Andrew Bynum Needs to Be a Motherf*cker

05.05.09 10 years ago 52 Comments

If I apologized for cussing in the title of this post, I would be disqualified immediately from being in the running as a motherf*cker. So I’m not going to say that I’m sorry. Motherf*ckers don’t apologize. They don’t have time for that sh*t – they’re too busy making your life a living hell.

Kobe Bryant is a motherf*cker. When he told us in Dime #39 that “you either gotta be on the train or get run over by the train” with an eye pointed towards the immediacy of Andrew Bynum‘s development, the rest of the basketball world came to see Bryant as such. KB’s no-frills demand resonated with his squad, as his motherf*cker stance righted L.A.’s ship from apparent dysfunction to a trip to the NBA Finals.

While Bryant’s strong-worded sentiment brought the best out in his teammates at times, it has yet to do something far more important. To bring out the worst. If the Lakers are going to win a championship, they need someone else on this team to join Kobe in motherf*cker brotherhood. And after last night’s loss to Houston, it’s clear that the player needs to be Andrew Bynum.

Instead of watching Aaron Brooks fly to the basket, Bynum needed to rotate off of Yao and protect his basket. Instead of letting Yao get position and then sink turn-around J’s aplenty, Bynum needed to make Yao hate every trip to the block. But he let Yao drop in buckets, and then put his head down and sauntered back down to the other end. No wonder why Phil Jackson only played him for 15 minutes, bringing his average in the last four games up to 10.2 minutes per night.

Every championship team has a motherf*cker. Seriously, every g*ddamn one. Kevin Garnett is a posterboy for motherf*ckers everywhere. Last year, he was even more so than he has been this go-around. The floor-slapping and barking comes off like an act. It takes away from the times when he’s got a real reason to puff his chest out and scream, what is coincidentally his favorite word in the English language, “motherf*cker!” During San Antonio’s championship run, Bruce Bowen went to sleep at night smiling about how he made everyone else’s life more awful when he was around. He was a motherf*cker. (Note: He isn’t anymore. Maybe it’s that he’s heard people insult him for all these years and it’s finally taken a toll on him. Or it could also be that he’s 37 years old now.)

This mentality has nothing to do with trying to hurt anyone else – it’s simply a matter of exacting your will on the opposition. A motherf*cker’s ultimate goal isn’t just to block a shot into the third row or steal the ball from someone in the backcourt. It’s to live in your man’s head.

The Sixers haven’t had a motherf*cker since George Lynch. As Pat affectionately recalled to me a little while ago, “Lynch Mob” relished the opportunity to stop other people from doing something that they wanted. In fact, that Philly team was filled with motherf*ckers, who all seemed to enjoy taking something away from another person in a borderline sick way. Aaron McKie, Allen Iverson, Eric Snow, Tyrone Hill, Dikembe Mutombo, Raja Bell, Theo Ratliff – all those guys. I’d throw Reggie Miller‘s Pacers in that group too. Dale Davis, Jeff Foster, Derrick McKey, Antonio Davis, Mark Jackson – maybe even Rik Smits on a good day.

Right now, I feel blessed to say that there is a team still alive in the playoffs choc full of these assh*les. There’s nothing better than watching a group of them play together – not just because guys who all have a similar mentality seem to play better together – but because they feed off of each other’s twisted enjoyment of pissing other people off. It’s obviously Denver. Birdman is the unquestioned leader, zooming around the court to try and block every shot that goes up, and diving after every ball that he sets his eyes on. Kenyon Martin might not be at the level that he once was, but he still counts. It feels like every time Martin’s name pops up in the mainstream media it’s because he’s being a motherf*cker: at the end of the regular season, he threw Spencer Hawes to the ground, and then told Joe Maloof that he could a) kiss his ass and b) that he wasn’t going to apologize to him (see!). And just yesterday, he was fined $25,000 for throwing Dirk to the ground during the first quarter of Game 1. J.R. Smith‘s 11 three-point firestorm against Sacramento at the end of the year was a classic motherf*cker move. After beating the Kings into a pulp, he kept shooting with complete disregard for their pride.

The only guy on this team who could challenge Birdman as the consummate motherf*cker is Anthony Carter. He went undrafted, but made it to the League because he was tougher than everyone who he was playing against on the playground. And those guys are a bunch of tough motherf*ckers.

Joakim Noah is an aspiring motherf*cker. He isn’t quite there yet. But the mangy hair and ugly sideburns help his cause. On the flip side, Anderson Varejao would be a consensus motherf*cker if he cut that stupid mop. It looks too much like Sideshow Bob, and no one has ever said “motherf*cker” and “Sideshow Bob” in the same sentence before now. Mickael Pietrus should be a motherf*cker – he has the athleticism and the years of being doubted/hated on to do so.

If Bynum stepped up and stopped smiling like Tracy Morgan on cable access television, it would do wonders for L.A.’s defense. Neither Pau nor Josh Powell can physically match Yao. If the Lakers are going to make it through Houston, and then make it to the Promised Land, AB needs to enter into motherf*cker immortality.

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