ENOUGH of this hallucinating and unchecked speculation by an intensifying faction of local newspapermen.
Must be great to have so much space to waste. Must be wonderful to have the freedom to frivolously fantasize. Must be a hoot to deceive the fans into thinking Jerry West is considering saving the Knicks from the suffering succotash of their salary cap squalor, languishing in the lottery a season more than is evidently inescapable and talent decay.
Enough of all this foolishness. The Knicks have a better chance to dethrone Phil Jackson’s Forces Of Shaq-Kobe this June than James Dolan has to entice the Laker Landmark to relocate in New York and supervise his shanty team.
You do not need an infallible source to grasp such a harsh reality, only a rough stroke of common sense.
Put yourself in Jerry’s privileged position: West Coast all the way since leaving West Virginia. Within driving distance (I hear they’re building a tunnel) of Hawaii, his favorite sanctuary on earth. Health has been on the mend for almost two hassle-free years. Extravagant golf courses at his disposal 24/7. Joined by prestigious partners on the links, at the gin rummy table and in business deals; big timers who’d like nothing more than to spring for an NBA franchise, give the League Logo a percentage to run it and hang on his every basketball thought, word and deed.
Come on, how can the Knicks hope to compete with such a stupefying package? Even if Dolan were inclined to pursue West, you don’t seriously think Camp Cablevision would give Jerry a piece of the plum? Stock options, sure, but not ownership.
Even if Dolan were prepared to go to that extreme, West still wouldn’t take the job, it says here. West is West and East is East and never the twain shall meet. And you can quote me.
Ain’t no way West is comin’ to New York; why risk his reputation against all odds?
Ain’t no way he’s goin’ to Atlanta, either; as if AOL is going to divide its property . . . as if the Hawks are in any danger of turning it around in Jerry’s lifetime, hallowed expertise, not withstanding . . . as if Atlanta has shown any sign of being infatuated with the NBA. At this point in West’s career, he’s interested in rebuilding a franchise, not exhuming one.
In fact, ain’t no way Jerry is movin’ remotely East of California.
For all the above rational reasons.
So far, from what I’m told, there’s only one possible situation tempting enough to make West an ex-Laker after 42 years of devoted service, and that’s Golden State. Sources reveal Christopher Cohan, burdened by a lost law suit to the city of Oakland regarding the lease on his arena, appears set to sell the Warriors and West’ s people are itchin’ to buy.
Should an arrangement fail to materialize, West, I’m saddened to report, will be forced to endure an anxiety-free existence with normal blood pressure levels and undisturbed sleep. It’s not as if West is obsessed about getting back to work. The League Logo is not loco . . . except when passionately involved.
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After yet another early exit from the NCAA’s, the University of Sin-Cinnati has come up with its own definition of the “Sweet 16” – it’s the number of flagrant fouls distinguished former mercenaries (I don’t dare call them alums) Danny Fortson and Kenyon Martin are working toward this season.
Just when you were about to get snookered and fall head over stilettos (again) for the Timberwolves, they crashed and burned (again) before your very peepers. Seven straight times now they’ve wound up on the wrong end of the tote board and it keeps getting worse.
Sunday’s 7-point meltdown to visiting Utah left the Wolverines searching for leadership (a far-too geeked up Kevin Garnett, 3-14, got stripped twice by Karl Malone at crunch time) and an experienced point guard to show Chauncey Billups, William Avery and Felipe Lopez how and when to deliver the ball. They signed free agent-at-large Robert Pack, who’s eligible for the playoffs and would be a sound improvement if close to being in shape.
If Pack proves to be no help, the Wolverines are in jeopardy of sliding down the pole like a deposed Gold Club dancer.
Gotta love the way those feisty Knicks blew away Sacramento last week. Nothing gets those juices flowing like garbage time. Or, as Camp Cablevision calls it, the last third of the season.
Did you peruse Shawn Kemp‘s rap sheet, er, stat sheet, against the Wizards? Starting for the first time since the Cavaliers got him off their calorie cap (replacing the suspended Dale Davis), the portly Trail Blazer put up season highs in virtually every category, including minutes (43), points (21) and rebounds (14). I’m guessing it was also a season high in buffet burned, but I’m waiting for Ben & Jerry to get back to me on that one.
Must’ve been a helluva reunion between John Calipari and inmates from his old asylum when Jersey visited Memphis Sunday. You could tell coach Cal wasn’t overly impressed with the new-look replica Nets squad: he didn’t offer any of their fathers a job.
Did you see where Ruben Rivera signed a contract with Cleveland? Oh, great, now he can steal from the Indians like everyone else in the history of this country.
