearances are deceiving. So Pomo.
So, it only makes sense that insofar this series hasn't been Celtics vs. Lakers, but Lakers vs. the world. Game 1 was sincerely a loss. The Celtics came out hungry, as expected when one's own fate lies waiting, and played mediocre. The Lakers played rattled, subpar and, although not without opportunities, deserved that Game 1 loss. It wasn't the few errand foul calls down the stretch that cost the Lakers victory, but the lack of execution. I have no qualms about that game, the bull will always come out charging. But, I also saw a Celtic club, for all its carnal hollering and testosterone and arrogance and intimidation, falls short of true confidence. I saw the facade up close, frail, insecure. A charade. The moments leading up to the Pierce injury saw moments of juvenile uncertainty in the eyes of supposed man-beast Kevin Garnett. All that fierce shouting, provocation, and redundant chest-pounding and head-knocking dissipating into cribbed fear.
"The Los Angeles Lakers should know by now not to expect any pity. The Lakers surely understand that they traded away their rights to sympathy, maybe permanently, when they shipped so little to Memphis and stole Pau Gasol...No one with a neutral interest in these NBA Finals is bound to feel sorry for the Zen Men. Or when they clinched a series-turning road win over the savvy Spurs on a non-call that the league later publicly acknowledged as erroneous," Marc Stein speaking reality, to be sure. But, let's apply some contextualizing. The Celtics didn't have the best offer on the table for KG, either. If not for McHale, KG could've easily been a Chi-Town phenomenon. Especially since Chicago offered up a better package of players. And, let's not be all revisionist about the Spurs series either. Those savvy Spurs until that awry 3-point attempt by Barry and uncalled foul, received the majority of the calls, similarly to the Celtics in this series.
I have no issue when a team I have love for loses deservingly, I only hate when the outcome arrives from unfairness. And Game 2 was an unfair night of inconsistent refereeing, no-calls, and overall, a game decided not by the players but by the zebras, the whistling herders that won't let the wild roam free. The first half was a joke, and I'll be the first to say when a foul isn't a foul or when there should or shouldn't have been a call. I live fair and I perceive fair. But, if it's getting called on one side, it should be the same on the other. The sheer amount of and-1's the Lakers were disparaged could have been sufficient enough to reverse the final score. As it were, symbolically, the Lakers lost, got knifed by the same way it all began, by a foul call. Down by 2, 104-102, the ghost call that sent Pierce to the line effectively ended the game. Only fitting.
The truth of the matter is the Lakers are the quicker, more athletic team, and for whatever disillusionment, perhaps that which constructs from appearance, the refs just don't believe this is true. I mean, KG looks so mean and dark, and screams and shoves his teammates. Gasol doesn't, he's soft. Let me tell ya, appearances are deceiving. So Pomo.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
lakers vs. celtics = new sincerity vs. pomo
So here we are, on the eve of a Lakers vs. Celtics NBA Finals, the two perennial forces that dominated the NBA airwaves throughout the 80s, the decade where the seeds of hypercapitalism were ever sown into the fabric of the industrial culture that have held us captive since, where the postmodern strangle we know now began its matriculation toward the vulnerable necks of our collective esteem. This series between legendary foes more than just basketball or sports, it's the symbolic culmination of the cyclical nature of transition, the final confrontation between a fading regime desperately pulling out all stops in a last-ditch effort to sustain its subliminal hegemony and the new, the fledgling movement finally prepared to come-of-age to reconstruct all the wrongs that have been wrong for so long. This is oppression, the masked illusion of contrived, postmodernity vs. change, the sincere journey toward empathy, embodiment, and the greatest beauty of all, Truth. This is a battle between being prisoners and thieves of time, and being with, finding the space in time. This, right here, this moment, is real.
This is destiny manifest. In sports and marketing are the two most succinct, indicative signifiers of where the collective esteem is moving, where it yearns to be. And this, Lakers vs. Celtics, is the most prime example. In my initial conceptions of New Sincerity, now 3 years ago, two colors always encapsulated what I felt, the potential I saw could be fulfilled: yellow and purple. The year the Lakers pushed the Suns to the brink of elimination was the same year I stumbled onto New Sincerity, the same year I found my path to lead. The following season when the team rocketed off to a supreme regular season start only to fall into disarray just as rapid and magnificently, I knew they were the reflective vessel for the fragile journey of New Sincerity, for the mountainous struggles and growing pains that lie in store for a baby asked to become a man to fight a beast with nothing behind its eyes, a beast that ingrained itself in us while we were lost in its spectacular spellbind. This, a rival more pervasive and unyielding than ever before, lifestyle.
When the Lakers lapsed that season, I knew we weren't yet ready. Nor was I, younger, naive, more stubbornly and uncompromisingly ideal. But, now, I am. We are. The Lakers of the 80s were Showtime. They were fluid, exciting, offensive, penetrating, a spectacle to watch. Like their floor general, they were Magic. Jerry West grew the components from within the organization, drafted and gave them opportunity to maturate and develop (this when it was easier, before free agency and quick-fixes). His motif was to not assemble sheer individual talent, but to find complementation, to concentrate individual personalities and skills in the ultimate mosaic, team chemistry, collaborative brilliance. The Lakers were the emblem of Los Angeles. Its personalities were diverse, effervescent, like movie characters. Their style was pure entertainment, fast, persuading, showy, Hollywood. The Celtics contrasted absolutely. Also homegrown, but the C's stormed with vicious, gritty intent, aggressive defense triggered by fiercely unadulterated hustle plays. Comparatively to the Lakers, there figures were stoic, hardened ones that rarely smiled. The Lakers thrived on talent and flow. The Celtics thrived on effort and rupture.
So, tomorrow it consummates. In green, we have the Boston Celtics, the last remnants of postmodernity. We have an organization that exemplifying the postmodern symptom, mortgaged its future by quickly-fixing its team for immediate success. The future for the next 3 years max. We have a team built around superstars, a unit dependent on the individual talent of 3. We have a Celtics team again built around brute force, intimidation, arrogance, defense, postmodern fracture and rupture. A team, thus far in the playoffs, playing without sustainment, fiendish like patterns of instant-gratification, inconsistent. We have a Celtics team where Garnett, their leader, gets angrier when his team thrives.
In yellow and purple, the new sincerity of the Los Angeles Lakers. We have a team composed of young players given time to develop, to find understanding in each other and become a cohesive unit. A team that has found bond despite culture and language barriers. We have biracialism, bilingualism, true internalization. We have a leader in Kobe Bryant that has finally become the leader he always fell short of being. He has become the most beautiful kind of leader, one that trust his teammates, that understands when to be firm, when to be a consultive, when his team needs his talent to carry them. He's a leader that has a smile that sparkles with sincerity when his team thrives, when they live their potential. He was a boy that learned from his mistakes, from his stubbornness, from his mistrust to become a man. We have a team with a leader who understands everyone is needed, every individual strength pertinent, to be complete, to consummate this championship journey. Like the Lakers of old, they have the same stylistic strength, offense, fluidity, pure speed, athleticism and agility. But as they've shown this postseason, the possibilities are limitless for pure talent when defensive effort and grit are learned. Talent finding focus and effort, whew, now that's revelation. We have a team and a leader with common flaws, but together, collaboratively, they are flawless. We have a team in the thick of the most postmodern, contrived, hypercapitalistic city, and they've found sincerity. Is this a precursor, will the City of Angels finally transition from its factory of contrivance to true, angelic beauty? Will our existence finally transition from movie magic to embody and become magic ourselves? Are we ready to join Ronny in the dance, our dance?
I believe so.
This is destiny manifest. In sports and marketing are the two most succinct, indicative signifiers of where the collective esteem is moving, where it yearns to be. And this, Lakers vs. Celtics, is the most prime example. In my initial conceptions of New Sincerity, now 3 years ago, two colors always encapsulated what I felt, the potential I saw could be fulfilled: yellow and purple. The year the Lakers pushed the Suns to the brink of elimination was the same year I stumbled onto New Sincerity, the same year I found my path to lead. The following season when the team rocketed off to a supreme regular season start only to fall into disarray just as rapid and magnificently, I knew they were the reflective vessel for the fragile journey of New Sincerity, for the mountainous struggles and growing pains that lie in store for a baby asked to become a man to fight a beast with nothing behind its eyes, a beast that ingrained itself in us while we were lost in its spectacular spellbind. This, a rival more pervasive and unyielding than ever before, lifestyle.
When the Lakers lapsed that season, I knew we weren't yet ready. Nor was I, younger, naive, more stubbornly and uncompromisingly ideal. But, now, I am. We are. The Lakers of the 80s were Showtime. They were fluid, exciting, offensive, penetrating, a spectacle to watch. Like their floor general, they were Magic. Jerry West grew the components from within the organization, drafted and gave them opportunity to maturate and develop (this when it was easier, before free agency and quick-fixes). His motif was to not assemble sheer individual talent, but to find complementation, to concentrate individual personalities and skills in the ultimate mosaic, team chemistry, collaborative brilliance. The Lakers were the emblem of Los Angeles. Its personalities were diverse, effervescent, like movie characters. Their style was pure entertainment, fast, persuading, showy, Hollywood. The Celtics contrasted absolutely. Also homegrown, but the C's stormed with vicious, gritty intent, aggressive defense triggered by fiercely unadulterated hustle plays. Comparatively to the Lakers, there figures were stoic, hardened ones that rarely smiled. The Lakers thrived on talent and flow. The Celtics thrived on effort and rupture.
So, tomorrow it consummates. In green, we have the Boston Celtics, the last remnants of postmodernity. We have an organization that exemplifying the postmodern symptom, mortgaged its future by quickly-fixing its team for immediate success. The future for the next 3 years max. We have a team built around superstars, a unit dependent on the individual talent of 3. We have a Celtics team again built around brute force, intimidation, arrogance, defense, postmodern fracture and rupture. A team, thus far in the playoffs, playing without sustainment, fiendish like patterns of instant-gratification, inconsistent. We have a Celtics team where Garnett, their leader, gets angrier when his team thrives.
In yellow and purple, the new sincerity of the Los Angeles Lakers. We have a team composed of young players given time to develop, to find understanding in each other and become a cohesive unit. A team that has found bond despite culture and language barriers. We have biracialism, bilingualism, true internalization. We have a leader in Kobe Bryant that has finally become the leader he always fell short of being. He has become the most beautiful kind of leader, one that trust his teammates, that understands when to be firm, when to be a consultive, when his team needs his talent to carry them. He's a leader that has a smile that sparkles with sincerity when his team thrives, when they live their potential. He was a boy that learned from his mistakes, from his stubbornness, from his mistrust to become a man. We have a team with a leader who understands everyone is needed, every individual strength pertinent, to be complete, to consummate this championship journey. Like the Lakers of old, they have the same stylistic strength, offense, fluidity, pure speed, athleticism and agility. But as they've shown this postseason, the possibilities are limitless for pure talent when defensive effort and grit are learned. Talent finding focus and effort, whew, now that's revelation. We have a team and a leader with common flaws, but together, collaboratively, they are flawless. We have a team in the thick of the most postmodern, contrived, hypercapitalistic city, and they've found sincerity. Is this a precursor, will the City of Angels finally transition from its factory of contrivance to true, angelic beauty? Will our existence finally transition from movie magic to embody and become magic ourselves? Are we ready to join Ronny in the dance, our dance?
I believe so.
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