The Rake Magazine

Category: Blog Post

  • Let's Play Hockey!

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    It’s tournament time, people. You know what that means … St. Paul restaurants will be packed with out-state hockey kids and their hockey parents. That’s a lot of Coke and Pepsi, my friends.

    But I actually have a great place for you, even if you’re all painted up and ready to WHOOP. If your team happened to draw Warroad, or worse yet Holy Angels, in the first round, you might need some help: get to the Great Waters Brewery.

    Great Waters’ beer is blessed. The brewery sits on the site of the original St. Paul Cathedral and still uses the old natural spring well. Seriously, kick back a pint of Fire & Ice Ale, throw down a couple of Hail Marys for your team and see if they can’t shut down the Rosemont machine.

    Besides blessed beer, Great Waters has good food that is clearly better than toxic orange nachos from the concession stand. Their Rasta Wings are really hot and you gotta love a place with a house-baked pretzel on the menu. Burgers are big, chicken sandwiches are juicy and, if you’re tucking in for a celebration dinner, try the pork chops marinated in St. Peter Pale Ale.

  • The Three-Pointer: Double Double

    Game #60, Home Game #31, Minnesota 117, Lakers 107 (2 OT)

    1. So Pretty
    No Timberwolves player has been ripped as royally by myself and those responding to my treys this season as “Pretty Ricky” Davis, who has been dubbed either directly or by inference as a cancer, a coach killer, a corroder of chemistry, and, more “kindly,” an enigmatic tease who plays when he feels like it and not a moment beyond. I won’t back off my part in those harsh assessments because I remember the performances that prompted them.

    But when the fully motivated Ricky Davis steps out of the phone booth, as he did tonight while ringing up 33 points, 10 rebounds, 8 assists, 3 steals and mostly dogged defense versus Kobe Bryant and the Laker crew during a gut-checking 55:50 out of 58 possible minutes in a double-overtime win the Wolves desperately needed, you honor it with a full, throaty huzzah, bow your head and pray to the hoop gods that you see it again real soon.

    Put simply, Davis wanted this win. He started cold, hitting just 2-6 FG in the first period, but grabbed three rebounds (just one less than in the entire double-overtime Celtic game Sunday), dropped two dimes and added a steal before going to the bench with 1:06 to play. But he came back quickly due to foul trouble on Marko Jaric (starting for the injured Trenton Hassell) and caught the spark for 12 points on 5 straight two-pointers (he was 0-2 from beyond the arc) and two free throws, essentially negating Kobe Bryant’s 15 points and keeping the Wolves just three back at the half.

    But it’s what Davis did after that which makes you want to salute his grit, skill, and savvy–and throw in a snide rejoinder about how haphazardly he puts them all together. In the third and fourth quarters, the shots weren’t falling–not a single field goal converted in four attempts. So Pretty Ricky did what Kevin McHale said he could do back when the Wolves acquired him from Boston last season–drove to the basket and got to the free throw line. There were ten attempts in those two quarters and he made them all, the last two with the Wolves down two, 96-98, with 5.2 seconds left in regulation. Then he stole the inbounds pass to seal the tie with 1.9 seconds left in the 4th quarter. That was after he grooved three passes to his boy Mark Blount, standing outside the arc between the top of the key and the right baseline, and Blount, against long odds, stroked those treys to bring the Wolves back from 6 points down with 2:35 left in regulation.

    In overtime the Wolves were down a pair coming out of a timeout with 3.3 seconds left. KG got the inbounds, wheeled into the right paint for an easy, wrist-flick jumper, which rimmed out. Davis tipped it in. On to the second OT. Davis broke a 107 tie with a long jumper and then when Randy Foye committed a silly turnover, Davis immediately stole the ball back. After Jaric had fouled out early in the first OT, the quickness of Davis and KG keyed a zone D that sought to constantly double-team Kobe, a strategy that held him to three points on 1-4 FG after he’d gone off for 37 in regulation.

    Told after the game that he’d played ten seconds less than 56 minutes, Davis matter-of-factly replied, “I can go out there and play again. Hats off to my trainer.” And to Davis, who erased at least one or two debits he’s accumulated during this disappointing campaign.

    2. Marko and Troy–One Should Remain A Starter
    As should have been expected, Troy Hudson’s second start wasn’t quite as auspicious as his first one. The shot wasn’t falling–T-Hud was 2-7 FG, with both of his makes relatively short jumpers off picks that sprung him as he moved toward the baseline–and the defense remained abominable. Even Kobe had to give it up to Smush Parker with Huddy guarding him. Parker had 11 points in the first 6:41 of the game, propeling the Lakers to a 22-11 lead, and Hudson was replaced by Randy Foye less than two minutes later. All told, the Lakers scored 53 points in the 22:53 Hudson was on the court and 54 points in the 35:07 he was on the bench. For those poor at math, that means Huddy would have had to help prevent opponents from scoring for an entire quarter, than permit a made free throw in an extra 14 seconds in order to break even with what his teammates accomplished without him defensively. It is not a coincidence that the only two Timberwolves with a negative plus/minus total on the popcornmachine.net website tally for tonight were Hudson and his fellow point guard Mike James. The odd man in is rook Randy Foye, whose stupendous tip-in off a KG miss bumped the lead from two to four in the second OT and was coach Randy Wittman’s favorite memory of a game chalk-full of vivid imagery. For now and for the future, Foye deserves his starter’s role back. Yes, he makes mistakes–at least two dumb passes and a drive to the hoop that had no chance of being anything but a blocked shot occured in just the fourth quarter and two overtimes alone–but as I’ve repeatedly emphasized, that’s because he’s not a point guard, and on-the-job training at this particular position is destined to be rocky. But if between now and the end of the season the Wolves don’t have a pretty good idea whether or not Foye can be their point guard of the future, it will be yet another item of impeachment to bring against VP Kevin McHale and his mates.

    Then there is Jaric, who wrote another chapter in the Marvelous Adventures of Marko subbing in for Hassell tonight. Most of his contributions were subtle, significant, and much to his team’s benefit. When it comes to steals he has the quickest hands and the best timing of anyone on the ballclub, and he’s a tough, rangy sonofagun who knows how to clog passing lanes and deliver a hard foul after he or his teammates have been beaten to the hoop. He also had three blocks in the second half tonight, none more important than lunching seven-footer Kwame Brown before he could go up with 8.4 seconds left in regulation and the Wolves down by one. Letting Kwame score or committing the foul would have been potentially fatal. Naturally Jaric also did something that made you cringe and shake your head, in this case a totally botched inbounds pass right after his monster block, and if Parker had been able to hit both free throws after the Wolves were forced to foul, Jaric would have reclaimed a designation he often carried during his stint in the starting lineup last year–hero/goat, Janus-masked.

    That said, Jaric covets starting perhaps more than anyone on the ballclub–he’s like a little kid when he gets the nod, or at least plays quality minutes, and pouts with petulance when he’s ignored. By contrast, Hassell is a consummate pro who can handle any role thrust upon him. It may thus be beneficial to team chemistry to leave Jaric in for awhile and bring Hassell off the bench. More than likely, Jaric will know that a quick hook awaits a mistake-filled early performance and psyche himself out into fulfilling that dire prophecy. But it’s worth a shot. Everyone knows what Hassell can do. The rest of this season should be about solving as many personnel mysteries as possible, and Jaric is on that list.

    3. Quick Hits
    The legendary Phil Jackson overcoached his way to defeat tonight by benching Andrew Bynum for Kwame Brown with 1:31 left in regulation and the Lakers up 3. The only half-plausible justification was that Jackson wanted a big with a little more mobility on Mark Blount after he rained in those treys. But Bynum was the patently superior player at both ends of the court tonight and the clueless, stone-handed Brown (watching him constantly drop the ball and miss point-blank bunnies at the basket yet again made me rue my endorsement of the Lakers acquiring him last year) wasn’t going to stop Blount any more than the precocious teenager. Bynum is already a disrupter defensively. And Brown is already in danger of becoming a bust.

    It’s not hard when watching the game to notice that some players naturally look for and play off each other, with the kinship between Blount and Davis a prime example. After some encouraging performances just before the All Star break, Rashad McCants has had a rough couple of weeks trying to come back from knee surgery, especially figuring out when and where to get his shot off. When Jaric fouled out shortly into the first overtime, the Wolves seemed doomed sending McCants into the game. Jaric had been a key component of the 3/4 court trap and zone defense that had been the brakes on Kobe’s scoring spree after the Selfish One went off for 17 points in about 3 minutes in the third quarter. Although his D has improved markedly since the beginning of last year, Shaddy doesn’t have Jaric’s instincts and defensive acumen. But McCants more than held his own playing the zone (the trap was abandoned). His offense, however, was still shaky. Practically dared to shoot as the Lakers doubled KG and/or Davis and cheated toward Blount on the perimeter, Shaddy’s lone jumper of the first overtime was both short and to the side of the iron–a choker’s miss. But with the Wolves up 4 with a minute to play, KG, a player McCants has venerated from his first day in Minnesota, was drawing a double-team high on the left block when McCants flashed from the weak side toward the basket. KG zipped him the pass, Shaddy didn’t hesitate as he banked the lay-up. It was the champagne-popping basket of the game, the one that sealed the deal, and McCants quietly reveled in it as he came to the bench. Other players might have seen McCants move without the ball and other players might have even fed him–but not as decisively and propitiously as KG, who has his eye out for McCants whenever possible.

    Craig Smith had one of those good stat, bad stat games. On the one hand he corralled 11 rebounds in just 17:16, including 7 offenive boards. On the other hand, many of those follow-ups were of his own misses, as he went 2-10 FG. At the beginning of the year, what was impressive about Smith was his composure and maturity; specifically, how calm and collected he was jousting for rebounds with bigger behemoths: timing his jumps, maintaining possession through the turbulance, and then going back up for that little floater over their outstetched hands. Then he hit a trough and looked like crap for about 6 weeks, only to rally by dint of sheer hard work and sweat equity. That’s what is getting him his boards lately, but the composure and fine touch is usually absent. Getting it back will go a long way toward determining if Smith becomes a valuable role player or an afterthought.

  • Anna Nicole Coulter. Its All the Same.

    Jack Shafer poses a good question over at Slate today. Unfortunately, while the headline, “Our Ann Coulter Problem. Why the Press Won’t Just Ignore Her”, suggests he supplies an answer, he doesn’t. Other than the talk radio crowd who eerily echo the notorious line, “Coulter has some good ideas”, (Like what? Blowing up the New York Times?) — everyone else who has watched Coulter’s career arc has to have asked themselves, “Why?”

    As in, “Why is this rude, unmodulated, and not particularly insightful shock-jock-style pundit given so much airtime?”

    My old pal, David Carr, of the Times, had it as right as anyone when he suggested Coulter wouldn’t get past security at The Today Show and CNN if it weren’t for the blonde-in-a-cocktail dress bit. (The reverse logic there being that Matt Lauer and everyone else might have had a few more chats with, say, the late Molly Ivins, if Ivins lost 40 pounds, 20 years and made friendly wih a bottle of peroxide).

    Let me suggest … again … (as in “yet again”) … that the media’s problem with Coulter is two-fold, maybe three-fold.

    One: The mainstream media lives in a state of constant, palpable, dry-mouthed fear of being targeted by right-wing partisans. To be called out as a “liberal” is to be on a slippery slope to getting Dan “Rathered”, where a stupendous network of resources comes to bear on you with such constancy and virulence it becomes nearly impossible to do anything — like “normal journalism” — other than rebut crackpot criticism and invective. In order to blunt this very high potentiality, mainstream media news entities and performers make extraordinary concessions to personalities who embody the far-far-right ethos. It is a way of indemnifying themselves.

    Two: Mainstream television and radio news — and I use the word “news” very advisedly in the context of commercial radio, since it barely exists anymore — is entertainment, first, second, third and foremost. That means glamour of a fairly cliched variety is a primary criteria for access to the network camera. With that in mind, rail thin blondes in short cocktail dresses — often at 8 in the morning(?) — are inherently more viable as guests than say some middle-aged gal like Ivins, or nerdy-looking wonky characters like, um, David Sirota or Glenn Greenwald, neither of whom I recall ever being asked on to chat up Lauer, Diane Sawyer or whoever is doing that CBS show these days.

    Third: Coulter can be relied on to make “news”. She will, invariably insult, vilify and engage in reckless hyperbole. Its guaranteed. Its like booking a barking seal. Her willingness to spew over-the-top invective of a sort that were she a guy in a bar would get her nose broken, is fundamental to her appeal to mainstream infotainment. Its part of an unwritten contract. “We’ll have you on, and you say something — anything, we don’t care — just as long as it is ‘hot’ enough that every other network has to pick it up and run it. Cross-promotion, baby! Its how you play the game.”

    The direct link between Coulter and the latest absurdist celebrity overreach — Anna Nicole Smith — is almost too obvious to note. (Carl Hiassen whacks his press colleagues for their Anna Nicole frenzy in his Miami Herald column.) Where Smith could be relied upon to behave like the siliconized trailer trash she was every time a camera turned in her direction, Coulter can be relied upon to give voice to the worst instincts of the country’s most angry, ill-informed yet active media watchdogs … and be blonde the whole time she is doing it.

    The solution? As an old altar boy, I place great faith in the cumulative power of shame. Enough citizen-viewers e-mailing the Matt Lauers or Charlie Gibsons of the world, or standing up during one of their barnstorming tours and asking, “the Ann Coulter question”, will eventually diminish her appeal. Cable news, even more desperate than network morning shows for sick-to-dead blondes to hold their audience, will take a lot longer to shame. And even then Coulter will be replaced … probably by something worse.

    My God! What if Coulter used her book royalties to buy herself an Anna Nicole boob job? MSNBC would give her her own show.

  • A Shallow and Sad, Sad Tale

    Two weeks ago I was at Melrose Antiques with the boyfriend when I spotted something beautiful behind the counter: a long, lime green Bonnie Cashin jacket with toggle closures up the front and at the cuff of both sleeves. I asked the shopgirls if I could please take a closer look. They handed it over. I slipped the thing off the hanger with care and asked: please, may I try it on? Lime green is not my best color, as with most people, but whaddya know that thing fit as would a glove.

    Boyfriend’s appreciation of such things rivals my own, and so his response was: “buy it,” “now,” and “who cares how much.”

    But then the shopgirls broke the sad news that it was not for sale. They spoke of some-such varmint and local apparel designer who had the thing on hold since December.

    So, to make myself feel better, I’ve been cruising the Bonnie Cashin Foundation‘s online gallery ever since. I’ve been ogling the attache and the leather gloves embellished with what seems to have been Cashin’s preferred closure–the industrial toggle. And then, just yesterday, I received an email message about this online exhibition of vintage Cashin editorial coverage.

  • Dear Friends

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    It was like this.

    It was this way.

    Here was the way it was.

    This is how things stood:

    Silently. Still. At attention.

    That was one moment and

    unfortunately this world is

    all about one moment to another.

    In the next moment everything was

    swirling and it was as if I was a

    plastic man crouched in paralyzed

    terror in a snow globe filled with

    sand and loose garbage and shredded paper,

    cupped in a pair of giant hands

    that never stopped shaking.

    I felt so small and yet still

    could not bring myself to answer

    the phone or return your calls.

    They have a term for this feeling, I’m

    sure, and a remedy whose name would

    fit conveniently on ballpoint pens

    and pocket protectors and desk

    calendars and NASCAR jumpsuits.

    But, anyway, listen:

    I apologize. Truly, I am sorry.

    Surely nobody chooses to feel

    like their skin has been

    turned inside out and salted.

    I suppose I learned too early

    that they have a word for everything,

    and that has been a ceaseless torment

    as well as an occasional delight.

    You should do me a favor and take

    my dictionary. I would miss it,

    but, really, you should. I beg of you,

    take that fucking thing and feed it to the dogs.

    You see, it was like this.

    It was this way.

    This was the way it was:

    The library was the garden

    where my mother took me for

    swimming lessons and I

    learned to drown.

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  • The best hot rods for blizzards.

    I have never fully grasped the term “waiting out the storm.” I can understand doing so during mountaineering expeditions, but not neccessarily during a blizzard in the urban jungle. Not when there are great cars that can plow through snow faster than Tony Montana without blowing a kingpin’s fortune.

    All it takes is knowledge of a few “new age” hot-rodding tricks and the vehicles that respond best to such techniques.

    In the old days, most hot rodding was done with costly tricks like adding hotter cams or boring out an engine block. And even if you did add some HP, you’d be Jon Krakauer book material if you drove your rod on anything less than hot pavement.

    Fortunately today a simple ECU chip upgrade can give you maximum HP without robbing you of snow and ice performance. The key is knowing what cars gain the most HP from chipping without costing a fortune. The Road Rake recommends the following two bargains:

    The AudiS4 (Twin Turbo V6). This little beast puts out 250 HP to all four wheels. It runs 0-60 in 5.5. sec. Many magazines (like Sports Car Illustrated–the very best journalism on sports cars) have been less than impressed with the driving dynamics of the S4s chassis (too insulated from the road), but generally agree that it is an overall tight and fast ride.

    If you live in a place that benefits from 4WD, however, you can forget all this splitting of hairs and take advantage of a far more potent insight—The S4’s 2.7 liter biturbo engine can be chipped for around $800.00 or so to produce 330 reliable HP. While Audi dissuades owners from doing this, you can simply check into TotalAudiPerformance (TAP.com), for the chip set.

    The Subuaru WRX.     On the same site (TAP.com) you will find a sister site for the Subuaru. They have the STI chip that pumps this car from 227 hp in stateside trim to the 276 HP you can get in the Japanese version. All for around $800.00.

  • Par Ridder? WTF?!

    After picking their jaws up from the floor, staffs at both the Star Tribune and Pioneer Press began analyzing and contemplating what Par Ridder leaving the latter to publish the former really means. Ridder is the 38 year-old scion of the once renown newspaper family. A family whose dance with Wall St. devils proved fatal, to many of their employees, if not to them.

    Knight-Ridder’s bungle led, first, to the evisceration in terms of staffing and quality of its’ papers across the country, including the St. Paul Pioneer Press. In the Twin Cities it led to a sale last spring of the Pioneer Press to Star Tribune owner McClatchy to satisfy private equity investors. That move was followed by another sale of the Pioneer Press, this to cutthroat media owner, MediaNews. What significant publishing experience the young Mr. Ridder has gained in his short career came from overseeing the execution of rigorous downsizing in St. Paul. (Ridder was quoted only last week telling Pioneer Press employees they’d be better off without a union.) He will bring that expertise to Minneapolis.

    Ridder was introduced at a hastily-called 9:15 AM meeting, (a company-wide e-mail went out at 8:29 AM, almost as though someone preferred most reporter-types were NOT on hand for the Ridder-era curtain-raising). His introduction coincides with the first day of Avista Capital Partner’s ownership of the Star Tribune, following McClatchy’s startling Dec. 26 fire-sale of the paper to avoid capital gains tax penalties.

    Ridder’s tenure at the Pioneer Press, overseeing draconian cutbacks in staffing and depth of coverage, is not the sort of thing that should reassur either Star Tribune newsroom employees or, if it cares, the community at large. A brief Q&A at the early morning introduction apparently did not get into specifics of the Avista game plan, which has most of the staff on edge, presuming cutbacks and lay-offs a la what Ridder supervised at the Pioneer Press.

    Pioneer Press staffers were in a different state of shock. Ridder may have been regarded as a rich kid in a largely empty suit, but no one I talked with ever considered he’d leave … for the Star Tribune. While the Pioneer Press “playbook” may be a thin, rudimentary text these days, Avista may — “may”, I say — see an advantage in having a guy who knows how all the revenue deals are managed on board their ship, if getting ruthless and sinking the Pioneer Press once and for all is part of their profit-making strategy.

    More to follow.

  • Looking Back, Looking Ahead

    This weekend, I went to DIVA MN–which was quite fun, in part due to the attentions (or maybe it was just ass kissing) I received from a male model. I meant to bring my camera so that I could share with you the takes, but alas, it was forgotten at home. And then yesterday afternoon I went to see Love, Janis at the Ordway. Now, try as I might to be open-minded, I was feeling rather snobbish about this one as I walked in (automatic against biopics n’ -plays). But once inside, I was happy to find a fine local performer, Kate Eifrig, in the title role. There was a fine singer doing Janis, too. She had the raspy, bluesy voice anyhow, even if she couldn’t quite reach the high notes and squeals. Which is all a roundabout way of saying I rather enjoyed the thing. Then, last night, I went to see Don Juan Giovanni, which was entertaining, even if some of the singers’ voices were inaudible. But, being the nice person that I am, I’m just assuming they overdid it the night before, on opening. The production’s use of an old, 50s-era Plymouth was cool as hell, though. And Bradley Greenwald, I’ve decided, has a voice of pure gold. But this production didn’t show him off the way others have. I hope Jeune Lune remounts Carmen yet again just so I can hear him sing La fleur que tu m’avais jetée and C’est toi! C’est moi! all over again.

  • The Three-Pointer: Losing the Wrong Way

    Game #58, Home Game #30: Utah 106, Minnesota 83
    Game #59, Road Game #29: Boston 124, Minnesota 117 (2 OT)

    What’s the Plan: Buck Up? Draw Straws? Haze the Rookies?
    The past week has taught us that the Wolves can be casually blown out by a quality NBA team, with consecutive 26-point losses to Dallas and Utah standing as exhibits Y and Z. Today we discovered that the squad with the league’s second-worst record, the pitiful Boston Celtics, can come home to a noon start after an overtime road game the previous day, and outlast Minnesota in two overtimes while giving four guys aged 24 and under more than 30 minutes apiece of playing time.

    The players who logged more than 30 minutes for the Wolves include a trio who are 6 months either side of age 31 (Mark Blount, Kevin Garnett, and, in his first start of the season, Troy Hudson), and 27-year old Ricky Davis. Top draft choice Randy Foye played a mere 5:49 out of 58 possible minutes (due to the two five-minute overtimes), and showed that even his bountiful self-confidence is not impervious to getting bounced from the starting lineup–he was tentative and committed two turnovers during his lone stint, the substitution-filled bridge between the first and second quarters. Last year’s top draft choice, Rashad McCants, went scoreless in 27 minutes of action that would have been at least cut in half if Trenton Hassell hadn’t been sidelined for the day after twisting his ankle on the first possession of the game. McCants, who received a whopping 3:09 of PT during the Utah drubbing, likewise is performing like self-doubt is raising havoc with his instincts and equilibrium. The other promising rookie, Craig Smith, joined the team-wide posse that got their rears whupped on the boards, becoming one of seven Wolves players to rack up more personal fouls than rebounds. Smith finished with one basket and grabbed one rebound (no assists, no blocks, four fouls) in 29:05 on the court.

    To complete the tragicomedy, the Wolves telecast ran an interview with Jim Petersen and the team’s assistant general manager Rob Babcock, who proclaimed that the future was “bright” and specifically cited Foye, McCants and Smith as a core of young talent that has management excited. While Foye and McCants seem to exhibit very different temperaments, both have loads of raw talent and seem to be motivated by an internal swagger. One is a rookie trying to make the transition from college swingman to pro point guard–an enormous adjustment. The other is recovering from the dreaded microfracture surgery. Put simply, despite their tough demeanors, they are both in mentally fragile situations, and the worst thing you can do is play yo-yo with their minutes based on the inconsistency of their recent performances.

    After the Utah embarrassment Friday night, I asked coach Randy Wittman if it was time to play the kids. What do you mean, he wanted to know, inferring that the promising young trio was earning sufficient exposure, when in fact they’d combined for 42:27, or an average of 14:09, in a no-contest game the fundamentally airtight Jazz led by 20 less than halfway through the second period.

    Basketball 101 says if you are going to have a chance at making noise in the playoffs, you settle on a set rotation early, and establish individual roles and a team identity by New Year’s at the latest. If it is obvious to all but the most deluded observers that this isn’t your year, you nurture your young talent through a combination of putting them in a position to succeed and exercising patience and counseling when you challenge them outside their comfort level. The Wolves continue to scramble their roles and rotations, have never established an identity, have gone 6-13 after firing one coach for going 20-20, and are now playing head games with their most valuable young assets. Rather than disgrace themselves again by conjuring up some faux injury to Kevin Garnett and Ricky Davis while having their worst outside shooter jack up three-pointers in order to tank the final game of the season, they should sacrificing short-term gain by building for the future in a more noble and intelligent manner. But no; this franchise can’t even lose right.

    2. Huddy’s Turn at the Point
    The short-term dividends of turning to veteran Troy Hudson were apparent today, as the dude with the dreadlock pony tail went off for 26 points (9-15 FG, 3-6 from 3 pt) and 8 assists in 46:02. More specifically, Huddy teamed with Kevin Garnett for a steady diet of crisp, high-post pick and rolls, which served as the genesis for the vast majority of the Wolves’ half-court offense.

    This is pure speculation on my part, but the insertion of Hudson seems like a sop to KG, who has always loved Hudson’s play beyond any reasonable evidence. Longtime Wolves fans couldn’t help but get a sense of deja vu, a pleasant vibe for Garnett as well, no doubt, as he and Huddy reverted back to the rhythms of what I consider perhaps KG’s finest season, 2002-03, a year before he took MVP honors. It was when KG, Huddy and Wally Szczerbiak accounted for nearly 60 percent of the Wolves’ offense with Garnett leading the team across the board–points, rebounds, assists, steals, blocks–while Minnesota won more than 50 games and threw a scare into the Lakers during the playoffs. It was a team in which KG orchestrated a cornucopia of open jump shots as drawn up by Flip Saunders. Today, with the raw, tired and poorly coached Celtics as the opponent, and a motivated Ricky Davis as a better Szczerbiak (and Mark Blount pulling 4th wheel Rasho status), Garnett registered a triple-double 33-13-10, while Davis racked up 35 and Huddy chipped in 26, for the second-highest trio total in franchise history (the MV3 had two more, 96, in an overtime win versus Sacramento three years ago).

    There is a rub, of course–more than one if you count the battery acid on Foye’s psyche–and that is Hudson’s defense. He was a horrible defender even before enduring all those knee, thigh, leg, and ankle injuries, and if anything, he is more horrible now. How bad? Well, his counterpart, Celtic point guard Delonte West, scored 31 points in 30:31 of playing time during the second half and two overtimes. Huddy defenders might want to point out that West scored 7 of those points in the three or four minutes Mike James was subbing in. But even if we grant that Hudson defends better than James–an analysis that can’t be undertaken without a flurry of cruel, snarky jokes, so we’ll bypass it for now–taking a stand on the evidence of a promising but still mediocre point guard torching you for 24 points in 26 minutes isn’t exactly winning the argument.

    The best defender among the team’s three point guards is Randy Foye. The best possible on-ball defender of West available today was Marko Jaric, who had a pair of nice steals but couldn’t hit any of his four shots in 18:50 of play. But Randy Wittman wanted someone who could jump start the offense in the most basic fashion possible, and to that extent, Huddy delivered, picking and rolling the squad to 50 percent from the field, 43 percent from beyond the 3-point arc. Will Wittman allow Hudson to continue grooving the flow for KG Tuesday night against the Lakers? If Hassell’s ankle hasn’t healed enough for him to guard Kobe Bryant, it won’t matter.

    3. Absurd Stats and Incomplete Links
    Sometimes numbers really can tell you how badly a ballclub is performing. For example, a game after their most inaccurate shooting performance in franchise history and their lowest point total ever at home, the Wolves grabbed their fewest rebounds of the season, 25, against Utah and played such putrid defense in the second period that Utah first miss occurred five seconds before the halfway point. Going up against 6-9 Carlos Boozer, 7-1 Kevin Garnett preferred to shoot from outside and not go hard to rim, a preference for the perimeter that extended to the other end of the court and helped account for him grabbing just 4 boards, or half his previous season low.

    Garnett partially atoned today in Boston, snaring 13 rebounds. Given the double overtime, that was less per-minute than his season average but positively Rodmanesque compared to his sorry teammates, who collectively grabbed 14 more. That’s 27 rebounds in all, in 58 minutes, and an incredible 30 fewer than the 57 Boston grabbed–the biggest differential in franchise history. That’s right: When the Celts missed a shot, they were more likely than Minnesota to get it back, outrebounding the Wolves 23-21. At the other end, when the Wolves shot, it was nearly always one and done, with Boston owning the glass 34-6. That, in a nutshell, is why the Wolves lost. I can’t find the final discrepancy in second-chance points, but shortly after halftime it was 13-0 in favor of the Celts. Officially, both teams attempted 88 shots, but that ignores all the times Boston snared an offensive rebound and forced a Minnesota foul on the ensuing putback. Boston doubled the Wolves’ free throw attempts, 46-23, and the 17-point margin in made free throws more than compensated for Minnesota’s higher field goal percentage. A couple games back I asked Wittman if, given Mark Blount’s proclivity for putting himself in early foul trouble (not to mention his indifferent defense and inability to effectively joust for rebounds), Minnesota was considering singing another big man to a 10-day contract. The coach said no, and that Mark Madsen was almost ready to return. So, we’ve got Mad Dog still waylaid and Eddie Griffin never coming back and the team has managed a collective 52 rebounds while yielding 96 in its past two games–and that doesn’t count getting outboarded 54-39 by Dallas a game before that. Today, Blount grabbed 3 rebounds in 36:10 before fouling out. And the team still claims, with a straight face, that it is in a playoff push. “We’ve got to keep fighting,” Wittman says. It is an oxymoronic statement.

    Finally, a note of thanks to those who made themselves, and me, at home here at The Rake before I’d even posted anything. I’ve sincerely appreciated all the kind words on my behalf, but now it is time to reset the tone, which is my quick reminder that stupid, one-line, and excessively nasty or personal comments will get doinked. We talk hoops as intelligently as possible, and if someone strays too far from that mandate, even if it’s to flatter me, it won’t get aired. By contrast, it bears repeating one more time that I do this primarily because of the quality feedback I get from you folks–insights into the team and the game itself. Thanks. I will also be beefing up the links on the left–Stephen Litel’s blog and 10,000 Takes are just two local sites I want to publicize, and Bill Simmons at ESPN.com doesn’t need my paltry endorsement but I’m glad to have the chance to offer it. Now if I can only figure out the software….

  • The Non-Surprise of "Studio 60's" Demise

    Having made a point — an “appointment” — to watch all but one episode of the highly-anticipated and now by all appearances canceled “Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip” I am not the least bit surprised it got whacked. And I am not engaging in schadenfreude. I was genuinely eager for another Aaron Sorkin series, even a post 12-step Aaron Sorkin series, and I hope he learns something from this and comes back with another.

    I never revered “The West Wing” like some. When interviewing Sorkin with other critics during that series’ Clinton-era glory days I asked him, repeatedly, why he was so consciously writing away from the ripest, juiciest, most crowd-grabbing story lines? As in anything resembling the epic manipulations of public attitude and congressional authority, not to mention the potboiler sexcapades of those innocent Bubba times of yore. If you were doing a top-of-the-line network TV series about the Oval Office, why, for God’s sake, would you avoid the titanic clash of interests — cynical, reckless and butting up against the weight of the Constitution — going on outside our door?

    Every time I asked, whether on the “West Wing” set or at some cocktail schmooze, Sorkin would give the slightest little sigh of exasperation — (as though network bosses were wondering the same thing?) — and repeat that he was not interested in the dark and mendacious aspects of government. Rather, he said, he wanted to do a show about the nobler impulses of government.

    That never satisfied me. Good God man, pit nobler impulses against the forces of dark mendacity! There’s a long history of that concept working very well. Especially at a moment when the entire country was endlessly analyzing everything from stained blue dresses to, as I say, the naked corruption of Congressional authority.

    Frankly, I thought “The West Wing” became more watchable after Sorkin checked in for treatment. True, those three or four classic Sorkin lines of dialogue were suddenly gone from the new episodes, but pesky details like plots and storylines were elevated to a higher priority.

    So last spring, about the time of the May “up-fronts” in New York, the buzz started early and heavy about “Studio 60”. A smart insider’s look at network television from the perspective of a very savvy survivor. Terrific! I’m in. And never mind the come-down in gravitas from the internal dynamics of the Oval Office. In pop-culture addled 21st century America, the attitudes and role-modeling of Hollywood are a supremely valid point of dramatic departure. The people most addicted to “pop” entertainment and information have little to no idea how it works, or who is working it. Add the possibility of topical satire and parody inherent in a show set behind-the-scenes of a live, weekly comedy skit show and we should have been talking a steady flow of 80 mile an hour fastballs into Sorkin’s wheelhouse.

    But instead of exercising the opportunity for cultural commentary — nobler or more crass — Sorkin headed off into the not at all interesting emotional travails of people — TV writers, producers and executives — almost none of us have ever been inclined to worry about. Worse, what ripe character conflicts Sorkin created, he studiously managed to avoid picking for their juice. Matthew Perry’s character can’t resolve his obsession with a Christian cast member. Cool, you think. But other than a few good Sorkin lines about the hypocrisy of the religious right, the Matt & Harriet relationship was pretty much one of constant aggravation, bickering and tease. Swell. Who can ever get enough of that?

    Basically, every episode of the show to the point of its’ cancellation felt like throat-clearing, scene after scene, episode after episode preparing the audience for something truly significant and substantial … that never came.

    Obviously you don’t usually associate “significant” and “substantial” with a TV show about a TV show. But Sorkin nattered around with the fitful romance of Matt (Perry) and Harriet (Sarah Paulson), then introduced another one between Danny (Bradley Whitford) and network boss Jordan (Amanda Peet). I just didn’t care. Whether any of them ever got together and raised plump babies in a gated Pacific Palisades estate just didn’t matter to me. I was making an appointment with an Aaron Sorkin inside-the-industry-he-knows-best drama for fresh, lucid insights and observations on the network/Hollywood/show biz culture. The creation and marketing of pop iconography, even. It was something he could have done with the cast he had but chose not to.

    I could go on, but let me wrap it here, by saying that both of the key women were badly mis-cast. I never got the visceral allure of Harriet on Matt. Harriet was a study in cool restraint. (Wouldn’t spontaneity be a criteria for working on a skit show … and winning the heart of a comedy writer?) And Amanda Peet, usually a vivacious free-spirit in other roles, was flat-out unbelievable as a network boss — all allusions to former ABC chief, Jamie Tarses, withstanding.

    I understand the need for high-profile executives to project a flat affect and never let the bastards see them sweat, but Peet’s character never seemed affected by anything. Not the machinations and threats of her boss, played by Steven Weber, her pregnancy … nothing. Come on! Having chatted up network bosses being microwaved by bad publicity, bad ratings, upper management pressure and desertion by former friends, believe me, you can read the stress on their faces. Its that kind of job. More to the point, there is fascinating behind-the-scenes drama in watching a clever, resourceful, highly competitive character put on the public face required to handle such situations.

    Finally — and this time I mean it — “Studio 60”, like “The West Wing” badly needed to get off its’ lavish, expensive set and breathe. As a viewer I felt entombed. Didn’t this hot and trendy cast and crew ever get out, hit the town, gather at parties in the Hollywood Hills and enjoy their notoriety? Would some strategic location shooting – a la “Curb Your Enthusiasm” been such a sacrifice?

    I remember asking both Sorkin and Tommy Schlamme, who directed a lot of “West Wing” episodes, if maybe a show about the President of the United States might need a bit more sense of scale — motorcades, Air Force One, foreign trips, political rallies, conventions — venues that conveyed the rarefied ambience of the world’s highest office? Their response was on the order of, “You’re talking about the #1 show in the country. Go away.”

    Obviously, despite this failure, Sorkin will work again. He’s one of those people I’ve never worried about. But I’d like to encourage him to take one more shot at a show set behind-the-scenes of modern media. There’s plenty to be explored and said. How about for example, an HBO series, (for language and adult situation license), behind the camera of some particularly pernicious cable news channel?

    I see Bradley Whitford as Bill O’Reilly, and Amanda Peet can play Greta Van Susteren.