The Rake Magazine

Month: January 2008

  • Elegant, Swashbuckling Laughter

    MUSIC
    Elegant Melodies of Simpler Times


    A homegrown performer with a
    sound reminiscent of Jack Johnson or Simon and Garfunkel, Alex Goldfarb
    takes the stage tonight at the 331 Club. His crystal clear voice
    and elegant melodies spin yarns of sunny days and simpler times. Don’t be fooled, however, by Goldfarb’s seemingly straightforward
    themes. His tunes carry an undercurrent of social commentary and
    thought-provoking lyrics that allow you to quietly reflect on your own
    life and the world around you. With influences as diverse as Iron
    & Wine, Metallica, and puddles after a rain, Alex Goldfarb promises
    to be an interesting and innovative performer. —Kate Leibfried

    9:30 p.m., 331 Club, 331 NE 13th Ave., Minneapolis; 612-331-1746.

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    Peer Gynt

    Who better than Robert Bly to revive this cautionary tale of misdirected masculinity? Peer Gynt is
    the most deplorable of characters, a swashbuckler who, during the
    course of a single play, manages to desert his mother, cajole a bride
    into the mountains on her wedding night, get crunk with some
    hillbillies, and go on a globe-trotting black-market bender.
    Contemporary audiences will notice that nineteenth-century playwright Henrik Ibsen
    makes an apt statement about a familiar, modern archetype: the
    fatherless adolescent whose thuggish ambitions eclipse all kindness
    within. What’s more, Ibsen wrote the entire thing in Norwegian verse;
    as with most English translations, Bly’s new adaptation duplicates that
    effort. —Christy DeSmith

    7:30 p.m., Guthrie Theater, 818 S. 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224; $29-$69.

    COMEDY
    Get Some Schoolin’ in the Laughter Zone

    With a long list of credentials
    and an even longer list of jokes, Ted Alexandro guarantees a good time. Once a New York City schoolteacher, Ted found his true calling outside the classroom and inside the comedy club, and occasionally on your
    television. He has made appearances on Comedy Central, The Letterman Show,
    Jimmy Kimmel, Conan O’ Brien, and several other big-time comedy shows. All this week at the Acme Comedy Company we are lucky to have Ted’s
    big personality drumming up some big laughs. —Kate Leibfried

    8 p.m., Acme Comedy Company, Historic Itasca Building, 708 1st St. N., Minneapolis; 612-338-6393; $15, $27 dinner and show package.

     

  • Kidjo Electrifies the Ordway

    Last night, four-time Grammy-nominee Angelique Kidjo gave a stellar performance at the Ordway Center for the Performing
    Arts    . Despite her relatively
    petite stature, Kidjo is a ball of energy. She brought life and
    vitality to the stage as she sang and danced to the rhythm of African
    drums and electric guitars.

    Kidjo’s music is inspired by her childhood home
    of Benin, but also includes elements of American R&B, funk, and jazz,
    and influences from Europe and Latin America. From the very beginning
    of her performance, Kidjo was clearly able to energize her audience.
    Her powerful voice and catchy African beats make it hard for the audience
    to resist dancing along.

    Calling
    her microphone her "weapon of mass love," Kidjo also brings activism
    to the stage. Kidjo preaches love, peace, and the need to unify
    all human beings. Her goal is to touch lives through her singing
    and her message of love. The audience at the Ordway Center seemed
    to truly embrace Kidjo’s message as they unabashedly sang and danced
    along to her music, sometimes swaying back and forth with their neighbors
    and embracing those around them. Kidjo’s positive attitude reverberated
    through the crowd along with her powerful voice.

    To
    compliment her strong vocals, Kidjo was backed by an equally strong
    band. The three guitarists and two percussionists not only provided
    an energetic backdrop for Kidjo’s songs, but were also let loose to
    perform a purely instrumental segment of the show while Kidjo took a
    break offstage. The band gave the show depth through their lively
    performance and constant interaction with Kidjo.

    Kidjo’s
    connection with her audience was incredible. It takes a special
    kind of performer to gain the love and appreciation of a crowd, but
    Kidjo seemed to accomplish this feat effortlessly. She danced
    among the audience, told jokes, and even encouraged audience members
    to come dance on the stage with her. The level of interaction
    Angelique Kidjo had with the crowd at the Ordway made her
    show unforgettable.

    Before
    you buy a ticket to her next show, however, keep in mind that if you
    have trouble losing yourself in a performance, the amount of audience
    participation may be daunting instead of delightful. In order
    to truly enjoy Kidjo’s performance, you have to let yourself be enveloped
    by her music and the excited atmosphere it creates.

  • Put Britt at the Top!

    How come Britt Robson is not listed on the main page of the website? He’s all I read from The Rake—that is the sentiment of a few of my friends as well (all Wolves fans). He’s always amongst the most popular/e-mail articles as well. Let’s get Britt up at the top of the page!

    Christopher McKinley, Springfield, Virginia
    Letter

  • A Class Act

    I cannot tell you how happy I am to see Jeremy Iggers’s byline in your magazine. I have missed his informed, careful criticism. He is a class act every time, and I truly appreciate his thoughtfulness. I’ll be thrilled to continue to read him in The Rake. How about reviving his column on ethics?

    Elizabeth Nerud, Minneapolis
    Letter

  • Expected from the Left

    Imagine my surprise that another Twin Cities left-wing rag has a year-end list that is strictly to bash conservatives — which, of course, always focuses on Michele Bachmann, the only true conservative this state has sent to congress. By the way, Bachmann’s bridge bill was a stand-alone bill to pay only for the 35W bridge and no additional money for Jim Oberstars’s bike trails and other earmarks. Don’t you lefties get tired of being so predictable? Try and stir things up a bit and add a token conservative to your staff. Just maybe someone will read your rag if you try something different than all the other lefty mags in this town.

    Pat T., St. Paul
    Letter

  • Wicked Pissah

    I’m out here in Boston during this lovely Nor’Easter. As a true-hearted girl from Minny, it’s my duty to throw a few What’s-The-Big-Deals around and trudge through the slush in just a fleece declaring the 33 degrees to be a bit "balmy". I wear my Northern pride and January birthday like a fierce badge.

    But on to the eats…

    Last week, the city happily basked in warmer than normal weather, which made it the perfect walking city. I had pizza on the brain and my local pal Alex told me to walk to the North End and find Regina’s.

    The North End is the Little Italy of Boston. Down the main drag of Hanover Street, little restaurants and pastry shops glow through the late hours, welcoming locals and tourists alike. Despite the bright neon and hanging Christmas lights, the North End feels less of a tourist trap than Mulberry St. in NYC. We had to ask a few locals for directions to Regina as it wasn’t on the main street.

    The side streets in the North End are crooked and twisty, just like you want them to be. We passed apartment buildings that were so close together that we imagined neighbors hanging out the windows having a chat. In the middle of a five-way intersection, on the corner of Thacher Street we found Regina’s.

    Since 1926, Regina’s has been serving up brick-oven pizza. Walking into the dingy, tightly packed room, that seemed evident. The room was covered with black and white photographs showing stern waitresses and proud pizza cooks. The yellow walls were framed with woodwork that had seen many coats of dark paint and the booth tops were marked from years of hungry patrons waiting for their pizza.

    We were brusquely waved to a booth that could seat two larger people, or four in a pinch (we smashed in, we’re low-maintenance like that). Three waitresses worked the room and managed to deliver drinks and take orders while holding a converstion with each other, at top voice. Before we even got our taps of Moretti and Peroni (we’d ordered bottles, but whatever, beer is beer), we’d heard about how one girl had taken a few days off and the others had begrudgingly covered her shifts. "It’s a wicked pissah when you can’t even say thanks!" she shouted as she dropped our pizzas on the table.

    The pies were beautiful. The Pomodoro Formaggio was covered with dappled cheese and freshly torn leaves of basil. It was simple and salty and completely fresh. The Capricciosa was an ode to the perfect bite with a mouthful of fluffy ricotta, soft mushroom, prosciutto and their wonderfully tangy tomato sauce. With just a touch of char of the bottom, the crust held a nice balance between soft and crunchy.

    Our waitress sloshed a measure of beer from the glasses as she plonked down our second round. We were left to deal with it, and we did. When the barman told her it was last call, she turned to the room and to all of us shouted "You done, right?" A couple of hands shot up for a few more Buds and we paid our bill. Walking out, the pizza man in the kitchen shouted a Thanks as he threw another disc of dough into the air, and we left Regina feeling great.

    Regina Pizza has grown into a local chain with quite a few locations. I don’t know if any of them could live up to the night we had on Thacher Street, so I’m afraid I’ll have to pass them by. What a wicked pissah.

  • Wine, Noir, and Bombs

    WINE & DINE
    Wine after Work: Port, Sherry, and Madeira

    Wine implies
    sophistication, classiness, and for many, mystery. If you love wine, but have always felt a
    little intimidated by it, then Wine After Work is the thing for you. In a
    casual and laidback setting, you (and perhaps a few friends) will learn about
    the great dessert wines of the world. The event will mainly focus on wines from Spain
    and Portugal, especially
    Port, Sherry, and Madeira. You will not only learn a little history about
    each wine, but also the art of pairing dessert wines with specific desserts. Get ready to hone your palate and impress your
    friends with your newfound knowledge of wine. Salud! —Kate Leibfried

    5:30 – 6:30 p.m., W.A. Frost and Company, 374 Selby Ave. (corner of Selby and Western); Saint Paul; 651-699-5834; $35.

    MORE WINE & DINE
    Italian-Inspired Wine Dinner

    Treat yourself tonight to the richness
    of basil and garlic as you enjoy a six-course Italian-inspired meal prepared by
    Chef Hector Ruiz of Café Ena. Chef Ruiz is
    an experienced chef who has had the opportunity to explore the local cuisine in
    places as diverse as France,
    Mexico, and Chicago. If the food isn’t enticing enough, then allow yourself to be lured by
    yet another Italian specialty: wine. Each course will be paired with a glass of fine Italian wine to
    compliment the distinct flavor of the dish. The wine, the savory Italian food, and the sophisticated atmosphere of
    Café Ena will have you singing "Bella Notte" in no time. —Kate Leibfried

    7 p.m., Café Ena, 4601 Grand Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-824-4441; $80 (Call to make a reservation or book online).

    FILM
    Five Film Noir Masterpieces

    Tonight kicks off another five-week run of Monday-night film noir at the Parkway. Come on, folks — we have to start taking advantage of these great opportunities, or they’ll simple stop being offered. And how often do we get to see these film noir classics on the big screen? Trust me: it’s just not the same thing. Experience the fabulous low-key chiaroscuro and tenebrism lighting in larger-than-life mode. You can’t go wrong with these brutal crime flicks. The series begins tonight with a Billy Wilder noir masterpiece: Double Indemnity — "a cynical, witty, and sleazy thriller
    about adultery, corruption and murder." Raymond Chandler had a hand in the screenplay, and the lovely     Barbara Stanwyck stars as the elusive femme fatale. This is film noir at its best, folks; you don’t want to miss it.

    7:30 p.m., Parkway Theater, 4814 Chicago Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-822-3030; $5.

    MUSIC
    Building Better Bombs

    Lately the Triple Rock has been doing free Monday-night shows
    featuring cool local bands. The idea is to showcase new local talent and foster
    an environment that allows a unified and cohesive local music scene without the usual
    barriers that many nightspots impart. And also to sell more beer. Tonight’s
    lineup is decidedly more in-your-face than some of the previous shows. Check out
    Building Better Bombs – a post-hardcore
    band featuring Stef Alexander – aka P.O.S. BBB is a high
    energy outlet for the Warped-tour rapper’s screaming punk side. Also performing
    are post-AmRep rockers Death To Our
    Enemies     and goofs The
    Talkers    . DJ C-Gull will be spinning records and of course the bar will
    feature drink specials. —Christopher Hontos

    9 p.m., Triple Rock Social Club, 629 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612- 333-7399; free.

  • Licking Toads

    I would watch Philip Seymour Hoffman fold his laundry. Magnolia, 25th Hour, Capote. Like a blond, overfed version of Sean Penn, he is so riveting onscreen — so true in every single role he plays — that the actors around him seem to fade.

    In The Savages, which I saw this afternoon at the Edina Cinema, Hoffman plays Jon, a 42-year-old eternal boy who teaches dramatic theory and whines to both his sister and his beautiful Polish girlfriend about his inability to commit. Yet Hoffman infuses the character with such rumpled confusion and genuine decency, you cannot help but love the child-man. And when he and his sister, an equally emotionally-stunted 39-year-old named Wendy (Get it? Jon and Wendy. . . .I kept waiting for a Peter), must stow their demented and dying father in a nursing home, Hoffman manages to play the part simultaneously with impatience, sadness, disgust and a profound sense of loss.

    See this film for the wry story, for Laura Linney and Philip Bosco, for a cameo bit by a young Nigerian-American actor named Gbenga Akinnagbe as a brusquely gentle geriatric nurse. But see it. And you may go home as I did, less concerned about the rampant dysfunction in your own family and hopeful that even incredibly fucked-up people can show a little humanity when brought right down to the wire.

    After the movie, while basking in the glow of shared neurosis, I opened a Languedoc from 2004, the Domaine de L’Hortus Grande Cuvée 2004, a blend of Syrah, Grenache, and Mourvedre, and the last of the holiday bottles we had on hand. It gave off a musty, almost yogurty smell when first I removed the cork. I took a tentative sip and maybe it was the movie still running through my mind — Philip Seymour Hoffman’s meaty, sweaty charm — but when my husband asked whether I liked it I said I did, though it was rather amphibious, like licking a frog.

    This begs the question of whether I have actually licked a frog, I suppose. And the answer is no, I have not. But the first mouthful I got had the flavor of river water and mushrooms; it tasted the way murky ponds smell. After this, however, the Grande Cuvée lightened almost magically, with cherry and coriander on the tongue with a bit of burlap sack. I liked it a great deal, because I love a wine — as I love an actor — that will change and surprise me, being at once funky, mean, and sweet.

    Our 13-year-old happened through the room as we were discussing The Savages and debating the taste of wet frog. She informed us that there are people who lick toads, not for their flavor but because their skin excretes a substance that will produce a good high. Now, put aside for a moment that she knew about his practice while I did not (a precocious child, she), and be assured that tomorrow we’re going to have a long mother-daughter talk about what exactly a young lady should and should not lick.

    The important thing is that I’ve done some research — on behalf of my daughter and you — and determined that toad licking is not, after all, an effective means by which to get high. According to The Truth About Toad Licking (and who would not trust such a source?), the slimy stuff you ingest when licking the back of a toad actually is venom. In order to get a good dose of the hallucinogen 5-MeO-DMT, it’s necessary to collect a quarter cup or so of toad juice (by agitating a toad — and I’m totally serious about this, look for yourself), heat the goop until it crystallizes, then smoke the grains.

    Now call me a pessimist, but I don’t think your average toad-licking addict has the follow through to complete all the steps in this process. I know I don’t. What’s more, I wouldn’t recommend it. There are so many startling joys in life even without the use of hallucinogens. For instance, I’m very happy drinking my frog-tasting wine and thinking about the way Philip Seymour Hoffman makes unshaven and schlumpy look so wordly and suave your whole world simply turns upside-down.

  • The Beginning of a Story That Doesn't Yet Have an Ending

    We asked the captain what course

    of action he proposed to take toward

    a beast so large, terrifying, and

    unpredictable. He hesitated to

    answer, then said judiciously:

    "I think I shall praise it."

    —Robert Hass, from Praise

    Every once in awhile he would experience a disorienting moment –these instances were almost like seizures– in which he would find himself wondering just what the hell he thought he was doing. He couldn’t spend much time with that question or he’d be paralyzed. He knew this.

    He’d allowed himself to get pinned down a few times, and things would start swirling in his skull and he’d feel like he’d been turned inside out and salted. It was an ugly business.

    He recognized that at this point he didn’t have any good answers. It had already gone too far to be justified or explained. Once, though, he had not been this man, and wouldn’t even have been able to imagine the man he had apparently become, or any man like him.

    He didn’t know quite what he was doing, but he had a vague notion for why he was doing it. If anyone were to ask him, if he were caught (and this seemed increasingly inevitable), he would be able to offer up only the shortest and most pathetic of explanations: he was lonely. If pushed he was prepared to elaborate. He had lost everything, everything he’d ever had that he wanted, along with every hope and dream and brief, confused vision of what his life might one day be.

    Yet he was alive, which was remarkable in and of itself. He’d spent years –most of the last two decades– trying to imagine and will himself dead. He’d made plans, done research, presumably gone as far as a man could go without actually succeeding in killing himself. At a certain point it had occurred to him that he might well be one of the world’s foremost experts on suicide. He had read dozens of books on the subject, and literally thousands of articles in newspapers, magazines, and journals. He had scrapbooks in which he’d compiled almost two thousand different examples of successful suicides. By his last count, these people had utilized upwards of two hundred different methods in taking their own lives.

    He had started to think of this business, which had taken up the latter half of his forties and much of his fifties, as perhaps the one great undertaking of his life.

    Then, a week before his fifty-sixth birthday, he started stealing dogs.

  • The Three Pointer: Bad Loss, Good Loss

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by D. Clarke Evans/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game #35, Road Game #18: Minnesota 82, Houston 113

    Game #36, Road Game #19: Minnesota 88, San Antonio 105

    Season record: 5-31

    1. The Emergence of Gomes

    Let’s begin with the good news. In terms of being a complete, synergistic basketball player working to enable his team toward victory, Ryan Gomes has put together the best three-week stretch of anyone in a Timberwolves uniform thus far this 2007-08 season–better than any comparable peak period from Jefferson, McCants, Jaric, you name it. The numbers by themselves are mildly impressive: In the 12 games beginning with the Indiana win on December 21, the 6-7 forward has averaged 14.8 points and 7.2 rebounds per game while shooting 47% from the field and 86.7% from the line (39-45 FT, nearly 4 FTA per game). But three factors bolster the value and context of those figures.

    First, consistency: If you throw out his horrible performance last Sunday against Dallas, Gomes has scored in double figures every game in the past eleven and snagged at least five rebounds in all but one of them (getting just two versus Seattle). Second, role-playing: Gomes is getting his points despite rarely having plays called for him as happens with Jefferson and McCants, and is snagging rebounds despite rare appearances at one of the two frontcourt positions that would ensure him more boards. Third, intangibles: This goes beyond role-playing and addresses basketball intelligence, the trendy way of saying Gomes knows how to play the game. When Gomes was mired in his mysterious doldrums in late November and early December, it was remarkable, and depressing, to see how much the Wolves’ basketball IQ was elevated when long past his prime vet Antoine Walker stepped out on the court. Aside from Walker, the guys with half a clue seemed to be the two Florida rooks, Brewer and Richard, and ‘Toine, despite his admirable spunk in response to the thudding career comedown of joining the Wolves, still was a guy ultimately most comfortable in going for his. Ditto Jefferson and McCants, without the court savvy. And while point guards Telfair and Jaric seem to know how to play, they each exhibit crippling flaws (for Telfair, shooting; for Jaric, lack of quickness in playing the point) that prevent them from executing.

    That’s what has made Gomes so invaluable during this stretch. As mentioned in the last trey, he’s a glue guy, doing the things that don’t always make the stat sheet; not so much an initiator or a finisher in the half-court game as a linchpin between the two, not only fostering ball movement for its own sake, but making the smart, slightly creative, yet still high-percentage pass that exploits the defensive seam in a way that forces adjustments and opens larger seams for open jumpers and layups that generate assists on the next pass. If basketball were scored like hockey, with multiple assists, Gomes would rank just behind the two point guards for dishes. He’s already second on the team in rebounds per game, and fourth in points per game (and seemingly destined to pass Craig Smith in the next few games to be third behind Jefferson and McCants). He rates alongside Jaric, and just ahead of Brewer, as the most versatile defender on the team, committing fewer stupid fouls–a huge Wolves bugaboo–than anyone getting regular minutes. Now all he has to do is stop jacking up treys: After shooting 44% (15-34) from behind the arc in November (while clanking from two-point range; which I believe was the psychological catalyst for the overall deterioration in his game earlier this season), Gomes has been wretched from outside. Take away his 10-36 performance from treyville since 12/21 and he’s hitting 54% from the field (54-100 FG).

    Unfortunately, there was a glaring gap between Gomes and everyone but plugging center Michael Doleac in terms of consistent aptitude on the Wolves roster during the two losses this weekend. He was the only Wolves player with a pulse in the first half of the blowout Friday night in Houston, tying for the team lead in rebounds with 4 and the sole Timberwolf converting more than half his shots–Gomes went 4-7 FG while the rest of the squad was 8-28 FG–as Houston rumbled to a 61-31 lead at the break and transformed the entire second half into garbage time.

    Last night in a much better team effort against San Antonio, Gomes was again Minnesota’s clearcut MVP. Responding to the Spurs’ opening gameplan of denying McCants and Jefferson easy looks, he burried a couple of open jumpers, then, as the perimeter players began closing out on him, fed McCants for a pair of treys to knot the game at 24 in the first period. By halftime he had a game-high 6 rebounds, was second only to Jefferson in the game with 11 points (again on 4-7 FG), and committed no fouls nor turnovers in 19:14 of action. Yes, he was on the court for most of the second half as the Spurs outscored the Wolves by 18 points, and contributed to that deficit by not responding quickly enough to the Spurs inside-outside offensive ball movement (at 250 pounds, rapid defense from paint to perimeter in the half court is not Gomes’s forte). But anyone watching the game would acknowledge that the Spurs’ full court pressure on defense and ability to score (or provoke mismatches) inside were the two biggest factors in their win.

    For the game, Gomes had 21 points (9-15 FG), second only to Jefferson’s 24 (on 10-18 FG) and a game-high 9 rebounds. As color commentator Jim Petersen noted two or three times, he continued "taking what the Spurs gave him" in the Wolves’ half-court offense and added a pair of opportunistic baskets in transition to close out both the second and third quarters on a strong note.

    It is a long season, of course, and even a consistent three-week run by Gomes doesn’t guarantee that his role or his performance will continue unabated on a team that has a surfeit of unproven performers it must cull through before next year’s draft. Wolves’ stat guru Paul Swanson has informed me that Gomes is a *restricted* free agent at the end of this season, meaning the Wolves can match any offer, a vital distinction not indicated in the salary figures for either hoopshype.com or shamsports. Even if the Wolves feel compelled to take Michael Beasley as the top talent in the NBA draft–who, folks tell me, clones the best of Gomes and Jefferson–Gomes is exactly the sort of smart, consistent player that will always be a valuable commodity.

    2. Jefferson: Spelled with an O, no D

    On a ballclub without stars, it is difficult not to love Al Jefferson, who turned 23 last week, and is already giving the team 20 points and 11 or 12 rebounds per night by dint of mucking hard in the paint. Throw in his acceptance of a longterm contract that certainly could have been higher had he waited a year–and screwed the Wolves by signing elsewhere–and he’s a feel-good story and burgeoning cornerstone on a ballclub crying for a public identity in the post-KG era.

    But here’s the rub: Nearly halfway through his fourth NBA season, the evidence continues to mount that Al Jefferson is a lazy defender. Perhaps what damns him most of all in this regard is the huge disparity between his doggedly refined low-post game on offense and his frequent willingness to get undressed on defense. When the Wolves set up in the half court, Jefferson’s precocious footwork, vast array of shots (jump hook, funky push jumper, up-and-under scoop, beneath-the-rim baseline banker, and well-calibrated wrist flick), cunning in avoiding predictible patterns on his moves and fierce determination to go up and finish in traffic already make him a top ten NBA scorer in the paint. To develop such multi-faceted skills takes dedication and intelligence. Neither of those virtues are apparent, to put it charitably, at the other end of the court.

    Yes, Jefferson has been yo-yo’d between his natural power forward spot and center all season since the injury to Theo Rat
    liff. And it seems that physically he is a ‘tweener on defense–lunched by leviathians such as Andrew Bynum yet zipped past or feinted to a faretheewell by small, savvy post performers like Houston’s Luis Scola on Friday. But how does that excuse all the times he shows too hard and can’t recover on the pick and roll (or, conversely, allows the p+r shooter an open look on the switch), or is caught napping on an interior pass for an easy layup, as happened twice with Francisco Oberto last night? He also doesn’t get back in transition very well, and his rotations are adequate at best–and inferior to Michael Doleac or the undersized Craig Smith.

    Again, what is especially aggravating about these consistent lapses is that Jefferson continues to improve on offense–even on weak spots such as passing out of double teams, or raising the accuracy of his midrange jumper–while the fundamentals of his D remain fundamentally flawed. It bespeaks of ignorance to that part of his game, and diminishes his otherwise well-earned rep as a blue-collar stalwart. I understand the incentive for such imbalance in a league where Vince Carter is a fan favorite for dunking at one end while tanking at the other, and where no one wants to talk about how the universally lauded Yao Ming is totally ineffective on defense against a half-dozen NBA teams, and couldn’t guard relative lilliput Carlos Boozer when a playoff series was on the line. But despite Jefferson’s gaudy offensive numbers and my overall admiration for what he has accomplished, albeit only when his team has the rock, I don’t believe he deserves to be an All Star this season. Let’s not start handing out carrots to a young player with a marvelous upside who is currently staging perhaps the most impressive half-assed season in Timberwolves history.

    3. Hosannahs and Brickbats

    After alternately arguing for first Doleac and then Richard to be slotted in at center beside Jefferson, this weekend’s performances had me agreeing with Doleac’s starting assignments and Richard trading in his uni for street clothes on Saturday. As well as Richard recognizes rotations and hustles on defense, he simply abandons any pretense of offense–he’s even more unbalanced than Big Al. Twice on Friday his teammates,against all odds, bothered to pass him the ball, simply because he was so wide open. The first time Richard fumbled it; the second time he sent a carom so strong off the glass and rim it would have flown to half-court if not rebounded. Hard to say whether it is nerves, overdoing the self-effacing defensive-oriented role, or simple lack of talent at that end of the court, but Richard isn’t such a stud on defense that he can afford to let everyone take him for granted on offense.

    Meanwhile, Doleac showcased that midrange jumper I kept harping on while arguing for some playing time for the Pale Rider earlier this season. He also knows how to commit the hard interior foul that prevents "and 1" from happening when someone loses their man in the paint. He play at both ends of the court was obviously bedeviling the Spurs on Saturday, as they ran multiple plays right at him after he’d picked up his 4th foul. Finally they were able to draw the fifth infraction with 5:50 left in the third period, sending Doleac to the bench for Smith. San Antonio promptly extended a 58-55 lead to 73-60–a 15-5 run–over the next 4:42 and that was essentially the ballgame. Word is that Theo Ratliff will be in the lineup soon. A Ratliff-Doleac platoon at the 5 gives the Wolves a fighting chance–and consistent minutes for Jefferson where he belongs–against squads with legitimate big men. Let that happen with Foye at the point and then we can finally see what we have on this roster.

    Ah yes, the point guard spot. It is becoming more and more dramatically obvious that Telfair’s future will be determined by his ability to hit an open jump shot. Houston and San Antonio both gave Bassy a wide berth out on the perimeter–to the extent that it was almost 5-on-4 with the other players–and Telfair shot 1-10 FG in a combined 69:58 of play. That’s one shot every 7 minutes, or less than 7 per 48, a huge reluctance when the opponents are daring you to score–and yet, as Telfair’s wayward aim demonstrated, a wise reticence on his part. Meanwhile, brickmeister Bassy got the minutes because Marko Jaric may as well have been sidling in quicksand against the likes of Tony Parker, Rafter Alston, Jacques Vaughn and Aaron Brooks. Jaric himself shot 1-3 FG in a combined 39:06, fewer FG per minute than Bassy. Hmmm, maybe it is time to spot McCants in at the point every now and then, with Brewer, Gomes, Jefferson and Doleac. It would give the ego-laden tattoo aficionado incentive to distribute the rock and perhaps prompt him to be more turnover conscious. A gamble, yes, but the current alternatives aren’t exactly delivering dividends.

    Even when he was going 7-9 FG in the meaningless second half against Houston, Brewer’s form is enough to give Fred Hoiberg an ulcer. Can he make NBA defenses respect him with that mid-air flailing? Well, Telfair certainly looks pretty going up, and the ball doesn’t go in. But the burden of proof to turn that mess into points is squarely on Brewer.