HOW TO SUBMIT: E-mail dimebag@dimemag.com with your question/story/idea and include your name and hometown.
It’s DimeBag time. The 10th edition, in fact. Pretty exciting stuff. So much so that the DimeBag proudly presents its newest feature: NBA Fight of the Week.
I have zero interest in watching NBA stars compete (and I use that term lightly) in meaningless games with a final score of 282-267. Basketball is only fun to watch when people give a crap. I’m sick of hearing about Kevin Durant dropping 55 points in games with high scores. I’d hope he scores that much, especially when defense is optional. Remember the All-Star Game, that thing that touts the NBA’s best and never fails to disappoint? Exactly.
Instead, I’d rather concoct unfeasible scenarios that call for endless speculation and unwarranted rigidity. Those are my favorite moments, when someone obliterates your opinion with the “loud screaming and authoritative dismissal” technique, as if volume is proportional to knowledge.
“Are you kidding? You’re an idiot if you think LeBron is better than Kobe. AN IDIOT. And don’t tell me otherwise, because your disagreement automatically disqualifies anything further you have to say. Therefore, I’m going to switch the subject and make fun of your sexuality or other deficiencies.”
Okay, let’s focus. NBA fighting. Along with your regular DimeBag submissions, send along NBA players that you think would matchup well in a fight. We’re talking about an enclosed space with nothing other than fists and desire. None of this Super Smash Bros. stuff where random objects appear – meaning, Steve Nash couldn’t just pick up a lead pipe and crack Ron Artest in the head.
Anyway, onto our first fight: Tim Duncan vs. Kevin Garnett
Why did I pick them for the inaugural face-bashing contest? Because this would be the most hilarious fight of all time. No doubt Garnett has the swag, demeanor and rage for some physical encounters, but Duncan’s no slouch. And he’s crafty, too. He never succeeded in the NBA due to supreme natural abilities – he’s just a master of technique that outthinks his opponent. I’d expect something similar here, with Garnett swinging wildly and Duncan on the defensive. And then, when the opportunity presents itself, Duncan would come with the jab straight to the nose, followed by the knockout hook. Or he’d just kick Garnett in the knees a few times.
Then again, Garnett’s rage might be too much. Clearly he plays with a chip on his shoulder, but imagine how he feels about Duncan. He had a great coach, great teammates, and great luck (Never faced a juggernaut in the Finals: New York, New Jersey, Cleveland, Detroit.) Meanwhile, Garnett enjoyed the likes of Sam Cassell, Stephon Marbury, Ricky Davis and other chemistry-destroying forces. Then he got to Boston, got his championship, and was happy. But Duncan had it all during his prime, while Garnett only had one season of complete team health (Perkins tearing his ACL in Game 6 counts; Gasol doesn’t dominate Game 7 with Perkins in the lineup.), when the stars were potentially aligned. So this is a revenge fight at its core. If there were refs, this would be in Garnett’s favor even more, since every ref in the NBA secretly hates Duncan. Honestly, the guy must have been the biggest tattle-tale as a child. “Moooommmmm, Kevin said not nice things to me.”
But even though I hate Duncan more, (I respect their games, but my random personal bias sometimes just gets the best of me), I’m picking him to win. He’s too crafty, too conniving and too saavy to lose.
Daniel, Chicago:
What’s the appeal of NASCAR? What am I missing?
I’m missing something too, apparently. Remember when you played with toy cars and it was literally the greatest thing ever? Like you demanded that your parents buy you more just so you could lead them around your room with your hand and show off your sick skills by avoiding the bedpost, desk and other random obstacles? Or you’d just give them a shove and watch them zoom across the floor and crash into the wall? My family has an old set of blocks, and I used to build ramps and tracks and just drive the cars around them. Or I’d send it flying off the ramp, break the car and demand a new one. Let me tell you, that was the purest form of ecstasy back in the day. But then I turned six. My guess is that these NASCAR folk just never lost the edge. Pretty much every male on earth, at one time in their lives, loved watching cars go around in circles. For some, that’s an adult pleasure as well apparently.
I’ve never understood why people like sports where the goal is to finish. I’m talking about swimming, track and field, NASCAR, etc. The point of competition is to pummel your opponent into submission, spit on their unworthy head and watch them wallow in some sadistically appealing combination of self-pity, frustration and lack of understanding. “I can’t believe I missed that shot!” But you did, because you suck. There’s nothing satisfying about outrunning someone in a race because you can’t exploit his deficiencies, nor impact his performance in any way. Basketball, particularly, is a direct representation of that. Blowing by someone for a dunk is a wondrous combination of your greatness and your opponent’s terribleness.
Ultimately, I don’t want to compete against myself. I enjoy the suffering of others at my hands. Okay, so maybe it doesn’t happen in athletics as much as I’d prefer, but it’s great when it does.
KDThunderUp, Oklahoma City:
Why don’t basketball skills relate to beer pong skills?
The motion is different. Have you ever tried shooting a ping pong ball like a basketball? It floats way too far. Essentially it’s Shaq Free Throw syndrome, so you have to change it up. But some principles still apply, such as no line-drive shots. You have to give the ball a chance, so give it some arc. Otherwise, it’s like free throws. As long as you’re replicating your motion/routine, and you have more composure than Hedo Turkoglu, you should be fine.
The worst is when non-athletic pricks win and attribute it to some semblance of athleticism. I just want to punch them in the face. And beer pong, like pickup basketball, has the same rules, in that if you lose, you’re off. So you get to stew in your sadness and wait an hour to play one game, then notice that the beer is out and you’re sober. Then you pound shots, get way too sloppy, puke in multiple locations and wake up on the floor. And it’s all because you lost at beer pong. It’s a landslide, I’m telling you.
Tom, Delaware:
What’s your worst basketball moment?
That’s an easy one. Senior year of high school, it was the state championships. And by state, I mean regional, and by regional I mean New York City, Division III of mostly white schools. But we we’re the third seed, so that was good I think. Anyway, we were playing Staten Island Academy, and they were awful. Except they had one 6-10 fat kid, who, for obvious reasons, we had trouble defending.
Cut to three minutes left, big dude posting up. I doubled off my man, swiped the ball free and went the other way for an uncontested layup. Brick. Next possession, my man blows right by me, but because I’m five inches taller, I swat his shot off the backboard (a first, and only, for me), which leads to a three on two. As a three-point specialist (for white high school), I trailed the play and stepped into a transition three, and barely grazed rim.
Now those were the teasers to my epic fail moment. With 10 seconds left, down three points, we have the ball under our own basket. I’m standing in the corner, waiting for a double screen to cut in and pop out, or circle around to the other side. Well, I got the ball. Except when I faded to the corner on the screen (they overplayed the passing lane) the point guard floated me the ball. He had no choice, because the 6-10 kid was in the way. Anyway, I caught the ball, got ready to pull up, but bobbled the ball, giving the 6-10 kid time to rumble over and trap me with another defender. We had no timeouts, so I was screwed. I couldn’t put it up, couldn’t really see, so I tried to chuck it off one of their legs. The ball proceeded to smack the ground, hitting no one, and they grabbed it out of the air. Then my coach took me out of the game, even though they missed both free throws when we fouled them. So not only did I blow the game, but I was benched and denied redemption. On top of that, my friends have highly selective memories, and choose to relive this moment every once in a while. So we have fun with it, but I’m still pissed. More importantly, I’m pissed that my organized basketball career ended that way. Why couldn’t I have tied the game, hit the winner in overtime and have the hottest girls in our school make out with me? That would’ve been awesome. But alas, I dream.
That’s all for this week. Check back next week for Volume XI.
HOW TO SUBMIT: E-mail dimebag@dimemag.com with your question/story/idea and include your name and hometown. If you really insist on being a sketchy anonymous Internet weirdo, I guess I can’t stop you. So at least provide some sort of name and location.
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