The Four Point Play: The NBA Nomenclature Edition

What better way to transfer the Rucker Park tradition of naming a player by his tendencies than to give the NBA's lesser-knowns the royal treatment. Typically, aliases come from on-court specialties or demeanor. But all the coolest nicknames come from qualities that could never be expressed in a basketball game alone. Rather than rewarding only star players whose signature moves easily birth an AKA, we, The Four Point Play, convene to issue names for the overlooked, underpaid players who make the league a wonderful place. Word to Kevin Love.

Rookie Gordon Hayward wishes he could leave the Draconian Jerry Sloan regime. Since his days at Butler, he's been pigeonholed as systematic, and that's the problem. What happened to just playing for fun, he wonders. The spirit of Spicoli is strong in him.

Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew and the NBA

In honor of Ron Artest saying this about Javale McGee:

"He potentially could be a really good player," Artest said. "I think he got to go to school a little bit more. He's got to work on that IQ a little bit. He got to watch more tape. I don't think he watches tape. I think he plays video games. I do. I don't think he watches tape. I think he plays video games and I think he could possibly have an Atari. He should upgrade to a Play Station."

Atari? He's that out of date?

"Possibly Atari," Artest said. "He could potentially become a force, if, if he wants to. But if he doesn't, he can continue to play Atari."

It's about time for TFPP to give a shoutout to the multi-faceted but somehow awful players who, needless to say, share an affinity for the cannabis herb. Now, this is no NORML campaign, but the editors must admit to a liberal stance on the subject of what differentiates "legal" and "illegal" drugs. Be that as it may, the casual NBA player (emphasis on casual) may also be prone to other recreational pursuits that hinder overall development, and leave fans waiting for the spaceship that never lands. Mainly, the gents lighting up the pink eyed monster in between contests make for a confusing follow.

Some of these players have had an awakening like Bradd Pitt in True Romance, picking up their droopy lids for long enough to put a consistent season together. While their counterparts continue to crash and fizzle like the ashes of their Swisher Sweets, Bill Walker, Brandon Rush, Michael Beasley, Wilson Chandler, Shawne Williams, Dorrell Wright, Zach Randolph, Joakim Noah, Vlad Radmanovic (DJ Vlad to you), Mario Chalmers, Brad Miller and Udonis Haslem have put down the leaf and papers for more ambitious aims. The NBA has a contentious relationship with these young men, but dreadful marijuana hasn't quite ended their careers...instead it's sent them on a meandering path to middle-dom. That said, not every player is suited for stardom, and it isn't far-fetched that yeoman icons like Haslem, Chandler and Noah might want to ease the enduring pain of a long season with a prayer circle and some lit incense. Although few players with known smoking patterns are enshrined in the Hall of Fame, the admitted potheads populate a list of Best Ever nominees, namely Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Bill Walton and Phil Jackson. They occupy a special wing of the Springfield Hall called How Harmful Can It Be, or the honorary Eastern Philosophy Wing.

Nevertheless, regular toking is not recommended for the professional athlete, much less the basketball superstar. Although the plays are simple, basketball requires a great memory, free from the fog of evening cartoon-watching. Practice starts bright and early with no special exception for the wake and bake rituals that may precede it (J.R., ahem). Recreational activities don't necessarily mix with professional obligations so I have gladly created an NBA Player to Puff Weed Intake chart. This is a guide for first-to-veteran year players who need moderation exemplified.

Angry White Men

"Like, free from labels, yaknow?"

There will never be an American history that excludes the Angry White Man, insofar as this group has principally defined how the electorate behaves. When those Jamestown natives rebelled against the Cavaliers who sought to protect inherited power, to reap the benefits of commonplace work, and to limit farmers' ability to profit, it was the first of many soft rebellions staged on behalf of the poor white male worker. The labor disputes of the early 20th century, the battles that felled the monopoly (momentarily), were indicative, again, of the Angry White Man declaring what was rightfully his. And now the Tea Party is the millennium era shout-out to those scrappy white folks, unwilling to concede anything without severe negotiations and entrenched discussions.
The NBA boasts these heroes too, often lost accessories in a game of leaping, smiling Negro youths. Only in the modern NBA does the white male experience the wholesale physical colonization that he so often administered in history. And though many of the team owners are white, white players struggle to experience kinship with the executive who would more likely send his family packing than invite them over for dinner. When a white player is able to free himself of the class shackles, stingy stereotypes and novelty amusement puns, he creates a loving tribute to an American tradition. White men can't jump but they can get down, goes the wisdom.

Ron Artest: From Oddball to Specialist Oddball in Five Years

Only humble great players can accept leveraging their diminishing skills into lesser roles for more wins. For one thing, most terrific, cornerstone, franchise foundation, meteoric ballers are treated as such, and therefore have a hard time admitting when their abilities have deteriorated beyond the point of fancy shots falling. Hangers-on endorse them to no end, baby mothers ask for more money, and the expectations only increase with every All-Star appearance. When that rueful day comes, when their vertical leap measures the height of a cinder block, some walk off slowly, but most live through a bevy of trades to worse teams in smaller markets at each stop. Allen Iverson went the way of the dodo as soon as some GM leaked the inside information that he looked a few steps slower in practice. Shaquille O'Neal turned from NBA's greatest giant to traveling sideshow in the span of a year.

Ron Artest stands out because of how his career made that turn both abruptly and ungracefully, and in a simultaneous series of events his personal struggles multiplied in that tumultuous two-year period. However unceremonious his decline, he ironically found success right there in his worst statistical years. Mainly, it's because he modified what he did on the court so that his specialties were narrower but more powerful in the end. Ron Artest became a defender who could shoot three-point shots, as opposed to a multi-faceted scorer who could defend in stretches, and it made him more valuable to franchises over time.

The Night Toney Douglas Was Born

It is a mighty struggle to avoid making this a Knicks blog. For one, grandma bred in me a love for the Blue and Red (or is it orange?) that still stirs me to rapture today. Second, the Knicks are barely relevant without Amar'e Stoudemire as a cipher for Judaism, poetry, race relations, labor disputes and general chicanery. Even so, the Knicks present a challenge to the perceived order of the NBA today. At first dismissed as a sideshow, their threats are real and urgent in the context of the season. Raymond Felton can handle the rock like a maven, though his shooting prowess is limited. Toney Douglas makes up for what Felton lacks in shooting, but has no court vision. Anthony Randolph rebounds where Amar'e can't and a whole long list of Frankenstein parts compensating for amputations. Even Rony Turiaf and Timofey Mozgov work like conjoined twins to fulfill their duties as centers. Generally, it's all confusing but, at least right now, it looks like a load of fun.

New York and Chicago haven't had a true rivalry since a certain No. 23 suited up for the Bulls and a Jamaican immigrant fought arduously to stop him. Aside from the defection of Jamal Crawford from Chicago to New York in his early career, there has been little player movement to even trump up a debate between the two squads. A couple of New York locals have played in the the Bulls uniform, including Ron Artest (The Bridge), Ben Gordon (Money-Earnin' Mount Vernon) and more recently Joakim Noah (Harlem World), but none to scintillating effect. Naturally, the two cities seem like they could be jungle predators fighting for a final bone, but in basketball 2010, Chicago's Derrick Rose/Luol Deng/Joakim Noah combo are the real show here. When TNT decided to air Knicks-Bulls, it was a respectful nod to what that contest should mean but not what it amounted to.

But then in a strange and FourPointPlay-like turn of events, the Knicks turned into the dreamy style small-ball, running-gunning terror I had come to love in my childhood. Specifically, the guard play from Toney Douglas and Raymond Felton were a serene potion of attentive defense and made three-point baskets. In the previous season, though the Knicks shot 2145 threes and made a paltry 34% of them in comparison (the league high was 41%), charges like Danilo Gallinari made a name for themselves by simply showing a willingness to take shots from anywhere on the floor not near the basket. The Mike D'Antoni fusillade of 3-bombs was not enough to make a new man out of Tracy McGrady or Al Harrington, mind you, but it certainly emboldened young phenoms like Gallo and Nate Robinson to fire at will. In the end, it read like a chaotic war plan from an even more desperate platoon.