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  • Quick Thoughts and Queries for An Open Thread on Game Five

    (Photo by Brian Babineau/NBAE/Getty Images)

    NBA Finals, Game #5: Boston 98, Los Angeles 103

    Series to date: Boston up 3-2

    Other assignments prevented me to compiling a good three pointer for last night’s game, and it is already late in the day to slap together some of my impressions and questions about the contest. But given the exquisite recent feedback this site has received from a great mix of both Celtic and Laker partisans, KG fans, and everything quasi-neutral in between, I thought I’d briefly weigh in and open the floor for discussion. In any case, I’ll have something more thorough after Game Six.

    * I woke up this morning somewhat surprised that the "Kobe fouled Pierce" line seems to have generated some legs. Personally, I thought the worst call of the game was the third whistle on KG, when he obviously had a clean block on Gasol and yet was forced to go to the bench. The Kobe "foul" on the steal from Pierce was minimal contact, and given the stage of the game and the very slight infraction, I thought I was an appropriate no-call. But both the second and third fouls on KG were huge in deciding the game, and both were very questionable calls. Without Kendrick Perkins, the Celts were already hamstrung down in the low block. Pau Gasol and Lamar Odom finally seem to have gotten the message that they have to attack the paint with some urgency. Garnett discovered that guarding an energized Gasol is a tougher task than handling Odom; and James Posey on Odom should almost always be, and usually was, a mismatch in Odom’s favor. On a night when the Celts again did a good job on Kobe (post first quarter) and Paul Pierce was unstoppable, I think Boston wins if KG stays on the floor more than 11 minutes in the first half. Yes, LA got a majority of the "could go either way" calls, including the crucial ones like KG #2 and 3 and the Kobe steal. That’s a natural tendency when a team is at home and trying to stave off elimination.

    * I am rooting for the Celtics (but not so hard that I don’t want to see, close, well-played games) and have been a big critic of the Laker defense during the series, but did anyone else think that Van Gundy, Jackson, and Barry in particular were way too harsh on the Lakers’ indifferent D? JVG at least tried to be very specific, as when Jordan Farmar didn’t want to take the charge on Pierce, and I’m all for roasting Vlad Rad, but I can’t ever recall such vitriol being directed against the *winning team* in such widespread fashion. Barry essentially predicted the Lakers will get blown out on the return trip to Boston. Uh, I’m not so sure. The fact remains, the Lakers have a very good team, and that they don’t play team D nearly as well or tenaciously as the Celts shouldn’t obscure the fact that they have a superior offense and the game’s most talented player, and that the Celts are starting to physically break down. What sort of perverted logic will these pundits deploy if the Lakers snatch Game Six, which is not totally outside the realm of possibility, even if they play defense as porously as they performed last night? Do you folks agree or disagree with this? In any case, I was amazed at the negativity directed toward LA; maybe because many of them had picked the Lakers and are overcompensating for currently looking wrong.

    * KG lovers, including yours truly, have to own up to the fact that those two misses at the line in crunchtime were killers, the sort of misses that can invade the psyche if he’s put in a similar situation in the next game or two. Another ray of hope for LA’s chances of keeping this thing alive.

    * Yes, Pau Gasol is a lousy defender. But he is underrated for his grit on the offensive boards and I think his contesting for rebounds wore KG down some last night. Garnett is usually a master at snatching rebounds that are up for grabs and Gasol and Odom were able to keep many of them in play last night. Given how little ground Gasol covers on defense, especially compared to KG, he expends much less energy during a typical game. Thus, here is what I’d say to KG, who usually is very receptive to messages that emphasize defense as opposed to offense: "KG, unless you want to be worn out down the stretch, you need to take it at Gasol and get *him* in foul trouble so *he*’s the one who has to sit. Because Gasol is a key to their offense right now, both in the low block and the high post, where he can feed the perimeter shooters or dish down to Odom. The best defense you can execute right now is drawing fouls on him, which is what will inevitably happen if you go strong and hard in the paint when you guys have the ball."

    * How many points did Odom score with the right hand last night? Why hasn’t he been switching hands on the penetration off the dribble this entire series?

    * I don’t understand why Rondo and the other Celtics haven’t been able to make LA pay for sloughing off Rondo when he is running the half court sets, but after three games of this pattern, isn’t it time to start thinking about starting House, essentially matching him up with Fisher, and bringing Rondo in when the Lakers go to Farmar and Vujacic?

    * Will there be a fight before this thing is over? If so, my money is on either Posey or Vujacic as the instigator.

  • Multipurpose

    Exhibitions discussed in this article:

    Information Sickness and Time Fever by Molly Roth
    At Thomas Barry Fine Arts through July 3rd

    Roger Roger by Traci Tullius, and Meander, including work by Andrea Selese Carlson, Angela Zammarelli, Bethany Kalk, Brian Jorgenson, Caleb Coppock, Chad Rutter, Dan Tesene, Emily Smith, Erika Ritzel, Isa Gagarin, Joe Sinness, Markus Merkle, Mitchell Dose, Molly Roth, Robin Cotton, Ryan Macintyre, Sally Grayson, and Shepherd Alligood
    At the Soap Factory through July 6th

    The Multipurpose Statement

    It is by now customary that single-artist shows come conjoined with texts like the one that accompanies Molly Roth’s Information Sickness and Time Fever, at Thomas Barry Fine Arts. Striking a tone between the breathless and the merely descriptive, and often loaded with jargon, these multipurpose documents serve as a press release, advertisement, and curatorial explication in one. They argue for the significance of the work, and they often obviate the individual spectator’s response, (or the critic’s, for
    that matter).

    Perhaps such a text, useful before and after the exhibition should be kept out of the gallery space, where it can interfere with the work. In the case of Roth’s work, postcards peppered throughout the space assure us that it is "labor-intensive." We’re told she works in "tiny bows," and currently her medium is "newspaper." Approaching the work will also reveal these things.

    Could this text, that so carefully anticipates the correct response, be intended to alienate? After all, we’re told that the work involves "the post-modern depressed subject." And if there is one thing that such a subject knows, it’s that everything has already been said, read and interpreted.

    But don’t let anyone tell you that Roth’s work isn’t intriguing. Giant cursive words are mirrored across their midlines to create insect-like shapes. The resulting encryption leaves one final task, even for a subject thus interpolated. I won’t spoil it for you by translating. What depressed this subject about the exhibit is that the work — one that suggests the crazed empowerment of creating a single bold and lasting word from the cultural detritus of millions of words that are instantly obsolete — was limited by its multipurpose document. The potential of discovery was, to a large degree foreclosed.

    The Multipurpose Room

    Before I tell you of my trials on the way to see the current exhibition at the Soap Factory, I’ll say that you should hurry down to the show, if not to see the interesting failure of a collective work that is Meander, then to immerse yourself in Traci Tullius’s majestically melancholic video installation work, Roger Roger.

    I made time to see the exhibition on the Friday after its opening. But when I arrived at the gallery, workers setting up for a weekend wedding informed me that the gallery was closed. Upon asking when it would reopen, I was told, "Sunday."

    The collapse of the interstate has left access to the gallery an endeavor. Second street is buried under rubble. North of Hennepin, Main street is closed indefinitely. Traffic clogs the remaining routes most days and evenings. Not to be denied again, but wanting to see the work before the gallery’s Monday-Wednesday weekend, I phoned the number on the website during gallery hours and reached a recording. There was no mention of the closure, nor the resumption of regular hours. Discouraged, I elected not to waste another trip but left a message. I received a call the next day informing me that it had been open Sunday and would be open again on Thursday during regular hours.

    Thursday, I ducked in briefly on my way to a meeting to confirm that a special trip on Saturday would be warranted. But when I returned, an unannounced arts and crafts sale was filling the entire gallery. DJs had set up in the center of one of the galleries and were playing dance music for the attendant shoppers. The throb of commerce obliterated the layered audio track that accompanies Tullius’s work. A video advertisement for the Sound Unseen film festival had been installed so near to Tullius’s piece that it appeared to be a part of it. "I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there before," I said to my companion. A fourth visit confirmed this.

    I finally managed to have the experience with Tullius’s work that it deserves. In the cool and vacant gallery, six large video screens are hung like sheets on washing lines. Video projections show performances and private moments. Yet everything is shot through with the profound loneliness of place — a vacant venue, a deserted car dealership, and a weather-beaten farmhouse. In most of the videos, the lens observes a private moment, attended by no one but the camera. Contrasted to this, family videos evoke the homey nostalgia of filial companionship and harmony. Tullius has an eye for the evocative moment, and she understands that as a video artist, her effort should be focused on selection and subtraction. In the black space at the end of one loop, one can see another screen reflected, suggesting the idle mind’s movement to memory and repetition.

    The Soap Factory is an unconventional art space, and it owes some of its success to its cross pollination — hosting craft events, film screenings and a haunted house to generate the revenue that keeps its doors open. But it’s worth questioning whether a gallery that is effectively closed during two weekends of a six-week run is really fulfilling its obligation to the featured artists. If nothing else, The Soap Factory needs to be honest about when it is open for art viewing and when it is open for other functions, or closed altogether, so that viewers serious about seeing the art on display don’t get discouraged.

    The second work on display at The Soap Factory, Meander, is a collective work by artists too numerous to list in the text of this article. It’s a mishmash of roughly hewn sculpture, drawing and painting laid directly on the unfinished timbers of the gallery, where it seems likely to be eaten by a passing swarm of silverfish. Most of the works are unsigned. Some are identifiable to those familiar with an artist’s idioms and thematic concerns. With its varied light, its unfinished aesthetic, and its wide-open rooms, The Soap Factory can overwhelm all but the most focused and brilliant exhibition. Fellow writer Andy Sturdevant has noted that Meander is explicitly an attempt to deal with this problem. Its partial success is a testament to the specificity of the space.

    The urge to blanket such a work with the some textual analysis, some manifesto of hive mind pluralism conjoined with a fictional unity must be almost irresistible. More on group shows next time, but I’m grateful in this case for a silence that bravely foregrounds the in-itselfness of the diffuse, collective work. The exhibition ultimately lives or dies by its own merit on the gallery floor, dependent on the eyes and ideas of the individual viewers as much as on those of the artists and curators who have placed it there. Its rugged, rangy self-sufficience is an extreme example of art unhelped and unhindered by self-analysis.

  • Don't Need a Cure, Need a Final Speculation

    MUSIC
    Peter Murphy

    The "Godfather of Goth" glides into town tonight to treat Twin Citians to his seductive brand of gloom-tinged pop. Those of you who went through a goth phase
    will most certainly get a kick out of seeing Murphy live; at 50 years
    old he’s still as hot, mysterious, and mesmerizing as he was back in
    his Bauhaus
    heyday. Unfortunately, this performance is not in support of a fresh
    album, so don’t expect any new material; The Retrospective Tour is
    just for kicks (and probably bucks), but if you’ve been around as long
    as Murphy has, you’ve definitely earned the right. And who doesn’t want
    to hear the classic goth-jam "She’s in Parties" live? Ali Eskandarian opens.

    7pm, Fine Line Music Cafe, 318 1st Ave. N, Warehouse District, $41.50

    PERFORMANCE
    Flak Radio

    If you’re familiar with smart n’ sassy local writers/Flak Radio
    hosts James Norton and Taylor Carik, then you’ll certainly be
    interested in tonight’s super-ultra-rare live broadcast at the Ritz
    Theater. As someone who has been an in-studio guest on this show, I can
    absolutely endorse the live version as officially cool. The guys kick
    off the evening with a reading by Lit 6 author Geoff Herbach in support
    of his new novel The Miracle Letters of T. Rimberg, as well as the comedic stylin’s of Eric Nigg, beer-talk with author Doug Hoverson, tons of fabulous prizes, and many more surprises.

    6:30, Ritz Theater, 345 13th Ave. NE, Northeast Minneapolis, Free

    READINGS
    Speculations

    The Carol Connolly Reading Series
    features eclectic public literary events across the metro area.
    Tonight’s event, Speculations, includes a fiery reading courtesy of Rebecca Marjesdatter, a
    Rhysling Award-winning poet, fiction writer, poetry editor, and member of the poetry performance group, Lady Poetesses from Hell. The festivities will be hosted by curator Eric Heideman
    at Uptown alternative bookstore, Dreamhaven Books. If you’re on the
    fence, a free "soda pop and cookies" reception follows the reading.

    6:30pm, DreamHaven Books, 912 W Lake St, Minneapolis,
    Free


  • Irma Thomas/James Hunter

    The official Soul Queen of
    New Orleans, Irma Thomas has gracefully matured from the belter who
    literally 50 years ago (1958) told her romantic rivals, "You Can Have
    My Husband (But Please Don’t Mess With My Man)    ," to a caresser who
    engages the violins and doesn’t shed a shred of dignity on the bittersweet
    "Another Lonely Heart." A survivor of not one but two hurricanes
    (Camille and Katrina, the first one arguably tougher, as it temporarily
    short-circuited her career), Thomas is equally comfortable with soaring
    blues and gospel gravitas, wry, sexy mama send-ups, and, her stock-in-trade,
    testimony about the day-to-day triumphs earned and tears dropped. At
    the Dakota last time through she was engaging and self-assured, took
    requests, and played a generous set that left everyone wanting more.
    According to the various label and ticket sites, this Zoo gig is the
    only spot on her concert calendar this summer—don’t be surprised
    if she pulls something out from her upcoming Simply Grand CD,
    due in August. The stellar and simpatico opener is James Hunter, who
    plays retro blue-eyed soul with a passion and panache that seems steeped
    in the mid-60s but conveys its immediacy the moment it hits your ears.

     

  • Get Smart (2008)

    Re-creating the popular 1960s sitcom Get Smart
    on the big screen is no easy task. Just ask Don Adams, the original
    Agent 86 from the series. He tried to re-create Maxwell Smart on the
    big screen in the 1980s, with The Nude Bomb, a movie that lived up to its title.

    At
    least in 1980, most people had been around for the original show, or
    at least seen re-runs during a decidedly successful decade of television
    syndication. Today, most of the the youthful movie audiences that can
    make-or-break a movie in its opening weekend, have never even heard of Get Smart, let alone seen an episode.

    But
    if you are going to take on such a task, I can’t think of anyone better
    to play the notoriously inept spy character Agent 86, than Steve
    Carell    , the award-winning actor who portrays an overtly inept boss on
    one of today’s most popular sitcoms, The Office. No one expects
    Steve Carell to step into Don Adams’s shoes and reproduce the same
    version of Maxwell Smart; but if anyone in Hollywood today can bring a
    fresh take on Agent 86, while retaining his charming deadpan
    ineptitude, it’s Carell.

    The creators of the big screen Get Smart have
    chosen to re-introduce Mawell Smart to a new generation of movie-goers
    by starting at the beginning, when Maxwell Smart is promoted from
    analyst to agent by his boss, the Control Agency Chief (Alan Arkin).
    Smart gets his chance to work in the field, like stalwart Agent 23
    (Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson), when the Control headquarters are
    attacked. He is partnered with the more competent Agent 99 (Ann
    Hathaway), and must battle the forces of their evil crime nemesis, known as KAOS.

    Arkin,
    Hathaway, and Johnson are all strong choices in their roles, furthering
    the goal of retaining the series’ integrity. But the question still
    remains: how can there be a fresh take for today’s audience.

    One of the original series’ key elements of humor was to spoof the 1960s spy thrillers, like James Bond and The Man From Uncle. Most
    of the gadgets in the original series, like the shoe phone or radio
    pen, were outlandish and not thought to be serious possibilities as
    tools for a secret agent. Today, many of these gadgets exist, hence are far less outlandish to audiences. So, the movies producers chose to
    find gadgets that actually exist today and rely more on Maxwell Smart’s
    ineptitude at using high technology to create the laughs. They did, however, keep the shoe phone and cone of silence for die-hards’
    amusement.

    Agent
    86’s relationship with Agent 99 is another new angle. In the original,
    Agent 99 always stood behind her man. The new version has Agent 99
    taking Smart under her wing and showing him the ropes, playing a more
    dominant role in the relationship, something Carell often gets
    laughs for on The Office.

    With the end of the Cold War, Get Smart
    has shifted its satirical focus from spying on the enemy to internal
    miscommunication — which played itself out recently in great detail in the wake of the 9/11 tragedy.

    The sum total of toe-ing the line and updating this classic sitcom is that the producers of Get Smart have made a spy movie that is funny, rather than spoofing a spoof. So, it seems that all the cards are in place for Get Smart
    to succeed in re-inventing its beloved 1960s predecessor. What remains
    to be seen is if the updates will resonate with today’s youthful
    audiences and succeed at the box office.

  • Orchestra Baobab

    While the elegant Dakota isn’t
    quite as sublime as the outdoor quad in front of Northrop Auditorium—where
    Baobab played under sunny skies and swirling dancers in a beautiful
    evening on their last tour—this amazing 11-piece band does have another
    superb record’s worth of tunes in their arsenal: Made In Dakar,
    released in May, and equal or better than their comeback triumph,
    Specialist In All Styles    . Barthelemy Attisso’s multifaceted guitar
    lines are the main attraction, but it is hard to discount the vibrant,
    beseeching griot vocals, the Afro-Latin polyrhythms (especially the
    verbose vocabulary of the talking drums) and the snazzy saxophone phrases.
    And like all great bands, the synergy is abundant.

  • Is It Counterfeit or Real?

    This painting — a wedding present from my parents — was done by an artist who met me and Howard only two times at my parent’s home. I would love to give the artist credit, but after he painted several originals for my family… well… Lets just say that he’s not the most honest business man.

    How do I tell at this point in my life if someone or something is real or not? How do I distinguish what is Counterfeit?

    I use the only tool I have that doesn’t cost $$$$$$ — my instincts.

    On so many occasions I should have put my foot down, like I did for this photo yesterday.

    But I caved to my vulnerable side, wanting everyone that I love and care about to have the same advantages I have.

    My heart has been in the right place since I was but a little Melly — except when I’ve placed it in the hands of Counterfeit people, who are nothing short of hurtful and dangerous.

    It is perhaps a characteristic of humanity to feel sad when someone we see is hurting, and to feel frustrated when we don’t get our way; but the worst part of being human is the jealousy we feel when someone has something that we don’t have.

    I have been there myself at times, I suppose; but in truth, I don’t have green blood running through my veins. I have red blood that bleeds through my skin when it’s cut.

    Yesterday was one of those days that I wish I could bottle and sell. First, I shared a delicious lunch at Red Stag in Northeast Minneapolis, with people that I like, admire, and respect. (Sharing a nice meal with people with whom you can be yourself is one of life’s greatest pleasures!)

    After lunch, I caught up on the phone with some good friends who I know have my back.

    And then I went shoe shopping with my son and daughter, giving them the freedom to buy shoes that THEY feel comfortable in — at the Foursome in Wayzata. They were, unfortunately, unsuccessful; but I got some great deals on Uggs, Cole Haan’s, Merrell’s, and shoes that make you feel like you’re floating on air—AQUATALIAS.

    Finally, after a great lunch, great conversation with authentic people, and great shoe shopping with my children (resulting in shoes I can actually walk in), my daughter and I picked up a special treat from Byerly’s, so that when my husband and son got home late last night, we all had a chocolate pie party.

    Late last night and into the early morning hours it was hard for me to let go of a most comforting and comfortable day. This was one of the most relaxed and content days I have had since I was that little Melly wanting to give the people I love and care about the advantages that I had. You can’t counterfeit that!

    I went to sleep in one of my husband’s cotton T-Shirts, still wearing Jewelry (well worth the investment), and slept blissfully for four straight hours — making it really difficult to wake up this morning and start a new and realistic day.

    A tip for those of you who think that knock offs are just as good as the real deal: When I was a kid, I was told that if you don’t have the money to pay for something in cash, it’s best you don’t purchase it at all. The same lesson goes for life. If you are Not the real deal and you try to wrap yourself in a Tiffany Box (with nothing inside), you too will be exposed.

  • The Omega Man (1971)

    There
    seem to be a lot of movies lately that feature a select few survivors
    of a catastrophic apocalypse who have to battle mutated humans in their
    search for other survivors (see 28 Days Later, The Happening, I Am Legend, and Shaun of the Dead). This, however, is not a new concept.

    An
    early pioneer of the post-apocalyptic vampire-mutant survivalist story
    was the novelist responsible for the 1954 science fiction book, I Am Legend.
    Richard Matheson’s story about the last man alive in a future Los
    Angeles has now been reproduced as a movie three times.

    The original
    was 1964’s The Last Man on Earth, starring the legendary Vincent Price, and the most recent was 2007’s I Am Legend, featuring Oscar nominee Will Smith. Not to be outdone in star power, 1971’s The Omega Man enlisted one of the greatest actors of the time, Charlton Heston, to play the protagonist, Dr. Robert Neville.

    The Omega Man
    deviates from Matheson’s book and the other movies by turning the
    vampire creatures into a cult called "The Family," an obvious reference
    to the Manson Family and their murderous plot a few years prior.
    Neville must avoid being caught by the nocturnal Family at night by
    barricading himself in an apartment with powerful searchlights outside
    to keep the albino light-sensitive creatures at bay.

    Continuing with its social commentary, The Omega Man
    pits the power of science against the power of God. The Family believes
    that they have survived the apocalypse, which was put into place by the
    power of scientific knowledge, wielded by super-powers China and Russia
    during a final World War. They want to rid the earth of the last
    remaining purveyor of science — Neville.

    With limited special effects capabilities and deviation from the vampire concept, the producers of The Omega Man
    chose to prey on people’s existing fears, rather than an unknown future. The question becomes, what is more scary —
    cannibalistic vampire-mutants, or a violent, delusional, puritanical
    cult?

    Go see The Omega Man at the Northeast ’08 Music and Movies on Tuesday, June 17, at The Basin, 22nd Ave. NE and Quincy St. NE. Death to Our Enemies will provide the music portion of the evening.

  • Don't Mess With The Lohan. (As If.)

    I am sitting here late in the evening babysitting. Perhaps it is because I feel so esconced here in a secure state of suburban responsibility that I can safely venture into a topic I should know little about. Then, of course, it could be because I work with a lot of "young" people. 

    By "young" I mean "millenials"—which loosely describes anyone entering the workforce since the turn of the century—or adults in their mid-twenties. I am a "first x" who came of age under Ronald Reagan but frankly since I partied away most of my mid-20s I feel much closer to millenials than garden variety gen-xers. 

    Speaking of whom (gen-xers) you might want to listen up, because the millenials I favor are literate adults, not Lohans. In fact, the only reason I place the risqué picture of Lindsay atop this post is because she apparently has a new book of her doing bad things. I just learned this tonight when I went looking for a picture online (for this post).

    Fortunately, the millenials I know would never mess with poster trash like Lindsay Lohan. While they are so much more than her, they also might not be that into you.

    They are not, for example, interested in your music. By "your music" I mean primarily the stuff they play on Cities 97 that is composed and performed primarily by white people. Forget Phish. Forget Radiohead. And please forget R.E.M. or Coldplay for that matter.

    They like hip-hop. Hip-hop is their cosmos. It is very explicit, and it can sound like scratches on a trash can to untrained ears.

    So train your ears.

    Because hip-hop and rap (same thing, essentially) is the first entirely new musical art form of the millenium (although it was born in the Bronx in the mid-’70s). It has its own critical cannon, including "flow," which when delivered by a master like the non-retired Jay-Z can be as mellifluous as Mozart.

    The reason you need to know this music is because music defines young people far more than older ones. Movies, books, those kinds of things matter far less than getting into their musical groove (books are not off-limits, just not the lead topic.)

    Young people are also not adept with their phones, except for texting. Older people might look down on this until they realize that younger people text because a) it is cheaper, b) they can do it in class, and c) it’s less intimate (and stressful) than talking to someone.

    Which leads me to my third point: young people prefer to keep their distance. They will not fully engaged with you until you get on their wavelength.

    I may have more insights soon, but that is it for now.

    Do I sound like an expert?

    Maybe I should ask a movie starlet.

    Know any?

     

  • The Three Pointer: As Good As Over

    (AFP/File/Gabriel Bouys)
     

    NBA Finals, Game #4: Boston 97, Los Angeles 91

    Series to date: Boston 3-1

    1. Changing Reputations

    It is just a matter of when now. Because surely you don’t think Lamar Odom finds his composure, Pau Gasol unearths some grit, and Kobe Bryant recaptures his magical mojo in sufficient quantities to take these unrelenting and surprisingly deep Celtics to the woodshed three times in a row. Not after last night. Not when all the pundits such as yours truly have proven to be dunderheaded false prophets. The "best player" has not been, and won’t become, the best player. The "best coach" has not been, and won’t become, the best coach. And the "better bench" has not been, and won’t become, the better bench. Lakers in 5 or 6, I said. Wrong.

    But more high profile reputations than mine are being altered by this star-studded, commercially attractive matchup. Here are the ones most shocking to me.

    * Phil Jackson–It has been a bad, bad series for the Zen Master. Throwing gasoline on the fire by using a very stale Trevor Ariza on Paul Pierce as first off the bench in Game Two was bad enough, but leaving Derek Fisher on the bench in favor of the callow and selfish Bobbsey Twins, Vujacic and Farmar, while his lead disappeared last night was even worse. When Fish left the game with 2:58 to go in the third, the Lakers were up 11, 72-61. Incredibly, the man with three rings and more than 100 starts and 4,000 minutes in the postseason, the man who kept stepping up to staunch the momentum shift in the Celts’ comebacks in the second period and early in the third, sat for more than 12 minutes, entering with 2:10 left to play and the Lakers down 5, 88-83. Ostensibly, Farmar and Vujacic were in the game to provide some ball pressure on Eddie House, a better shooter but less adept on the handle than Rajon Rondo. Didn’t work. The only Celtic turnovers in that 12:48 Fisher sat were offensive fouls on Pierce and KG. Meanwhile, House had 5 points and his backcourt mate Ray Allen had 4. So perhaps Vujacic and Farmar provided some offensive counterpoint and helped spread the floor so Kobe could go to work and have a capable safety valve on the perimeter? If that was the idea, it failed miserably. Vujacic and Farmar combined to shoot 0-5 FG during that stretch, and nothing from the line–zero points–while the Lakers’ team as a unit managed just 11, in 12:48. By the way, Derek Fisher finished the game 5-6 FG and led the Lakers in plus/minus with a plus +7.

    * Kobe Bryant–The Black Mamba. The crunchtime assassin, best closer in the NBA, able to make the big shot when it matters most. With Kobe in the lineup, LA can always stop the bleeding. An all NBA Defensive First Teamer, able to lock down any perimeter player. A more mature teammate whose generosity of spirit and willingness to shoulder most of the responsibility relieves the pressure on his teammates and enables them to play freely and easily, knowing that Kobe always has their back. You can ball that assessment up and throw it in the trashcan.

    * Ray Allen–Aging fast and with bad ankles his already mediocre defense has become subpar. That was the rap on Mr. Shuttlesworth, who merely played all 48 minutes last night, and, unlike Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett and even Paul Pierce, didn’t seem the slightest bit winded or gimpy at the end. His up-and-under wraparound layup through Gasol and two other Lakers to bump the lead from one to three was simply cool to savor for the next decade or so; his seizing on Vujacic’s lean in to blow past him for another layup that sealed the win will perhaps leave a permanent stain on Sasha’s psyche. But that’s not why I’m so surprised by Ray Allen. No, it has been his remarkable defensive effort on Kobe (although Pierce deserves more credit for last night), the nine rebounds he corralled while nobody really noticed, and the two perfect dishes to James Posey for treys that broke the Lakers in the 4th quarter. Ray Allen has the entire package.

    * Paul Pierce–Again, it is the defense that is most surprising. Pierce’s block of Vujacic at the close of Game Two, and his block on Kobe–when was the last time you saw Kobe’s fadeaway get swatted? Never? Me too.–was just part of it. His positioning and ability to use his length and strength to maximum defensive advantage was something I simply didn’t know he possessed until the Cavs series, and in retrospect, playing two long dudes like LeBron and Tayshaun probably really helped Pierce prep for Kobe. So did the fact that many people guarded Kobe. But in the second half last night, Pierce was mostly the guy. In the corners of our TV screens the last few games, we saw Kobe and Pierce constantly trash talking each other. Guess what? The best player on the floor in these playoffs has been Paul Pierce (in a close shave over KG).

    2. Garnett and McHale In Their Rightful Places

    During Kevin Garnett’s last two or three years here, there was clearly some mutual frustration going on that began to morph into disrespect. Both men were pretty careful not to say so in public too often, but Garnett thought McHale’s lack of prowess in evaluating personnel was the reason he was getting further from a ring instead of closer as he entered his 30s. For McHale’s part, he thought KG didn’t do the things that turn a star into a champion: Go down and bang for shots and box-outs in the low block, get to the foul line, set nasty picks, and simply do what it takes when the game is on the line to secure the victory.

    McHale has gotten the prototype player he wanted in Al Jefferson, and Big Al, who should never be judged as the KG compensation because it just isn’t fair to him, played well enough that all the homers around the Wolves in the local media crowed that Minnesota actually got the better of the KG trade. One columnist for one of the local dailies even said he wouldn’t trade Jefferson for two KGs. Well it is pretty close to final accounting time and what we see is that the Celtics won a league best 66 games, had the greatest single season improvement in NBA history, and are one victory in three chances away from being crowned NBA champion over the MVP on the favored squad from the better conference.

    As should be obvious to all of us by now, the Celtics win with defense, stifling defense. As should be equally obvious, the Celtics would be at-best a mediocre defensive team without Kevin Garnett. It is KG’s unparalleled combination of length, quickness, instinct and intelligence that enables the Celts to extend their schemes so far out on the perimeter and so wide toward the sidelines. By all accounts from the folks in Boston, it was KG’s selfless passion and relentless work ethic–we saw that work ethic for a dozen years and that passion for about ten a half here in Minnesota–that catalyzed the culture of the revamped roster and created the attitudinal synergy, the pride and trust that are as important as athleticism to creating great team defense. KG is the foundation of the Celtic D: more than any other player in the game today, he is "everywhere" when his squad is defending the ball and he doesn’t take plays off. (That’s why Bill Russell has such a blatant man-crush on the guy.) When the Celts were hopelessly behind last night, he made two plays–denying putbacks to Odom and Gasol about four minutes apart–that are the sort of crucial, unsung bits of grit that help get you out of a hole. It is no coincidence that Gasol always shot from in close with a hurried lack of confidence, and why, except for last night’s first quarter, Odom suffered from lead in the paint.

    Having spent a dozen years up close and personal watching KG, I too was unsure about his crunchtime capability at the offensive end, his desire to seize the game via brutish willpower of the sort he constantly demonstrates at the other end of the court. Af
    ter years and years of rebutting KG haters, and, less convincingly, KG skeptics, I wavered as I watched the Hawks extend the Celts to 7 games, knowing that their best player was not most comfortable being atop the crunchtime pecking order. And I bought into the alpha theory of hoops I so frequently disdained, picking first the Cavs and LeBron and then the Lakers and Kobe to overcome KG and his other Big 2. But last night, with everyone screaming for Garnett to get down in the damn low block and go to work, he did was he always does: played his game his way, with a share of low post moves and a share of midrange jumpers and a share of high picks and deft passes. He took more shots than anybody on the team and made half of them, led them in rebounding, and, of course, defense. He finished fourth on his own team in points and second to Eddie House in overall plus/minus with plus +17 in 37:09, which means the Celts were minus -11 in the 10:51 he was off the court. And the team that has adopted his personality is one win away from the NBA Championship.

    Put me in the long line of people who need to apologize for doubting Kevin Garnett, who in his first year away from the dysfunctional gulag of Minnesota, is on the verge of accomplishing all anyone could ask of him. And remember that the man who belongs at the head of that line is Kevin McHale.

    3. Kudos and Brickbats

    As Bob Horry packs up his trunk load of rings and heads into the sunset it is time to come up with a cool, catchy nickname for James Posey, the new man with the golden touch from outside when championships are being decided.

    Doc Rivers has outcoached Phil Jackson in this series but one thing that mars his great performance is the number of people, me included, who kept hollaring for more minutes for Eddie House at the expense of Sam Cassell. Give Rivers at least half a kudo for seeing how effective House was in keeping Kobe honest on defense, and riding him over Rondo down the stretch. And give Mr. House a full kudo for doing what the Vujacic/Farmar combo couldn’t–make big shots from outside in the second half.

    Gasol and Odom will have a very hard time recovering from this no-show. Even playing a small lineup for much of the second half, the Celts managed to essentially break even with the Lakers on the boards and in points in the paint. What’s more, all the Lakers except for Fisher were frontrunners, Odom worst of all. When LA was rollin’ easy, he was driving like a banshee, pulling up and sticking the 17-footer, and even twirling the ball around his back by the sideline on one play. When crunchtime beckoned, he not only disappeared, he hid. Neither he nor Gasol wanted anything to do with the final outcome of this game–you could see it in their body language. Kobe had yet another bad game. But Kobe also had ten assists and it should have been 15 or 18. Kobe was on an island. It will be a very very hard thing for him to forget this summer.