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  • The Three Pointer: Flat

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by David Sherman/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game #59, Home Game #32: Charlotte 109, Minnesota 89

    Season Record: 12-47

    1. Getting the Message

    It is just early March, with more than a fourth of the season’s games still to play, but the Minnesota Timberwolves are counting ping pong balls a lot more assiduously than they are counting victories.

    Is the team "tanking"? No, not in the blatant, Mark Madsen will chuck up three pointers, or Kevin Garnett will suffer an injury sort of way. But the situation feels uncomfortably similar to this stretch of the season last year, when it became pretty obvious that the best five-man team the Wolves could put on the floor was KG and a bunch of young kids, yet Randy Wittman and the front office stubbornly played the stinking vets like Mark Blount and Ricky Davis with Garnett, all the while trying to convince would-be ticket-buyers that there was a "Blueprint" in the offing that would spell wins down the road. It just so happened that part of that blueprint was losing enough games to keep the draft pick instead of sending it to the Clippers.

    Flash forward to this season. The Wolves have just lost consecutive home games to a Seattle squad that had won just 15 games all season, and now a Charlotte team that had lost nine in a row on the road and triumphed only once–in overtime, yet–in the entire month of February. In both games, Minnesota played quarter-assed defense (half assed is too much praise) and didn’t step up when it mattered most. In the postgame press conference Wittman stated the obvious: "Tonight we tried to have a nonaggression pact with the other team…it was happening from the first play of the game to the last play of the game…I think we are worrying too much about what is happening at the offensive end and not enough about what is happening on defnese…we had 3 free throws and 2 offensive rebounds in the second half–that’s nonaggression.

    All true. But the part that perked up my ears was when Wittman mentioned, twice, at different points in his harangue, that Ryan Gomes was doing a noble job of fronting power forward Emeka Okafor, denying him the ball, and then–and here Wittman said it, twice–he went to his "big lineup" and the person on Okafor guarded him from behind and let him shoot. And that’s when it hit me: The "big lineup" Wittman was criticizing to the inferred plaudits of Gomes and the "small lineup" consisted of Al Jefferson at center and Craig Smith at power forward. But that "big lineup" was the front line I was criticizing as a "small lineujp" earlier in the season before Wittman went smaller still with Jefferson at center and Gomes at power forward. And the reason it is now the de facto "big lineup" is because the Timberwolves braintrust thought it would be a good idea to cut Theo Ratliff loose.

    If your idea is to be as competitive as possible and win as many games as possible, buying out the remainder of Ratliff’s contract made absolutely no sense. If your idea is to groom Al Jefferson at his natural power forward position and get him used to playing with a defensive-oriented, shot-blocking man in the pivot who would be the perfect complement to Jefferson’s skill set, than buying Ratliff out makes no sense. If your idea is to see how the existing centers who are either young and unproven (Chris Richard) or signed relatively long term (Mark Madsen) do paired with Jefferson, the buying out of Ratliff does have some logic–but obviously that is not the Wolves’ intent. Richard got a whole 5:53 worth of burn tonight, bringing him up to 29:38 over the past six games–he played 25:17 in the December 14 game against Seattle alone. But even when the coaches deign to play Richard, it is almost always *replacing Jefferson at center*; the two rarely if ever play together. Meanwhile, Madsen hasn’t played since a token appearance against Toronto February 10, which was ten games ago. And Michael Doleac has logged a grand 2:25 in the last six games.

    If Wittman wanted this ballclub to care more about defense than offense, he should have kept Ratliff, who I daresay would have made Okafor think about turning and shooting even playing behind him. Ditto Doleac, and probably Madsen. Richard and Okafor were on the floor at the same time for less than two minutes tonight.

    At the end of the exhibition season, I was genuinely looking forward to the time when the Wolves could trot out a front line of Ratliff, Jefferson and Corey Brewer; I remember writing at the time that it had the potential to be a very good defensive trio. I was also looking forward to a shared backcourt of Foye and McCants with that front line. Yes, Ratliff would have been gone next year anyway, but he would have provided some defensive stability and attention to that side of the ball this year; he would have hopefully helped develop a habit of talking to each other and taking pride in one’s defense. I saw a team with Ratliff, Foye and Jefferson winning between 20 and 30 games. Now injuries certainly intervened. But it’s funny; just when that unit had a chance to finally get together, the Wolves’ braintrust pulled the plug and let Theo walk, saving owner Glen Taylor perhaps $3 or $4 million–and, not incidentally, putting them in a better position to let the likes of Seattle and Charlotte convert more than half their shots en route to road wins at Target Center.

    "Let’s build it together," is the new "Blueprint For the Future." It feels very familiar: A hard, aggressive public relations campaign while Theo gets his buyout and Antoine Walker–another vet who is highly respected in the locker room and has been a solid citizen up until the trade deadline, and is still straining to be a solid citizen now–sits in street clothes, spared the indignity of not having DNP-CD next to his name. But who’s to say ‘Toine couldn’t have provided a spark tonight, spread the floor a little bit?

    Don’t think the players on the roster don’t notice these things. The talk around the league is how the Lakers got Pau and the Mavs Kidd and the Suns Shaq. Then there are teams that are positioning themselves for next year. Minnesota is in the latter batch–for the third straight year. And for the third straight year, losing games means more to this squad than to most, because the difference is not just a better position in the ping-pong ball chase, it is the difference perhaps between having a pick and forking it over to the Clips.

    Every year about this time, I get into long involved discussions with people who think it best to inadvertantly tank, by "playing the young kids," or simply figuring out ways to move up in the draft. I understand the logic of the argument. But I hew to a simpler logic: Fans who pay good money to watch a pro NBA team deserve to see a team that is doing whatever possible to win now and win later with the personnel they have. And everyone in the Wolves locker room knows that the personnel moves made in recent days–be it the dumping of Ratliff or the mothballing of Walker–are not about winning now or later with the current personnel. It is about making sure another high draft pick comes to this ballclub. That’s not exactly a motivating force.

    There is no doubt in my mind that if Theo Ratliff were still around and Antoine Walker was still getting some rotations that overall morale would be higher, and the defensive effort would be more rugged. I get the math of the draft picks. I get the "we’ll see who really wants to step up and play these last few weeks of the season," speech. But when Glen Taylor goes on television and talks about how much more fun this season has been than the last two, because you can really see how the young kids are coming together and ho
    w there is a plan in place and how the future is brighter–well, some of that is true and some of that is fairly intolerable bullshit. This team is currently playing uninspired, demoralized basketball–they just handed a game to the pathetic Sonics and got impudently spanked by a team that couldn’t beat anybody in regulation during the entire month of February–you know, the month that ended four days ago. It’s not fun. It feels a hell of a lot like the previous two years, when it was hard to tell which was worse: If the front office knew what it was doing or if it didn’t. It’s a Twilight Zone, and that’s exactly how the players are responding to it.

    2. Muddied Waters

    Meanwhile, the jury is out on exactly how meaningful these last six weeks are going to be. Let me offer a few examples.

    Point guard: The competition is between Randy Foye and Sebastian Telfair. The recent plan has been to start them both in the same undersized backcourt and then go "big" by swapping Bassy out for a bigger player than kicks Foye over to the point. Management obviously would prefer that Foye blossom into a quality point guard and settle the matter, consigning Telfair to back-up point status and enabling Rashad McCants to glide in as sixth man and shooting guard, or bump Corey Brewer back to the 2 when the Wolves really do want to go "big."

    If this really is about players stepping up and making claims for their time, no favorites considered, then Telfair is doing his part. Wolves fans don’t even blink twice when they read a line like Bassy’s 9/1 assist to turnover ratio tonight. He’s got 141 assists versus just 33 turnovers in his last 22 games. The knock, of course, is that he is an unreliable shooter.

    But Telfair is ever so slowly but surely improving that facet of his game. Tonight he sank 6-11 FG for 12 points, the 7th time in 10 games he’s cracked double figures, despite having his minutes cut some since Foye’s return. More significantly, he’s begun stroking the j without mentally checking himself, a crucial confidence threshold that he needs to maintain to have any shot at becoming a bona fide point guard in this league. Tonight in the second quarter he clanked a wide open look from about 13 feet, and had the ball bounce right back out to him. The Bassy of earlier this season would have looked around for a pass and, if not seeing one, brought the ball back out to set up a play. Tonight he got the rebound and realized he was in the exact same position as before–wide open for a 13 footer. After the quickest of glances to see if anyone was cutting for the hoop, he rose up and stuck the jumper. In the third quarter, a double-teamed Jefferson dished it out to him and Telfair nailed the jumper (inexplicably, no assist for Jefferson). Then there was the play where Bassy came down, did a quick dribble between his legs, faded right and sank a long two-pointer. And the play where Telfair sped down the court looking for a fast break, only to have no one keeping up. Finally, he hit the trailer Smith, who promptly dished it right back to him. Open again, Telfair let it fly–swish. All of which led to a play in the fourth where the ball went out to Telfair and Charlotte’s perimeter D started to close out on him. Telfair promptly zipped a pass to Smith beneath the hoop for a layup.

    As has been true for the past couple weeks, Foye was more inconsistent, alternately better and worse than his competitor. Tonight he came out smokin’ with 9 points and 4 assists in the first quarter, including some midrange penetration that often yields his running banker on the right lane. He followed that up with 1-1 FG but two turnovers in 5:59 of the second period, then a gruesome second half in which he went 2-5 FG but produced zero assists and two more turnovers, plus 5 personal fouls, in 14:39. The Randy Foye of the 1st quarter deserves the starting point guard position. The Randy Foye who has a 0/4 assist to turnover ratio and 5 fouls in the last three periods must be given the "injuries take time to heal" waiver because the Wolves invested a lot in him both in terms of his draft position and his being acquired for the reigning rookie and the year and current All Star, Brandon Roy. It also of no small concern that both Telfair and Foye were just awful on defense, along with just about every member of the ballclub.

    Power forward not named Jefferson. With Walker bumped aside, the meaningful competitors are Craig Smith and Ryan Gomes. I’ve always felt like the Rhino is easy to overestimate because he’s the archtypal gritty underdog people love to root for as an undersized second-round draft pick with an uncanny knack for scoring in the paint. Consequently, I’ve probably underestimated him this season. He and Gomes share a proclivity for occasional breakout games–they are two of three Wolves to have scored 35 or more this season–and more frequent disappearances. But lately he’s had another boomlet, and what’s especially pleasant to see is how much he is moving without the ball, making him an excellent partner for Telfair–and, increasingly, Jefferson, who is looking for him near the hoop as often as he looks to the perimeter when the double coverage comes. The other things that distinguish Smith are superb hands–that aforementioned bullet pass from Telfair was partially screened by defenders and not an easy catch–and a knack for footwork and body control that create space versus taller opponents, which, along with a nice touch with the arc, gets him hoops that are improbable to say the least.

    Smith is not a very good defender, however, with an admirable frequency but low success rate at attempting to draw charges, and a ‘tweener curse that makes him too short versus large power forwards and too slow versus quick power forwards.

    Gomes is a more versatile glue guy, and not just because he can play the 3 too. He has more range on his jumper (but is less accurate than Smith overall), and is a better passer (‘tho Smith is improving), dribbler, and defender. Wittman’s comments about the defensing of Okafor tonight notwithstanding, however, Smith generally is better able to guard low-post oriented players, and so if Minnesota truly wants Jefferson to be the center in their future, Smith’s odds of being resigned in Minnesota go up. Another relative plus for Smith: He will be cheaper than Gomes.

    Those are just two thumbnail comparison sketches, and what they dramatize for me is that the sample size remains incredibly small and there are so many contingencies that folks–probably including the front office–don’t even know what the parmaters of comparison or the needs of the ballclub are going to be. A part of me yearns to see the same kind of decisive handicapping that had the Wolves not offer an extension to Gerald Green and then unload him at the trading deadline. They saved time by deciding that he was never going to be an answer. Rather than give Kirk Snyder all kinds of burn, or continue to fiddle with McCants/Foye/Telfair without a clear sense of what you are looking for(due top draft uncertainty, I understand), it would be nice to know what each player needs to accomplish or resolve in order to raise his stock. Hopefully, an emphasis on improving defensive prowess is on everyone’s criteria list.

    3. Sign of Progress

    Let the record show that Jefferson had two assists to night–as I mentioned earlier, I saw three, perhaps even four. But for the first time this season I also saw something equally exciting for Wolves fans. When Jefferson was being double teamed in the fourth quater and the Wolves ran their bread and butter play with a baseline cutter going past Jefferson on the left block, he was able to create space for himself by feinting the pass, then spinning for a relatively uncontested layup. The better he can dish, the easier he can score. It was a rare optimistic moment.

  • One More Cup of Coffee for the Road: In Another Lifetime

    Long, long ago, in the sweltering twilight of an August night
    roaring with cicadas and the vacuum hum of a lazy small town in retreat
    from the heat and the falling darkness, the yards and sidewalks
    abandoned for living rooms and television sets (the wobbling blue
    screens of which we could see through the dark, otherwise blank window
    frames and the gauzy, fluttering filter of curtains), I bucked you
    across town through the empty streets on my stingray bike.

    We were hunched together on my sparkling blue banana seat; I was
    pedaling furiously and you were clinging to the sissy bar. I wished you
    had been clinging to me, wished you would put your arms around my
    chest, but it was nice to feel you there behind me all the same, nice
    to hear your laughter (all the wonderful variations of your wonderful
    laugh) ringing out over the silent neighborhoods and your voice at my
    ear and your breath in my hair.

    I don’t know, can’t remember, where we were going. We weren’t,
    though, going to the Dairy Queen, where everyone else always seemed to be going and where the moths were in full swirling
    frenzy around the streetlamps in the parking lot. We were headed, I’m
    sure, elsewhere.

    We were in search of what you called a grassy horizontal, and we had darkness in mind, I think, and so we’d ride out to where the futile
    over-light of that shitty little town gave way suddenly to a great
    stretch of emptiness, where the pavement turned to gravel, where there
    were fields rolling away into the distance, and where there was a muddy
    creek and there were railroad tracks and trains (which sounded, you
    said, like iron waterfalls, and which I’ve always said sound like
    something heavy being carried away) crawling off into the night, out
    into an America we could only then imagine.

    But which we did imagine, together, breathlessly, with ridiculous
    hope and optimism. That place was where we knew we would eventually
    have to go to make our escape, to complete the process of becoming, to
    find ourselves even as we lost each other.

    That was also the place, the place beyond our close little world
    whose secrets and sadnesses we felt certain we had already divined,
    where we would one day, through exactly the sort of occasional miracle
    this world is still capable of delivering, find each other again.

    I am still, every day, my sister, my old friend, stunned by this
    miracle, still gratefully puzzled by my bounty of blessings entirely
    undeserved. And now it always seems to be that same magic dusk I
    remember, and I find myself once again in the position of trying to
    talk you onto the back of my stingray bike, trying to convince you to
    ride with me out beyond the false, feeble light of that low town, away
    from and out from under the people we have allowed ourselves to become;
    trying to get you to slow down and to listen again to the roaring
    silence and the moving water and the watch-winding racket of insects
    throbbing from the ditches, and to lie on your back with me marveling
    at the stars and the heat lightning trembling down the dark sky across
    the fields.

  • "Edina Mom" above Mammaries

    Look, I deeply understand that trenchant matters of importance are upon us. Hillary is imploding, the silver haired wren is the latest casualty of climate change (speaking as an amateur orthonologist, it matters), sticky sidewalks in downtown Minneapolis are about to be re-introduced due to the flaccid governance of a weak Mayor system in spite of the fervor of one Raymond Thomas.

    And yet.

    From my little corner of the online world, I keep getting comments from suburban daughters protesting what they consider a creepy commentary on an Edina female sending her kids off to "camp."

    While the page views are not about to unseat the Chocolate Rapper or Austin Hall’s hands any time soon, the personal attacks on me have crossed from online to the check-out line at Lunds. I was cornered by a soccer mom last night as I discussed cars with the check-out dude and started talking about the Road Rake. Apparently, her daugther and a friend have been dissing my exposure of a Ferrari-clad mom in the lobby of Colonial Church last summer.

    Note the derision in the daughter’s voice:

    "yah so what she wears a ferrari jacket…. OMG thats outrageous who
    cares like you took the time out of your day to make some video about
    some lady for edina… what i want to know is why are you looking at
    this womens chest reading her shirts when you are sending your kids off
    to camp who cares what shes wearing say goodbye to your kid and then go
    you think your kid is proud that you spend your time making jealous
    videos…"

    The Road Rake will not stoop to answer a coddled cake-eater at YouTube.

    On the other hand, I would like to point out to my blog readers that the chest footage has nothing to do with my observation that a woman, wearing a Ferarri jacket, who sends her kids off to a three-day "camp" with care packages the size of a Marshall Plan drop probably could not tell a real car from real kid.

    George Marshall (pictured) could.

  • Porter & Frye: Chew on This

    "So, who are Porter and Frye?", I asked the hostess last
    night. "Do they really exist?" She smiled, then said that various legends about
    Porter and Frye certainly did exist, and then got straight to the point: no,
    they were not real. The name was invented by a restaurant consultant. She said
    it’s supposed to suggest a dining experience that is high quality without being
    fancy, or something like that.

    Porter & Frye is the new restaurant inside the Hotel Ivy, described in the Star Tribune as the Twin Cities first five-star hotel.
    I am not sure how a hotel can have five stars the day it opens – but it
    doesn’t really matter – I used to be in the business of handing out stars myself,
    and I can tell you that they really don’t mean much.

    Well, the name sounds very waspy/British to me, and I don’t
    usually associate the cuisine of New England or Olde England with culinary
    creativity – more with cucumber sandwiches and roast beef and Yorkshire pudding
    and overcooked peas. But the two British names strung together do have a sort
    of uppercrust ring, as in Currier & Ives, Crabtree & Evelyn, Smith
    & Hawkens, Abercrombie & Fitch. But I have noticed lately, while
    shopping the bargain bins, that a lot of companies have gotten wise to this
    strategy, and there are a lot of off-brands of made-in-China merchandise that
    carry names like Cholmondeley &Fflolkes, designed to suggest the
    upper-crust.

    Too bad, because it gives the restaurant a bit of a wannabe
    aura before you even walk in the door. And it clashes just a bit with the image
    of talented chef Steven Brown, who has crafted a reputation as a sort of
    culinary Diogenes in search of real food and honest flavors – and has a
    repertoire that goes well beyond roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.

    Appetizers to share are priced by the half-pound – from $18
    for a sausage plate to $25 for charred ahi tuna and $26 for Alaskan king crab
    with lemon, capers, brown butter and a cocktail sauce. Entrée prices range from
    $10 for a medium portion of gnocchi in marinara sauce, and $13 for a vegan
    preparation of squash and broccoli rabe in a maple tofu sauce, all the way up
    to $49 for a dry-aged bone-in ribeye and $65 for a surf-and-turf of lobster and
    New York steak.

    We only sampled a few dishes – a beautifully presented
    arugula salad ($7) with golden baby beets and sliced kumquats in a black pepper
    and citrus vinaigrette ($7), a very rich and elegant ham hock and rock shrimp
    chowder, the aforementioned vegan squash entrée (tasty but insubstantial), and
    a delightful parmesan-crusted walleye ($16), very fresh and moist, and
    perfectly complemented by a savory lobster risotto. The real highlight of the
    evening was the dessert – a silky and sensuous panna cotta ($8), served over coconut
    and passionfruit creams.

    I’m not going to offer up any sweeping judgments about the place because it’s too early, and I didn’t same enough different dishes, but my first general impressions are that the quality is very high – as you would expect from Steven Brown. Some of the prices also seem quite high but if you choose carefully, there are affordable options. I wish I had known about the bar menu, which offers gourmet burgers and pizzas in the $10-$12 range, before I ordered dinner. It’s available in the bar and adjoining first floor dining room, but not in the lower level dining room.

    Kathy Jenkins of the Pioneer Press reviewed Porter &
    Frye right after it opened and trashed it, which sparked a lively discussion on
    MinnSpeak. Is it fair to rate a restaurant so soon? .

    I don’t think so. (Jenkins has done this before – I
    spoke to another local chef recently, who complained that she showed up right
    after he opened and gave him the same treatment.)

    When I reviewed restaurants at the Strib, the policy was to
    write a short just-the-facts Now Open piece as soon as possible after opening,
    but to wait at least a month before running a real review with positive or
    negative judgments. Actually, I don’t see much harm in running a positive piece
    based on a very early first impression, (as Rick Nelson did in his Now Open
    piece on Porter & Frye), but a negative piece can be unfair and damaging.

    But this is a case where I am a firm believer in a double
    standard. Because newspaper critics still have a lot more influence, they need
    to be a lot more careful – and to hold their fire until the restaurant has had
    a chance to work out the snafus. But a blogger like little old me simply isn’t
    going to have the same impact, so there is less reason to hold back – and a
    critical review early on from a blogger can actually serve as a valuable
    wake-up call for a newly opened restaurant – here are some issues you had
    better work out before the big guys show up at your door.

     

  • Primarily Screwed

    If astronomers and astrophysicists are correct, we’ve got
    another 13-16 billion years until the universe collapses under its own mass and
    hubris in a Big Crunch – making it all the more impressive that it has taken just a few short months for Sen. Hillary Clinton’s
    world to implode, compacting itself into a fiery mass of universal healthcare and
    primary-hued pantsuits. And best of all, emanating from deep within the core of
    this soon-to-be black hole from whence no screams or painfully contrived holiday
    greeting     can escape, is a sound familiar to anyone with an eight year old –
    whining.

    Yes, even as we eagerly hang on every word about the hard
    fought Democratic primaries in Texas, Rhode Island, Vermont and Ohio from MPR
    correspondents and CNN pundits, tuning in to Naked
    News     just in case that austere and respected bastion of quality reporting
    may have picked up on a polling nuance that others haven’t, the Clinton camp is
    engaging in an entertaining campaign of whining and finger pointing. Top
    campaign advisors Mark Penn and Harold Ickes have already started to distance
    themselves from what is rapidly starting to appear to be a Dean-esque clusterfuck,
    with Penn saying something to the effect of, "I just stopped in to use the
    wi-fi and surf porn. They asked me about some campaign messages, but I didn’t
    think they’d actually take my advice. Dumbasses."

    And at this point, none of this comes as a surprise. The
    attitude of the Clinton camp from the launch of the campaign was that of the
    anointed standard-bearer of the Democratic party. As a result, the campaign
    became that painfully attractive guy/girl who feels like they can just lay
    there while we do all the work. What the Clintons didn’t realize was that
    liberals across America just wanted to get their freak on, and would happily do
    so with an upstart senator from Illinois with a populist message and a knack for oratory that can
    moisten progressive panties     from sea to shining sea.

    But since they were the front-runners for so long, don’t
    they have every right to be obnoxiously whiny? Are they not well within their
    rights when pointing fingers at the media for being so hard on Sen. Clinton, at
    each other for not providing winning strategies for undermining the hope for
    change that Obama uses as his rallying cry, and at Sen. Clinton for being the
    unappealing, though well-intentioned and profoundly intelligent, battle-axe
    we’ve all come to know and love?

    The simple answer is yes, they’re free to whine. This is
    America after all – a land where freedom reigns supreme, former Mickey Mouse Club members can parlay fame into
    failure and Cristina Aguilera
    turns out to be the sane one. But if they feel the need to whine, they should
    be whining about the right things – such as the fact that the campaign never
    recovered from its failures in Iowa, where underfunding and understaffing
    doomed Clinton to finishing in third place. Or perhaps they should focus on the
    painful truth that Bill Clinton’s hubris lost them several southern states as
    he fought a doomed campaign in South Carolina when he could’ve done far more
    good elsewhere, failing to make up for the lousy
    aim     that landed him in only the second presidential impeachment trial in
    the history of the United States. Or even worse, that the same political strategists
    who raked in $5 million in January alone, $10 million in total, can’t come up
    with a better idea to counteract Barack Obama’s surging popularity than the chimpanzee
    approach     – throw a whole lot of shit at the wall and see what sticks.

    Sadly, not much has seemed to as of yet. While Clinton is
    reeking of desperation, frustration and, in a futile attempt to appeal more to
    females aged 18-34, copious amounts of Axe Body Spray, Obama seems
    largely untouched. And despite the stench, Clinton says she’s "…just getting warmed
    up    ." Apparently the old girl needs a lot of foreplay. It’s a good thing Sen. Clinton
    is finally ready though, since by the end of today we ought to know if Hillary is as
    well and truly boned as the women Bill has been picking up along the campaign
    trail.

  • Money, War, Schizophrenia, and Genius

    THEATER & PERFORMANCE
    The Fortunes of King Croesus

    We’ve known it for at least three centuries, apparently: money doesn’t buy happiness. And yet we can’t seem to help ourselves, as we continue to search our shopping cart for the meaning of life, for peace, for the ole H-word — as we continue to work 24/7, searching for the perfect formula, vying for that million-dollar break-through. Composed by Reinhard Keiser, a contemporary of Handel, The Fortunes of King Croesus tells "a bittersweet and twisting tale of love and conquest where all is right in the end." Ah, a happy ending. Definitely not Shakespeare. Definitely not Puccini. But beautiful nonetheless, perhaps moreso if you’re looking for a glimmer of hope in the end, for which we all seem to be desperately grasping these days. The German Baroque opera, performed by The Minnesota Opera — accompanied by The Saint Paul Chamber Orchestra — will be sung in German with English captions projected above the stage. British tenor Paul Nilon stars as Croesus.

    7:30 p.m., Ordway Center for the Performing Arts, 345 Washington St, St Paul, 651-224-4222; $50-$130.

    Heather Raffo’s 9 Parts of Desire

    If you’re looking for some interesting theater tonight, you might want to check out Heather Raffo’s 9 Parts of Desire, a one-woman play about nine Iraqi women’s lives during war. I’ll be sure to tell you more as soon as I see it on Wednesday, but with director Joel Sass and Kate Eifrig as the lone performer, it’s bound to be worthwhile.

    7:30 p.m.,     Guthrie Theater, 818 S. 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224; $18-$34.

    BOOKS & AUTHORS
    Laura Flynn’s Ocean

    Now that her new novel is out, you’ll be seeing quite a lot of Laura Flynn this month — if you so desire. Catch her this afternoon at the University of Minnesota Bookstore, or catch her next month at Magers & Quinn. She is sure to be at several venues in between. And her latest novel is likely worth the effort. Swallow the Ocean tells the tale of three young girls dealing with their mother’s downward spiral into schizophrenia. Might as well have her sign it and hear what she has to say.

    4 p.m., University of Minnesota Bookstore, Coffman Memorial Union, 300 Washington Ave. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-626-0559; free.

    BOOKS
    The World and Its Double: The Life and Work of Otto Preminger

    Smart as Hitchcock, incisive as Wilder, and independently minded as
    Cassavetes, Otto Preminger remained largely peerless during his career.
    He was one of the first Hollywood auteurs to challenge censorship rules
    and explore his own vision—one populated with honest studies of drug
    addiction, sexual deviance, and corrupt politics. As an establishment
    director, he introduced an anti-cinema subversion that inspired the Cahiers du Cinema
    crew. Unfortunately, many will only remember him for his role as Mr.
    Freeze in the original Batman TV show. Film historian Chris Fujiwara’s
    exceptional biography aims to change that with an analysis that
    achieves the seemingly impossible: It actually manages to inspire the
    reader to take another look at Exodus. —Christopher Hontos

    Available in bookstores nationwide.

  • Going to the Dogs

    I’m typically leery of wines with cute, punny, or outrageous names. Goats do Roam. The Unbearable Lightness of Riesling. Fat Bastard. They’re all truly dreadful. So I was expecting little when I uncorked the Rosenblum Cellars Côte du Bone Roan 2005 from Chateau La Paws.

    Here’s a surprise: I loved it. And that was before I found out that a large percentage of the profits from this wine go to benefit Paws for a Cause, a nonprofit operating in all 50 states that trains service dogs for people with disabilities.

    First, the wine. It’s a big, lusty, Parker-ish red made of Carignane, Syrah, Zinfandel, and Mourvedre. Nothing subtle here. There’s tons of brilliant fruit — mostly cherry, currant, and plum — with a weighty infusion of oak, pepper, and allspice.

    Yet, it’s smooth. Unlike a lot of the California wines, this one doesn’t slap you around. It lies neatly in the glass — viscous but still — and bursts into the mouth but finishes clean. The 14.9% alcohol can be a bit overpowering. But it won’t leave you thirsty for days, the way tannic Cabs from Napa sometimes do.

    Add to that the service aspect, and there could be no better reason for spending $13.99 on a bottle of wine. Winemaker Kent Rosenblum is a veterinarian by training, and in February 2008 he donated more than $43,000 in proceeds from Côte du Bone Roan and Côte du Bone Blanc to Paws for a Cause, to help train assistance dogs for people with disabilities, including hearing loss, cerebral palsy, muscular dystrophy, and spinal cord injuries.

    This organization even has a "seizure response" program that teaches dogs to recognize seizures and protect their owners from the attendant dangers, such as falling and choking.

    It is a rather odd thing, I think, that service animals are so universally effective. There could be no more visible cue to a person’s disability than the presence of a dog with a brightly-colored coat and stiff, tented harness. But the marriage of wise canine and frail human somehow promotes an unassailable dignity for both.

    I can think of no better way to spend my wine budget. And in this case, the drink itself is of quality, even apart from the good that it does.

  • The Three Pointer: Seattle Slew

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by David Sherman/NBAE via Getty Images)


    Game # 58, Home Game #31: Seattle 111, Minnesota 108

    Season Record: 12-46

    1. An Improving Beast

    During Kevin Garnett’s dozen years with the Wolves, I wrote a slew of game recaps which included as a stock phrase the caution that people shouldn’t take the incredibly high-level consistency KG was offering for granted. I think I’m safely on the record as saying that Al Jefferson is not, and probably never will be, the versatile monster that Garnett is on the court, but here goes my first-ever time pointing out that you do Big Al a disservice ignoring or downgrading his tremendous effort in the overtime loss to Seattle last night.

    Jefferson started the game shockingly cold from the field, bereft of his now famous touch around the hoop. He faked Johan Petro out of his jock and then drove left baseline, only to sail an airball in a manner that made it seem like he thought he was going to get fouled and went too strong. But he did it again later in the first quarter, on his patented spin move where you wonder how he knows where the hoop is–this time he didn’t, for airball 2. In between, he received a perfect feed in stride from Sebastian Telfair headed straight down the lane, only to barely graze the front iron with his floater, snatch the offensive rebound, and then travel while attempting the putback. He missed his first five shots and the Wolves, beseiged by bad matchups at the other end due to their small lineup (more on that later), fell behind by 10 before he finally got on the board via a fast-break layup off a Corey Brewer steal with 1:58 to play in the first. At the half he was 3-11 FG and Minnesota was still down 7, 51-58.

    But great players will themselves past off nights, and that’s exactly what Jefferson did in the second half. His 4-7 FG fueled Minnesota’s 3rd quarter surge into a one-point lead heading into the final period, and his 4th quarter was a demonstration of unstoppable thirst for baskets against double and triple teams as the Wolves fought tenaciously to hold their slim lead. After getting his early-quarter blow, he entered with 7:14 left to play and the score tied. Within two and a half minutes, he had a slam dunk, a baseline-spinning four-foot banker on the left block, and–a new wrinkle–a 5′ jump hook moving left to right across the lane. On the latter two baskets he was gang-guarded by Nick Collison, Damian Wilkins, Chris Wilcox. Didn’t matter. Wolves up by 5 with 4:45 to play.

    Yes, Jefferson and Craig Smith had difficulty containing Wilcox at the other end. There is no question that a defensive-oriented, shot-blocking center would be the ideal complement. But let’s talk about Jefferson’s most obvious leap forward during this game–his passing. After he’d consistently schooled the Sonics in crunchtime, he saw the looming triple-team and shrewdly dished it out to Corey Brewer for a wide-open look. When Brewer’s shot clanged, Jefferson bulled his way for the longish rebound, and then, with Seattle determined to thwart the putback, he rose up and dumped it down by the hoop to Craig Smith for an easy layup, his career-high fifth assist of the evening. (Smith likewise had a career-high five dimes, continuing his recent push for more stable and vital playing time.)

    To bring this Garnett-like point in the trey full circle, folks can rightly point out that Jefferson didn’t finish when it mattered, missing four of five field goal attempts and two crucial free throws during the overtime. Certainly fatigue might have played into this. At the end of regulation, Jefferson had scored 20 points in 20:05 of grueling, pressure-packed action in the second half, sinking 9-13 FG and 4-5 FT, the last two coming with 15 seconds left to play and the Wolves up two, 99-97. But I’d rather simply say, without Jefferson, there is no overtime happening in the first place. On a night when he clearly was out of sync with his shooting rhythm for most of the first half, he finished with 30 points, 13 rebounds and 5 assists, with the vast majority of those points coming with the game on the line and the opponents dead-set on ensuring that he wasn’t the player who beat them. That’s stardom treatment. And while it would certainly be nice if Jefferson became even a consistently mediocre defender, stardom is where he’s headed.

    2. Smallball Mistakes and Motley Mismatches

    It was interesting to note that nobody–Jefferson, Smith, Wittman–seemed especially disheartened by the loss, perhaps knowing that playing hard, entertaining games while positioning themselves for more ping-pong balls is not a bad outcome for a ballclub that just dumped Theo Ratliff and have the word "build" prominent in its new marketing campaign. (Fresh removed from two championships, Corey Brewer was the exception, dejectedly talking about the free throw that likely would have iced the game for Minnesota in the 4th quarter.)

    Anyway, it wasn’t with real rancor but simple force that Wittman said "I thought we were a little too relaxed coming out at the start. It put us behind the 8-ball…it lost us the game. The defense went through the motions…we defended nobody…and we didn’t move the ball like we were capable of doing."

    Nowhere was the subject of smallball included in this litany. And yet as the two teams began feeling each other out in the opening minutes, it was patently clear that the Sonics enjoyed two glaring mismatches: the 6-10 Wilcox on 6-8 Ryan Gomes at the power forward slot, and 6-4 Randy Foye trying to guard 6-9 Kevin Durant at the off-guard slot. If Wilcox hadn’t been cold from the field–he missed some easy looks over Gomes down low–Seattle might have played the perfect quarter. As it was, you throw out Wilcox’s 2-6 FG, and Seattle was a whopping 12-13 FG in the first quarter, and a perfect 11-11 FG inside the three point arc. Durant led the way with an almost casual 11 points on 4-4 FG and 3-3 FT. And Wilcox used his superior height and paint-jousting experience to outrebound the entire Wolves’ ballclub in the period, 7-6

    Things finally began to even out when Wittman subbed in Smith for Telfair with 2:35 to play in the period and the Wolves down 8. To Wittman’s belated credit, we never saw that pipsqueak starting five (Jefferson-Gomes-Brewer-Foye-Telfair) together again, and Wittman discovered that Kirk Snyder was his best stopper on Durant, throwing the gritty Utah and Houston castoff with the Mr. Potato Head nose in for 32:39 of the game’s final 40 minutes. Snyder knew what he was supposed to do, which put him about 4 years ahead of the person he was traded for, Gerald Green, already. Aside from 6 shots (he made 2), the largest number on his stat line was the 5 steals he registered, frequently on strips of Durant as the prolific-scoring rook was bringing the ball up to shoot in penetration. After the game, Jefferson called him a "tougher Corey Brewer" (then quickly amended it with copious praise for the heavy defensive role Brewer is already undertaking as a rookie), but Snyder reminded me more of a taller, perhaps quicker, Greg Buckner, a fine defensive presence who is among the many vets on the roster lost in the youth shuffle this season.

    Bottom line, while you could call this game entertaining and hard-fought, it was not particularly well-played, especially on defense. Minnesota is 20th in the league in points allowed–pretty sorry, considering they are next-to-last in points scored and thus don’t have the excuse of pace like Golden State or Phoenix–and Seattle is 25th. The two clubs combined were 90-173 FG. Snyder may have clamped down on Durant to compel his 4-14 FG shooting after the first period, but Foye and Telfair continued their matador ways with the point guards–Earl Watson shot 6-7 FG and Luke Ridenour went 5-8, for a combine
    d 28 points and 16 assists. Chris Richard, Smith and Jefferson couldn’t prevent Nick Collison from shooting 5-5 FG in the second period. And, in perhaps the best argument against constant smallball and the habits it engenders, the Wolves never could solve Wilcox, who sank 6-9 FG after that cold first period, grabbed a game-high 15 rebounds and was and incredible plus +15 in 42:42 of play, meaning the Sonics were minus -12 in the 11:18 he sat on the bench. With Doleac and Madsen in limbo, Ratliff cut, and Richard a sparsely deployed rookie, the Wolves default enforcement of the paint.

    3. Quick Hits

    Wittman took pains to point out that when Brewer missed the free throw with 10 seconds to play, the Wolves gambled on two steal attempts that enabled Durant to glide for a layup in transition just 6 seconds later to send the game to overtime. And he correctly noted that those types of steal attempts are what you do when you’re behind, not protecting a lead. Point taken. But is anyone else enjoying the tone Brewer (and, when healthy, Jaric) seems to be setting for the entire defense in terms of ambushing the passing lanes. Just a week after falling one steal short of the team-record 17 in a win over Utah, Minnesota filched 14 more last night, including Snyder’s five and three apiece from Brewer and Smith (who stuffed the stat line).

    Folks are fond of blasting Wittman’s end of game manuevers, and I’ve been fond of calling out Foye’s crunchtime ego. So let’s everybody note that Foye properly and conscientiously deferred to Jefferson during that 4th quarter glory and stepped up with two overtime buckets (after registering just a free throw in the 3rd and 4th quarters) when Jefferson was clanking in OT. And let’s note that both Wittman and Foye did everything right on the final play of regulation, when the ball went to Foye, he saw Jefferson covered, and kicked it to a wide open Ryan Gomes near the corner, who flat-lined the jumper off the back iron.

    Durant’s 25 points don’t compensate for his lackadaisical mien, indifferent defense, and tendency to ball hog. The kid is long, and is going to be a very potent scorer for a long time, but I’d hold off on the superstar jabber, or even rookie of the year talk. Luis Scola over in Houston is proving the Rockets don’t necessarily need the overrated Yao Ming to continue their playoff push. He’s my ROY.

     

  • Keep On Keeping On

    FILM
    Arranged

    Here’s an interesting show for you and the kids: Arranged,
    a tale of two Brooklyn teachers—Rochel, an Orthodox Jew, and Nasira, a
    Syrian Muslim—both of whom are in the process of being set up in
    arranged marriages. Somehow they manage to become close friends. By
    setting the film in a public grade school and forcing these two
    characters to endure the unquenchable curiosity of their young charges,
    the directors, Diane Crespo and Stefan Schaefer, have created a film
    that invites dialog without battering you over the head. This sweet
    little movie is full of fascinating characters and plenty of fine
    moments, especially those illuminating the painfully awkward steps
    toward meeting the men with whom these women will spend the rest of
    their lives. Watch to see that an arranged marriage has many of the
    same pitfalls as today’s conventional courtships. This screening is
    part of the Sabes Foundation Minneapolis Jewish Film Festival and will be followed by a luncheon with speakers Raleigh Kent and Jamila Kosobayasi. —Peter Schilling

    Friday at 11:30 a.m., Sabes Jewish Community Center, 4330 S. Cedar Lake Road, St. Louis Park; 952-381-3400.

    The Counterfeiters

    Told in flashback, The Counterfeiters
    is the exciting true story of Salomon Sorowitsch, who, in the years
    before World War II, was the world’s greatest counterfeiter. Arrested
    in Berlin, Sorowitsch is sent to the Sachsenhausen concentration
    camp—as both Jew and habitual criminal he’s considered doubly
    threatening. But the Germans find a use for Sorowitsch, putting him to
    work on “Operation Bernhard,” the Nazi plan to counterfeit U.S. dollars
    and the British pound, flood the market, and subsequently wreck the
    Allies’ economies. The prisoners involved in the operation—an uneasy
    mix of bankers, printers, and criminals—are given preferential
    treatment over the other Jews. Nevertheless, their actions have
    devastating consequences. As Sorowitsch, Karl Marcovicks is simply
    brilliant: At once a charmer and a rogue, you can’t take your eyes off
    him. —Peter Schilling

    Opens Friday at the Edina Cinema, 3911 50th St. W., Edina, 651-649-4416.

    Two Minnesota Films Featured in Women with Vision Film Festival

    The Walker’s Women With Vision Film Festival kicks off this evening (7:30 p.m.) with Older than America, filmed on location in Cloquet, Minnesota. Director Georgina Lightning, producer Christine Walker and special guest actress Tantoo Cardinal will introduce this haunting tale about a woman whose visions reveal a Catholic priest’s sinister plot to silence her mother from speaking the truth about the atrocities that took place at her Native American boarding school. Then on Saturday (2 p.m.), Short Films, Program One includes Labyrinth, by IFP member Jila Nikplay.

    Friday at 7:30 p.m., Saturday at 2 p.m., Walker Art Center, 1750 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-375-7600; $8, members $6.

    SHOPPING
    Carlos Falchi Trunk Show

    If you’re as much of a handbag and accessory fanatic as Melinda Jacobs — or maybe just a Carlos Falchi fan — then head over to Pumpz & Company at the Galleria in Edina today to meet the designer in person. Falchi, whose bags have been featured in Sex and the City, The Devil Wears Prada, and Lipstick Jungle, will be autographing vintage Falchi bags at the event, and guests can custom design the bag of their dreams.

    Friday from 11 a.m. to 2 p.m., Galeria, 69th and France, Edina.

    MUSIC
    Dervish

    Kick off St. Paddy’s day a little early with the music of Dervish. For going on two decades, Dervish has brought traditional Irish music to the stage alongside such world-acclaimed musicians as James Brown, The Buena Vista Social Club, Oasis, Sting, REM, and Beck.

    Friday at 8 p.m., The Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-388-2674; $20.


    Party with Designer Drugs

    If electro-house is more your style, head to the Kitty Cat tonight for Hotel, their monthly dance night with DJ Jonathan Ackerman at the helm. This evening, Hotel welcomes ultra-hip Philadelphia electro party DJs Designer Drugs. Pulling from their classical music training, the duo creates club anthems with pop sensibilities.

    Friday at 10 p.m., Kitty Cat Klub, 701 1st Ave. N., Minneapolis; 214-957-2148.

    And on Sunday, be sure to catch Steve Earle, with special guest Allison Moorer, at First Avenue.

    BOOKS & AUTHORS & MORE MUSIC
    Perfect From Now On

    John Sellers    , author of Perfect From Now On: How Indie Rock Saved My Life, will host an event at the 7th Street Entry on Saturday, which features two Guided By Voices tribute bands: The Textbook Committee and The Girl Guides, and Minneapolis bands Cortez the Killer and The Cans.

    Saturday at 8 p.m., 7th Street Entry, 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612-332-1775; $5.

    BENEFIT & EVEN MORE MUSIC!
    Club Diva

    On Saturday International Market Square
    will be transformed into the hottest new club in town — full of sexy
    singles, hip urban professionals, and exotic devotees of the club
    scene. CLUB DIVA, DIVA MN’s 17th annual fundraiser
    for AIDS/HIV programs, benefits the nonprofit organization’s purposes
    and needs.

    Saturday from 5:30 p.m. to 2 a.m., International Market Square, 275 Market St., Minneapolis; 612-338-6250; tickets start at $40 and go as high as you like.

    ART
    John Ratzloff Turns His Lens on the Anishinabe

    For almost twenty years, the bulk of photographer John Ratzloff’s work has been with the Anishinabe at the White Earth reservation in northwest Minnesota. His current exhibit, White Earth, A Portrait, serves as a great introduction to his work; but this weekend is its last, so be sure to catch it. According to Ratzloff, as both an activist and an artist, he doesn’t set out to capture an image; his photographs are "moments shared" — more about relationships than history.

    Friday and Saturday from noon to 5 p.m., Bockley Gallery, 2123 W. 21st St., Minneaplis; 612-377-4669.

    WINE & DINE
    Nantaimori
    We’ve been hearing about naked sushi for the past month, and the time has finally come. On Saturday, Temple Restaurant will host a Nyotaimori/Nantaimori Event. That’s right — naked sushi. But don’t worry, you won’t have to take your clothes off (unless you want to, of course). Nyotaimori and Nantaimori are Japanese traditions of serving sashimi and sushi off of the body of a woman or a man. Sounds pretty good to me, however dubious. I just hope chef and owner Thom Pham cleans his serving platters as well as he cleans his vegetables.

    Saturday at 7:30-10:30 p.m., Temple Restaurant and Shinto Lounge, 1201 Harmon Place, Minneapolis; 612-767-3770; $75 (includes sushi, sake, and champagne).

  • Roots and Grooves

    MUSIC

    Maceo Parker

    One of the last things you expect out of Maceo Parker
    is a new wrinkle, and that’s OK: As the saxophonist for the Godfather
    of Soul, he’s the man who blew the horn that popped the sweat out of
    James Brown’s pores. He went on to play with two of Brown’s most
    renowned heirs to the funk tradition, Parliament/Funkadelic and Prince.
    New tricks aren’t normally a priority for an old-timer who still
    slathers the fatback this well—even after turning sixty-five on
    Valentine’s Day. But then Parker starts to croon on his new disc, Roots and Grooves,
    and he turns out to be the best Ray Charles doppelganger since Brother
    Ray shed this mortal coil four years ago. The ballad “Georgia,” the
    sprightly “Hit The Road Jack,” and the funk workout “What’d I Say” are
    all daringly faithful tributes that don’t embarrass Parker vocally. But
    if you’re worried he’ll abandon that big tenor sax sound, a 17:48
    version of “Pass The Peas” on Roots and Grooves will lay it to rest. Expect to hear both the voice and the horn at the Dakota. —Britt Robson

    7 and 9:30 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet Ave., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; $50, $35.

    Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars

    There’s no denying the power of music— whether to protect and celebrate a culture, to decry an injustice, to heal a heart, or to soothe a crying child. Music has served us all well. But the Sierra Leone’s Refugee All Stars have taken this to a whole new realm. Ravaged and exiled by civil war — having suffered both physical and emotional trauma — the All Stars have used their music, not just as a means of survival, but to share their stories, their struggles, and their strength. Join them tonight at the Guthrie for an energizing performance of traditional West African music, roots reggae, and rhythmic traditional folk. And be sure to check out this documentary about the band.

    7:30 p.m., McGuire Proscenium Stage, Guthrie Theater, 818 S. 2nd St., Minneapolis; 612-377-2224; $18-$20.

    FILM
    Minneapolis Jewish Film Festival

    The Minneapolis Jewish Film Festival started a couple of days ago, and you have a week’s worth of films to choose from, so be sure to check the schedule. Tonight, I suggest you head to the Oak Street for two great films, one of which is even a Minnesota premiere. Frozen Days (Yamim Kfu’eem), directed by Danny Lerner, tells the story of young homeless woman who sets out to meet an internet chat room buddy, and ends up taking her identity. The Bubble (Ha Buah) tells the story of three hipsters sharing an apartment in Tel Avis and trying to change the world amid a stream of violence. You may be surprised by the hipness of these tales, and you’ll surely be shocked by the violence.

    7 and 9 p.m., respectively, Oak Street Cinema, 309 Oak St. S.E., Minneapolis; 612-331-3134.