Wiz Trade Deadline Grade: A

There is a contingent of people in the local sports press who may have written off the temporarily moribund Wiz. They have been called every "inept" synonym the thesaurus holds during their current cold streak. It seemed like every facet of their structure, from the decision makers to the coaches to the scouts to the few un-injured players left on the squad, should all be let go, replaced with expiring contracts, first round draft choices, and Ja Vale McGee's fully developed future self. With this season a lost cause, why not take apart the entire thing, scrub the salvagable parts, and replace everything with young, cheap, and Hollinger-approved.

The general consensus among those who attempt to report on the Wiz was, whatever deal was on the table, take it, you don't want to lose out on that potential number one pick. But the Wizards, and us here at the DCO, felt differently. The Wizards head-of-everything Manager Ernie Grunfeld felt that this team was perfect as constructed, and none of those trades that all of the NBA would have loved to execute were viable. And for this faith-in-the-Wiz philosophy, Ernie Grunfeld and his pat-staying Wiz have earned a coveted "A" grade from our own team of brilliant draft analysts.

While our draft analysts tend to often be correct in their respective analyses, there really aren't experts on the whole, knowing of Abe Pollin's exact thoughts thing. But we do know that if this potential trade would have been made, a trade both the yammerers of the media and, apparently, executives of NBA teams discussed ad nauseum, it would have destroyed the entire public's desire to ever take in an NBA basketball game.

Trading Antawn Jamison to the Cleveland "Crabaliers"(copyright Carter), would have made the entire National Basketball Association Incorporated become fraudulant. It would have taken something as perfectly American as loyalty seem forbidden. If Ernie Grunfeld would have listened to this contingent of unimaginable opinions, he would have squeezed any viable worthiness out of the league for good.

Yet Grunfeld, harboring DCO HOF-worthy steadfastness, resisted the marketing machinery. He kept his currently slumping Wiz team intact, knowing that full recoveries would lead to that winning tradition, built by Grunfeld et. al. He didn't give those a**holes Antawn. Not even if the referees fix the outcome completely will the Wizards hand-deliver the Cavaliers anything. NOPE!

As someone who "WITNESSED" the last time the Cavaliers played and lost to the Wiz, I know that there is only one team in the NBA that continues to remain either morally, or outcome-ly victorious in this match-up; and it's the Wiz. Again, the Wizards stood victorious. The Cavs couldn't even get a referee to rule favorably for them and execute that trade. One wonders whether David Stern himself blew a whistle during the phone call between the teams, and had Boobie Gibson execute the trade from the free throw line. We are positive that LeBron was crying while refreshing that NBA trade rumors page on worldwide dot com. Again, the Wizards emerge victorious over the least-appealing team in the NBA.

Naturally, the Wizards have been inspired by this tism-riffic victory. We know that current Wizards boss Ed Tapscott begins every game with an inspirational quotation. This not-trade likely didn't have to lead Tap to resort to his must win quote, namely the "us must trust us" verse from KRS-One's "Ova Ya Head." Nope, the Wiz responded to their non-makeover by steamrolling their last two opponents, emerging from the basements of the league, and looking as spoiler-riffic as ever. Maybe it was Kane's verse first verse from "Anotha Victory" that emblazoned the whiteboard before their last game and victory ("Come, get some, you little bums"), both their second straight overall win and their second straight at the well-groomed Izod Center (not copyright Berman). Cuz the Wiz made quick work of the Jarvis-less and Vince-Carter-ability-less nature of the Nets. Before that, they were firing up Verizon Center with their dismissing of the worse-off T-Wolves. Want to see development in the youth? Watch the current version of Javaris Crittenden popping eyes everytime he ignights a fast break. Check to see if it's McGhee, Andray Blatche, or career-highing kid Domenic McGuire catching his alley-oop toss. This team's reserves are legit.

And all of this luxury tax rigamorow? Not even an issue once next year kicks off, you know, when Gilbert, Brendan, etc etc become healthy and the Wiz return to excitement? The present, and the future, have become brighter. And you don't have to boycott a sporting league in the process.

Intricate Detailed Game 5 Post

Wizards Playoff Preview: COLD GETTIN' DUMB

Hey party people, it's Wizards playoff season, and you know what that means (as based on the past two seasons), it's time for Lebron and his roster of referee friends to make their way through the speed bump that is the Wizards towards his endless anointing via the NBA marketing machinery, right? Well according to Wilbon (WILBON!) that is wrong. QUICK, take one guess who might agree with the onery occassional-carer of DC sports: that's right, us. Wizards. Sweep. You know the drill. Except this time, the humor and irony that trying hard to find the silver lining in a season torn from us by a non-playoff-participating Jordanairre's statistic amassing legs is not the basis behind this post. No, the Wizards will sweep because the Wizards are a better team. And Lebron, and his newly added clatch of crusty old floppers are barely treading water since they were thrown together as if they were methadone attempting to break a smack addiction (something native Clevelanders may know about). The team has just gone from mediocre to extra mediocre, while the Wiz have risen high!

It's nice to be so unlike last year, when people were giving the Wiz-Cavs series the same amount of attention they gave quarterlife during it's epic one episode run. In fact many are calling this series the Envy-Eli Porter MC battle of the east in both it's competitiveness and it's inclusion of rap and hilarity. We too are excited about the potential rap battle between DeShawn "Man" Stevenson's new bff, Souljah Boy, and Lebron's tired old father figure fogey-type bff, Jay-Z. Now, Bobtimist has been known to bump one or four of Jay-Z's eight number one albums from time to time in "the whip," but ever since the much publicized lame Lebron comparison between his old idol (who actually experienced success without the aid of record company official types abetting his rise to prominence through the non-calling of industry rules) and how he is like MC Joe Camel while DeShawn is like Souljah Boy, because he isn't as important, talented, or necessary, I have been upset with the misperception. Unlike "Man's" brilliant player analysis, Lebron is wrong.

When making a metaphor, as many rappers do from time to time, one must find some sort of congruence on both sides of the "like" and in the case of DeShawn Stevenson's play, he is not congruent to the teenage fad dance creating, likely-forgotten-three-months-from-now, flash-in-the-pan rapper Souljah Boy. If you look at "Man's" career (and fellow blogger-types, please stop calling him D-Steve, that sounds like a terrible nickname the IT department would give their newest database management administrator David Stevens after his third straight homerun during the company softball team's two-game winning streak) you will see that he was never "like" a one-hit phenomenon who will subsequently fade out into a career of Indian Reservation Casino performances and VH1 talking head gigs.

Although "Man" began in a phenom-sort of way, coming straight out of high school to the league, winning legendary dunk contests at Mickey-D's All-American games, he ended up losing touch with the mainstream golden oldies Stockton and Malone in these formative stages, but he put in endless work, eventually landing in the perfect situation in Washington where in his two years of steadfast improvement, he has flourished as both a defensive pest and a spot shooter (career-highs in three pointers two consecutive years). If any rapper type could be compared to "Man", a practice performed better on many-a blog sites, I think the New York rapper AZ (not to be confused with Jay-Z) would be a better comparison. AZ began as the phenom sort, stealing the show from Nas during "Life's a B1%ch" and instead of forming into the mainstream rap-god everyone saw in him, he settled into a steady stream of solid releases. AZ even goes so far as to lash out at the supposed big guns, like he did when he went after 50 Cent on the "Royal Salute" track.

Which brings us to the other side of this analogy, and who better to compare Lebron to than 50. Insane hype before the first full-length album/season, a steady string of well-received materials but an overall disdain for anything truly spectacular, lots of style, yet little substance, quite literally a douche bag, -- seems a lot more congruous than Jay-Z, who has put in a lion share more work, and provided many more quality releases (unlike Lebrick's last release vs. the Wiz --clank!), than 50 ever will. A more apt comparison to Jay-Z would be someone like, as Jigga often mentions, Michael Jordan, who touched the untouchable reached the unreachable blah blah blah for so long before wilting into a terrible general manager. (The jury is out whether Jigga's reign as the Def Jam CEO = Michael's years in Washington).

So I would say that Lebron, in addition to being overrated, is obviously wrong in his actual rating abilities. So with "Man" trying to hook Souljah Boy up with tickets and a game-worn for the series and the Optimilitia hopefully energizing the lame-according-to-Ivan-Carter crowds with their steady chants of "OVER-RATED" during free throws, it's obvious that the Wizards have the right idea when it comes to getting into someone's head (unlike one jerk-hole-ish way to get inside someone's head that should have been assessed with a technical, but I digress).

So does that make the Wizards the "dumbest team in the history of civilization," as stated by the autobiography-writing, and re-writing Charles Barkely? Only in the sense that they are COLD GETTIN' DUMB on the court during this series. As relentless as Kurtis Mantronik's bassline was in that stellar Just-Ice gem, the Wiz will be relentlessly attacking the basket, this time with healthy, talented, superstars, not crochety pieces on the washed-up side of their careers. Caron Butler: back after nursing a sore knee and the notion that he is injury-prone. Antawn Jamison: also returning from bumps and bruises after manly performances against the elite. Gilbert Arenas: another returner from injury who only sealed the Wiz's playoff positioning with a classic fourth quarter against the Sixers last week. Antonio Daniels: soldiering through a torn wrist ligament towards another strong playoff series. Brendan Haywood: Career highs in everything. The bench rotation: Songaila, Mason, Blatche, the kids. All a huuuuge improvement over disasters of yesteryears.

No need for snark, this is series is sweep material, Right? YAH TRICK YAAAAHH!

Deshawn Stevenson Newest DCO HOF Inductee

Last night wasn't just another night of strong contributions from Deshawn Stevenson despite an atypical 13 points, 5 assists, and 3 steals in a most unlikely to TNT win over the Lebrons. No, last night there was one, doubly important contribution made that immediately thrusted the occasionally accurate shooting god (aka "Man") into the DCO pantheon that includes such hallowed names as Suisham, Lannan, Khayat, and Davis. After the game, in which he was blanketing the ballyhooes that echoed around the anointed one, causing an unbelievably called charge and a miss at regulation, Deshawn stepped to Ivan Carter's tape recorder and spit hot fiya.

"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.

Why Our Pain = FINALS

The Juice is both practicin' and feelin' good after a good nights, ne weeks, ne endless soul-crushing time periods rest from that cursed torn joint gristle. He is back just in time for the annointed one's uncalled walk back into the Verizon Center. Last time we saw Mr. Annointed, he was absorbing phantom fouls on his way to winning an awe-inspiring game that was filled with NBDL also-rans, typical Damon Jones douchebaggery, and fawning, non-Wizards noticing coverage. With Thursday's game to be broadcast on TNT, will more of the same fellating via officials, television personalities, and corporate partners occur? Why not ask likely play-by-play announcer and tired butt of Leno monologues, Marv Albert: "YES!"

That is why it is so fantastically wonderful that the Juice is squeezing freshly into his #3 jersey, as I did last night for another live-action Wizards game. As a member of one of those crowds Ivan Carter loves to snicker at when they are compared to moronic Canadians who do the freakin' wave, I marvelled at Nick Young's continued postering of lame European big men. After his siiiiiick facial of Aussie #1 bust Andrew Bogut, I couldn't help but yelp, "YOU CALL THAT A DUNK? THIIIS IS A DUNK!" "NO RULES JUST RIGHT!" and other such tired references to his island continent homeland that seemed to fly over people's heads. Being a member of one of those terrible crowds, I managed to run into none other than the best player in the NHL Alex Ovechkin, who was in the midst of having a great laugh with a friend before my sorta-blotto-ed "WHATS UP OV-IE!" was answered with a "hey vwhats up man," as he was obviously surprised that someone recognized him in this hockey/sports/fans/cheering/whatever deathbed. CUE UP 'IF HE WAS IN TORONTO' COLUMNS, eh!!

Anyways, back to the Juice, and back to not waiting for injured players to return any longer and how complete it finally feels to have an entire team hardenly constructed by G'ed up GM Grunfeld to marvel at. Man, that took a while, but during those trying days (where the Wiz, ahem, REMAINED NOT RUINED [UNLIKE A CERTAIN CUT-AND-RUNNING, GREASY HAIRED, OVERLY TANNED-COACHED DEBACLE IN SOUTH BEACH] and held on to a .500-ish record minus so much of their team) other young-uns enjoyed a brief spotlight. This bodes fantastically for the wiz, with major players like Gilbert, Caron, Etan, and now freakin' Jamison being sore, the Wiz were able to gameplay-up n00bs like the aforementioned Young ("Finally getting the pace," as Deshawn Stevenson noted), Andray Blatche, Dommy McGuire (who hoovers offensive boards like a freakishly tall Olsen twin except basketballs instead of cocaine), and Oleksiy Pecherov, whose carving out one of those soft spots in Ivan Carter's heart usually reserved for "real hip hop," and the Vikings. Yep, the increased playing time (and increased crunch playing time) of these kids hastens their development into legit NBAers when the Wizards' bench needs it most.

Forget last season. The season before that, when LeBron was walking his way to a series win, the Wizards were in a starkly opposite situation. They had their big three intact, but their bench was lacking. They had good ole AD, but the rest of the pine-ridahs looked to be Ruffin, Storree, Donnell Taylor, a very nubile, gunshot recovering Blatche, a frustrated Etan Thomas, freaking Peter John Ramos, Billy Thomas, shoot, I think frequent courtside sighting Jason Campbell might have taken a few jumpers. Jarvis Hayes was nursing another season-ender, and those Terrapin legends had left for Portland. Basically, it was the Big 3, Haywood, and some scrub named Jared Jeffries taking on Nike, the NBA's promotional machine, and their teammate Lebron. And you know what? The Wiz almost freakin' won that one. ALMOST.

Now that the big three is rested and ready, the bench has serious weapons (everyone lol'ed at Gilbert basically calling Nick Young Kobe, not last night), and the coach that has weathered serious stormage, there is nothing stopping this team from beating NBA-alloted darlings. No wonder Ernie G wants nothing more than to keep the team together 4-ever, even if it pierces Abe's precious luxury tax (where is Abe anyway?). The wait was a bit painful, but it condensed development into a few tough stretches that takes years for other teams to establish. Finalize it with Finals appearances. YOU HEARD THAT CORRECTLY!!

Lebron James: Bad for Basketball, Worse for Rap

Many a sports columnist has been singing the praises of Lebron James recently, now that he has scowled and whimpered his way through the relatively competitive (but not really), Eastern Conference and reached the first NBA Finals in both his and his decrepit franchise's existence. However, unlike those finger-waggers who see this corporate-addled, personality-free, anointed-by-way-of-Nike ballhog as such a wonderful thing for their pre-teens to emulate when compared to the petulence, single-mindedness and indecisiveness of Kobe Bryant, the DC Optimist feels differently. We see Lebron's faceless coroporate branding as just as detrimental to this league as Kobe's transgressions. And despite being able to weed through the talentless (or superstar player-less) Eastern half of the NBA without Shaq, we still see him as no better than the much-maligned Bryant. In fact, it appears that Lebron has taken his constant comparison to Kobe a bit too far, and as a result, "Main Attraction," Lebron's first professional forray into rap music has occurred. Why aren't the finger-waggers getting mad about this record the way they just about lost their minds when Allen Iverson, an MVP-holder who took his team to the finals in the East did the same thing some six years ago? Well that is where we come in. This record is terrible. And here is a list of reasons why it has made Lebron a terrible "face" of the NBA. Shame on you, Mr. James.

1. Why include Paul Wall, the highly-entertaining car-rapper from Houston, Lebron? What, no Ray Cash? Why's that Bron? A Desire to play for Rick Adelman and Yao in H-Town maybe? Also, Mr. Unselfish does little to assist Paul Wall's ragged verse where he's "commentating like Stuart Scott." I don't want to hear the real Stuart commentate, Paul, please reference Steve Buckhantz instead. Also, with Paul Wall being melanin-deficient, why include him over a promintent black rapper?

2. Unlike Kobe's masterpiece K.O.B.E., this track neglects the usage of a finely-voiced R&B superstar like Tyra Banks, instead leaving the hook-singing to 'Bron (in a ballhog sort of manner). The results? Ragged screaming-esque chants meant to mimic rappers from New Orleans (hmm, playing alongside good buddy Chris Paul in that party city down south sound more enticing that being in Cleveland, which could use a hurricaine, frankly). "Got a lotlotlotlota dough?" Sounds like a me-first, contract-year type player to me.

3. I have a problem with the whole "Viscious with the Pivot, See me handlin' the wheel/Many critics predicted, I can handle the pill." Really? Because I think that pivot, three step, pump move, which is illegal, yet uncalled, is not viscious. It is fundementally incorrect and wrong for children to mime themselves after this, depending on wayward-looking officials. Do we want our children to mimic criminals because they get away with it?

4. Another intimation that Lebron hates his supposed residence in Cleveland: "Can't Help that I shine/Attracted to the sun rays." Hmmm, then why would he want to reside in a city known for having no sunlight? Wouldn't he rather be chilling in Miami with Shaq and them, like Mike Wise says everyone does?

5. "I mean I got dimes/like Sprite got lemon-limes." I guess all kids should be sexually promiscuous when they become NBA superstars. Pretty terrible things for children to hear. Cute inclusion of your corporate sponsors by the way, you lackey. Maybe all children should consume this highly-sugared poison when obesity has turned into a global epidemic.

6. And the biggest transgression: "A businessman, nah, My name is a name brand/perfecting my game plan/my name is a name brand." The whole repeating-the-last-line twice schtick went out when Mike Jones's phone line went dead, but the reason this line is terrible is that Lebron, is still completely focused on maintaining this sort of coporate presence before all else. We pointed this out before. Why should we cheer for a corporation?

The DC Optimist hopes Lebron drops the mic as soon as possible, for children, basketball, maybe even the city of Cleveland are all in trouble if it continues. And the sad fact remains that this corporate tycoon, hell-bent on ruining the good values that basketball promotes, continues to be worshipped by terrible mainstream media columnists.

(big ups to blastmaster on the hook up)

Why I Suck: An Open Letter From Anderson Varejao

I understand that I am a worthless basketball player, devoid of any sort of offensive skill or defensive talent. I also understand that I deplete joy and cohesion from the sport for my very being on the court. I am aware that my game depends solely on preferential treatment from a set of officials that less than adequate. I am cognizant of the fact that I cannot and will not appear on the court without hurling myself to the floor like a prostitute with tourrette's syndrome. I get it. See, the thing is, I just suck. That's it. I cannot play the game of basketball, simple and plain. I was blessed with an enourmously tall frame and the only thing that I can show for it in my country of Brazil is to play basketball. See where I live, we are known for our futbol players, not our basketball players. In order to maintain some sort of diginity and display some sort of pride for my homeland, I must play in a way that destroys the very being of the game James Naismith created in the musty Princeton gyms back in the days. I must flop, and I apologize.

I bring this up because in the midst of my glorious flights to the hardwood, I have noticed the magnificent talents of my opponent, Antawn Jamison. Instead of playing as if he were a teetering jenga statue, as I tend to do on a regular basis, Antawn Jamison has played with the heart of an assassin bug from the Brazillain rainforest, looking to devour any remaining defender. My only choice in the matter of playing defense against this prodigious talent is to react in the same vein as a reversing mousetrap, and make sure my bouncy curls cushion my head from the thunderous clap of my fall. That is the only way I can stop this master from continuing to bewhilder us with his floaters, runners, jumpshots and thunderous dunk. In the third quarter of a game we managed to escape from as if it were a favela overrun by Lil Ze's henchmen on Saturday, Senor 'tawn was spectacular, running, jumping, twisting, turning, and scoring. It was much less me faking like I was fouled by Jamison as it was me fainting at the glory that was his two-dribble drive to the hoop.

Therefore, I would like to apologize to you all. Instead of living in a tropical paradise, I am trapped in the vapid, sweltering industrial outpost called Cleveland, where blue collar values are overrun by the desire for methamphetimes and sexually curious quarterbacks. I know that my only escape is to fake death, cheat rules, to flop.

-Anderson Varejao, Forward, Cleveland Cavaliers.

Cavaliers Employ Lame Gimmick Columnist

The Cleveland Cavaliers, in a laughably lame attempt to prop up the spirits of their disheartened fanbase, have employed the services of a nameless columnist whose gimmick is to only look at the good things in their forgettable basketball franchise. This "optimist" posts fluffy, saccharine attempts at humor every so often on the Cavs' official website, applying corny nicknames to the players (Larry Huge? TheBron? ugh), and making outlandish predictions. Obviously a public-relations arm of the Cleveland franchise, there is no move the Cavaliers make that doesn't look great to this "optimist." Never has this cheery, sunny individual expressed any sort of regret that Larry Hughes was given enough money to financially cripple the team for years to come. Never does he question the desire of the team's star player, knowing darn well that he has taken most of this season off in an attempt to globally integrate his fledgling brand name. In fact, this "optimist," goes as far as to say that this Cavalier team is going to win this series!

Interestingly, the Cavs warn incoming readers of this "optimist" when they make the mistake of clicking on his article, attaching the label, "tools" underneath the column's title.

A regular addition to this "optimist" is detailing the recent deaths of famous people. What's up with the morbidity? Clevelanders have enough problems with their insufficient public facilities, rampant crime rate and general malaise. Now they have to read about dead people?

As if the overall ridiculousness of this online dreck isn't enough, the "optimist" frequently gives terrible advice to emailing readers. A recent example:

Optimist,
I have come to a time where I must make a landmark decision in my
life. Do I spring for those few summer college classes or do I use my Student Loans to pay for playoff tickets?
Anton "Russian" Gorkavchuk Medina, OH

---
Anton,
thanks for reading and writing in. You were right to come to me.
These are special times we’re living in, my friend. History is being created before our very eyes and – in my humble opinion – TheBron will finish his career as the
greatest basketball player who ever lived. Ten years from now, would you
rather say that you saw TheBron and the Cavaliers winning the NBA Championship?
Or would you rather say that you graduated from some stupid college?
I think we both know the answer to that question. I think you’d rather be down here, Anton.

Yeck. This perverted slime thinks that Anton, a hardworking emmigre who has obviously escaped the corruption-infected lands of Eastern Europe to reap the benefits of an American education, should give up his impossibly high interest rate student loan, a financial commitment Anton will have to deal with for the rest of his working years, to buy a ticket to a meaningless basketball game? A disturbing marketing ploy to say the least.

The DCO urges you to contact this "optimist" and convince him that his existence is futile to his team, city and readers. There is nothing his happy little columns are going to do to help out the fact that Donyell Marshall sucks. No nickname is going to make David Wesley actually hit a jumpshot. No little answered email is going to make a Clevelander happy when they have to live and, god forbid, work in that decrepit hell hole. Please copy and paste your messages to this "optimist" in the comments section below, since I am sure that anything looking remotely grim is immediately lost on him.

Cavs Doomed

It's clear that history (and we mean all of history, not just sports history) is against the Cavaliers. Don't believe this nonsense that LeBron James is ok. A grade II ankle sprain is nothing to simply shake off. Yes, it would appear that Cleveland handily won Game 1, but as we know already, it only appeared that way.

The Cavs may well have won the game, but lost their best player (or at least had him reduced). If this sounds historically familiar, that would be because it is. To paraphrase King Pyrrhus (pictured), one more victory such as this will surely undo Cleveland, opening the door for multiple Wizards' victories, a trip to the second round where they will pick up badly needed help in the form of healed superstars, and ultimately a run to glory. Then, many will be called to answer for their reactionary pessimism.