WHILE many Californians are unemployed, Don Nelson is ordering as sorted healthy Warriors to take a night off from work, with pay, while fans’ fees for tickets remain at full price as their beloved 20-38 sinkhole disappears deeper below the Pacific Rim.
At a time when NBA commissioner David Stern has bank-borrowed $200 million and made it available to 12 cash-poor cows, I’m not sure this misappropriation of resources makes much sense.
All that’s missing is accompanying bonuses and other undeserved perks to veterans on forced vacation.
I want to hear Christopher Cohan tell a Senate subcommittee he supports such an overt waste of marquee manpower.
Lemme see if we can get inside what’s left of the malfunctioning brain cells belonging to Nelson, whose shanty team hadn’t played since Monday.
Friday night, Club Med’s director – already short infirm Monta Ellis – sat starting backcourt mate Jamal Crawford against the Bobcats. The last time the two teams met, in late December in Charlotte, the ex-Knick barbecued ’em for 50 large.
Larry Brown’s conspicuously- improved squadron won (despite a brain-dead foul by Boris Diaw with 18.8 left, score tied at 107; the Frenchman confirmed his state of unconsciousness by then draining a decisive deep 3) on the frailty of Stephon Jackson.
Clearly physically and mentally frayed, Jackson looked as if he could use a day off as he turned over the ball twice in the final moments, the last a wild pitch on an in-bound pass with 2.9 seconds to got.
This is where the mad genius of Nelson comes into play, I suppose. According to reports out of the Guantanamo Bay area, he plans to sit Jackson at home against Utah. Then it’s Andris Biedrins’ turn to become a spectator in Minnesota. Next Corey Maggette gets to dress in business casual.
All on the pretext, mind you, of this acclaimed bench magician creating important daylight for Anthony Randolph, Marco Belinelli and Brandan Wright, prized youngsters Nelson systematically ignored for much of their time under his auspices.
Perhaps Nelson’s logic can be translated by Chris Duhon, whose forgettable February continued with yet another odious performance against Andre Miller in a Garden loss to the 76ers.
Then again, perhaps Nelson is diagramming plays for Duhon on a cocktail napkin. His five turnovers – several inconceivable – and six misses in eight tries cannot be blamed on too many minutes, as suggested by Walt Frazier, or a new running mate, Larry Hughes, as Mike D’Antoni submitted.
A quick look at the monthly balance sheet (excluding last night’s visit to South Beach) shows the sud denly pointless guard aborting 63 of 99 field goal attempts – passing up any number of good ones – and with an assist-to-turnover ratio (81-36) of just 2.25-1.
“I’m thinking delusional,” Next Town Brown said.
I wish my thoughts were nearly as upbeat.
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The first time Stephon Marbury handled the ball as a Celtic demonstrated why D’Antoni made a massive mistake by erasing him from his rotation at the season’s outset without giving him a chance; he dribbled left off a pick drawing an extra defender and found a cutter with a slick no-look bounce pass for a layup.
“Stephon ran the pick-and-roll with Keith Van Horn, who wouldn’t role,” e-mails column contributor Sam Lefkowtiz. “He ran it with Channing Frye, who knew very little about rolling. And he ran it with Michael Doleac, who could barely roll. Imagine what he would’ve done with David Lee in D’Antoni’s system!”
Say what we want about Marbury, but D’Antoni and Donnie Walsh blew a flaxen opportunity to transform the certified contrarian (and his $20.8M expiring contract) into moderately desirable goods . . . rather than settling for a penny ante buyout following the trade deadline.
Considering Walsh dumped Zach Randolph‘s toxic contract on L.A. and deported Jerome James to Chicago, I’ll always be convinced Marbury could’ve been unloaded somewhere for something of substance.
While on the subject, the Bulls were overjoyed to visit the White House. “All except James, who preferred to go to White Castle,” reports column castigator Frank Drucker. Meanwhile, Marbury’s debut on admittedly wobbly legs resulted in 4-of-6 (a couple jumpers, a couple drives), two assists and three turnovers in 13 minutes in a win against the Pacers.
The bad news is, notes column contributor Brian McGunigle, “He hadn’t even joined the team and Marbury was driving the Celtics to drink.” Well, Gabe Pruitt, anyway.
Holy vow! Bronx public defender Seth Curkin . . . Jenny Poupa Marashi will indeed marry you.
Where, exactly, was jurist precedent that allowed Charles Barkley to knock off 50 percent of his 10-day, DUI (en route to oral sex) sentence, and spend only half of that half (8 p.m. to 8 a.m.) in incarceration?
Barkley is to begin his, ahem, jail time March 21 in a place known as Tent City. By the way, Maricopa (Ariz.) County Sheriff Joe Arpaio said he chose to house Barkley, saying he didn’t want to be accused of offering “special privileges for celebrities.”
Yup, I’m sure rank-and-file felons also get 12 hours of daily cavorting time to avoid green bologna and pink jumpsuits.
How is Sir Cumference ever going to re-acclimate himself into mainstream society?
“Who do I have to sleep with to get a sentence like that?” Paris Hilton wonders.
