Bill Plaschke recently wrote these lines of poetry about Pau Gasol after game 1 of the playoffs. Well, now it’s crunch time (second round) and what happens? The big Spanish baby had a bad game. This is only half his latest column because I can only deal with so many one sentence paragraphs of fruity sportswriting.
Did you see the craziness of the video-game highlight, Kobe Bryant 2008, a toss against the backboard that he caught for a dunk?
Kobe Bryant 2008 is a “video-game highlight”? Huh? Anyway, yes, I saw that play.
Did you feel the floor burns of those three steals, Grand Theft Basketball 2008, consecutive heists in the final minutes?
So we’re working a video game theme I see. Plaschke, you creative dog. I hope there’s some Ikari Warriors worked into the conclusion.
Did you hear the Lakers come back from a 10-point deficit midway through the fourth quarter Friday night to silence the head-throbbing noise and nearly trash the best home court in basketball?
"We could have won this game," Lamar Odom said, shaking his head.
But the story was what you didn't see.
The moral was what you couldn't feel.
The outcome was due, in part, to what you could barely hear.
Could this guy be any more fucking full of himself?
Faced with the most intense, physical postseason game of his career, late-season giant Pau Gasol shrank to an indiscernible size in the Lakers' 104-99 loss to the Utah Jazz at EnergySolutions Arena.
With their first loss in seven postseason games, the Lakers weren't the only ones to reveal their spring mortality.
Gasol, a novice in these deeper waters, proved he also can sink.
Handed its first real test of June-worthiness, that great basketball brain flunked.
Faced with its first playoff adversity, that gentle smile became a whine.
Jarred for the first time with playoff desperation, those beautiful passes were junked.
I left that all in there, uninterupted, so that you can see the horrendousness of the prose.
Can you all say it with me?
JUST FUCKING SPIT IT OUT. Plaschke’s biggest fault is that he feels the need to say the same thing over and over again.
Instead of getting to the point, he stinks up the joint.
Thank you, thank you. I'll be on page 3 of LA Times Sports any time now.
And so forth. "It was loud," Gasol said. "It was intense."
Unacceptable! You aren’t suppose to feel intensity, or hear the crowd. You can only relax your calm eyes on the rim and sink jumper after jumper.
In his tired eyes you could see the confirmation of one more sentence.
No you couldn’t. You couldn’t see anything in his eyes. You’re making that up and using his eyes as some sort of literary device to make another faux poignant, obvious, crappy observation.
It was awful.
I hear you brother. I saw that in his eyes too.
For the first time in this postseason, Gasol did not dress in the crowded visiting locker area afterward, instead retrieving his clothes and dressing in a quieter spot in the back.
THAT, has meaning. I mean, like, wow! Right? Crazy shit. I mean, dressed in a quieter spot? There's so much going on there. I think that should be the name of Gasol's biography.
It was precisely that way in the game.
I know right. I mean, that was the meaning that I saw from it too. This is awesome. I’m thinking like Bill Plaschke now.
Did you notice Gasol sipping his coffee this morning with his pinky in the air? I see another flop in game 4.
Suddenly, if the Lakers aren't careful with their two-games-to-one lead, it could be that way for the rest of the summer.
I’m sorry, Bill? You lost me. It could be WHAT WAY? Like they were dressing in quiet spots instead of in the dressing room. All summer?
"I can do much better," Gasol acknowledged.
On that shot, he was perfect.
In a game in which Utah's two big men combined for 49 points, he scored 12.
Fucking failure. I mean – he should have hit so many more than 6 of his 10 shots.
In a game that featured 37 Lakers free throws, he didn't get to the foul line once.
It’s because he’s a giant passive pussy. I mean – he took 5 free throws a game in the regular season. Now he takes none. That can only be because he was afraid of getting hit like a little girly girl. What’s the matter – they don’t have hard fouls back in Spain? Go back to soccer you pussy.
No, wait. Knitting! Knit me a sweater “Pau-ssy”.
In a game that featured many touches in 40 minutes, he had just one assist.
Many touches! I hadn’t even realized that. Here I was, watching the game….and not noticing all of these non-assist creating touches.
Okay this got boring a while ago.