If you're anything like me, there are two things you feel comfortable with: sarcasm and love of inept coaching. Both make me feel at home, hit me where I live so to speak.
I have been watching basketball religiously since I was three, and not the catholic-type religious where only Easter Sunday and maybe Christmas matter. I don't just watch the playoffs or the Finals. Every game out there that can be devoured by me will be eaten. It is my communion.
So when I found out last night that Tristan Thompson was a PF, I became baffled. I should have known well before. He looks like a small forward to me considering he's 6'9" and 238 pounds, the same exact profile as Marvin Williams plus an additional pound of what appears to be the strongest and most athletic PF pound in the NBA.
I mean, that one pound alone may be the difference between what a SF is and what makes a PF. Because, if their bodies--which only have a pound of difference--are that identical, that pound must weight at least 25-30 pounds.
It's not that I'm one to shy away from the profundities of Marvin Wiliams' 4 rebounds last night--that's impressive shit--I'm just baffled that one pound is the difference between being bullied all night into giving up 15 boards for the incredibly impressive 4 you grab.
That pound has its own muscles, undoubtedly. And Mr. Thompson apparently has worked out that pound to such unbelievable strengths that he has turned his SF body into a monster PF dozer, one ready to push all 237-pounders like Williams out of the way of his 238-pound frame.
It's a good thing that Kanter wasn't asked to guard, box out, or secure rebounds from this beastly creature. Because this singular pound of Tristan Thompson's, again, weighs at least 25-30 pounds, which means that even Kanter's 270-pound frame would have struggled.
The best strategy was the one employed. Hope that when Tristan Thompson boxes out Mr. Williams that TT forgets his own strength and accidentally pushes Marvin and himself out of the picture entirely, riding the muscle of this singular pound of brute, god-like strength, where Favors can get the rebound over the freshly-curled hair of that really pretty Brazilian lady.
The strategy just backfired.