Analysis and the not-so-daily links can be found after the jump.
Sunday night, everything seemed a little too perfect before a ball ever touched the Rose Garden’s hardwood. Houston entered the New Year as one of the league’s hottest teams, 8-2 in its last 10 games and finally back at a respectable .500, and seemed primed to overtake the flailing Portland for the 8th seed, a sweet, reassuring sight in the nightly standings had the Rockets pulled out this vital, rare road win. The NBA even televised this one nationally for the world to see Houston’s return to relevance. But of course, the Rockets have never been fans of formulaic plots and came out Sunday night with all of the energy of a band of depressed teenagers with lungs full of clove cigarette smoke. Competitive spirit lasted a while out there; Luis Scola even played some stellar defense in a first quarter that saw the Rockets look starkly aware of the hell that LaMarcus Aldridge could cause them. Then it all unraveled.
Everything just looked a bit jumbled at first; even as Scola pushed Aldridge off of the block, his help defenders allowed open shot after open shot for a Blazers team that wasn’t even up to making them initially; instead, the offensive rebounds marred perfectly good defensive possessions early (the Blazers led the Rockets in the offensive caroms by an eight to three rate in the first half). Still, while the offense never exactly hummed in this offensive clunker of a game (Houston put up a downright embarrassing 95 points per 100 possessions last night), the Rockets did not look damned from the outset. No, that part came along when Aaron Brooks and Patty Mills first matched up toward the end of the first quarter. Immediately, the little Australian looked infinitely more interested in this game than did his ailing, diminutive counterpart on the Rockets; while Brooks may only be credited with three miscues with the ball, his knack for driving into traffic and sloppily passing to big men near the three-point line cost the Rockets several possessions. Brooks had appeared to be emerging from the throes of his ankle injury in recent efforts against Miami and Toronto, but in this one, he looked positively blitzed by the electric storm that was Mills time and again. Brooks found himself lost behind screens, getting beaten to passes and stepping off of a man with a filthy jumper, none of which number 0 showed too much interest in fixing in the second half. Of course, to blame this fiery plane crash on Brooks alone feels not only unjust but silly given that Mills only put in 14 points on 12 shots; no, this game was not lost by the comparatively slow and inactive feet of Mr. Brooks. The game was lost in the paint (where the Rockets were bullied 46-28 by Rip City) or, more accurately, above the rim.
Despite a height increase in its starting center of about five inches in recent days, Houston looked tiny out there Sunday. All of the plays that began the massacre occurred where only tall men reach: via alley oops and rebounds (the Blazers held the edge in boards 47-40, numbers padded after an inconsequential 4th quarter). Aldridge went backdoor over and over again for flushes handed to him by Marcus Camby (the consummate, ideal veteran player… rebounds like a demon-spawn’s grandfather, defends the paint and even sees the court like no other Blazer, as evidenced by his jaw-dropping eight assists from the pivot. Just masterful), and when Aldridge wasn’t plunking it down on the Rockets’ heads himself, he found a number of cutting Blazers wings coming around a series of interior screens that left an already discombobulated Rockets team wondering when this damn thing would be over. By the time the Rockets looked up to notice the 11-point deficit in this typical-Nate-McMillan-plodder, the Blazers had Houston reeling, uncomfortably trying to force balls inside and giving up 22 fast break points because of lazy passes that were robbed, an insurmountable number in a game this slow.
Besides a wasted first half of brilliance from Chase Budinger (being active, looking for his shot, stroking jumpers… all the things he has not done this year) and a first look at Terrence Williams that made him look to be at least partially the multi-tool player he’s been touted as, this one left little positive to glean other than that Portland has, for once, become an occasionally fearsome defensive team. Instead, like the Rockets already had by the middle of the third quarter, this one will be better left forgotten until Wednesday, when these two fight again for what remains of their seasons haunted by injuries, as always. If this game proves at all prophetic, that one may be even more damning for the Rockets’ chances. But then again, when have the Rockets ever followed the storyline superimposed upon them?
Houston Rockets 85, Portland Trailblazers 100
The Portland Roundball Society
On to the links…
- While the Boston locker room may be full of veteran leadership and brilliant defenders, no fan can forget its truly abundant resource: raw, unchecked crazy. Hmm… how could that supply be increased exponentially with a veteran minimum contract?
- Ugh. You know the feeling when your team has the kind of night when everything goes so well that your usually reserved old vets crack a few jokes in the post-game interviews? That was the kind of night the Blazers had against Houston Sunday: “And then there was Camby. The player who seems to make everything click for the Blazers had 13 rebounds, eight assists, three blocked shots and one exceptional highlight. Early in the first quarter, before the Blazers had established a dominant tone, Camby rebounded a Jordan Hill miss and drove the length of the floor in transition, finishing the head-shaking sequence with a no-look pass to Aldridge for a dunk. Yes, it was that kind of night for the Blazers. ‘I just was going with the flow,’ Camby said. ‘I got the rebound and I saw (Luis) Scola was underneath the basket, so I was just trying to push it. And anytime I’m on the break, I’m looking for LaMarcus. Us bigs got to take care of each other.’”
- I always feel like artists never appreciate the appeal of tininess. That said, I am obviously thankful for contributor and Garbage Time All-Stars‘ proprietor Josh Frankel’s miniature portrait of Bron Bron, conveniently subtitled for those unaware of LeBron James.
- Sorry if I keep gushing about the dopeness of Camby, but at least Rockets fans can sleep well knowing their team got punked by the league’s best rebounder, at least this year.
- The Miami Heat’s pick-and-roll defense cannot be topped. That’s that, Mattress Man. Well, except that it can be, and Monta Ellis and the Warriors shredded it for an entire half Saturday before coming up short. Sebastian Pruiti breaks it down wonderfully per usual, and if you haven’t been obsessively checking Mr. Pruiti’s brilliant NBA Playbook blog all year long (and really, if you haven’t, what in Christ’s name is wrong with you?), here are his top five posts of the last 365 days.
- Thanks for reading, folks. Maybe that didn’t deserve a bullet.
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