Timberwolves succumb to Wizards' deep magick
By Benjamin Polk in Sports
Wednesday, Mar. 11 2009 @ 8:00AM
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I won't insult your intelligence by pretending that things aren't a little depressing for the Wolves right now. They haven't quite achieved Wittman-era levels of self-hatred but they certainly don't look like they're enjoying the game much either. And a dispiriting home loss to the 14 (well, now 15)-win Washington Wizards, a loss in which one of the worst teams in the league lit them up for 110 points and over 50% shooting, and in which both Randy Foye and Rodney Carney went down with injuries, certainly doesn't make the situation any less glum.
Embrace the Pain
Thanks to that plague of injuries, plus their surrealistic team construction (realize that on Wednesday the Wolves will likely be without Al Jefferson, Randy Foye, Corey Brewer, Rashad McCants and Rodney Carney--that's last year's three top scorers, their best defender and their most hilarious dunker), the Wolves find themselves outmatched at almost every position on the floor and stricken by that kind of sick bad luck that only seems to descend when you get desperate. Let's face it: things are dark.
Nonetheless, I'm of the opinion that there's something compelling and great about every NBA game, even a dreary, unwatched late-season Wizards-Wolves clash. For instance, in this one we got the pleasure of seeing Caron Butler who, with his low, forceful strides and his smoothly electric array of spins, crossovers and fades is a close stylistic cousin to Dwyane Wade.
On the absolute opposite end of the spectrum we have Brian Cardinal.
My Blue Heaven
Cardinal is exactly the kind of player I tend to really dislike. He's heavy-footed, soft-bodied and not obviously skilled. His game seems to consist entirely of frantically waving his arms, sliding around on his oversized kneepads and looking goofy. And, most maddeningly of all, especially when you're rooting against him, despite his game's total lack of aesthetic merit, despite exuding "middle-aged golf-enthusiast dad" from every fiber of his body, he manages to generally hit his open shots and befuddle exponentially more talented opponents.
Basically he seems to completely inhabit a particularly annoying basketball mythotype: the un-athletic, but smart and hustling white guy, the kind of guy that draws disproportionate praise from TV commentators (generally unathletic and white themselves) for their work ethic, their unselfishness, for "just knowing how to play," (all of which I've heard applied to Cardinal this year).
I have two things to say about this. First, although there's lots more interesting reasons to like or dislike a basketball player than simple effectiveness, there's no denying that Cardinal has been shockingly effective for the Wolves this year. That hackneyed line about "just knowing how to play" turns out, in Cardinal's case, to be true. Relative to anyone else who is still on the team and getting regular minutes, the Wolves are just much better when he's on the floor (check out his average plus/minus of +3.8). They move the ball better (Cardinal is great off the ball and, subverting exactly no stereotypes, is a terrific passer); they tend to play with more energy; they defend better.
Second, unlike Mark Madsen, the Wolves other forcefully white player (right down to the Mormonism), Cardinal seems to be aware of, and even amused by, his own goofiness. He plays with a kind of wry, half-smile, best employed when he blatantly clobbers an opponent (the Wolves tend to match Cardinal against the other team's most talented forward for short periods simply, it seems, to give that unlucky fella a little taste of pain) and then faux-innocently pleads his case to the official.
Its almost like he's acknowledging the ridiculousness of his situation, that a guy as leaden and spastic as himself should be allowed on the floor with actual NBA players, and be paid so very well to do it. With this kind of ironic, self-aware attitude toward his own extreme effort, Cardinal almost parodies Madsen's too-earnest, self-righteous intensity; which subtle parody makes his own (much needed, mind you) zealotry and somewhat terrifying willingness to hurt himself and others considerably funnier and easier to take. I can't help but love the guy for it.
Thanks to that plague of injuries, plus their surrealistic team construction (realize that on Wednesday the Wolves will likely be without Al Jefferson, Randy Foye, Corey Brewer, Rashad McCants and Rodney Carney--that's last year's three top scorers, their best defender and their most hilarious dunker), the Wolves find themselves outmatched at almost every position on the floor and stricken by that kind of sick bad luck that only seems to descend when you get desperate. Let's face it: things are dark.
Nonetheless, I'm of the opinion that there's something compelling and great about every NBA game, even a dreary, unwatched late-season Wizards-Wolves clash. For instance, in this one we got the pleasure of seeing Caron Butler who, with his low, forceful strides and his smoothly electric array of spins, crossovers and fades is a close stylistic cousin to Dwyane Wade.
On the absolute opposite end of the spectrum we have Brian Cardinal.
My Blue Heaven
Cardinal is exactly the kind of player I tend to really dislike. He's heavy-footed, soft-bodied and not obviously skilled. His game seems to consist entirely of frantically waving his arms, sliding around on his oversized kneepads and looking goofy. And, most maddeningly of all, especially when you're rooting against him, despite his game's total lack of aesthetic merit, despite exuding "middle-aged golf-enthusiast dad" from every fiber of his body, he manages to generally hit his open shots and befuddle exponentially more talented opponents.
Basically he seems to completely inhabit a particularly annoying basketball mythotype: the un-athletic, but smart and hustling white guy, the kind of guy that draws disproportionate praise from TV commentators (generally unathletic and white themselves) for their work ethic, their unselfishness, for "just knowing how to play," (all of which I've heard applied to Cardinal this year).
I have two things to say about this. First, although there's lots more interesting reasons to like or dislike a basketball player than simple effectiveness, there's no denying that Cardinal has been shockingly effective for the Wolves this year. That hackneyed line about "just knowing how to play" turns out, in Cardinal's case, to be true. Relative to anyone else who is still on the team and getting regular minutes, the Wolves are just much better when he's on the floor (check out his average plus/minus of +3.8). They move the ball better (Cardinal is great off the ball and, subverting exactly no stereotypes, is a terrific passer); they tend to play with more energy; they defend better.
Second, unlike Mark Madsen, the Wolves other forcefully white player (right down to the Mormonism), Cardinal seems to be aware of, and even amused by, his own goofiness. He plays with a kind of wry, half-smile, best employed when he blatantly clobbers an opponent (the Wolves tend to match Cardinal against the other team's most talented forward for short periods simply, it seems, to give that unlucky fella a little taste of pain) and then faux-innocently pleads his case to the official.
Its almost like he's acknowledging the ridiculousness of his situation, that a guy as leaden and spastic as himself should be allowed on the floor with actual NBA players, and be paid so very well to do it. With this kind of ironic, self-aware attitude toward his own extreme effort, Cardinal almost parodies Madsen's too-earnest, self-righteous intensity; which subtle parody makes his own (much needed, mind you) zealotry and somewhat terrifying willingness to hurt himself and others considerably funnier and easier to take. I can't help but love the guy for it.
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