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Free Throws: Why did I think a podcaster was about to win an NBA title?

jj redick

Welcome to Free Throws, Deadseriousness’s weekly NBA column, getting some shots up and tossing around some basketball takes. This week, we have the Cavs’s amazing sweep of the almighty Heat Culture, the Lakers magical season abruptly ending and the legacy of Knicks point guards.

 

Cleveland Defeats Heat Culture

Cleveland vs. Miami was not your typical 1 vs. 8 playoff matchup. See, this 8 seed is different. Heat Culture knows not of seeding. Two years ago, they were an 8 seed and made the NBA Finals. No problem. Seeding matters not within the Culture.

It’s about hard work.

Sacrifice.

Sweat.

Loyalty.

The Process.

The Grit.

The Grind.

The mandatory tall glasses of Pat Riley’s special salty milk with every team breakfast.

The night they lock you inside the team facility and you have 24 hours to survive being hunted by Udonis Haslem.

Championship DNA lives inside the halls of this storied organization (that got lucky to draft Dwyane Wade and lucky he was besties with LeBron).

Nothing but respect to the Cleveland Cavaliers for this monumental accomplishment. I’m sure the Cavs will march to the NBA Finals after overcoming their toughest competition in round one.

I may have come into this postseason not caring about Cleveland’s nonstop winning streaks all season and all their historic shooting numbers and blah blah. I’ve watched the Cavs in the playoffs.

Two years ago, the Knicks dropped a piano on their heads. Last year, the Celtics did the same. Neither series was competitive.

But after finding a way to dismantle Heat Culture, the Cavs should breeze to the Finals.

The Clippers vs. The Nuggets is Sick

Sometimes I feel like we need to take a step back from delivering takes and mocking underperforming players and playing GM Mode—looking for trades and upgrades.

Sometimes we need to acknowledge when we’re witnessing something sick and this Clippers-Nuggets first-round series is sick.

Let’s just go player-by-player and give flowers after we approach what may be one of the greatest Game 7s in NBA playoff history:

Jamal Murray: Jamal Murray plays on a pogo stick, spamming random, unorthodox, untraditional cuts and step-backs, able to yo-yo from the top of the key to the basket. His serpentine style remains undefeated at the laser tag joint.

In Game 5, Jamal Murray scored 43 points with only one free throw attempt. The most ethical 43 points ever scored in the playoffs.

Murray has such an unpredictable dribble pattern, like, when he comes off the pick and roll, he may suddenly switch hands and off one hard dribble, ping pong himself into another direction as if he’s playing on those slam ball trampoline courts. Jamal Murray plays zero gravity basketball.

James Harden: I worshipped at the altar of triple-double James Harden at one point in my life. I’m not afraid to admit it.

We’ve all believed in ghosts at some point.

But I feel like a major part of the James Harden story—always left out when discussing his playoff failures—is how many minutes this maniac puts on his body every season.

From 2014-2019, he finished in the Top 3 in minutes 5 times. Then he’d get to the postseason and continue to lead the NBA in minutes while handling the entire Houston Rockets offensive workload on his shoulders.

James Harden is 35 years old and just played 47 minutes in the Clippers Game 6 win.

He sat for exactly one (1) minute.

Harden scored 28 points on 10-for-20 shooting with 6 rebounds, 8 assists, 2 steals and a block.

I know once a player has a reputation, it’s hard to see them in any other light—but James Harden just had one of the most important games of his career—once again carrying the burden on his shoulders, delivering against Nikola Jokic—the best player in the world.

This man is old. And he’s exhausted—and he just wants to experience what it feels like to hold the NBA trophy up at the end of a long, grueling season. And he’s still busting defenders’ asses.

One of the greatest guards in NBA history. If the Clippers lose Game 7, let us not forget how hard Harden worked to keep them in this series.

Kawhi Leonard: I feel for Kawhi. He’s too alarmingly great at basketball to not desperately want to play every single game he can but the muscles in his legs are comprised of the shit in the sink drain when you finish washing dishes.

Kawhi dropped 39 points in Game 3 on 15-for-19 shooting. He has this ability to, on any given night, look like the greatest basketball player of all time. There will be stretches where he dominates on both sides of the floor, hitting slow, methodical, beautiful mid-range line drives and then he’ll pick off an inbound pass or block a shot and charge down the court for a huge pull-up 3, all without emoting.

But it’s those rare moments when Kawhi does show a little grin after a big shot that forces the opposing coach to call a timeout or a sign of relief when his team makes a stop on defense. The in-between moments when Kawhi allows himself to be human is what makes him special to watch.

Nic Batum: The playoffs begin and a wild Nicolas Batum appears, switching on every pick and roll, capable of shackling any ballhandler—from Jamal Murray to Nikola Jokic—Nic Batum is putting the Nuggets in straightjackets.

Batum leads all players in this series in blocks. He may be the greatest role player of his generation.

Michael Porter Jr: Speaking of players I feel bad for, Michael Porter Jr’s personal life combusted overnight. One brother was banned from the NBA for point shaving and the other was arrested for killing someone in a drunk driving accident.

Combine that with a career riddled with injuries—including a back injury that almost cost him his NBA career and his current shoulder injury—and MPJ looks like he wants nothing to do with these games.

While Murray bounces around the court—constantly keeping himself visible to help bail out Jokic—Porter Jr rarely moves at all.

I reckon his annual injuries have turned him into a shell of himself—not trusting his body to make it through a game.

But he also seems afraid to make a mistake and have any microscope over his performances—frequently cowering behind his defender, hiding from Jokic to avoid participating in plays.

Michael Porter Jr was the No. 1 recruit coming out of high school. The next Kevin Durant.

And now he’s slightly more reliable Ben Simmons, cripled by compiling injuries and fear of scrutiny.

Part of me hopes the Nuggets advance to the next round so Porter gets more chances to do stuff.

Nikola Jokic: Nikola’s superpower is his ability to disguise his god-like basketball talent in the form of a guy who looks like the last person you want to see coming out of a public bathroom you’re about to use.

He’s a wolf in coal miner’s clothing.

Lakers Get Jumped By Reality

I’ve spent many moons hating the Lakers but as the gray hairs accumulate, I find myself with more hope, more optimism.

Hate is easy. Hope is hard.

I hoped JJ Redick would win a championship in his first year as an NBA head coach. I hoped 40-year-old LeBron James would get one last championship parade—spilling champagne on a float with his son—who isn’t old enough to drink (or good enough to play).

I hoped Luka Doncic would become the next statue chiseled outside of the crypto scam colosseum or whatever.

I mean, why even watch the games if not to witness history?

A generation of fans could have seen Luka as their Kobe Bryant. All LeBron slander would be silenced—at least temporarily.

JJ Redick would have the Lakers job until the day he decided he was over it.

Rui Hachimura could’ve been a 6-foot-9 Japanese Rip Hamilton.

Austin Reeves would be on stage with Jelly Roll or dating Tate McRae or whatever the whites are doing these days.

But on Wednesday night, hope was defeated by its arch nemesis: reality.

Of course JJ Redick sucked.

His only previous coaching experience was his son’s 4th-grade nerdy-rich-kid Brooklyn Academy team.

Why did I think a podcaster was about to win an NBA title?

As if it were something he deserved.

In Game 4, JJ Redick put his starters in after halftime and refused to let them sit back down until the game ended.

One of those starters is the same age as him.

One of the players was left swaddled in a wicker basket on the Lakers front steps in the middle of the night because cookie crumbs kept falling out of his pocket at the team meetings he was snoring through.

The Lakers lost.

Duh.

When JJ was asked about torturing his starters, he rage-quit the press conference to go scream at the help, probably.

Maxi fucking Kleber played 5 minutes in Game 5. This wasn’t a Disney movie, and if it is, then the Lakers were the generic, not-even-given-a-name team in the montage of the heroes dominating their way through the tourney.

LeBron James is so old, his son is his coworker.

He scored the most daunting 22 points in NBA playoff history. It was like watching them boys build the railroads. Grueling labor. Heave-Ho and all. The Oklahoma City Thunder would’ve knocked the tennis balls off his walker. What was I thinking?

Luka Doncic could be the greatest basketball player in global history, like, several regions of the world would celebrate his achievements and contributions to the sport. But he’d rather eat hot chips, lie and charge his phone.

Throughout his career, it seems like the best way to get him off his game is to remind him that referees exist and he’ll spend the next 2 hours harassing them like a drunk little league dad who thinks their son isn’t getting a fair strike zone.

I wish JJ Redick, a white knuckling, anxiety-ridden perfectionist—finally held the NBA Trophy over his head after failing to win at Duke or never landing on a team in sync enough to win the chip.

I wish LeBron James won a gold medal and then his 5th NBA championship at age 40—sharing the miraculous milestone with his son—who almost died from heart issues.

I wish Luka Doncic snatched the torch and claimed his flag atop the NBA mountain—declaring himself as the objective best basketball player on planet Earth.

I wish all the food they cook on Gordon Ramsay’s shows were immediately teleported to my front door when filming wrapped.

But reality is undefeated.

Of course the Lakers lost.

Jalen Brunson: Point God

After hearing NBA aficionados claim Cade Cunningham was the best player in the Knicks-Pistons series, only for Jalen Brunson to score 40 in Game 6, including the massive game-winning 3 over Ausar Thompson, while Cade Cunningham was 0-for-8 from 3 and disappeared in the 4th.

Whenever I start to doubt the powers of Jalen Brunson, the GOATest of all time, I have to remind myself where I’ve been. Brunson is the first Knicks point guard to know how to dribble in over a decade.

Which makes me want to take a stroll down memory lane. Let’s rank some of my favorite Knicks point guards of my lifetime.

 

1. Ron Baker: I will never forget the night Anthony Davis dunked Ron Baker to the ER.

2. Jeremy Lin: *whispers* Don’t tell Carmelo Anthony that I liked Jeremy Lin. He’ll get him benched again.

3. Frank Ntilikina: Cope in human form.

4. Stephon Marbury: I wore $11 Starburys to school and every made fun of me.

5. Emmanuel Mudiay: David Fizdale had me convinced he unlocked All-Star potential out of who shot 40% over his career. The Kool-Aid was delicious.

6. Nate Robinson: The longest dunk contests ever.

7. Raymond Felton: Finally, a hooper with lipodema.

8. Jose Calderon: Not Sasha Vujacic.

9. Brandon Jennings: I don’t even had solid memories of Jennings on the Knicks but at a certain point, this grown ass adult has to stop getting in front of microphones and talking like Lavar Ball, claiming to be this legendary basketball player back in high school.

10. Elfrid Payton: I’ve convinced myself the Knicks would have an NBA championship if literally anyone else were the starting point guard but Elfrid Payton.

 

Jalen Brunson 4 president.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Written by thelesterlee

Creator of Deadseriousness. Diehard Knicks, Yankees and Giants fan who wants to create a sports and pop culture space that isn't the same copy and pasted AI content you see everywhere else.

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