Words.
"We’ll probably never know what a goon is to a goblin, but it’s clear what happens when goblin meets goon. It looks like Andrew Bynum going full Macho Man Savage on an undrafted Puerto Rican ex-boy scout named J.J.
Suddenly, the Lakers’ Three Mile meltdown was symbolized in a few frames, the footage as hideously memorable as a Craig Sager suit. Bynum’s crack up was one of those moments that crystallized every Lakers flaw: their lead-footed resistance to defensive rotations, their sour petulance, their inveterate ability to turn every middling point from Aaron Brooks to Goran Dragic into the second coming of A.I.
...No complaints. Two consecutive championships and the existence of “Khloe & Lamar” safeguard any sane thinker from offering sympathy. Not when Cleveland exists. Worst of all was watching this lethargic entitled squad get shot down like a Wasilla aerial wolf hunt — or the hoops equivalent of Tyler, the Creator’s “Goblin:” brutal, sluggish, and filled with unfunny figurative rape. No Eagle County.
...You can play the blame game all day. Kobe never practiced. Pau Gasol showed the toughness of a Swiss sommelier. Ron Artest developed a caveman touch as though he’d been tutored by Mike Smrek. Steve Blake and Matt Barnes were such poor free agent signings that you’d think Frank McCourt had been a special advisor. Lamar Odom invited a reality camera crew into practices and spent the rest of his days hanging out with a guy who I’m pretty sure is Bobby Bottle Service. Yes, distractions.
...These are grown professionals getting paid obscene sums of money, but sometimes, human emotions trump all. There are trust issues because Kobe remains the cold, cruelly intelligent magician no longer able to wriggle out of handcuffs. His teammates’ eyes roll, they tune out his time out sermons, his unasked-for suggestions. You don’t need to hire Khloe Kardashian’s personal body language guru to spot it. It was tumorous and it metasized with every loss.
...Magic Johnson called for the Lakers to be blown up, but no one wants these contracts. This is a franchise that has to pay Luke Walton and Derek Fisher $20 million over the next two years, let alone the eight figure sums owed almost every starter. Phil Jackson’s gone and Chris Paul and Dwight Howard don’t come on the market for another year. They need to get younger, quicker, deeper, and learn how to shoot straight. And at the core, they need the Thug Poet to come to grips with his own mortality. Give Bynum 20 shots a game, look for Gasol’s shot before his own, and stop making that fucking lockjaw caveman face. It’s really weird.
When Bynum hacksawed Barea, it was a manifestation of a deeper unrest within their psyche. Their decade-long reign of terror was expiring as rapidly as a bad Bin Laden joke. A team built for seven brutal games of trench warfare got swept by one whose best player played so little D that he was once called “Irk.” Bynum was the only goon and suddenly, footnotes like J.J. Barea could destroy them. It’s not that the Lakers need to be blown up. It’s that they need to start living on planet earth."
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