The NBA Is Back! Time For Some Shit Talking!

The NBA season kicks off tonight as LeBron attempts to become a gotdamn Super Saiyan again and obliterate every gotdamn opponent in his path. I haven’t said anything about LeBron since I wrote some dumb shit about him accepting blame for his role in cultivating Cleveland’s glaring weaknesses. The Warriors were up 3-to-1 in the Finals when I wrote that. I thought the series was over. EVERYONE THOUGHT IT WAS OVER! I’m pretty sure the folks over at Under Armour were printing “Curry Is The 2nd Coming” t-shirts to commemorate the baby-faced assassin’s back-to-back title run. Ayesha was just waiting to unleash their bad-ass, annoying child on the podium so my ears could bleed. Little did I know Draymond would do some Draymond shit — like punch LeBron in his meat sack — after LeBron did some LeBron shit — like rub his meat sack on Draymond’s head — earning a pivotal Game 5 suspension.

I also didn’t realize Steph Curry’s and Klay Thompson’s light-skinnedness would cause them to be bitch-made, self-destructive assholes, incapable of hitting the very shots that earned them the nickname of “Splash Brothers.” And I had no Earthly clue Kyrie Irving was really about that buckets life after dressing up in a fat suit and some makeup to peddle Pepsi’s sugar water. I was wrong. LeBron James made sure of that.

Anywho, things are a little bit different this time around. The Warriors went out and paid Kevin Durant a bunch of money to essentially make their team a real-life cheat code. Golden State’s vaunted “Death Lineup” swaps out Harrison Barnes — who apparently was found in Dallas after Steve Kerr reported him missing during the NBA Finals — for Durantula. And if the preseason is any indication, it’s going to be a fucking nightmare for every team that doesn’t call Oracle Arena home. I usually don’t put much stock in preseason basketball, mostly because it’s more useless than preseason football.

But during the time Curry, Thompson, Iguodala, Durant, and Green have shared the floor they have ransacked e’erbody. See Exhibit A here. Durant has shown an uncanny tenacity on the defensive end of the floor while still harnessing one of the most lethal offensive arsenals in the league. That’s only going to give Steph and Klay (aka Jon B.) more space to shoot as if they even need it. Andre is still a playmaking machine, and although Draymond continues to recklessly perform flying lotus kicks while grabbing rebounds, he’s still the best two-way, plus-minus player in the league. Steve Kerr is both smart enough and accomplished enough to lead this team to a redeeming championship. Plus he has one of the most talented coaching staffs at his disposal after replacing Luke Walton with seasoned veteran coach Mike Brown.

Golden State’s reserves got better too with the addition of David West, Zaza Pachulia, and “Shaqtin’ A Fool All-Star” JaVale McGhee. Let’s not forget about Shaun Livingston and Ian Clark, the best backcourt reserves to the best starting backcourt in the NBA. The Warriors, barring injury and utter fuckery, are almost guaranteed to return to the NBA Finals en route to destroying the lofty records they set just one year ago. Hell, maybe they’ll win 80 games, although that’s probably preposterous.

There are some other interesting storylines league-wide as the West is full of intrigue. Will the Clippers finally realize their full potential and give Paul Pierce a proper send off with a trip to the Western Conference Finals? How much does Russ hate Durant and how violently will he play now that he’s the only Alpha Dog in OKC? Now that Tim Duncan is off to crease his Girbaud jeans, how will Pop maximize and develop the two-headed monster of Kawhi Leonard and LaMarcus Aldridge? Can Harden possibly play less defense this year? And are the Trailblazers the younger version of the Warriors?

The East is far less interesting. The Bulls shipped Mr. Glass (D. Rose) and an awkward big man with two left feet (J. Noah) to the Knicks and added a guard who can’t shoot outside of 10-feet (Michael Carter-Williams) and a past-their-prime D. Wade and Rajon Rondo. If Chicago would have signed Wade and Rondo 5 years ago then maybe it’d mean something. It doesn’t. Madison Square Garden is now home to a bunch of ball-dominant shooters, one of whom doesn’t seem to understand the concept of sexual consent (D. Rose). And the Raptors are still paying Aubrey Graham to be their hype man. The only team reasonably capable of challenging LeBron and Co. are the Pacers — after adding Jeff Teague, Al Jefferson, and Monta Ellis — and the Celtics, who may or may not be supremely overrated.

All that said, we’re probably going to witness a Cavs vs. Warriors trilogy in the Finals. We likely know what’s going to happen which makes this upcoming regular-season almost pointless to watch. It’s not nearly as bad as Roger Goodell’s NFL, but it’s still kinda pointless. The only way this NBA season is going to be enjoyable is if the Warriors talk shit every gotdamn game. I mean Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnet amounts of shit. Just because they can, and there’s not a gotdamn thing anyone can do about it. At least until June.

Hoping The Warriors Lose In The Finals Because Of Steph Curry’s Cockiness Is Dumb

Thanks to either an apocalyptic meltdown or a resurrection reminiscent of Lazarus (I prefer meltdown, but, eh, to each its own), the Warriors will play the Cavs tonight in a redux of last year’s mediocre NBA Finals.

Frankly, I don’t care who wins. I can easily tolerate a “Greatest team in the history of the NBA” narrative the same way I can a “Prodigal son returns home to provide a championship to a desperate fanbase.” I just want to see some competitive basketball and a few entertaining post-bucket celebrations. (Staredowns, stomps, shimmying, all the shit is welcome.)

But one thing that’s making the fuzz beneath my balls crinkle is the growing number of casual basketball fans who are hoping for Golden State’s demise because they believe Stephen Curry has turned into a cocky piece of shit.

Curry used to be humble, nah mean? Like, he won MVP and got a ‘ship and now he all holier than thou, and disrespectful and what not. I don’t like that shit!

This is the dumbest shit that I’ve heard since DC fanboys tried to convince me “Batman vs. Superman: Dawn of Justice” was cinematically more realistic than “Captain America: Civil War.” (It’s not. Sit yo’ salty ass down somewhere with that nonsense.)

You mean to tell me that this light-skinned, son of a professional basketball-playing father and a collegiate star-athlete mother (and she fine), husband to a modelesque wife (I don’t care what you say bruh, she fine too), who has his own signature shoe, and is a starting guard in the NBA, suddenly became arrogant between last year’s championship and now? NO. That’s idiotic.

Curry has been cocky since the day he was born. While you were busy snacking on pasteurized cheese products, Steph was devouring healthy portions of Foie gras. His childhood room was most likely a combination of Richy Rich meets Theo Huxtable. He was playing one-on-one with NBA ballers while you were throwing rubber rec balls at a makeshift hoop constructed with milk crates and duct tape. He’s been cocky for awhile now.

I know we’ve become accustomed to this lovely notion that Curry is just a humble, God-fearing, family man who’s strength comes from those around him, some of which is probably true. But it’s also the feel-good fictive that the NBA wants you to devour. It sells tickets and moves merchandise from stockroom shelves to the confines of your living room.

Beneath this veneer there also exists a self-absorbed, endogenous, “ball is life” assassin. And that’s not necessarily a terrible thing. You can be cocky and decent at the same damn time. Just as you can be unpretentious and a dick, at the same damn time. It can happen.

ALL PROFESSIONAL ATHLETES ARE COCKY, SOMEWHAT NARCISSISTIC HUMAN BEINGS. Every last one of them. Because sometimes it’s necessary.

Becoming a specimen that is paid to perform at a supremely elite-level is hard as fuck. While most have been gifted with some fortuitous physical traits (like being seven feet tall), and blind luck (like being the seed of a professional athlete), it’s still a steep road to trek. (What up doe Marcus Jordan?!)

Thus, if you don’t have some belief that all that is good and pure in the entire world revolves around your undeniable greatness, you will fail. (BELIEVE IN YO’SELF DAMMIT!)

I’m not referring to confidence. That’s for regular folks. It’s reserved for mere mortals who sort through data sets, prepare lesson plans (I love teachers), or muster up the courage to ask an attractive chick at Buffalo Wild Wings for their number.

What I’m talking about a supreme aura created with the knowledge that you can alter the fabric of the entire universe.

It’s what drives some of the best athletes to devote countless hours and an inordinate amount of energy to their craft. Their professional existence is centered on the notion that an entire organization’s success will be determined by their performance.

If you’re bothered by Wardell Jr.’s brash celebratory outbursts –like staring into someone’s soul after obliterating their ankles or turning up court after shooting an improbable 3-pointer before the ball hits the bottom of the net – get over yourself. J.R. Smith practically catches the Holy Ghost every time he nails a shot despite having none of the accolades or superlatives currently in Curry’s possession.

Professional athletes are paid to entertain, excite, and do crazy-difficult shit – like hit 35-foot, game-winning bombs with ease. Listen, you can root for, or against, whoever you want, it’s your prerogative. There are a myriad of reasons to not like the Warriors. (They win too much, they make shit look fun, they’re not your team, pick one.) But don’t hate on someone because they’re not the person you want them to be. That’s fucking stupid.