#36: CLE @ GSW 1/11/10

PreThoughts

I like LeBron James. He's super fun to watch and seems like a genuinely happy and nice guy who *actually* cares about making his teammates better and treating people well. So what if he doesn't speak Italian? Sometimes I think LeBron should be getting even more attention than he does.

In spite of LeBron, or possibly because of him, I can't think of the rest of the Cavaliers as anything more than a lumpy band of freaks and caricatures. Mo Williams is actually pretty damn good and the numbers like Anderson Varejao too, but after that, I'm baffled. Anthony Parker can be useful in the right context, but he just makes me think about Jamario Moon. Same goes for Shaq and Ilgauskas, the both of them comically gargantuan and slow at this point. Shaq has to be close to 400 pounds, right? Delonte West is sort of an odd bird, but I'm still inclined to think that he's harmless, even considering how he was caught armed to the teeth in a goofy three-wheeler. The rest of the roster is eminently forgettable.

None of these ad hominem perceptions matter, of course, because the Cavs do play cohesively, and are very good. And there's no opponent like the Warriors to thrust a J.J. Hickson back into our memories and onto SportsCenter. The Warriors and the Cavs have played some close, fun games over the last few years, and this one should be no different.

I'm putting the over/under on rebounding differential at 14.

Cavalier to Watch: LeBron James, who may get plenty of rest tonight, so catch him early.
Warrior to Watch: Monta Ellis, who figures to attack his fellow Jackson, Mississippi native Williams all night.

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PostThoughts

Boy, LeBron James is somebody. On certain nights, it looks like he's the best player on the floor at absolutely everything. Well, okay, his jumper wasn't firing tonight. But, man alive.

An admirably dogged effort by the Warriors. We got zero minutes from Anthony Randolph, only eleven minutes from Turiaf (X-rays negative, thank whoever for small favors), and thirteen minutes from Andris Biedrins that we'd gladly have given back. And yet we had a shot to tie in the final seconds, against one of the league's premier teams. You can't be too down on an also-ran team after a performance like that.

So this should not be interpreted as criticism. We're not blaming anyone for what happened here; we're just reflecting on it. Tonight, we are witnesses, not analysts... art lovers, not art critics. The two most vivid pieces we saw:

Monta Ellis getting blocked four times in sixty-six seconds. Tonight, we shan't judge the wisdom of our offense. Perhaps fate forces us to send this tiny man into a sea of large men ad nauseam; perhaps this is, indeed, the best we can do. If so, this world is a cold and miserable place indeed, for the pathos here was excruciating. Every smack of the ball sounded like a frail young Mississippian hitting his basketball ceiling. Every shot of Monta's glazed-over eyes reeked of a young man whose struggles have unmoored him from reality. This was a scathing sequence.

LeBron James quietly murdering us in the low post. In the fourth quarter, the game's most electrifying player turned deadly dull. He recognized that we were fielding a tiny lineup, he worked his way toward the hoop, and he had his satisfaction, cruelly and repeatedly. Oracle onlookers were alternately bored and repulsed. We at home, however, saw this for what it was: a genius recognizing the limits of his art. LeBron is more capable of extemporaneous, creative basketball than almost any creature that has ever graced this planet. And yet, when the situation was simple, he chose to simplify himself. He attacked his opponent's weaknesses over and over and over again. Entertainment lost. The Cavaliers won.

You'll sometimes hear it said that a loss can haunt a team. In the traditional sense, the saying doesn't apply to this game in the slightest -- that a great team outlasted us should inspire neither shock nor shame. But on a visceral level, tonight's contest may linger... the repeated failure of our star; the relentless accomplishment of theirs. On a given evening, the membrane that separates the good teams from the bad teams can be gossamer-thin or impenetrably thick. Tonight, somehow, it was both.