Good times in Clipperland

Every year, the Western conference showcases some fraudulent team off to a hot start. Most years, those teams fade shortly after the All-Star break or sooner. Occasionally, one of those frauds keeps up the pace all year, as in the case of last year's Sonics. This doesn't make them any less fraudulent, it just means they're a statistical anomaly.

I'm so angry about the entire Northwest division being sub-.500 I can't see straight, but that fraudulency requires special attention at a later date. Today we concentrate on the Clippers, their players, the organization, their broadcasters, the mothers of the towel boys, and anyone else who might be giving the Mavs the crook eye. Please review my previous post if you're curious why.

Let's start with the broadcasters. My futile search for the names of these tools led me to some amusing notes from a T-Wolves blogger. Apparently I'm not the only opposing fan who found them, um, lacking. At one point last night they engaged in some kind of surreal Sam Cassell praise-off. A rough approximation:
"He makes the whole team better!"
"Yeah, but look at what he's doing on his own out there!"
"How can you even gameplan to stop a guy like that? He can drive, shoot, post-up; he's a matchup nightmare!"
"And his leadership -- this team's growing leaps and bounds every game!"
"Don't even get me started on his charitable contributions to the community! I think he's being knighted in India, or wherever they do that sort of thing!"
"And he's so incredibly, unbelievably gracious after we blow him on-air like this!"
"Hah, you got me there, Bob! Pass the Dentyne!"

Piece of advice, Sam: get the restraining order now before this gets out of hand. Do it before the plastic surgery, before you try to get your soul back after stabbing every other team you've ever been on in the heart, before you start spazzing out over getting paid one last time. Another piece of advice: When you do start the spaz-out, remember that it's hard for owners and GMs to pay attention to what you're saying when your freakishly monstrous chompers start clattering out of control and your mole-eyes bug in and out. Those guys are usually just praying you don't start eating their children, so it's hard to remember to talk numbers. Take a deep breath and pop whatever pill it is that keeps you from melting in the sun. Try to enjoy the ride for once before you get pushed out the door one more time for yet another younger, less selfish player (Shaun Livingston, in this case).

And how long before Cassell and Mobley start flailing their arms at each other and warning that if the other gets hits its not his fault because, quote-unquote, you walked into it? Try finding two bigger shothogs in the same backcourt. Seriously, how long do we have to wait before they're called for a jump ball on a handoff at the top of the key because neither will actually let go of the rock? Mobley's a career 43% shooter, a one-dimensional poor man's Allan Houston with no discernable trait other than streakiness. How are you not fired from the league yet?

But I guess if you were going to fire someone, Elgin Baylor would come first. Everybody knows he can't actually manage a team, but did you know he has trouble thinking and talking, too? Some Elgin-isms:
-"Coaching is easy. Winning is the hard part."
-"In the long run, we feel he (Korolev) has more upside."
-"I like beans."
Now I hate to bash on the elderly, but would someone please tell Gramps to turn off "The Price is Right" and wipe the apple sauce off his chin? This team stinks like death at the top with the ultimate retread coach in Dunleavy, a doddering Alzheimer's patient in Baylor, and penny-pinching party-pooper Donald Sterling doing everything he can to do absolutely nothing he doesn't have to do.

Do they have some nice players in Brand and Maggette? Sure. Do they have any hope of being anything other than this year's Sonics? Nope. So listen up, Clipper fan: flirting with relevance has you all atwitter, and I get that. But maybe you should make the playoffs before you start talking about having someone's "number." You know what number the Mavs have? 32. That's the number of playoff wins Dallas has since you guys lost the map to the postseason. Until you've got anything other than a goose egg to put up against it, shut up and be happy you aren't a D-league team. Yet.