The year Wimbledon stayed green

Image: Julian Finney/Getty images

As a teenager I looked forward to two events each year more than anything else. One was Christmas and the other was Wimbledon.

I looked forward to Wimbledon because I was about as nerdish as a tennis-playing teen could get, and grass court tennis was my text book.

I looked forward to Christmas because that nerdiness would be satisfied through the gift of a Stefan Edberg tracksuit.

Yes, the presents (if you were lucky) food and sneaking of underage booze was all well and good, but for a period between 1988 and 1993 the new Edberg outfit defined Christmas for me.

My parents must have had an Edberg only account at the local sports store, because that is all I wanted as a gift, which is lucky because at the ludicrously inflated sports gear price it was all I was going to get.

He was my hero.

Edberg’s symphonically smooth grass court play had such a formative effect on me that without it I would certainly not be the tennis-obsessed man I am today.

I would often wear my Edberg inspired warm-up suit as I stayed up watching him try (sometimes in vain) to ward off that other handy serve-volleyer in Boris Becker.

Wimbledon has always been that most quaint and polite of sporting contests, where every man in the crowd seemed decked out in Panama hats trying vainly to keep the rare English sun off their face, while the ladies used their programs to fan themselves while all heads shifted back and forth following the fluffy, bright yellow ball.

And before players decided that performing their best Screaming Jay Hawkins impersonation seemed appropriate each time they hit a ball, it was the most quiet of events.

A place where the squeak and scrape of tennis shoes was replaced with the almost beautifully deadened sound of sneakers on grass, grass that from the moment it appeared on your television screen behind ‘Newk’s’ Cheshire Cat-like smile almost dazzled you with its greenness.

But over the course of the tournament Edberg and his fellow net-rushing raiders would forge white worn paths to the Wimbledon nets, all in the hope of picking off a kick serve-effected, looping return with a backhand volley into the opposite corner.

This white path was the main indicator to how deep into the tournament the match was occurring, and the deeper you got the more grass court tennis you saw.

It was a style so different to that which was played just a week or so earlier on the Paris clay, and it spoke volumes to the diversity of style in the sport.

Fast-forward to 2013 and not even the English Channel can separate the players from their French Open style.

Recent Wimbledons have stood out less for a player’s stellar net and traditional grass court play, and more for a player’s ability in clay court-style lateral baseline scrambles.

Wimbledon tournaments that included players like Edberg, Becker, Navratilova, Graf, Rafter, Sampras now seem like odes to a bygone era, when grass court tennis was an art form and players used the whole of a court, rather than merely the baseline in between the doubles tracks, to beat an opponent.

This years Wimbledon seems to have exposed the lack of grass court experience professionals are afforded, and it’s the absence of the hitherto white tracks leading to the net on centre court that gives this away.

Those that get to the hallowed Wimbledon net greet it like a sinister stranger, and maybe it is this fear of the unknown that causes panic and a sudden shift on unworn slippery grass.

The net snares another unprepared victim.

Like an unused bushwalking track, those white paths have not reappeared and the evidence of how to get from the baseline to the net has vanished.

Wimbledon now starts and ends green.

Many are blaming this greenness on the spate of injuries and big name loses that plagued the early rounds, like an unforgiving environment swallowing up ill-prepared explorers.

Wimbledon is not only a major, but it is also one of only eight tournaments that is still played on this most traditional of surfaces, and it’s the apparent slow death of supporting grass court events that will see Wimbledon even more isolated on its sea of green, leaving even less traditional grass court tennis.

The game is certainly not the same and the job of Wimbledon’s centre court curator just keeps getting easier.

'Now's The Time' for Jackson Bird

Here's hoping Bird can blow a few English wickets away

With a name like Jackson Bird, there are so many word plays and analogies you could riff on. There’s ‘a Bird in the hand is worth two English wickets’ or ‘Jackson’s 5-for’, to name just a couple.

But my favourite, and perhaps most appropriate, references the 1940’s Jazz great, Charlie ‘Bird’ Parker.

The baggy greens have already had one supporting fast bowler linked by name to a famous jazzman. So I wonder, could Jackson Bird put a beat on England and become our next Dizzy Gillespie?

I have no idea if Jackson Bird enjoys jazz, or whether or not he has heard of the likes of Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk or indeed Charlie Parker.

If his musical interests are cut from the traditional moulds of the Australian cricket team, he will no doubt espouse the virtues of pub rock, be able to monkishly recite the lyrics to Khe Sanh and believe the Choirboys never got the recognition they fully deserved.

But metaphorically, and perhaps literally, Bird has more in common with the smooth and subtle jazz greats than howling Aussie rockers.

On a superficial level, Parker’s nickname, ‘Yardbird’, or more commonly ‘Bird’, is an obvious starting point.

And then there’s the fact that Charlie Parker played with, and for a time was mentored by, Dizzy Gillespie, a name not unfamiliar within baggy green circles.

But more importantly, Charlie Parker was a formidable and precocious talent. From the first time people saw ‘Bird’ on stage, his potential to become one of the greats was barely questioned.

Jackson Bird has himself proven a formidable and precocious talent. In just two first class seasons, Bird has taken 101 wickets at 19. Perhaps even more impressive is that in 37 innings, he has taken four or more wickets on 13 occasions.

And when Bird graduated from the dark jazz club underground of domestic cricket into the shining spotlight of nationally televised performance, he played with the precision and accuracy that bellied the nerves he must have felt.

Charlie Parker hit every note pitch perfect and on time, a rhythmic ability that saw subtle shifts in his progressions seem like monumental swings.

Jackson Bird hits the pitch at seemingly perfect points, a rhythmic ability that sees subtle shifts in his actions seem like monumental swing.

Parker was smooth and metronomic, and mesmerised those that stood before him.

Bird is smooth and metronomic, and can mesmerise batsmen that face him.

He has only played two Tests but his record of 11 wickets at 16 and the way in which he gained it, was mighty impressive. He bowled tight and hit a consistently worrying length. (Though admittedly, these results came at the expense of a somewhat overpowered Sri Lankan team.)

The 2013 Ashes tour sees Bird get the opportunity to cement his place in an Australian team crying out for stability and consistency, something he can surely offer.

One of my favourite ‘Bird’ tunes is titled ‘Now’s The Time’, and for his Australian cricketing namesake, this song rings very true.

His time is now and Bird’s bid for a Test berth begins with the coming tour match against Worcester.

If Bird delivers a typically accurate and miserly performance in his opening tour match, it will be very difficult for selectors to ignore him and his metronomic action, one that is potentially so well suited to Anglo conditions.

In this regard, he has inevitably (maybe unfortunately) been hailed as the second coming of another Australian cricket bird, the one more specifically known as ‘pigeon’; Glenn McGrath.

McGrath, along with Shane Warne, is increasingly becoming a messianic figure in Australian cricket. Players we all hope will be somehow reincarnated and return to lead our bat-wielding band into the next era of success.

But in the words of a true jazzman, Bird is his own man, man. He won’t have the same greatest of all time support that McGrath so often enjoyed at the opposite end. He will likely be better suited to a supporting role, much like Dizzy before him.

And like the great saxophonist, Australia will hope Jackson locks into a groove that seldom falls out of time, tapping a beat that resembles the fluttering hearts of English batsmen as Bird helps blow their wickets away.

LeBron James defends a championship, becomes a legend

Arm wrestle anyone? He'll win that too

Even before the Heat’s game 7 victory over the Spurs, LeBron James had done all there is to do on a basketball court. He is a four-time league MVP, NBA champion and finals MVP, nine-time all-star and two-time Olympic gold medalist. King James has been a champion for a long time.

But the leadership and heroics James displayed by leading his Heat team to a stirring title defence means LeBron has now become something even greater.

LeBron James is now a legend.

A lot of neutrals who were watching the final 7 games of this NBA season would have hoped that the underdogs San Antonio Spurs would upset the man that was responsible for the ‘decision’ (something even the departing NBA commissioner David Stern found deplorable) and who publicly proclaimed that he would see Miami win eight titles (something that is now admittedly well in play!).

Even though his none-too-insignificant abilities are worthy of respect, it is still very difficult to root for the man.

However, one can do nothing but applaud the greatest basketball player on the planet for absorbing the most executive, analytical, expert and armchair criticisms that have ever been thrown at an individual, and using them as motivation to win back-to-back NBA titles.

LeBron and coach Eric Spoelstra will, to their credit, divert the inevitable attention that will fall on the efforts of James back to the all- round team performance, which was admittedly mighty.

But make no bones about it, this is Lebron’s team; and without his super hero efforts in game 6 and 7, the Larry O’Brien trophy would now be covered with the fingerprints of Duncan, Popovich and Parker.

This is not to belittle the other member of Miami’s roster. But the fact is that even LeBron’s teammates know the above statement to be true, as was evidenced in the team’s joyous reaction to their leader’s MVP award.

To the man, they are no doubt grateful for participating on the King’s court.

As rightfully as LeBron was roundly and deservedly cut down for the strange 2011 finals effort and subsequent defeat, he just as deservedly needs all the plaudits one can meter out where this Heat victory is concerned.

The NBA uses the word ‘Big’ as the tag in its advertising campaign accompanied by footage of NBA stars making ‘big’ plays.

For next season, James’s stat lines from the final two elimination games of this absorbing finals series need only accompany ‘Big’. We will all know what the NBA is getting at.

James’ game 6 and 7 performances were, considering the stakes, the biggest and most effective of his career.

Last year, Miami faced a young OKC Thunder team that wilted on the big stage and under the weight of a combined big three effort. This year, Miami faced a ‘big boy’ series, as Spurs coach Gregg Popovich coined it.

This was no place for a champion with anxiety and confidence issues, something that was alluded to in 2011 and was seemingly apparent during LeBron’s game 3 and 5 efforts this year.

But on consecutive nights, with their season and ‘legacy’ on the line, the ‘big three’ was the group wilting as it was often reduced to a ‘big two’, and James was called upon to carry the load.

For example, game 6 saw Chris Bosh come up with some game-saving plays while Wade was quiet. In game 7, the big man laid a goose egg on offence and was barely visible in defence, while Wade came on with 23 points and vital rebounds.

And while these schizophrenic performances were going on around him, LeBron held his nerve to play two of the most ‘clutch’ games seen in finals history.

Cometh the hour, cometh the King.

But despite the heroics, one cannot ignore how easily it all could have been catastrophically different for James and the Heat.

Indeed, the closeness with which the Spurs came to recording a famous finals victory could now be used in any dictionary, referenced under ‘near miss’.

There has been much analysis of every Spurs play that occurred in that extraordinary final 22 seconds of regulation game 6.

Ginobilli and Leonard’s free throw misses are stand-outs, as was the failure of the Spurs to secure rebounds that led to LeBron’s late second chance three-pointer and that shot by Ray Allen.

But as the excellent Zach Lowe points out in this amazing Grantland piece, there are many incidents that occur throughout a basketball game that all have equal bearing on an outcome.

Lowe reminds us that no one event can ever be blamed for defeat.

But Tony Parker will no doubt go over that final second drive in game 6, Ginobili will no doubt stew over that no call, and from game 7, Tim Duncan will be haunted by his point blank miss to tie the game with 30 seconds to go.

Had any of these moments gone the way of the Spurs, we could now be talking about James and the Heat’s legacy being under threat, along with the potential break up of the ‘big three’.

The fact that we are not has much to do with the efforts of a champion and, in turn, the creation of a legend.

Hey LeBron, don't hide, be Hyde!

LeBron James was true to his word and game 4 saw the best player on earth reaffirm that infinitely grand title by following through on the brilliantly understated promise of being ‘much better ‘.

In the Heat’s road win over the Spurs, James’s stat line (33pts, 11 boards, 4 dimes, 2 steals and 2 blocks) stood out like a beacon of truth, shaming the all too real lie that he told in game 3.

But if the tone of Miami’s 2013 playoff run continues in the same key, it’s the turn of mere adequate LeBron to reappear from the devastatingly long shadow that was cast by unstoppable LeBron of game 4.

There has been much talk of James’ Jekyll and Hyde type performances over the past few games.
Inconsistency and a willingness to settle for 18 foot jumpers before game 4 had reminded everyone of that unfortunate and baffling finals performance of 2011.

LeBron’s ‘worst’ performance in these finals thus far came in the game 3 blow out loss where James had 15-11-5-2, passable enough numbers for any ordinary player.

But of course LeBron aint no ordinary player, and these numbers were jumped on as signs of a failing superstar unable to carry his teammates to victory.

The points came on 7-21 from the field and did not include a single free throw, more polite Dr Jekyll than angry Mr Hyde and very un-James like.

These criticisms maybe warranted but it also fails to pay due respect to the stifling defence played by the Spurs, personified by Danny Green and his impersonations of Gandalf from Lord of the Rings.

Thou shalt not pass indeed!

Unfortunately for San Antonio they were so effective in shutting down the Heat’s big 3 in game 3 that it seemed the catalyst Miami needed to unleash a devastating game 4 vengeance.

Much like the Ghostbusters warned, if you shut it down you may not like what emerges.



James was down right vicious.

The Heat don’t need good LeBron in the style of a morally sound, merely effective Dr Jekyll from Louis Stevenson’s 19th century tale of split personality.

The Heat needs a stat stuffing, all court monster angry at what has gone on before and desperate to make someone pay.

Mr Hyde in a Heat jersey.

LeBron did that in Game 4 and has now vowed to Hyde up again in game 5 by stating ‘enough is enough’ – it’s time for King James’ merry men to once again win back to back games in this see sawing Miami Heat post season.

To do this he will need Chris Bosh and Dwayne Wade to again answer the call.

In game 4 Bosh was the player the Heat constantly need him to be, spacing a well drilled Spurs defence and bringing his more than capable yet often mysteriously missing defensive skills to the fore.

Wade also stepped out of his bizarre funk.

We don’t know what the issue was with Wade’s form over the first three games of this finals series, but its safe to say that if he reproduces his Game 4 heroics of 32 pts 6 steals 6 boards and 4 assists, the Heat will be harder to beat than a concrete piñata.

But there in lies the challenge for coach Spoelstra and his side.

The Heat have not won back to back games since their second round series against a depleted Chicago Bulls. And for a team that recorded a franchise record 27 straight regular season wins the up and down nature of this recent stint must be nauseating.

A lot is being made of the must win situation that the Spurs find themselves in going into today’s game 5. And its true, heading back to Miami having to win both road games to secure the title seems unlikely even for such a storied fight filled franchise.

But based on the pattern of the Heat’s recent post-season play the same ‘must win’ pressure could also be weighing heavily on Miami.

This makes LeBron’s split basketballing personalities and the performances of his fellow big three members even more vital, and today’s game all the more intriguing.

Hello Spurs; Is It Danny Green You're looking For?

Has anyone seen these two in the same room?

During Game two of this NBA finals series a friend made the throw away remark about San Antonio Spurs sharp shooter Danny Green’s resemblance to the 80s crooner Lionel Richie.

Sure, I conceded, both men have ill conceived facial hair and a seemingly unflappable disposition. But for me that’s where the physical similarities end (though I have no way of knowing the breadth of Green’s singing talent).

However if you are talking metaphorical similarities, well I got a list of them longer than Lionel Richie’s hair care bill.

For starters Richie had plenty of hits, Dancing on the Ceiling, Hello and Three Times a Lady to name but a few.

But during the game three blow out win over the Heat Richie’s dubious basketballing doppelganger Danny Green rewrote a version of an even bigger hit in All Night Long.

The only music he used was the sound from snapping nets as Green rained down three after three after three all night long against a bewildered Miami audience.

While many of Richie’s pop hits are, in this writers humble opinion, at best insipid and at worst nauseatingly saccharine, Green’s stop and pop three point daggers have for Spurs fans been equivalent to anthemic renditions of inspiring war cries.

Danny Green has arrived in this series, shooting a blistering 70% from 3-point range on the way to averaging 18 points during this finals series, up from 10.5 during the regular season.

Belying the Spurs big three, Green may well prove the vital spark the Spurs need to catch fire in their search for a fifth NBA title.

For the past few games Green, along with Gary Neal, has picked up the scoring slack that a literally hamstrung Tony Parker and a quiet Tim Duncan let sag for the second game in a row.

Neal and Green scored 51 of the Spurs 113 points total on a combined 13-19.

It was Neal and Green, not Parker and Duncan, who were the Spurs in the Heats side early on, catching and shooting with a deadly accuracy not seen since Pat Garrett patrolled the Texan prairies.

While Neal caught fire early Green waited until the second half to meter out his 3-point blitzkrieg, eventually finishing with a game high 27 points on 7-9 from beyond the arc.

But for all the razzle-dazzle while shooting the lights out, arguably Green’s greatest contributions have come on the defensive end.

His ability to stay with a gliding Wade or bullocking LeBron has much to do with the Heats naval gazing on their stuttering running game and public discussions on how best to combat a stifling and frugal defence.

While no one should doubt the likelihood of a LeBron led resurgence in game four his and the Heat’s performance thus far has alarmingly resembled the most ineffectual aspects of the series loss to the Mavericks in 2011.

Any time James is found settling for 18 foot wing jumpers is concerning for a team that relies on its star dominator doing exactly that from 10 feet and closer.

James is at his most devastating when attacking the paint, but apart for a desperately brief period during the third quarter of game three this mode of attack was non existent.

Ominously, LeBron has vowed to be better in game four.

The scary part for San Antonio is they know he can’t be much worse, a point that seems unfair to make about a player whose game included 15 points, 11 rebounds five assists and two steals, respectable statistics for any mere NBA mortal.

But Superman has proved on many occasions to be more than that, and right now the Heat need a super hero to once again inspire a performance that will come off the back of a curiously lacklustre post season effort.

Meanwhile, the Greg Popovich legend continues to grow.

Gary Neal and Danny Green, along with Kawhi Leonard, have become the latest personifications of the clichéd Spurs ‘system’ that is so ardently spruiked by coach ‘Pop’.

Popovich has carved out a sizeable reputation by taking unwanted, lowly or undrafted role players and turning them into essential, bona fide contributors.

It is a system that often sees San Antonio anointed the standard bearer to NBA small market success. Players are required to ‘buy’ into a culture of all for one and one for all, and are recruited on their willingness to do so.

Fittingly the leaders of this misfit band of bit part players have been the Spurs own version of the three musketeers.

For 12 years Messrs’ Ginobili, Parker and Duncan have guided less illustrious teammates through the rigours of an NBA season, and have three championships as reward.

They are now two games away from a fourth.

If Greg Popovich ever thought to give up coaching basketball he may well think of taking up marriage counselling, such is his success in marrying players like Danny Green and his fellow unheralded heroes to the Spurs system.

San Antonio is once again reaping the rewards of a relationship born on trust and perseverance., and come this time next week they may once again be Dancing in the Street.

Durant A Superhero, But Not Super Human

'Holy snapped meniscus Batman!'

Much has been written about Kevin Durant’s recent superhero efforts in keeping his Oklahoma City Thunder team within striking distance of the Memphis Grizzlies in their western conference semi final series.

But Kevin Durant is not superman; he is far more human than that.

No, if we are going to hyperbolise his wonderful, yet so far futile, efforts with super hero epithets I’m much more comfortable with a Batman comparison where Durant is concerned.

In the world of super heroes Batman is unique.

He has no superpowers, no strange skills developed after being bitten by a particular insect or hit by a nuclear ray gun, nor any supernatural ability to control the elements.

Batman has his muscle, his intellect and the skills he has learnt. Batman is fallible to emotion and can be, with great difficulty, contained. Batman is human and adjusts to situations accordingly.

And in Robin, Batman also has willing and capable sidekick who always has the dark knight’s back. 
He has the ability to keep bad guys guessing with quick decisions that defer the attention away from his more illustrious partner.

Kevin Durant is OKC’s Batman, and Russell Westbrook is their Robin.

Despite the well-publicised and controversial trade of fan favourite James Harden, the dynamic duo of Durant and Westbrook led the Thunder to a 60-win season, a record bettered only by the champion Miami Heat.

The two had seemingly worked their on-court relationship into a cohesive marriage that helped settle a Thunder family still trying to come to terms with the loss of a favourite son in Harden.

Kevin Martin was adopted as Harden’s replacement, and while his skill set was deemed somewhat inferior to the bearded swingman, his offensive production was seen as an adequate enough fall back for the exploits of OKC’s superhero pairing.

The 2013 season was all going to plan until ‘holy torn meniscus, batman’, Westbrook got injured (Westbrook had not missed a competitive game of basketball in high school, college or five years in the NBA; truly a superhuman effort!).

Aside from the significant 23 points, 7 assists and 5 rebounds he was giving in production, Westbrook would be sorely missed as being the fall back guy, the effective sidekick to Kevin Durant’s scoring superhero.

He could divert the attention of any teams defence, freeing up Durant to either play facilitator or receiver, or vice versa.

But Batman is now on his own and in the absence of his lightning quick sidekick, Durant has stepped up production and borne a much heavier load.

Kevin Durant wanted to do more for his Thunder teammates. Indeed Kevin Durant needed to more for his Thunder teammates.

So it is certainly a strange situation when a player who is averaging 32 points, 9 boards and 6 assists in a series needed to find even more if they were to win.

But for all his ludicrous ability and otherworldly play during this playoff series against the Grizzlies, it is these very efforts that have highlighted the Thunder’s current deficiencies.

Towards the end of their previous series, ironically against the lost son James Harden’s Houston Rockets, it was already becoming increasingly difficult to see where the support would be for the Thunder’s scoring champion.

In the past, if teams had shut out both Westbrook and Durant, Harden would ably step in to fill the vacuum with his talent for shot creation and facilitation often proving a lethal combination.

Oh how General Manager Sam Presti must now want his own time machine like Uncle Rico in ‘Napoleon Dynamite’.

But Harden is gone and Westbrook is on crutches, so surely someone else could help out?

Aforementioned Martin is a scorer and a reliable perimeter shooter, but in terms of creating his own shot he is an artist that is devoid of ideas, an issue that has come to the fore since Westbrook’s absence.

The Thunder big man Serge Ibaka, a player averaging 13 points per game in the regular season, has been as cold as a mother-in-law’s kiss throughout the first three games. He has even found a way to miss his stock-in-trade under-the-ring lay ups and 12-foot jumpers.

Durant could be forgiven for thinking the Joker himself was at play; such has been comedic efforts of many of his teammates.

But Durant also must lay claim to some of the blame.

His shot selection and ball control late in Game 4 overtime left much to be desired. He turned the ball over at a crucial stage in Game 4 overtime trying to force a shot that probably was not there.

But even these criticisms must be tempered with the uniqueness of Durant’s situation.

It can be argued that these late game issues could all lead back to the fact Durant is a man trying to be everything to everyone on this team.

The Grizzlies know this and played Durant out of his comfort zone, trusting in his teammates’ lack of confidence to step up and get the job done.

Unfortunately for Durant OKC now find themselves in 1-3 hole against a Grizzlies team who pride themselves on tough defence and sharing the ball on the offensive end.

Durant has been a superhero so far in this series, though a mere mortal can only do so much. Unfortunately for him it will now take a super human effort to see his team through and keep their title hopes alive.

A Sweet and Soward Relationship

Soward looking.... well sour.  source: Daily Telegraph

On any given Sunday a successful St George-Illawarra side is met with a slew of witty and cheeky slogans held aloft on the hills of Jubilee and Win Stadiums.

One of the most prominent, simple and eloquently constructed reads ‘Sweet and Soward’.
Right now that sign drips with a sweet and sour irony.

The banner, held up as support for the soon to be former Dragons five-eighth’s sweet play, could also represent the soured relationship the premiership winning half must now have with a club he only recently vowed to never play against.

Penrith fans will now want written confirmation of Jamie’s availability before every Dragons v Panthers game, because Soward is now a chocolate soldier, liquorice all sort, a Panther.

I must admit, Soward’s exit from the Dragons took me by surprise; seldom do clubs let go of premiership players without putting up a fight.

The apparent lack of enthusiasm shown by club chiefs in negotiating Soward’s contract is a sad way for what was a beautiful and fruitful relationship to end.

To be wanted by a club you love and offered the money you know you deserve must be a fulfilling and proud experience; so to be obviously unwanted by a club you love must be heartbreaking.

Soward was a player maligned by opposition fans but taken under the wing of the Dragon faithful through his obvious passion for a team that allowed him that most Australian of tropes; a fair go.

He was a huge factor in the Dragons run to the 2010 title under the guidance of Wayne Bennett. Soward’s style of play was masterfully worked into a Bennett system that saw his considerable strengths in kicking and organising come glowingly to the fore.

During those heady Bennett days Soward’s confidence grew on the back of a coach’s belief and a playing style tailor-made for his abilities.

In that brief, Bennett-run era success seemed omnipresent.

Soward, as the team’s number six, could rightfully lay claim to a significant slice of the winners’ pie. An influential player in a team feeding success to two merged clubs that had been starved of the ultimate prize.

But now the affair is over, and a new suitor from the southern climes is about to ride into Dragon town to assume the role as saviour of the big red V.

The tone of Dragons fans’ reactions to Soward’s departure is one of the strangest aspects to this episode of an unfortunately-timed annual horse-trading season the NRL refuses to fix.

(Surely a rule should be brought in to stop mid-season signings [not trades] for the following year, an absurd and ridiculous situation embarrassingly unique to the NRL.)

Fan forums are hot bed of hyperbole, hope and more than occasionally vitriol, but the signing of Gareth Widdop from the Storm seemed to have left Dragons fans largely unmoved by the departure of Soward.

It is as if the whole exchange was viewed as a fortunate step forward; Soward representing the adequate economy class ticket, Widdop the more desirable, business class upgrade.

But is Widdop’s signing the answer or just another question in the club’s seemingly obsessive search for a long-term playmaker?

To anoint Widdop as the saviour of the Dragons much maligned and often-benign attack is at best unfair and at worst bloody minded; a potential sacrifice to the god of instant results.

Widdop may be a harder head and more willing to place it in positions of dubious safety, but he is untested as a marquee player, having spent all of his time in the NRL playing alongside Melbourne’s big three and flourishing under Craig Bellamy’s tutelage.

Widdop’s well earned and significant reputation has largely been built around his running game and a sound defence, not the sleight of hand or high class kicking game the Dragons seem to want out of skilled pivot.

The Storm five-eighth is a class player with plenty of big game experience and if any number six has a chance of making a positive impact in a new, more responsible and high-pressure role it would be the Northern Englishman/Melbournian.

But there is no doubting the challenges Widdop faces in coming to a club that seems desperate for a creative, take control kind of five-eighth.

Foremost among these challenges is the knowledge that Widdop is replacing a passionate premiership-winning player who was effectively shown the door by a club with which he felt a close affinity through the opportunities they had afforded.

Dragons’ fans obviously hope the man to slip into Soward’s vacated number six jersey will enjoy the same sweet success the head-geared pivot had wearing the red V.

If he doesn’t, the fans may see yet another great red and white hope become the victim of a soured relationship.

How I Learned To Believe In The Knicks

A friend once said to me that listening to people recount their dreams is like being stuck in an elevator with Forrest Gump; a person telling you stories about a make-believe life you know nothing about and have little care for.

But last night I had a dream that has forced me to ignore this pearl of wisdom to regale you with how I became convinced that the New York Knicks could beat the Miami Heat in the Eastern Conference Finals.

It involved former New York Knicks big man Patrick Ewing, current Knicks big man Tyson Chandler, actors from a 90′s American sitcom, a hot dog and a pair of stone washed knee length jeans.

This dream began with me sitting on a Central Park bench that was a picture of pure New York perfection.

Sucking down a chilli dog, I watched as Courtney Cox and David Schwimmer rowed a boat on the calm waters of Central Park Lake.

The charming repartee of these two TV siblings reminded me of all those zany ‘friends’ and how much I loathed that show.

I shouted something that couldn’t be repeated in a 7.30 timeslot, then looked down at my stone washed jeans that had been cut off at the knees, shrugged my shoulders and continued eating my hot dog.

Just when I thought the 90′s redux couldn’t get any more embarrassing or irrelevant, Schwimmer asked if he could have some of my hot dog.

It was about this time I almost convinced myself to wake up.

Then Patrick Ewing arrived. 

The legendary New York Knick big man of the 90′s sidled up to the bench I was sitting on, bent down and softly whispered “remember 99.”

“Why?” I asked.

He just flashed his seven-footer smile and calmly pointed in the direction of a burning Tim Hardaway Miami Heat jersey.

Reflected in the smoke haze was footage of Allan Houston’s last second game five winner from the 1999 Knicks first round playoff series victory against the Miami Heat.

That 1999 series was only the second time in NBA history that a number eight seeded playoff team (the Knicks) had defeated a number one ranked team (the Heat), and would cement the Heat versus Knicks rivalry that continues through to today.

As I looked back Ewing, ‘the beast of the east’, suddenly morphed into the modern day Knick middleman and part time fashionista Tyson Chandler.

Strange things happen in dreams, but the strangest thing was yet to come, as Tyson was about to convince me that the Knicks could beat the Heat in 2013. He did so by comparing his former team’s, the Dallas Mavericks, marvellous run to the title in 2011 with his current team, the 2013 New York Knicks.

In the 2011 finals Chandler and his Mavs defeated the first incarnation of the modern day Miami Heat and its equal parts fabled and maligned ‘big three’.
 
He waxed lyrical about a scorer of elite talent in Dirk Nowitzki, a man that at times during that 2011 series looked like he was playing alone in the yard, such was the ease with which he got his shots.
Carmelo Anthony will fill a similar role should New York meet Miami in this year’s Eastern Conference finals.

Anthony is the 2013 scoring champion and an out and out bucket filler. Like Nowitzki he has the ability to spread any defence with an innate ability to get to his spots.

Miami, like most teams, have this year found it hard to match-up on Carmelo and this will obviously be a massive plus for New York throughout any potential Miami match-up.
 
Chandler also reminded me that his teammate at the Knicks, Jason Kidd, was also a teammate during the Dallas run to the championship.

An exceptional leader, Kidd has successfully morphed himself from a pass first assist machine into spot up shooter of the highest order.

His championship experience and leadership with the Knicks second unit will be invaluable in trying to stop a Heat side that has improved markedly since that heady 2011 series.

And he saved special mention to the man known as Jet.

Jason ‘Jet’ Terry was a sixth man in name only, averaging 18 points off the bench during the 2011 finals series, and was able to create space for Dirk and others by spreading the Miami defence.
In JR Smith, a sixth man scorer averaging 18 points, the Knicks have a player that can potentially assume this Jason Terry style scoring punch off the bench.

This is provided that JR can keep a cool head and his mind on his allocated role, something that is not a given where an inked up Smith is involved.

I agreed that offensively the Knicks match-up well against the Heat, but mentioned that I thought it will be their defence that has to fire in order to check the devastating scoring ability of the Heat’s big one (LeBron) plus two (Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh).

Chandler then went on to mention something about his fashion tastes and love of capes before reminding me of his not insignificant defensive basketball ability. In fact, Chandler is probably the X-factor for New York, the biggest piece of a potentially Heat busting Knicks puzzle.

With a healthy Chandler anchoring the Knicks defence, Miami will have difficulty penetrating the paint as they did in the 2011 finals when an exceptional defensive performance by Chandler stymied the attack of the Heat.

The Heat still have no one that can effectively match-up with Chandler and will rely on LeBron and Wade’s ability to attack the rim to force the Knicks big man into foul trouble early, something the Heat have improved on since 2011.

My dream ended as David Schwimmer stole a bite from my hot dog, fashion savvy Tyson Chandler told me he liked my shorts and Ewing reappeared and asked me to “believe” as he sauntered off into the darkness past the charred remains of Tim Hardaway’s Heat jersey.

I woke up with reinforced disdain for mid 90′s sitcoms, a curious interest in rediscovering stone wash denim, a strange craving for hot dogs and a new belief that the Knicks may be the one team in the NBA that have the players, system and ability to upset LeBron and the Miami Heat.
Well, in my dreams anyway.

Could Starc Be Australia's Ironman In India?

Ironman Starc*

                         * (image has been altered i.e. Starc is not actually Ironman)
Not since a country kid from Narromine nicknamed pigeon answered the call for wickets during the then fiery furnace known as the 1994 West Indies cricket tour have Australia needed a bowling superhero to step forward and make the world take notice.

Could Mitchell Starc be that hero?

While you must win with spin if India is to be conquered, pace is not without its place.

In 2004 an Australian team that included Shane Warne, the spin king on a baked beans and vegemite toast diet, still had to rely on their pace brigade to stifle the locals and win a series in India for only the second time in 30 years.

Sure, that team included Jason Gillespie and the aforementioned Glenn McGrath, a duo considered the best Australian pace combination since Dennis Lillee and Jeff Thomson.

For better or worse, Australia’s bowling strength still lies in our pace attack.

And this is where the early damage can be done to a potentially dangerous though brittle looking Indian batting card.

And like his superhero namesake in Tony Stark, Mitchell may need to become the Ironman wicket taker of this tour.

Starc is coming off the kind of summer that pop songs are written about. It was a glaringly rose coloured, heady season where success came in all forms of the game.

The Beach Boys could not have penned a more pure summer of enjoyment.

But if Australia represents a Beach Boys sweet summer paradise for pace men, India is the atonal dark and dingy Jazz club opposite.

India in India is an entirely different, much more difficult and much less harmonious and melodic task.

The wickets will no doubt be slowed to a pace more akin to bowling on sand and the flat, low Indian conditions are as heartbreaking to quick bowlers as a flat ocean is for surfers.

Indeed India will challenge Starc and his fellow pace exponents who all, like Will Ferrel in Talladega Nights, ‘just want to go fast’.

But Michael Clarke and his fellow selectors should place Starc at the vanguard of this challenge.

Australia will need the bulk of overs and a more than fair share of wickets rotated through Xavier Doherty, Nathan Lyon and Glenn Maxwell or Steve Smith.

Though Australia still need an effective initial attack that could hopefully make early inroads into a batting line-up that has recently done its best Violet Crumble impersonations when faced with the Aussie quicks.

It’s the way bowlers shatter batsmen that matters and Starc as the Australian Ironman should be given a chance at the first hammer blow.

The flat decks of the sub continent will not let balls out of their dusty grasp without back breaking effort, but Starc’s natural combination of height and pace should still have an early effect and rattle many top order bats.

And as Ian Chappell has pointed out, Starc’s natural movement into right-handed batsmen will trouble the likes of the erratically brilliant Virender Sehwag and the rising Virat Kohli. These are two players that Australia need to keep in check if they are to keep India’s totals from resembling Sydney housing prices.

But Australia also needs a pure wicket taker, and at the moment Starc is possibly the most dangerous one they have.

A lot will depend on the ability of Starc to get the voodoo-esque mystery of reverse swing happening in his favour, not to mention the small matter of being selected in this bowler rotating, trigger happy world we live.

But if he does get on the park, as I believe he should, he could be the one to call out the ‘win with spin’ truism as the lie Australia need it to be.

This current series in India looms as a challenging litmus test for Mitchell Starc. And if successful it could define the career trajectory of one of Australia’s most exciting pace prospects.

The Look of LeBron

LeBron steps back to shoot over KD. Image ESPN

LeBron James has many game faces. There’s the ‘wow, you call that a foul’ face, the ‘wow, you didn’t call that a foul' face, the ‘wow, you really shouldn’t guard me’ face and the most common ‘wow, did I just make that inhumanly awesome shot…. again?’ face.

But in the recent show down with Kevin Durant’s Oklahoma City Thunder LeBron produced one face that this writer has never seen.

It came towards the end of the second quarter of a contest that had already become as flat and tasteless as a fat free rice cracker.

Like said cracker the Thunder had crumbled under the weight of basketballs most immense talent and would never pick up the crumbs.

The face? Well it appeared after James hit a step back jumper over Kevin Durant with 1:40 to go in the quarter.

The look said ‘this is normal! Its just what I do’ and it marked the evolution of the most dangerous side to a Superman that for all intents and purposes could come from another universe, such is his current level of play.

If opponents hoped that LeBron’s kryptonite would prove to be complacency, born out of a comfort for delivering Miami the promised keys to the NBA Kingdom, the evidence of this recent form suggests they will be left hopeless.

The face I saw was of a player who not only believes in his ability, but also  believes that this ability has plenty of improving to do.

Complacency does not live in King James’ castle.

And this was no performance made against an also ran team looking for a free seat at the draft lottery.

This was King James’ schooling the heir apparent, the ‘Durantula’ as he is known, who is desperately trying to set up his band of Thunder marauders for an attempted invasion of the Kingdom.

But the title that LeBron and the rest of his merry men from Miami guard with such suffocating efficiency will not be conquered without a King James like immortal effort.

It is an effort that right now seems beyond Durant and the Thunder, as well as just about every other pretender in the NBA.

Like upstart little siblings the entire league is literally being held at an arms length by an overbearing and more gifted big brother.

Individually LeBron is kidding everyone, even himself, with the ease he is scoring, passing and defending.

LeBron glides around the court doing literally everything with such dominant ease that to call basketball second nature is to sell his ability short. He is leading his team in points, rebounds, assists, steals and field goal percentage

Basketball is first nature to James.

As Matt Dollinger, writing in Sports Illustrated, so succinctly puts it ‘Miami's shortcomings become irrelevant when LeBron is playing like this.’

Miami’s shortcomings are several, but most of them are negligible when the teams best player is playing in such a rarefied air he could be in danger of suffocating.

At present James is proving as un-guardable as Steve McQueen in the Great Escape, in fact an army may be the only way to confine King James and his Heat teammates as he leads them towards another NBA title.

The ‘this is normal! Its just what I do’ face was so dangerous in its intensity that upon witnessing it another face of inevitability flashed before my eyes.

While its still too early to be sure, that vision looked a lot like LeBron’s ‘wow, we just won it all…again!’ face reflected in the Larry O'Brien trophy.

A Masters Last Blast?

My wife (middle left of the screen, not the dude in the singlet) celebrating India's World Cup win in 2011.

From standing on the outside looking in there seems 3 major foundations that the current Indian test team will build around during the coming series against Australia.

The first is the characteristic tortoise paced pitches. These graveyards are littered with the exhausted bones of pace men both past and present and the Indians hope they will have enough space for a few more.

The second is Harbhajan taking wickets, which he does so against Australia with particular aplomb (as well as doing or saying something irritating. Or both!)

The third is Sachin Tendulkar.

Unfortunately for both Indian and world cricket it seems that one of these pillars is crumbling faster than said sub continental pitches, and it’s not Harbhajan’s wicket taking ability.

Last summer Tendulkar arrived in Australia amidst a fever hotter than a murg saagwala.

The anticipation of the little masters looming 100^th hundred drew out fans from all over the nation. People would pack their cricket lunches over conversations on whether or not today would be the day.

Those conversations went on for 4 months and were never satisfied.

Tendulkar, while not statistically failing in the series, nonetheless failed to reach a career milestone in a significant cricketing contest for what seemed to be the first time (it must be reminded that he subsequently made his 100^th hundred in a ODI versus Bangladesh.)

And while the excitement may have outstripped the potential achievement, the disappointment in Tendulkar’s inability to deliver in one of crickets highest profile contests hinted at what hard times lay ahead.

Like a waning Kung Fu master still trying to see off a younger apprentice, 2012 may prove to be the year Tendulkar’s stone was finally taken from his hand.

From January through to December last year Tendulkar averaged just 22 runs in 16 innings, a record that is hard to draw comparisons to because there has seldom been a top order player that has survived long enough to have one similar.

But there has seldom been a player like Tendulkar and this is precisely why he continues to play.

India will never drop the man considered the greatest since Bradman. And his overall career statistics and public popularity suggests doing so would be akin to sacking Santa Claus.

But eventually even Santa Claus is shown up to be to a figment of your imagination, and you move on with memories of the good times that no longer exist.

Tendulkar’s form has gone the way of a memory, one that has been lost for a while and that all of India would dearly love to regain. But on current form this seems as unlikely as Harbhajan keeping his rather pointed opinions to himself.

Tendulkar has exceeded 30 runs just once since January of last year. Less a dry spell than a full-blown Martian drought. As alien a predicament that Tendulkar has ever found himself in.

And while you could never write off a player who has made more centuries than anyone else, this recent record suggests Tendulkar may be heading towards a similar elongated, heartbreaking and inevitable end as that of Australia’s own grand master, Ricky Ponting.

At some point in the near future Father Time’s incessant knocking on Tendulkar’s fortified door will become irresistible.

Tendulkar is a great cricketer but he is only a man amongst (younger) men.

Like Ricky Ponting before him Tendulkar’s record and contribution to Indian, and indeed global, cricket deserves more than a slow disintegration into irrelevancy.

Neil Young once sang, its better to burn out than fade away.

If this is to be Tendulkar’s final series, it would be fitting for there to be one last spark. A final burning innings the master blaster can sear onto the memories of his millions of fans.

Fear The Beard-less Thunder?

The apple of the eyes of beard fearing Rockets fans

When Oklahoma City announced in October that they were trading away their celebrated 6^th man and cult hero James Harden, more than a few eyebrows, and dare I say beards, were raised. After all ‘fear the beard’ became one of the monikers for Oklahoma’s run to 2012 NBA Finals.

Throughout last season Harden grew into a formidable scorer and facilitator that could be relied upon to create not only for himself but for others, especially those in the Thunder’s ’2^nd’ unit. His cult status was born out of a combination of this searingly effective talent and a bountiful beard, one that promised to keep Oklahoma’s novelty facial hair sellers employed for years.

However there had been rumblings from as early as 2010 that the Thunder were approaching their own version of the fiscal cliff.

Harden and fast improving big man Serge Ibaka were both coming up for contract renewals and it was correctly speculated that the Thunder would be unable to keep both on their already bulging payroll.

Indeed Harden would go on to have the kind of season that guarantees max contracts while Ibaka would also put in a solid case for a similarly ludicrous amount of cash. Who would be the one to go? Many observers, including this writer, opined that the most obvious and slightly less painful decision would be to keep Harden, and move Ibaka on.

I for one had no thoughts of Harden leaving the Thunder; there just seemed no sense in such a move. Yes Ibaka has proven elite defensive skills and an improving and evolving offensive skill set. Yes Ibaka is the kind of big man that many GM’s would sell there first born for.

But Harden was something special. An out and out offensive assassin that has the talent to lead most other teams in the NBA, but was being used with deadly effect coming off the bench behind fellow offensive killers in Durant and Westbrook.

In fact, I even believed that the Thunder may choose to offload Russell Westbrook in order to keep both Harden and Ibaka, and make a play for a competent free agent point guard that could play the role of a pass first, pass second facilitator to Harden and Durant.

All of us that thought any of these thoughts were wrong. But are we still right?

Harden did end up being traded in a ‘blockbuster’ move to the Houston Rockets that included the very good Kevin Martin landing in Thunder land to take on the scoring responsibilities vacated by the vetted bearded one. Ibaka was re-signed to a beard shakingly large contract and many of us scratched our facial hair with confusion.

Houston novelty beard sellers rejoice!

Harden was on his way to Houston riding a max deal that would see him pair up with Jeremy Lin’sanity’ and take on a starting role at the 2. For Harden it seemed like a positive move, what with a max deal and a starting role that will give him a huge amount of scoring responsibility. The beard could indeed work on being feared from the outset.

Sam Presti, the GM in Oklahoma, could have been forgiven for jumping at bearded shadows as the 2012/13 season got underway. Harden exploded out of the blocks and after 3 efforts with the Rockets was averaging the better part of 30 points and seemingly making the trade a compelling contender for Presti’s first major misstep as Thunder GM.

But it always amazes how quickly the NBA balances itself.

Harden cooled off and his combination with Lin began to slow down. Unfortunately for Jeremy, the sanity in his game had returned and it was his opponents doing the certifying; he was finding it harder to make those Linsane moments stick.

Meanwhile back in Thunder land, Harden’s less hairy replacement Kevin Martin was quietly providing excellent scoring options off the bench for Oklahoma, all the while watching Durant, Westbrook and Ibaka continue to make a case for a talent cap in the NBA. The Thunder have been on a role ever since (17-4 at last check) and seem to have settled nicely into the post beard fearing era.

Yet while Houston has been on a slide of late (for which the effect of the tragic circumstances surrounding coach Kevin McHale’s absence can not be overstated) it seems as though Harden and the Rockets may still come up smelling roses.

Harden has himself an $80million contract as a starting scoring guard on the youngest team in the NBA, while the Rockets have a wonderfully dynamic team leader who can be built around for years to come.

So it seems I, like many others, may be wrong on all counts. The James Harden trade looks like it will go down as one of those rarest of NBA beasts. A trade where all parties come out the other end satisfied.

The recent smiles on the faces of Thunder fans and Houston novelty beard sellers will attest to that.

On Punter



Captured while being dismissed during the first innings in Adelaide, the look on Ricky Ponting’s face seemed to belie the stoic resolution on which we have come to rely. He was awkwardly over balanced and fell in a way that seemed the personification of being out of your depth. The unfortunate scene played out much like one in backyards around Australia, the fatherly figure at the crease to yet again take on the youth of the time. He had been here before and had taken all before him. Youth has nothing on his experience.

And yet something had changed. The youngsters were a step quicker, while the elder’s skills had receded. He would no longer dominate the youth; they had finally caught the old man and had swiftly moved past. The scene is a sad one, as the once proud elder is forced to relent and admit that it is indeed ‘a young man’s game’. It was not the look of the fabled ‘Punter’, the man whose legend describes a rise out of the mean streets of back blocks Launceston to the most respected position in Australian sport, national cricket captain. It’s an image of the moment a man of sometimes pure genius is suddenly receding back to mortal status, the look of a sudden, devastating, realisation: My time is up.

This is not the way I, nor many others, want Ponting to go. No, I want Punter to go out the way he should be remembered. Not as a fatherly figure of Australian cricket, seemingly attempting to hang around with the youngsters, trying to prove to them and the public that the old guy can still mix it with the young guns. I want the Ricky Ponting of old to stand up, with straight bat and a long initial step, and flail the first ball he faces through the covers for 4. Indeed, Ponting may still be a better bat than men 10 years his junior, a fact easily proved by the storied lack of suitable replacements that are not ‘banging down the door’ of selection. But this is of little consequence when witnessing the way in which Ponting was unfortunately whisked of his feet in Adelaide. The time had come for the elder statesmen to steal himself for one last charge at the younger enemy, and then relent to father time.

 It is a relief that in Perth this week ‘punter’ has an opportunity to rediscover the often brutal pull shots that laid waste to bowlers feared by lesser talents. It is a relief, that after all that has been said, that after all that has been speculated, arguably the best Australian batsman since Bradman is able to play in a match that potentially offers so much in cementing his legend. Bill Ponsford and Greg Chappell, both giants of their eras, scored centuries in their final test matches (indeed Ponsford’s was a double). Ponting would suitably crown a prolific career if he could manage the same.  

Kurtis J Ousley

NBA: It's Baaaaack!

The NBA season is finally upon us!

Having the chance to watch the same amount of basketball as one has waking hours throws up many benefits and surprisingly few draw backs. I was reminded of this very point on a recent train trip from Sydney to Melbourne (‘hey Kurt, it aint 1865, why are you paying more to catch a 12 hour train than a 1 hour flight’ I hear you ask? Well it involves a long and irrational argument that is probably more appropriate for a blog titled Flying: it scares the shit outta me).

Anyway, while on this wonderfully laborious journey I was seated next to one of the most impressively constant talkers I’ve ever had the pleasure of listening to for 12 hours. Seriously, this guy could talk the leg off a chair, mainly because the chair would have decided that the only way to shut him up would be to do something remarkably spontaneous. Don’t get me wrong, friendly guy and all that, but I’m pretty sure at one stage I fell asleep in his face and all the dude said was ‘hey mate, you right there?’ He had a sip of his tea and continued his story, only he had gone back 15mins coz he thought I ‘may have missed something’.

So after 3 hours of conversation that ranged such topics as firewall security conventions and why St Petersburg is actually called St Peterburg (trust him, he had the hat to prove it) my mind began to wander into the safe realm of the NBA. It’s awesomely complex and almost impossible to comprehend permutations saved me from cluttering my brain with information that was as about as useful as, well, basketball statistics.

Here’s how my thoughts on the new NBA season manifested through the framework of a conversation with my mate Rob.

Rob: ‘G’day mate, I’m Rob and I’m a self employed IT security specialist that has a wife and 3 adult kids aged 27, 30 and 33 and 5 grand kids aged…’

Kurt; ‘oh god I hope you are getting of at the next station’

This thought led me to think about my 2013 wishful thinking team, who would have to be New York. There seems no ending to the hype surrounding the Knicks, hype that has largely been self-generated. Look here, I love Carmelo, I love Tyson Chandler and I even kinda love Amar’e but the Knicks are a team full of players that seem more interested in attending the opening of a Karl Lagerfeld show (Amar’e, I’m looking at you) or getting cosy at a nightclub with Rhianna (J.R. Smith I’m looking at, and am kinda impressed by, you) than actually worrying about being in a successful ‘ball team (and don’t get me started on the Linsanity of letting that guy go). I can see these guys labouring into the playoffs to be swept away, along with another years’ worth of fans hopes, by LeBron and the Heat. The tragedy of all this is that they could be a really good team.

                                                   Amar'e working on his post game

Rob: ‘..it was the AMD group that first employed me…or was that AMC? No, it was AMD…or it actually could have been AME….’

Kurt : ‘Geeezuz, Rob I couldn’t give a flying fajita..’

This got me thinking about my 2013 irrelevant team. And amidst a very competitive field, for me that team is Phoenix. Yeah, did you just remember they existed? Obviously with Steve Nash and Grant Hill gone the Suns are gonna be in rebuilding mode. Though with the pieces they have I’m sure that they won’t suck entirely, there are plenty of other teams that will do that. What makes them irrelevant to me is that they will probably finish 9th in the west with a team of honest toilers (one glaring exception, Mr Beasley) and it doesn’t seem like they will be much fun to watch while doing so. As a counter point the Kings, who are a basket case and may give Charlotte or even Orlando a run for the title of worst in league, at least have interesting players like DeMarcus Cousins and Tyreke Evans. For me this makes them an intriguing league pass highlights team. Charlotte is so bad it’s funny and has, in Michael Jordan, the greatest player ever as their owner. He is also a man who is desperately trying to not be remembered as the worst owner ever, and that in itself is interesting. Unfortunately, Phoenix just seems to ride off into the sunset of my conscience with barely a tomahawk slam. It would seem the most excitement we could expect from the Suns is if Goran Dragic gets up someone’s nose far enough for a fight to erupt (as we know, this is a very real possibility).

Dragic (on the floor crying) making friends

Rob; ‘..I once did a train journey from Mongolia to Rome…’

Kurt; ‘ah, rob would ya just shut…umm, actually that’s quite interesting’

My thoughts turned to my 2013 most intriguing team. This season seems to have its fair share of teams that could be interesting to follow. Golden State, Philly, the Brooklyn/New York rivalry, the Rockets! But for some reason, maybe it’s because Kevin Love’s uncle is in the Beach Boys, I’m intrigued to follow his team, Minnesota. Ricky Rubio, once fit, will hopefully pick up from where he left off and be that glint in the eye for T-wolves fans. Brandon Roy has no knees, but who knees ‘em (get it?) when you can shoot the lights out like he can. Roy has had a fine pre-season and looks like he may be the cold blooded hit man that Rubio can rely on. In Love they have a bull who is a true nightly 20-10 performer and is as reliable as any power forward in the game. If all their pieces gel and stay fit, the T-wolves could be a surprise playoff contender in the west. At the very least, they should be fun to watch.

                                                   Kevin channeling his uncle 

                                                     butchering Tina Turner.

                                                           Mercifully short

Rob: ‘I’m an old guy these days, but back in the day I could compete with the best of em. Did I tell you we won our primary school rugby league comp undefeated in 1959?’

Kurt; ‘no Rob, no you didn’t, and yes you are old’

My 2013 can the old dogs still compete team is of course Boston. For me it’s gonna be fascinating to see how the Celtics old guard negotiate their way through an 82 game regular season. It’s no secret that I’m a bit of a Boston fan and think Paul Peirce is possibly my favourite baller of the past 15years, but ‘The Truth’ hurts; especially when his older body hits the floor. Kevin Garnett had an impressive playoff run last season, however I do wince every time I see those cartilage less knees turn and make another laborious run up court. But they have in Rajon Rondo a point guard that has the rare ability to influence a game without having to score. He creates so much for his team mates that players like Jeff Green and especially Jason Terry should thrive, and that’s not to mention the combination he already has going with KG. Jared Sullinger looks to be the goods, provided he stays healthy, and with the Truth doing his thing and Brandon Bass consistently knocking down 15 footers and every one contributing on D, I reckon the Celts could still be around for another tilt at the Heat come May/June. I realise that there are a lot of ifs just mentioned. It could all come so horribly unstuck and with the personalities on this roster, that could be very interesting indeed (by the way I have loved listening to coach Doc Rivers talking about how much he hates Miami [he hates more than this guy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mor3ZBsKINI&feature=player_embedded], and with Ray Allen going there, it makes it even more spicy.)

                                                                         'The Truth'

That's it for now, through out the 2012-13 season (hopefully weekly) i'm gonna post my thoughts on the NBA, just coz i can. I'm expecting to get a whole bunch of stuff wrong and have all of my predictions go pear shaped, but hopefully if anyone does read you may find it at least a little interesting (even if it is only to scald me).

til later,

ousley

Tennis is bestest

Sorry, I had dropped out of the line and was limping in back play for a while there. But after a hit of magic spray and a whack of benedine i'm back and ready to take on the big boppers of sport. Starting with....

Tennis

I love the game. I played, watched and even ball boy'ed (quick side note: while on ball boy duty my mate Phil Clarke walked in on a naked Ivan Lendl holding court and telling dirty jokes to a locker room full of pros, but that's a story for another time) and after watching Rafa Nadal destroy Roland Garros and Wimbledon in quick succession i had to finally come to terms with the fact that i am a big fan of this Spanish 'Toro Bravo'. His all court genius, humble nature and no bullshit toughness are irresistible. But its been a struggle to get to this point of adoration. For a while there trying to choose a favourite out of Nadal and Federer was a lot like choosing between the stones or the beatles, or violet crumbles and crunchies. They are all world class and very enjoyable but you kind of have to have a preference. In the lolly machine at work, i seem to always pluck for the honeycomb goodness of the violet crumble. At home when choosing a record to fire up to i always seem to go for 'let it bleed' or 'sticky fingers' rather than 'sgt peppers' or 'revolver'. And in recent one on one battles between Rafa and Roger, its been the Spaniards running fore hand passes that I've been gunning for.

Thinking about this also gave me a convenient excuse to write yet another list, this one titled 'Kurtis Ousley's Favourite 5 (male) Tennis players of all time'. (my disclaimer in not including some of the games greats like Johnny Mac and Bjorn Borg is that up until 1984 i had little interest in tennis. However through constantly having to attend my mothers Saturday afternoon ladies comp games, i gradually came to enjoy my time hitting against the wall during their tea break/gossip sessions and developed an unhealthy obsession for the game.)

5. Miloslav Mercir - This guy is a freaking legend. Look at him, how stylish can ya get? Plus he had two awesome nick names: 'the big cat' because of how smoothly he moved around the court, while the French called him 'le conjuror' because of his seemingly magical ability to create shots. He was also the last man to use a wooden racquet in a grand slam final (1986 u s open). He was so enamoured with the old wooden whackers that he was the only guy who supported Bjorn Borgs decision to use one when he made a come back in 1992. Mercir won the 1988 Olympic Gold medal and is fondly remembered by both pros and spectators as one of the all time favourite players to watch. Like fellow bands watching the star act at a big rock festival, you would often see pros in their tracksuits crammed onto the side of the court hoping to get a peek at 'le conjuror' in action.

4. Yannick Noah - I remember first watching this mesmerising figure playing on a telly at Wimbledon in the late 80's. He got smashed by someone who went on to do not much (Brad Gilbert perhaps?) but that didn't bother me. I vibed on his style and how 'cool' he looked while playing. He was the quintessential French show man who entertained even when getting flogged by some dour American no body. I asked my mum who this stylish yet seemingly hopeless individual was. She informed me that his name is Yannick Noah and that he could in fact play, having won the French Open in 1983. I didn't care, from that night on i always had a special place reserved for Yannick. However he truly became a legend when, in the late 90's, he not only scored a top 10 French hit with 'mon eldorado' (youtube it, just like his tennis career you'll be suitably underwhelmed yet strangely entertained) but he also revealed that during his career he would regularly smoke a reefer or 2 prior to a match.

What? no picture of Yannick hitting a tennis ball?
Trust me, Yannick would prefer it this way.

3. Gustavo 'Guga' Kuerten - Speaking of reefer, how cool is Gustavo Kuerten. The hairy Brazilian known as 'Guga' was virtually unbeatable at the French Open in the late 90's (Guillermo Vilas, as he handed Guga his first French open trophy in 1997, told him to 'Get ready kid, its gonna rain women in your lap!').

Duuude! how Gnarly was that last forehand cross court?

Guga was not your regular run of the mill, grunt out loud, say nothing, tennis is everything clay courter. He famously scaled down his tennis itinerary so that he could spend more time living in the basement of his parents house and surfing the 'gnarly' Brazilian break that broke at its door step. He became world number 1, won grand slams, was universally loved as a nice guy of tennis and married a Brazilian super model. Legend? Sure!

2. Pat Rafter - Why oh why, Pat, did you retire when you did? The man with the best back hand volley since Edberg is possibly the best grass court player to never win Wimbledon (he lost in the final in 2000 and 2001), Rafter never the less was one of the most enjoyable players to watch, largely because his high risk serve and volley style meant that he was never fully in or out of any match. But there in lies his charm as a player. Pat could have been up 2 sets to love and a break and you would still feel his opponent was not far off coming back. Conversely he will be remembered for many stirring come from behind victories (notably against his nemesis Andre Agassi at Wimbledon in 2001). He became world number 1, won grand slams, was universally loved as a nice guy of tennis and married a Australian super model. Legend? Sure!
There really aren't enough
headbands in the modern game

1. Stefan 'best backhand in the history of tennis' Edberg - Seriously, this picture says it all.

You think Miranda Kerr is hot?

Give me this backhand any day.

The Christmas days between 1988 and 1994 are still my favourites. This is because my parents would buy me the new Stefan Edberg tennis tracksuit. I still have a VHS of the 1990 Wimbledon final which was a 5 set thriller against Boris Becker. Awesome!

Kurtis J Ousley