There’s a video on the Internet of Eric Bledsoe doing a backflip over a Hummer while wearing an astronaut suit in the middle of a monsoon while balancing a broom on his right pointer finger.
Not really. That’s a lie. Be pretty cool if there was, though.
The name of this video is The Blood In Lob City. Outside of Da Art Of Storytellin’, that’s the greatest title of anything ever.
Vinny Del Negro wants you to have a bad life. He hates joy. Hates it. He told me he thinks you’re ugly. It is his personal goal for you to cry every day.
This is why he plays Eric Bledsoe, aka Mini Lebron aka Killer of Dreams aka He Who Hates Rims aka The Boss from Birmingham, only 18 minutes a game. This is why Willie “Yawns” Green was starting while Chauncy Billups was hurt. It is because Vinny Del Negro cares not about your happiness. Alfred was right. Some men just want to watch the world burn.
The second year point guard hails from Birmingham, Alabama. After a decorated high school career, he went to Big Blue Nation to play for Calipari for one season. While there, he played with John Wall and Demarcus Cousins. Those guys cast pretty large shadows. Wall’s shadow is metaphorical. DMC’s is, well…yea. What I’m saying is, he got overlooked some.
Cut to now. It’s hard to not notice him when he’s on the floor. This is because he ravages and incinerates and destroys everything foolish enough to get in his way like he’s the dadgum Tasmanian Devil.
He’s got an angry, feisty game. His per minute production is off the charts. Guy puts up 19 pts, 5 boards, 5 assists, and 3 steals per 36 minutes. He’s in his third season. That’s a soon to be star.
He plays with reckless, freakish energy. Like he’s part cheetah or something. The man is 6 ft tall, and he plays above the rim. It makes no sense. He basically blocked a shot with his head against the Bobcats last night.
There’s a Westbrookian element to his game. The only thing predictable about it is the aggressiveness. Everything else is up to the wind and the way the stars decided to align. You do not know what he is going to do. Neither does he. And that’s terrifying to all parties involved. Cept for him.
As uninterested as Bob Dylan looks on stage, that’s how interested Bledsoe looks on the court.
In an association that fancies itself to be in the midst of the Golden Age of the Point Guard, defending the position has become a bit of a chore. Something that is dealt with more and more by using cross matchups. Thabo Sefalosha guarding Tony Parker in the Western Conference Finals last year. That type of thing. The league having been infiltrated and taken over by athletic destroyers like Westbrook, pre-injury Rose, Rondo, Bledsoe’s running mate Chris Paul, etc and so on. Bledsoe does something that fewer and fewer points are doing. He’s guarding his position. And he’s guarding it effectively. He’s pretty much snatched the fake title of Best Shot Blocking Guard from Dwayne Wade. He scraps and claws and just keeps swimming.
The questions float around the NBA scene and hang thick in the air like the foggiest fog to have ever fogged as to why Del Negro will not put this behemoth on the floor more than he does. Nobody has any real answers anymore as the turnover problems he experienced in his rookie campaign have been diminished this year, and every time he does step on the floor he produces with all kinds efficiency and flair.
The guy has a bomb game. He just explodes from point to point. On a team that some opinion holders suggest is a little soft, he stands in the middle of the ship like a mast in the storm. Shaking his balled up fist at the sky like Lieutenant Dan at all the would be comers who would dare step to him, telling them it’s him and it’s them and he’s right here and he’s not running.