"He's overrated," Stevenson said. "And you can say I said that."Upon the reading of this quote, the DCO has begun construction of an entire wing of the HOF headquarters in Lanham in remembrance named the "Deshawn Stevenson Accurate Player Assessment Wing," where architects are fashioning a giant hand-like structure that waves itself across the entrance way as if the building can no longer feel its facade.
Stevenson, he of the vet's minimum loyalty and reasonable contract signed as a result, the big-time dagger against the Hornets, the locksmith defense on Ray Allen in Boston, the high-arching, air-reaching three point bombs (working on a career high), was so spot on in his analysis of Lebron James that proper attention must be paid forthwith. Who has said anything other than glimmering compliments about his anointedness?
Lebron, as a result of this first-ever badmouthing, likely scowled his way back to the locker room with a second straight loss and no ref-delivered heroism to build upon his phony legacy. His well-rehearsed scowl will cause reporters to fawn at his passion for missing unnecessary threes at the end of regulation when down two. Maybe these fawning reporters will ignore the seven Wizards in double figures and instead concentrate on how an "undermanned" Cavs squad played solid defense — defense meaning every big man took turns hurling themselves to the floor as violently as possible to draw an offensive foul call. The flopping from the Cavs was so furious last night that I was convinced a spate of epilepsy had been passed across the Cleveland bench. Ah, but those basketball gods, having punished Washington enough, finally realized the blasphemy that constantly pretending to be hurt or violated presents and actually atoned with that push off call with 13.2 seconds left. Where amazing happens indeed.
The Cavs "hit-the-floor" defense made me think about how one comes to adopt this method of head-hurling as opposed to, I dunno, shot blocking, stealing, putting hands in the face (as Deshawn did during 'Lebrick' at the end of regulation), talking smack, punching in the groin, etc. Then I saw this lame coach K commercial constantly bombarded upon us during these Mad March days:
Now I get it. These NBA guys have gone to that Coach K school, where they learn the art of flopping as hard as possible to draw the favors of officials. Coach K, he of the egregious Gilbert snub and resulting failure in the basketball world championships, does have a Cavs connection with pupil Lebron James who now likely infects his squad with these teachings. The predillection to flop combined with the fawning treatment from officials seems to have matriculated results, but it casts an unfortunate light on the Association. Why would us basketball consumers want to watch players mimic themselves after someone who has admitted to us all that he sucks?
But enough about the death of cohesive basketball for the satisfaction of corporate partners. The day belongs to Deshawn, whose owning up to what could potentially be posted on a bulletin board was so special and un-athlete-like that players around the league may follow suit. Maybe the next time the Cavs lose to the Nets, a wily Bostjan Nachbar will decry the overratedness of Mr. Anointed. Maybe after the Cavs fizzle in the playoffs, a bold sports commentator will think he is overrated. Maybe ESPN will revoke his "Whose Now" award, as if the trite banality of the proceedings wasn't lame already. Deshawn is starting a revolution here, a revolution against fawning, against coddling, and against latent douchebaggery. Lebron may be scowling, but we are endowing.