Lenses are for the lames. The L 7 Weenies. The ones that cry themselves to sleep listening to Transatlanticism on vinyl while they stare out a window and think about a girl that’s not thinking about them.

——————–

There are marriages that are meant to last five forevers. Princess Buttercup and that dude from Robin Hood: Men In Tights comes to mind. Trace Adkins and smirking in music videos does, too. So does Dennis Leary’s voice and Ford commercials. That last one’s kind of a rocky marriage, for sure, if only because Dennis Leary so clearly hates himself along with everyone else on this planet, but you feel me. Add Russell Westbrook and Ray Ban to that list.

With his team’s season over and nothing on the horizon but rehabbing his knee and focusing on finding a dope new Zara blazer, it would be wise of both Westbrook’s representation and Ray Ban to hook up and make sweet, soft advertising love on a blanket under the stars so he can wind up on the pages of our magazines and the screens of our televisions rocking a pair of RB5228′s.

At this point he’s known for his fashion sense, or lack thereof depending on what IDIOT you’re talking to, just as much as he’s known for his beyond stellar play on the floor. He’s a hurricane in every way. A thousand things coming together at once to destroy every sense you have.

Ray Ban prides itself on being an innately American brand. He is the man with such little care that he wears glasses without frames for no reason at all other than he thinks they look good. I ask you, Ray Ban: What’s more American than that?

The dude’s got a way about him. He’s vital. Just ask his team that’s now watching the playoffs from their bison leather couches. You have the opportunity, Ray Ban, to harness and enhance an increasingly likable image that is already being amped and vamped by the likes of Jordan Brand, Nike, and Foot Locker. He’s a wanted man. Strike while the iron is scalding before Warby Parker swoops and strolls in with its oxfords on and nabs him up.

The people do not want another no name model white dude with some five o’clock stubble and a pair of Wayfarers staring at them outside a Sunglass Hut all summer. They want Russell Westbrook in a shirt with more colors than Joseph’s Amazing Technicolor Dream Coat, a smile on his face from sea to shining sea, Clubmaster’s on, hanging out on a pool deck somewhere with a drink in his hand and a girl that looks like she was forged in an Anthropologie factory on his arm. Or, maybe he’s in a chair beside the pool and she’s swimming in it or floating on a mat or in an inner tube or she’s laying out next to him or something. She’s probably super tan and has brown hair but, in real life, when people ask what color it is, she answers “caramel”. I don’t know. It’s your ad.

Do the right thing, Ray Ban. He’s there, right under your nose, shining bright like a star. You may need to put some of your glasses on to deal with the glare, but you’re going to want to look.

*Picture above via meganannwilson.com.

It took a season ending injury and a disappointing 2nd round Thunder exit for some people to start understanding that Russell Westbrook is a valuable member of the Oklahoma City Thunder.

For the Westbrook haters who are still confused and need it spelled out a little clearer, this might better illustrate my point…

Still confused?

It’s a lot like…

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Are you catching on yet?

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So there you go.  I hope there is no more doubt in anyone’s mind.

So in conclusion, never ever forget…

Klay Thompson is excited.

His team is tied with the Spurs, he’s playing well, and he just set up his DVR so he can record the series finale of “The Office” this Thursday on NBC. Thompson has to play in Game 5 in San Antonio the same time as the finale.

“I love ‘The Office!” said Thomson.

Thompson is an Office superfan.  He said, “We all can relate! We all know a Dwight, or a Kevin, or a Meredith!  I started watching the show when I was 14 and now, nine years later, I feel like I grew up with these people. It’s the end of an era!”

“One time I put Andris’ shoes in jello, he was so mad!” said Thompson, who has been known to play pranks on Andris Biedrins ala Jim on Dwight.

“I think we are all Jims just looking for a Pam,” Thompson said.   He goes on to say that the show calms him after tough games.

He plans to go on media blackout during the game until he gets back to Oakland. Thompson says, “No twitter, no facebook, no spoilers. I need to focus on my game. We can beat the Spurs, but it’s going to be really hard- oooh that’s what she said!”

Klay Thompson is averaging 16.8 points a game on 46% shooting during the playoffs.

Dear Jason,

You don’t know me, and we live very different lives. You are an 18-year NBA veteran, a 10-time All-Star, a two-time Gold Medalist, and one of the half dozen greatest point guards to ever pick up a basketball. On the other hand, I am in a cubicle drinking my third cup of coffee before 8 o’clock this morning and asking myself, “How much McDonald’s breakfast is too much McDonald’s breakfast?”

Despite these apparent differences, let me tell you: I know what you’re going through.

You stink. I don’t mean that as an insult, Jason. Truly, I don’t. I have enormous respect for your game and for everything you’ve accomplished: The “Three J’s” Baby Mavs were one of the first basketball teams that captured my imagination, you were a key cog in the team that vanquished the 2011 Heat, and, when I was in 4th grade, your kicks were the dopest thing a young fella could own.

But, Jason, you haven’t made a shot since April 23rd. I mean, that was back when Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce was still Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce. That was pre-Daft Punk, pre-Gatsby, pre-Charles Ramsey. Your last basket came so many memes ago!

In that time, you’ve missed 16 shots – 10 of them your specialty stand-still 3 – in 177 minutes and your team has been outscored by 25 points with you on the floor. Now your second-seeded Knicks are on the verge of near-certain extinction against a younger, better Pacers squad. I think you’ve met the end of the road, Jason.

I know what it’s like to realize the game is done with you. It hurts. Basketball is a cruel mistress that way.

When I was nine years old, I was a beast. A total mold-breaker. A wide-bodied combo guard with a knack for crashing the offensive glass. I made a reverse layup in a game once. It was incredible.

Five years later, as a ninth grader, I was done. The ball got bigger, but my hands didn’t, and thus went my jump shot. With my jump shot went my confidence. My post-pubescent metabolism slowdown didn’t help either. (I went from “wide-bodied” to “pear-shaped”.) Eventually, I found myself mostly doing comedy bits and impressions of teammates from the bench. By 17 I was writing for the sports section of the school paper.

Here’s the point, Jason: it’s hard to say goodbye to basketball, but life has a way of recovering. You’ll get a job that pays the rent and lets you buy buckets of beer with your buddies. If you make a point of it, you can find something your passionate about that fills the creative void too. I suggest improv comedy, but woodworking, photography, cooking, and Bikram Yoga are all fine substitutes. (As I’m typing this, I’m remembering how little we actually have in common. You’ve made more than $180 million in your career and I’m wondering if McDonald’s is still serving breakfast.)

You’re going to be okay without basketball, Jason. I promise. We all learn that our own way.

- Chandler Goodman

We turn to our experts to answer the most important questions regarding the NBA.

Experts: Chris Trew (@christrew), John Sabine (@jsabine213), Chandler Goodman (@SuchAGoodman), Colt Westbrook (@coltwestbrook) and Jason Gallagher (@jgallagher41)

Today’s Topic:

Contender or Pretender or Avenger? 

1) The Memphis Grizzlies

Jason Gallagher - Contender:  They love using words like “Grit”, “Grind”, “Grill”,  and other “Grrrr” sounding words to describe themselves.  One word that Memphis should adopt is “Grrrateful”…  that Russell Westbrook went down, causing OKC to utterly and completely fall apart which has  paved the way for Memphis to become true CONTENDERS.

Colt Westbrook - Pretender:  No doubt that Memphis is playing strong basketball right now, but they’re playing it against the team who lost a key all-star from their line up.  OKC losing Westbrook is like the Lumineers losing that guy that plays tambourine on the choruses. I mean, what… what would they do without that guy? They’d have to adjust everything. Hey-No.

Chandler Goodman - Contender: If you had asked me when I woke up, despite their commanding 3-1 lead over Oklahoma City, I might have said pretender. But then this morning I learned from Zach Lowe that Mike Conley Jr.shot 47% on isolation plays and scored 1.01 points per possession in those instances this season! Guys…47% on isolation plays!! 1.01 PPP!!! If that doesn’t SCREAM contender, I don’t know what does!

Sabine - Contender:  Z-Bo and Gasol are like a buddy cop movie, Tony Allen can guard anyone in the league, and they are undefeated in the Grindhouse. Why not Memphis? Plus they have Justin Timberlake on their side and history says don’t bet against Justin.  This team is a contender.

Chris Trew - Contender:  Marc Gasol is looking like an ole’ Grizzly himself if you get what I’m saying. He gets more rebounds than my uncle and my uncle is pretty good at getting rebounds. I’m starting to wonder if Marc is actually a grizzly bear himself because we all know how clutch grizzly bears are. Contender! Roar!

2) The New York Knicks

Gallagher - Pretender:  This classic jam says it all when it comes to the New York Knicks.  In fact, just give it a listen while you read the rest of the answers regarding NY.

Westbrook - Pretender: NY looked decent and promising last series.  Like when the Lumineers start “Hey-Ho” on TV and you think “This song sounds promising and I’m excited to hear that girl that’s just standing up there playing nothing (with a boom mic stand!) bust out some rad harmony.”  Then she just dances around like a doped up pony in her thrift store dress and sings the melody instead while that Domino’s delivery lead singer paints his possessive love story for us.

Goodman - Pretender: Because J.R. Smith is currently making 3s at a Chandler Goodman-esque clip.

Sabine - Pretender: If they advance…and that’s a big IF, they have to face beast-mode Miami Heat. An inefficient Carmelo is not going to beat a LeBron James who is only doing finishing moves. The Knicks are Pretenders like that old NBC show.

Trew - Pretender: J.R. Smith is looking like ole’ S.R. Smith (as in SENIOR SMITH) if you know what I mean (S.R. like SENIOR). He’s missing more shots than my grandfather and my grandfather (a senior citizen) is pretty bad at basketball. I’m starting to wonder if J.R. stands for “Janet Reno” because we all know how terrible she probably is at basketball. Pretender! Sheesh!

3) Thor

Gallagher - Avenger:  He’s dating Natalie Portman in the movie.  You know who else dated Natalie Portman in a movie?  Anakin Skywalker!  That guy was all about avenging things.   He killed a village of sand people to avenge his mother’s death.  Also… he just really hates sand because… ”It’s coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere.”  Anakin – Thor – AVENGER!

Westbrook - Avenger: This dude has a score to settle and there’s no stopping him.  No. Stopping. Him.  Like, who can stop him?  Who’s going to stop the Lumineers?  When will we be done with garbage disguised in fedoras and estate sale guitars?

Goodman - Avenger!: I’ve never seen Thor, and know nothing of him, but Wikipedia had me at, “Hammer-wielding god associated with thunder, lightning, storms, oak trees, strength, the protection of mankind, and also hallowing, healing and fertility.”

Sabine - Avenger: God from the Realm of Asgard. His hammer and his might would still have problems with LeBron right now. I am pretty sure LeBron is the villain in the next Avengers movie actually. Dude is scary.

Trew - Avenger: Remember that time Otis Thorpe held the ball like a grapefruit in the 1994 playoffs? Pretend like he doesn’t have a first name and the “p” and “e” fell off his last. Now imagine Thor holding the ball like a grapefruit in one hand and a sword (or whatever) in his other. Definitely an Avenger. Avenger!

 Click Here for Part I 

We asked Kenyon Martin to listen to “Step” by Vampire Weekend and write down his thoughts. His words are below.*

Yo, from the tip this reminds me of James Harden.

On the low, and, really, I tried to keep this on the low low, I used to be with Trina. She’s a rapper. Was so into it I got a tattoo of her lips on my neck awhile ago. So I could remind myself of her whenever I wanted to, nahmean? I loved her. That’s what you do when you love someone. You get tattoos of their body parts in places where everyone can see. Whatever. It’s over now. I’m not trying to get into the particulars. Partly because that’s between me and her, but mostly because I’m supposed to keep this stuff PG-13 on here and that’s not possible when telling that story. It ended, that’s what you need to know. It ended and I turned the lips into a crown. I don’t think anyone can tell the difference.

I say this song reminds me of Harden for multiple reasons.

First, this.

Every Time
I See You
In The World
You Always
Step To
My Girl

Harden was with Trina for a minute last year. My Trina. Bout tore me up. He’s not with her anymore. Dumped her for some thick, video model chick back in early March. But, nevertheless, dude stepped to her. We wasn’t together anymore, so I get that he thinks he didn’t do anything wrong, but it’s a respect thing.

Next, this.

And Punks Who
Would Laugh
When They Saw
Us Together

Never understood why people would laugh at people in a committed relationship. She meant something to me. So much so that, as I said previously, I got a freaking tattoo of her lips on my neck. Whatever. I always said let them laugh. They want to get tough I’ll crack skulls, but as long as it’s just laughter, I’ll ride with it. We were together. That’s all I needed.

Then, this.

The Gloves
Are Off The
Wisdom Teeth
Are Out

I mean, anytime teeth are referenced you kinda gotta think about Harden, don’t you? Because, you know, his teeth are a disaster. No judgement. Sometimes braces aren’t an option. But it’s a real thing. He’s got that bear trap mug. Then, with the gloves being off…well…alright, I guess I’ll tell you.

I tried to fight James Harden in the bathroom of a night club once.

I went to Oklahoma City on an off day during last years’ playoffs. I got on a standby Southwest flight out of LAX. The red eye. Well, kind of. Straight shot to OKC. I sat by an elderly lady named Phyllis on the plane. She was reading People and she shared her Brussels with me. She told me to smile more.

It was a Thursday night. I’d heard them boys from Oklahoma stay trying to vamp at Skky Bar in downtown Oklahoma City on Thursday nights so I took a cab from Will Rogers World Airport to Skky Bar and went looking for him.

I was mad at the time. That’s why I went. I’d had to deal with pictures of them going up on WorldStar and my boys were calling me trying to get at me about how I should’ve grown my beard out and this and that. Said I should dress nicer and wear Skullcandy headphones and abandon the headband. Really got me worked up.

I searched throughout Skky Bar. In and out of velvet ropes. I’d had several too many vodka lemonades when I stumbled into the bathroom to relieve myself. As I got done at the urinal, I see the door to the stall on the far right open up. It’s Harden. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with a bejeweled golden tiger’s face on it, some forest green Levi’s that ain’t supposed to fit that tight, and a pair of red Tom’s with his face airbrushed onto them. He saw me and his eyes went wide and his face bout turned white and he tried to rush back into the stall. I grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him into the middle of the restroom. My fist was clenched and I was about to make it pour when Cole Aldrich came through the door. The door swung open, hit me in the side of the head, and knocked me to the ground. Harden got up screaming and ran out of the restroom.

By the time I came to he was gone.

I text Trina but she didn’t respond. I wound up taking a cab back out to Will Rogers to wait on my flight out the next morning. I sat in the food court area by the Sonic. There was a nice man there reading the paper. He told me he liked me when I was on the Nets. Not sure how to take that. The next night I get a call from Trina. Said she’d been out of the country and couldn’t see the text I’d sent. She’d heard I’d been in town and wanted to know if that was true. I told her I had and it was. She said she wished she’d have been around so she could’ve seen me. They play till the end. Anyways, I’ve said enough. This song is good. I wish it wasn’t, but it is.

I’ll end with this.

Maybe She’s
Gone And I
Can’t
Resurrect Her
The Truth Is
She Doesn’t
Need Me To
Protect Her.

Took me till now, but I finally realized that. Thanks, Ezra.

What you on about,

K

*These are not Kenyon Martin’s words.

Dear Chicago Bulls Fans,

You’ve probably noticed the rash of injuries our team has endured this postseason. This plague seems to have touched nearly every member of the roster and as such, almost everyone has gotten to play more minutes. Everyone that is, except me. I’ve written this letter to confess to all of you: I am 100% responsible for these injuries. Every bruised shoulder, strained calf, case of the flu, and plantarized fascia…it was all me. I did all of these horrible things and as a result, ruined the Bulls’ chances of advancing in the playoffs. I did it all for one simple reason: I want to play more than you can imagine. As you can see, I’m willing to do anything I can to get in the game.

Before we continue, I need you all to know I had absolutely nothing to do with Derrick Rose’s injury. I know you probably don’t believe me given the fact that I’ve just confessed to a plethora of misdeeds, but I assure you, I have an excellent alibi. The night he got hurt, I was in Boston playing for the Atlanta Hawks. Plus, it’s pretty clear to me Reggie Rose was behind Derrick’s injury. Like E from Entourage, the man is trying to build a brand.

This all started in mid-April. I had gotten to play serious minutes in three straight games because Marco Belinelli had been hurt. We went out as a team one night to celebrate clinching a playoff spot. Somehow we ended up at a karaoke bar. After Noah did some goofy song in French, I got up on stage and belted the John Fogerty classic, “Put Me in Coach.” Thibs was not amused. Apparently my version, sung with a thick eastern European accent, did not do the song justice in Thibs’ eyes. He is the biggest Creedence Clearwater Revival fan in the world, and he held a grudge for what he called a “musical butchering.” After that night, Marco got back to health, and I went back to the bench, where I stayed for the rest of the regular season.

I seethed with anger game after game. I wanted so badly to play, but Thibs was unyielding. Recognizing that he’d have no choice to play me if people were injured, I hatched my sinister plan as the postseason began.

My first step was to give everyone the flu. After Game 1 at the Barclays Center, I left the arena and hugged every unwashed, bohemian Brooklynite I could find on the street. I made sure to wear those same clothes into the locker room the next day and voila, everyone from Luol Deng to Nate Robinson to Taj has been fighting the bug ever since. How did I avoid getting sick myself? I was born in a former Soviet state. Our germs laugh maniacally in the face of your germs. My immune system is like the Berlin Wall (because it withstands colds for 30 years.) I figured getting everyone sick would help me in two ways. First, it would limit the guys in front of me or keep them out all together. Second, if our team was depleted by the flu, we might get blown out in which case coach Thibs would have to put me in. Well that didn’t work, even in that crazy overtime Game 4. I had to take more direct action if I was going to get on the floor.

Next up, I snuck into Kirk Hinrich’s hotel room and pulled his yoga mat out from under him while he was doing his pregame vinyasas. That kept him out with a strained calf. He agreed not to rat on me in exchange for me keeping quiet the fact that he does yoga in a bright pink unitard while listening to Gregorian chant. In retrospect, it might have been easier just to hide those sexy Rec Specs he wears. He’s as useless without them as Amare Stoudemire is with them.

Kirk missed the final three games of the Brooklyn series, but still I couldn’t get off the bench. This was proof of two things. First, Thibs really had it out for me. Second, the Nets are garbage.

I began to take more desperate action. I began targeting Joakim Noah. First, I removed the custom inserts he has in shoes to help with plantar fasciitis. I soaked them overnight in hot sauce, dried them off, and returned them to his shoes. Now his feet are constantly on fire and none of the anti-inflammatory drugs he’s taking seem to have any effect. Then, I hid the Vaseline he puts on his hands to make his jump shot spin the way it does. His spitball 15-footer hasn’t been the same since.

With Noah looking a mess and the Heat next up on our docket, I had a good feeling I’d be getting off the bench some time soon. In Game 2, my dream came true. I played 10 minutes in a brutal blowout by the Heat. AND I HIT THREE THREES!!! I knew those shots were my ticket to more playing time. As Games 3 played out, I bided my time waiting for Thibs to call my name.

He never did.

That was when I determined to stop holding back. Knowing that I couldn’t deliberately injure anyone else, I resorted to more subtle tactics before Game 4. I switched Marco Belinelli’s pregame pasta from penne to mostaciolli. To an American, there is no difference, but to an Italian, I might as well have hit him with a baseball bat and fed him dog poop. 0 assists and 0-of-5 from downtown? Blame it on the pasta.

With Nate Robinson, I simply adjusted the pre-game playlist. Nate likes to work himself into a frenzy by listening to Twista before hitting the court. He matches Twista’s verbal speed with his own agility and that’s what allows him to play like Mighty Mouse. I hooked my iPod up to the locker room stereo and blasted some Phillip Phillips, Mumford and Sons, and The Lumineers before we went out for warmups. Nate’s mojo was effectively quashed and not surprisingly, his missed every shot he took from the field.

As for Rip Hamilton, I figured it was in my best interests for him to play as much as possible. The more minutes Rip was on the floor, the more likely the Heat were to blow us out. The more likely the home crowd would be to get some VladRad time.

Everything went according to plan, but I ended the game with a DNP-CD. Coach’s Decision! I still can’t believe it. We lost by 23 and he still wouldn’t put me in the game.

I’m not telling you all of this to ask for forgiveness or to apologize. I’m not sorry. I WANT TO PLAY!

This letter is a warning: play me or else. Barring some fluke, Game 5 will be our last of the season. If I don’t get on the court, I’m going to go full Rasputin on the city of Chicago. I don’t know what all that entails aside from looking creepy and having it out for chicks named Anastasia, but I assure you all, I will bust out the Russian black magic if I see another DNP-CD by my name. Don’t let Thibs’ selfishness hurt the team or the city. Let him know you want to see #VladRadAlert trending on Twitter tonight.

Thank you for your time. I sincerely hope I don’t have to yell, “I’ll see you all in hell” later tonight. Trust me, you hope that too.

Sincerely,

Vlad Rad

Here exclusively for the readers of Ballerball are the rejected pitches for KIA Motors cross promotions with the National Basketball League.  

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Possible Pitches for KIA commercials: FOR INTERNAL USE ONLY PROPERTY OF KIA MOTORS AND EAGLESHAM ADVERTISING LLC  

With the success of our Blake Griffin commercials we are hoping to get some more spots shot before the end of the playoffs. Here are the best that we could come up with over the weekend.

***

EXT. NIGHT – Driveway

A basketball hoop attached to a garage door. A young boy keeps missing jump shots. A Blue and Gold KIA drives up and honks. Steph Curry gets outs.

Steph Curry

Hey little me.

Young Steph

WOAH. Who are you?

Steph Curry

I’m you. In ten years. Keep shooting those J’s and they will start going in.

Maybe one day you could buy a KIA.

Young Steph

Why would anyone want to do that?

Korean cars are terrible.

Steph Curry

Look kid. You’re thinking of HYUNDAI.

KIA’s have always been reliable.

Now keep shooting and take it easy on your ankles.

Young Steph

Are you sick?

Steph Curry

What? No. I’m fine.

Young Steph

You look kind of skinny.

We don’t put on any weight in the next ten years?

Steph Curry

Look kid. Just keep shooting and get yourself a Kia.

***

EXT. DAY – Gymnasium  

A lone figure is dunking in an empty gym. A car crashes through the gym wall. Dwight Howard gets out.

Little Dwight

Hey man. Why did you drive through that wall?

What is wrong with you?

Dwight Howard

I’m Dwight Howard. I do what I want.

Little Dwight

But I’m Dwight Howard. You can’t be Dwight Howard.

Dwight Howard

I’m you. From the future. I am also Dwight Howard.

Little Dwight

No way bro. I’m the only Dwight.

Dwight Howard

You don’t get it. I travelled through time in a KIA.

We are both Dwight Howard.

Little Dwight

You can’t be me. Dwight would never drive a KIA.

Do we grow up to be poor and ugly?

Dwight Howard

I’m rich. And I’m not ugly. You’re ugly.

Little Dwight

It sounds like we grow up to be dumb too.

Dwight Howard

You’re mean little kid.

***

EXT. DAY – Tennis Court

A gangly kid is practicing his serve on a tennis court. A red and black KIA crashes through the fence. Joakim Noah gets out.

Joakim Noah

What’s up little me.

Little Joakim

Mon dieu. C’est un monstre. Chacun de fonctionner.

C’est un homme de la bête horrible.*

*Translation* – My god. It’s a monster. Everyone run. It is a horrible beast man.

***

Ext. DAY – County Fair

A young boy is refused entrance to the Ferris Wheel. He is too short. An all black KIA drives through the line. Dozens of people are run over. It’s actually really terrifying. It seems the driver didn’t know what he was doing. Nate Robinson gets out.

Little Nate

Hey man. You killed all those people.

What is wrong with you?

Nate Robinson

Sorry. I have trouble seeing over the dash of my brand new Kia.

It drives like a dream though, little me.

Little Nate

Wait a minute. You’re me? What happens?

How come you’re so short?

Nate Robinson

We stop growing in the sixth grade.

But hey, at least we get to drive a Kia.

Little Nate

You’re a tiny little murder future me.

Nate Robinson

I was time traveling. I just wanted to see little me.

So much blood on my hands.

I will jump back to….

A second black KIA drive out of nowhere and runs over the people the first car didn’t hit. A second Nate Robinson gets out.

Nate Robinson (Two)

NOT AGAIN. We can’t change the past Nates. Unless….

A third black KIA drives out of nowhere and runs over Little Nate. A third Nate Robinson gets out of the car.

Nate Robinson (Third)

Nooooooooooooooo.

All the Nate’s disappear.  

Look for these spots in the next couple of weeks. We also are reaching out to JR Smith but apparently he doesn’t have a driver license or something. I will follow up with his agent.

KIA and The NBA: It’s a slam dunk!!!!

Welcome to #HoopCognition, where we discuss important ideas (or cognitions) that would make the NBA a much better place.  It’s a lot like #HoopIdea on TrueHoop, but not really because we are tackling the harder issues. 

David Stern has a track record of some questionable decisions that will undoubtedly be discussed and examined upon his retirement.

By far, the biggest crime he’s committed thus far is somehow allowing Will. I. Am’s “That Power” to be played  in most of the 2013 playoffs commercials.  I’m not sure if David Stern is directly responsible for this, but he certainly should have put a stop to it.

I joke a lot on this site, but this is no laughing matter.  The fact that I have to hear that song 30 times a night makes me want to attempt to break bricks with my forehead.

So we wanted to make a plea with David Stern… MAKE IT STOP, SIR.

Now I am a man who doesn’t believe in complaining w/o a better solution.  We could try audio of a lawnmower running over a chalk board and that would probably be good enough but I’ve got one better.

Below is my pitch for a new NBA Promo.  Please take it into consideration  Mr. Stern.  Thank you.

NBA Playoff Commercial, Featuring: The National – “Sea of Love” 

Thank you, Mr. Stern.  We expect this to be playing no later than Tuesday evening.