As it happens, our day began very early Wednesday Thursday morning.  The big canyons, the canyons we were really here to see, Chipitin and Matacanes, are pretty remote.  Although they aren't particularly far from the hotel as the crow flies, they are very, very far as the 15 passenger van drives.  So that meant a 6 AM departure followed by a long day in a canyon.

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After the excitement of bungee-jumping the night before, I was more than a little wound up.  In case you were wondering, it's probably not a great idea to release all your adrenaline into your bloodstream, and then go beddy-bye.  Please make a note of it.

We also had our first logistical snafu of the trip at this point.  Because Chipitin and Matacanes are so remote, we would be spending Thursday night in a cabin in the mountains rather than making the drive multiple tiimes.  We all knew that going in, but unfortunately no one had informed us that we were expected to move out of our hotel rooms for that one evening, and move back in Friday night.  For the majority of the 'Guinea Pig Group' this was simply not an option.  Although the language barrier complicated matters some, it was determined that we could pay the 900 peso rate and keep the room an extra night.  Myself, alone and traveling very light, I decided to save the 900 pesos and go ahead and vacate.  Cheri and Bob said I could put my bag in their room.  When I showed up with a day pack about one third full, Cheri asked me where the rest was.  Like I said, I was traveling light.

The drive was as advertised, muy difficile.  After a few miles we turned off the paved road and headed down into the Cumbres de Monterrey National Park.  For about 12 kilometers, we traveled over easily the worst road I've ever been on until we reached the base of the canyon.  Then we headed back up into the mountains for 10 more kilometers on a road that made me long for the comfort and safety of the first road.  Carved out of the side of a mountain, barely wide enough for a mule drawn cart let alone a big cumbersome van, who knows what would have happened if we'd ever met a vehicle going the other way.  During the long drive, Bob regaled us with stories from the mountains of Afghanistan where he was deployed with the 'snake eaters' from Special Ops.  BTW, my military jargon, non-existent before, is much improved after this trip.  For instance, I can now use Tango Uniform (Military Alphabet Code for T.U., 'tits up') in a sentence, as in "The Spurs are about to go Tango Uniform in their series with the Hornets.'  So I've got that going for me.

After who knows how long, we arrived at the town of Portrero Redondo.  And it was a town, amazing given it's remoteness, with a school, and a bar (such as it was) and farms.  After a brief stop at the cabin to drop off our sleeping bags, we left for the trailhead.

A short downhill hike brought us to the water course we would be following.  Like the day before, the top of the canyon was dry this time of year.  But it was immediately obvious that this would be an impressive sight during the wet season.  Massive, deep holes, empty in April but Olympic swimming pools at other times, sat at the base of each drop, carved into the limestone by rushing water.

From the top of the fourth rappel, we could hear water at the bottom.  We were meeting up with a side canyon.  This was a long straight rappel into a beautiful pool of clear, deep water.  The highlight though was neither the rappel nor the lovely pool, but rather the huge arachnids.  When I got to the water Barbara told me that I shouldn't swim too close to the rocks on the right because of the icky bugs.  I assumed she was kidding, but indeed, two HUGE spiders (I'm guessing from Paolo's description and their appearance they were some form of dolomedes) sat on a rock just above the water line.  Apparently, they wait for fish to snack on algae at the edge of the pool, and then they snack on the fish.  I'm guessing that they would not have had much success trying to eat me, but I didn't get close enough to find out.  When Maya got to the bottom of the rappel and saw them, she let out a wonderful, horror movie shriek.  I laughed.  It was funny.  Maya's a good screamer. 

As most of the group headed for the next rappel, Bob and I waited behind for Edgar. I had found a nice outcropping of rock about 12 feet high from which I could jump into the water, which I did a couple of times.  When Edgar got to the bottom, we helped him stuff the ropes and moved forward. 

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After one more long rappel into another beautiful pool (this one with a pretty long swim to get out), we came to the water slide portion of the canyon.  You pretty much have to see this thing to believe it.  The water throughout these canyons is doing some amazing things.  For one thing, the minerals leaching out of the limestone are constantly being deposited along the watercourse, building up these interesting formations.  But at the same time, the force of the water wears away at the formations as well.  The combination of simultaneously building up and wearing down in this case made for a smooth, rounded slope leading sharply to a deep pool below, with a deep natural channel cut right into the top just wide enough for the human buttocks.  The engineers at Raging Waters could not have done better.

We arrived at the top of this slide ahead of our guides, and unfortunately I knew I couldn't go further without them.  By the time Paolo got there and gave me the green light, I couldn't wait another second.  It didn't disappoint.  A slippery chute, with a couple of twists (keep that left elbow in if you decide to try it) and a nice 10 foot drop into the pool at the end.  Too bad there wasn't really an easy way back up to the top, or I would have been riding all day.  A definite E-Ticket.

But here's one case where my enthusiasm backfired.  Since I was chomping at the bit, I was the first to go.  Paolo was quite emphatic that I shouldn't get too far out of the water at the outlet to the pool, and I soon found out why.  It led to a 250 foot waterfall.  Don't worry; obviously I didn't slip and fall to my death or anything.  But I did have a problem.  The stream basically emerges here from a narrow canyon into a much wider valley (hence the huge waterfall).  As such, there is a wind tunnel effect above the falls.  The rappel down the waterfall (the last of the day) is long and complex, and requires a lot of preparation.  So after we all had a fun slide into the water, we sat for 45 minutes or so, soaking wet and shivering in the wind, waiting for the next rappel.  Of course the sun picked that moment to go behind the clouds as well.  It was a mite chilly.  Note to self - next time, wait at the TOP of the super fun water slide.

I was feeling a little guilty about rushing every down into this arctic wind tunnel, so I waited until near the end of the line to move forward.  Because of the precarious nature of our perch, I couldn't see the rappel that Paolo and Edgar and Nick had set up.  All I knew was that there was a LOT of screaming as each canyoneer disappeared from my view.  I soon found out why.

Although it's certainly possible to rappel down a 280 foot waterfall directly, there are plenty of reasons you might not want to.  For one thing, that's just a damn long way to be rappelling through water, which is fun for awhile, but which might get old after 100 feet or so.  And as Nick pointed out when I inquired, "It would be one hell of a rope pull at the end."  True.  At any rate, the guides set it up in two separate steps - the first a guided rappel to an outcropping to the right of the falls for about half the elevation, followed by a straightforward descent straight into the pool at the base of the falls.

A guided rappel, for those who are not familiar, is a little like a zip line.  A fixed rope was secured between an anchor at the top of the falls and a tree on the ledge.  (How Edgar got to that ledge is another story.  The answer: very carefully.)  Clipping into the fixed line using the safety tether attached to your harness, a second rope is then used to lower each person along the fixed line, suspended perhaps 250 feet in mid air.  Now, you're no more or less dependent on your equipment and your knots and your anchor on a standard rappel than you are drifting through space 250 feet off the ground.  Still, there's a little comfort to be gained from having your feet against the rock, controlling your own descent.  This was an entirely different feeling.

As each person began this uniquely harrowing descent, two things happened.  First of all, you passed directly into the waterfall.  It was a little unexpected and therefore more shocking, because the direct line of the guide rope appeared to take you above the water.  But of course with the added weight, the rope dipped very nicely under the falls and stayed there for awhile.  And if you wanted to get out of the water quickly, well that wasn't up to you, since Paolo was the one letting out the rope.  So that accounted for a lot of screaming.  (Wolf doesn't really like water, which I guess is why he joined the Air Force and not the Navy.)  The good news is that you eventually emerged from the water - but the bad news is that you left the perceived safety of the canyon wall to do so.  As the guide rope took each member of our group over the abyss and their striving toes could no longer grasp any portion of terra firma, that was invariably good for another set of screams.  If the first set of screams conveyed, "Oh crap, that water's cold!" the second set was definitely "Holy shit, what am I doing HERE?"

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The final rappel was spectacular, if somewhat more conventional.  The ledge we were on overhangs the pool, so the majority of the 150 drop is free hanging.  Wolf was the first to go, and Nick wanted to set it up so everyone would drop off the rope at the end into the water.  Wolf decided that it would be best to drop from about 10 feet.  After Wolf was gone, Nick reeled in about 15 feet more to a more manly height.  For my part, I decided to let go of the rope about 50 feet above the surface of the water - speeding downward for about 25 feet with friction slowing me, then freefalling the final 25 feet.  For what it's worth, I don't really recommend that method.  It's hard to get your feet under you when you disengage from the rope, and I ended up landing squarely on my ass.  Now, a butt flop is a lot better than a belly flop or a back flop, but it's still a shock to the system.

The grotto at the base of the falls is amazingly beautiful, and much more like something you might expect in a rainforest in Hawaii than in supposedly arid Mexico.  We still had a hike back to the cabin ahead of us, but we were done with rappelling and swimming for the day, so we were able to get out of our harnesses and wetsuits, and have a snack and relax while waiting for Edgar and Paolo to make their way down.  It was a wonderful way to end a spectacular canyon.

The ending to the day was pretty wonderful as well.  Of course we'd eaten little more than nutrition bars and trail mix all day.  Back at the cabin, some associates of Paolo and Edgar were barbecuing chicken and carnitas, vegetables and of course lots and lots of tortillas.  We must have eaten for two hours.

The cabin was very basic, but probably better than most of us expected.  With a couple of rooms and a couple of lofts and mattresses on the floor.  I'm told that someone snored, but it must have only been happening when I was asleep, because I never heard anything.

The Big Three in the West -

From 2004 to 2007, Phoenix, Dallas and San Antonio were the best teams in the best conference.  Before Golden State shocked the Mavs in last year's playoffs, no other Western Conference team had won a series against one of those teams since Steve Nash arrived in Phoenix.  And entering this season, the big three were widely assumed to still be the class of the conference.  But the Mavs and Suns were both sent home in 1-4 series, and San Antonio is down 0-2 after a pair of bad losses to the Hornets.  For Western Conference rivals, hoping to see some room at the top, the main hope was that age would catch up with these teams.  The Suns and Mavs hastened their own demise by making blockbuster trades to get significantly older.  Meanwhile, the Spurs own 'big three' remain great and plenty young, but their supporting cast is ready for social security.  Too bad for non-playoff teams like the Clippers, Warriors and Blazers that the Hornets, Lakers and Jazz already appear to have taken over the top three spots.

The Hack-a-Shaq -

Gregg Popovich is a great coach.  I'm also beginning to suspect that he's something of a weenie.  For one thing, the NBA needs to revisit their 'sideline' interview strategy between quarters if Popovich is going to be so disdainful.  I mean, sure, I disdain Craig Sager too, but it's not doing anyone any good to put it on TV.  But this whole Hack-a-Shaq (and now Hack-a-Tyson) thing is just wrong.

First of all, look at the numbers.  Without getting too detailed, the Spurs have one of the top defenses in the league, allowing 103.6 points per 100 possessions during the regular season.  Given that number, it would only make sense mathematically to foul someone who shoots worse than 51.8% from the line.  Isn't Popovich the guy who was righteously indignant at the Pau Gasol trade, that it was hurting the league, that it made a mockery of the rules?  And he's going to have Jacque Vaughan fouling Shaq IN THE FIRST QUARTER?  For basically no advantage?  If the Hack-a-Shaq were worthwhile from a basketball standpoint, I could almost forgive the disrespect to the game and the fans.  But the bottom line is, your defense, if it's any good and if it's set, should be getting a stop at least every other possession, so intentionally fouling only pays off if the shooter is significantly under 50%.  Sure, if you're behind and you want to lengthen the game, you might foul Shaq (or Ben Wallace or Tyson Chandler or whomever) in the fourth quarter.  But fouling intentionally in the first quarter?  With the lead?  That's bush league.  And awful to watch.  And not even smart.

Billups' Three -

This has got to be one of the most absurd situations I've ever seen.  The NBA's complete disregard for common sense in the rulebook is monumental, from the 'leave the bench' rule to what is and isn't allowed as regards replays.  This is a great example.

First of all, I watched the play, and the instant that Stuckey passed up his shot to instead pass the ball to Billups, I said to myself, 'Dumb decision, there's not enough time.'  My internal clock, set to 5.1 seconds, knew that Stuckey should have taken the shot. When I glanced at the clock and saw that 4.8 seconds were showing, I knew that something was wrong. 

I can almost understand the refs being bound by a rule that needs to be changed and not looking at the replay.  But if the spirit of the rule is to not slow the game down with replays, we would seem to have violated that rule with a 10 minute discussion that must have gone something like this:

Steve Javie:  Hey Joe, do you think that was 5.1 seconds?

Joe Forte:  I dunno.  Derrick, were you counting?

Derrick Stafford:  Was I counting?  Why would I be counting?  We have clocks for that!

SJ:  Well what did it FEEL like?

JF:  Feel this, Javie.

SJ:  Well, what are we gonna do?  We're not allowed to look at the replay.

DS:  We're in Detroit, Chauncey Billups is a great player.  All these things say to me, basket counts.

Needless to say they got it wrong.  Here's the thing.  Clocks malfunction all the time.  The ref blows his whistle, they reset the clock to something reasonable and they restart the play.  So even accepting that the NBA rulebook short-sightedly precluded a replay, the painfully obvious answer was to take the points off the board, put 5.1 seconds on the clock, and inbound the ball again. 

Because of the NBA's tendency to circle the wagons and clam up during controversies, I've seen no decent explanation as to why they couldn't simply have a do over.  In their admission that the basket should not have counted , NBA President Joel Litvin said "NBA rules, [do not] allow for a re-play after a clock malfunction is discovered."  The rules don't allow for a re-play?  What does that even mean?  Does it specifically DISALLOW a re-play?  Why would it do that?  5.1 seconds...  it would have taken 10 seconds to make the decision, 5.1 seconds to re-play it and it would have been an infinitely better decision.  Instead, they talked for 10 minutes in order to get it wrong.  Besides, refs re-play things all the time.  Maybe not after a basket, but when the clock malfunctions, they blow their whistle, they address the clock, and they inbound the ball again.  What is that if not a re-play?  Oh, and then there was that game in Atlanta where Shaq was disqualified with his sixth foul even though he only had five.  You're going to re-play the final seconds of that meaningless game, 3 months later after Shaq has been traded to Phoenix, and you can't be bothered to put 5.1 seconds back on the clock when you KNOW it's the right thing to do?  Excellent.

But given that the do over option wasn't available, disallowing the basket was the next most obvious choice.  Not just because it ended up being the correct answer.  (My internal clock is good, and maybe it's better than Steve Javie's.  But 0.6 of a second is small margin of error.)  But in the absence of compelling evidence that the basket should have been allowed (which obviously didn't exist), you disallow it.  Why?  For one thing, the Magic players saw the frozen clock before the officials did - if you watch the replay, they're pointing to the clock before Billups releases the ball.  So the malfunction impacted the play.  Secondly, Detroit is the home team and is therefore ultimately responsible for the clock (the operator is supposedly neutral).  After multiple issues in Atlanta this season, why the NBA would rule to benefit a home team in this situation is unfathomable.  There's a pretty clear conflict of interest here, if a clock malfunction so distinctly ends up favoring the home team.  Finally, even if you're not specifically allowed to re-run the play, and you can't, you know, count to five and satisfy yourself that the basket should not have counted, you can still re-run the play from a statistical standpoint.  Length of the court, 5.1 seconds, end of the quarter.  What percentage of those plays result in three points?  5%?  Take the points off the board, finish the quarter with the Magic up one, let the teams decide it in the fourth.

So option 1 - get it right.  Option 2 - do over.  Option 3 - disallow the basket because of several common sense reasons over and above the fact that it is the right call.  The officiating crew of course went for the worst possible option.  Putting 0.5 seconds on the clock was of course the icing on the ludicrous cake, considering that the shot was in the air for a good 2 seconds. 

But here's my favorite irony in this situation.  The referees are allowed to review a play if there are zeros showing on the clock.  Which of course there would have been had the clock not malfunctioned.  Isn't that delicious?  "We need to review the play to determine when the clock malfunctioned.  Oh wait, we can't because the clock malfunctioned."  By this logic, if the clock showed 0.4 prior to a play, but failed to start, they would not be allowed to watch the replay, because the clock would still be showing 0.4. 

Where Kafkaesque Happens.  Where Joseph Heller Happens.

I feel compelled to point out that throughout the fourth, until there were 10 seconds left in the game, the Pistons never led by more than three points.  There's no way of knowing what the actual outcome would have been, but it goes without saying that allowing Billups' three pointer to count had a HUGE impact on this game.

By the way, the dead ball foul Javie called on Dooling was also crap.  He blew his whistle when Hamilton fell, not when the contact occurred.  There may have been a foul there (or they might simply have gotten their feet tangled), but Javie wasn't convinced there was a foul until Hamilton fell down, which had nothing to do with the play.

With the Clippers in desperate need of help in the backcourt, CSKA Moscow's EuroLeague victory over Maccabi yesterday should not go unnoticed.  It was CSKA's second title in 3 years, and of course the Clippers have crossed paths with them before, losing a pre-season game on the ill-fated training camp trip to Moscow in 2006.  It's also worth noting that two of CSKA's most important players are Greek point guard Theodoros Papaloukas, the Final Four MVP in 2006, and American shooting guard Trajan Langdon, this year's MVP.

The Clippers purportedly pursued Papaloukas last off-season to no avail.  He decided to stay in Moscow, and the rumor mill surrounding him has died down considerably.  (Maybe he has a new CSKA contract with a big buyout - I don't know.)  As for Langdon, the former Dukie, given that he has not one but two former teammates on the Clippers (depending on what happens with options, of course), he would seem to be a prefect fit for the Clippers if he were to decide to try his hand at the NBA again.

However, according to Ian Whittell's report from the Final Four in Madrid, he's simply not interested.  He's made a satisfying career for himself in Moscow, and he has no intention of pursuing an NBA dream at this point.  Still, it's one thing to say that - it's quite another to turn down a guaranteed contract with the chance to play (and live) in LA next to his friends Brand and Maggette.

Would he be able to make a significant contribution?  It's hard to say for sure, but if you remember him from college, you know he can shoot, and he still can.  He made close to 58% of his shots in the EuroLeague this season, and 46% of his threes (of course that's from the much shorter, 20'6" the international line).  He also would seem to be a good 'glue' guy.  This is a good team, that easily beat the Clippers in that 2006 pre-season game.  It's loaded with NBA caliber talent (David Andersen was 2002 draft pick, Papaloukas could be in the NBA for sure, Khyrapa played for the Blazers and Bulls), but it's Langdon who leads the team in minutes.  It should also be noted that although Langdon never got any traction in his first stint in the NBA with the Cavs, he suffered a knee injury as a rookie and never really got much of a chance after his knee surgery. 

Anthony Parker could be an uncannily accurate comparison - first round draft pick (Parker was chosen 21st in 97, Langdon 11th in 99), struggled to find a place in the NBA for three seasons, went to Europe to play for a top club, won multiple EuroLeague titles and a Final Four MVP.  Parker returned to the NBA at the age of  31 after 6 seasons in Europe and has been the starting shooting guard for the Raptors ever since, helping lead Toronto to the playoffs both of his seasons.  If Langdon is following the Parker plan, now is the time to return: he's been gone for 6 seasons.

Of course, that's the big problem with both Papaloukas and Langdon - age.  Papaloukas is 31; Langdon turns 32 next week.  If the Clippers are looking for a shooting guard to replace Cuttino Mobley, it would be nice to find one who is more than 8 months younger than Cat.  And if Langdon is as happy as he says he is, there's no way he's coming to LA for less than guaranteed money and a guaranteed opportunity to play.  He's not leaving his situation to come here and back up Mobley, and at 32, the Clippers shouldn't pursue him unless they want him to play NOW.

So in the end, it seems highly unlikely that Trajan Langdon will be reuniting with Brand and Maggette for anything other than an alumni game at Cameron Indoor Stadium.  But let's hope that the Clippers' scouts are looking hard for some backcourt help, even if Moscow isn't the answer.

I honestly did not think we would see this in the 2007-2008 season, but MBFGC, Big Sofo, Sofoklis Schortsianitis is back in action for Olympiakos.

The season began with MBFGC battling injuries and his own considerable girth.   Back in January, halfway into the season with Sofo having yet to play a minute, he entered a health clinic (fat farm) in Switzerland for an intensive three month program.  At the time , I feared that he might never get into playing shape.

Lo and behold, everything seems to have gone according to the most optimistic projections.  He returned from Switzerland after three months and re-joined his teammates.  And after about a month of basketball activities, he made his season debut on April 16, scoring 9 points in his first six minutes on the court and finishing with 11. From a 4/16 news item on the EuroBasket web site:

Sofocles Schortsianitis (206-C-85) is back in action. The powerful Greek center appeared last night in the court, this time with his uniform and ready to ramble. The game between Olympiakos and AEL 1964 was the 'kick off' game for the 'big Sofo'. The talented center scored his first 9 points in only 6 minutes, proving first of all that he wants to come back in action very soon. Big Sofo was much different in the court, with at least 30 kilos less, mood to run, passionate and above all ready to work hard in order to reach the best feasible level and become ready for the coming play-offs and of course if possible the games of the Hellenic NT for the pre-Olympic Tournament which will take place in Athens, Greece. Coach Panagiotis Yiannakis is definitely the most delighted person as he can add a 'weapon' in both of his teams, firstly at his club, Olympiakos and secondly and most important at his National team.

The sample size is minuscule (he's only played 41 minutes in three games so far), but so far his stats are encouragingly similar to the player we were so excited about: an efficient scoring machine (9 for 12 from the field) who also gets to the line (13 attempts in 41 minutes), but needs to shoot better when he gets there (he's 5 for 13), is a poor rebounder (only 5 so far) and is turnover prone (7).  Hopefully the extremely high turnovers are a function of his almost 12 month layoff from competitive basketball and he'll get sharper with more time.

Clearly, Sofo has worked hard to get onto the court.  No one is going to come out and say what his weight is or was, but the report above estimates that he was at least 30 kg lighter in his debut (which, as it happens, was the stated goal when he went to Switzerland).  That's 66 pounds for you Americans.  Almost 10 stones for the Brits.  That's a whole lot of weight to lose.

And although I know nothing of the personalities of Greek basketball, it seems entirely possible that circumstances have engineered a fortuitious break for the large young man.  While he was away, the Reds starting center, NBA veteran Marc Jackson was dismissed from the team. Then Olympiakos fired head coach Pini Gershon (a legend in European basketball, on the list of the 50 Greatest Contributors to Euro hoops currently being celebrated at the EuroLeague Final Four) and replaced him with Panagiotis Yiannakis.  Yiannakis is Greek, and has more of an incentive to develop a young Greek talent, all the more so given that he is also the coach of the national team.  In January it seemed essentially impossible that Sofo would be on the Greek selection this summer - but after making his dramatic return, and playing club ball for the national coach, it would seem to be back on the table.

He has a handful of important games to play before his season is done.  Although Olympiakos was eliminated in the EuroLeague round of 8 by CSKA Moscow, the playoffs in the Greek league start tomorrow, May 3rd.  As usual, Panathinaikos and Olympiakos finished one and two in the regular season, and are likely headed to another showdown in the finals.  So he's got a chance to re-assert himself on an important stage in advance of the National Team selection.  Greece has yet to qualify for the Beijing Olympics, but are among the favorites in the final pre-Olympic tournament in Athens that will determine the final 3 Olympic participants.  Although it's still a long shot on both counts, it's possible that MBFGC could meet Mr. Flippy in Athens in July.

After a relatively tame first day of canyoneering , things got a little more interesting on Day Two.  For one thing, there was a fairly strenuous hike involved.  From the parking lot of a regional park in Monterrey, we began to gain elevation almost immediately.  It was pretty clear from the first day that Paolo and Edgar, our Mexican guides, were used to slightly less aggressive groups (if not necessarily less skilled).  As Wolf, Bob, Maya and I began ascending the trail at a pace that suited us, it was Edgar who insisted we stop for a rest and wait for the others (Nick and Paolo were hanging with the slower group).  When Edgar cut us loose again, Bob began a virtual sprint up the mountain.  It was then that I realized the shape the guy was in.  I'm something of a hiking savant - I can sit on the couch watching basketball or at the computer blogging for 6 months, and then go out and hike for 4 days and keep up with (or even outpace) people who do it all the time.  I don't know why.  But I couldn't keep up with Bob.  No way.  Not if he didn't want me to.  I guess training with the Special Ops guys, carrying 80 pound packs for 16 hour forced marches, will do that - go figure.

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Of course we had to slow down, not least because we didn't really know where we were going, so as we came to forks in the road we had to wait for our guides.  After an hour and a half or so, we arrived at the drop in point for the canyon.

The mountains around Monterrey are limestone.  I'm not sure how it all works, but minerals leach out of the limestone into the water, and are left behind in the watercourse forming all sorts of weird and wonderful formations.  The upper part of the canyon was dry, and parts of the exposed stream bed looked like poured cement.  It was really quite fascinating.  In some places, stones were fused together with mortar between, in others smooth sheets of concrete lined the way.  It all looked like the work of human hands.

After the first couple of rappels we caught up with the water.  Rappelling through waterfalls is always loads of fun.  One thing that was particularly interesting about this canyon was that the water tended to appear and disappear.  No doubt the limestone had eroded, giving was underground channels periodically (we'd find out a lot more about this possibility on the final day).  So on one rappel, for instance, the top was a dry waterfall, but about halfway down, water came shooting out of two holes, like a fountain. 

The trip was billed as very wet, with lots of jumps into deep water.  And although we knew that the canyons on subsequent days were going to get progressively wetter, we were ready for some of those jumps.  We were in wetsuits, and on a pretty hot day (not scorching, happily) it was more comfortable to be in the water than out of it. 

As we came upon an outcropping of rock with a deepish looking pool 15 feet below, Maya and I asked Edgar if we were going to jump.  We were only half-serious.  He explained, in his broken English, "No, very dangerous."  There were submerged rocks on either side and in the distance, not to mention that you had to jump out far enough to even make it into the water.  In short, the landing area was pretty small, and a miss was a broken ankle waiting to happen.  He made if very clear that it would be a very, very bad idea to jump from there - and then he jumped.  We weren't sure if he was intentionally misleading us, or if we had simply misunderstood what he said.  At any rate, I immediately got to the edge of the rocks and prepared to plunge in.

Edgar pointed me to where I should land.  A large rock entered the water in front of me and was visible beneath the surface before if fell off.  To the left and right of that rock were other submerged obstacles.  I should aim for the big rock, but not jump too far so as to avoid landing on it.  Seemed simple enough.  Still, it was hardly straight down to the water, with slope and rocks to be cleared just to reach the pool.  His initial inclination was correct.  "Very dangerous."

I jumped... way too far.  (Damn my vertical!)  I landed squarely with both feet on the big rock in the distance.  I can't say how deep the water was where I hit the rock - but I hit it hard.  There was a series of gasps from the others watching.  Fortunately, I hit it square with no twisting, and I know enough to keep my legs flexed.  I sort of jammed my right ankle from the impact (although I didn't tell anyone), but luckily there was no significant damage done.  I walked it off.

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Fortunately, I had now demonstrated for everyone how NOT to do it.  Maya, Barbara and Bob all managed to jump and hit the sweet spot.  The others climbed down to a lower rock and jumped from there, or decided against jumping altogether.

The rest of the day passed without incident.  I cannot say the same for the evening .

Next - the canyons get serious.

The first line of Tolstoy's 'Anna Karenina' says "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way."  The ultimate goal of an NBA team remains to compete for a championship (I won't say win, because all you can do is build a team that is good enough to win - whether you actually get the ring depends on a million other factors).  By that standard, your team either needs to be at that level, or have a reasonable chance of getting there in the foreseeable future.  Happy NBA teams are in the hunt - everyone else is unhappy.

The Clippers are certainly an unhappy family right now, but in their own way.  (Let's face it, they've always been an unhappy family, and are as close to happy today as they have been in any off-season in the team's California history other than two years ago.  But they still have problems.)  They may be deluding themselves, but the Clippers believe they have a roster capable of competing, but that they were forced into the lottery by injuries.  We'll see.

Some lottery teams have hope in the form of young, developing talent.  Some have hope in the form of loads of room under the salary cap.  Some have both.  And some lottery teams have no hope at all - like the Knicks.

And then there are the playoff teams, who in some cases are even worse off.  The lottery teams have hit bottom - they don't have to worry about hanging onto anything, because they have nothing.  High draft picks are their reason to hope, and merely competing for a playoff spot (infinitely easier than competing for a ring) will likely appease their fans for a while. 

The Mavericks were eliminated in 5 games by the Hornets.  And although New Orleans had the second best record in the Western Conference, it still FEELS like an insult to the once-mighty Mavs.  With 3 wins in their last 15 playoff games, the Mavs fired their coach, who only a couple of seasons ago was the NBA Coach of the Year and still ranks near the top in career winning percentage.

The Suns may soon part ways with their own former COY, and now their window for winning a championship has been hermetically sealed - Nash is 34 and Shaq is 35, and against the Spurs they looked their age and then some.

But of the 16 playoff teams, none is in a worse position than the Denver Nuggets.  There's the simple fact that they're the only team to have been swept in this season's playoffs.  But it goes beyond that.  You could argue that they have more of a chance to compete next season than the Suns - after all, Iverson (32) and Camby (34) played like relative spring chickens compared to Nash and Shaq while Carmelo Anthony hasn't even entered his prime yet.  But Denver has other issues.

Like the salary cap.  The Nuggets have the third highest payroll in basketball, and unlike the Mavs, an owner who has no interest in paying the luxury tax indefinitely.  Stan Kroenke accepted the tab for the Allen Iverson trade and the assumption that he was buying a LOT of playoff wins.  Instead, he got one win followed by 8 straight losses.  With Allen Iverson scheduled to make close to $22M next season, and four other players (Anthony, Martin, Camby and Nene) in contracts that each average over $10M per, the Nuggets have nowhere to go.  Because none of those contracts are particularly trade friendly.  To be specific - Anthony could be traded, but they won't do that.  Martin and Nene are the definition of untradeable.  No one is going to take 32 year old Allen Iverson for $22M for one year.  And I'm not sure that anyone is particularly interested in 34 year old Marcus Camby for $22M for two years.

Like public relations.  J.R. Smith was the driver in a crash that resulted in the death of his friend last June.  Carmelo Anthony, after incidents involving marijuana in his backpack and in his car, not to mention the whole 'stop snitching' fiasco, was arrested on suspicion of driving under the influence a few weeks ago.  (I remember quotes from Anthony about being a 'leader' and a 'mentor' to Smith at the time of Smith's ordeal, and thinking he'd have to do some growing up of his own.)  Allen Iverson and Kenyon Martin are anything but choir boys.  And of course there was the fight with the Knicks in Madison Square Garden last season.  If Portland put together the Jail-blazers, doesn't this team deserve a similar moniker?  Call them the Denver-tentiary Nuggets.  Their on-court behavior (7 technical fouls in 4 games against the Lakers) only re-enforces the negative image.

Like underachieving.  Yes, the Nuggets won 50 games this season.  But right or wrong, with two All Star game starters, the defending defensive player of the year, and all those big contracts, the expectations are pretty high. 

The Nuggets have a decision to make about Allen Iverson this summer.  Do they extend him?  Do they re-sign him if he exercises his early termination option?  Smith is a restricted free agent, and that decision will be even tougher.  And they still don't have a viable solution at point guard, nor do they have the ability to sign one without going back above the luxury tax.

It will be interesting to see what happens in the Mile High City this summer.

The second in a series of posts about my recent canyoneering trip to Mexico.  If you only come here for the Clippers stuff and you're not interested, then don't read it.

After our first day of canyoneering, we met in the restaurant at the hotel for some drinks and snacks.  The hotel sits on the edge of the mountain, and the restaurant overlooks a steep cliff.  Built out over the cliff is a metal platform, a bit like a diving board, from which the hotel offers bungee-jumping.  The conversation turned to that most adrenaline-y of adrenaline sports.  It was quickly established that no one in our group had ever bungee-jumped.  When Wolf asked Nick if he ever would, he replied that he would if he needed to.  I pounced.

"If you needed to?  Exactly what would be the situation in which you would need to bungee-jump?  Is there something that you need to access suspended in mid-air somewhere between where you are standing and the ground 200 feet below?  Because other than that, I'm not really seeing how need enters into the conversation."

via nicoantonio.smugmug.com

The trash-talk escalated from there.  When all was said and done, it was established that the trouble-makers (that would be myself and Barbara, in case you've forgotten) would be bungee-jumping at some point before the week was out.  I should probably point out that I had had a fair amount to drink at that point, and who knows if I would have talked so big with a less elevated blood alcohol content.  It also happens to be true that bungee-jumping has always intrigued me, so I wasn't simply talking smack; I figured it was a good chance to do something new and exciting.  Still, we appeared to be the only 8 people staying at the hotel in this particular mid-week in April, and I actually felt pretty confident that I would never have to back up my words.  Surely the hotel personnel who ran the bungee-jump weren't even around when the hotel was so sparsely populated.

After the second day of canyoneering Wednesday (I'll get back to that day, but need to finish the bungee story), we were all back in the restaurant for dinner.  Beforehand, just in case, I went to the entrance to the bungee-jump platform to gauge my odds of actually having to walk my talk.  As I had suspected, there was no one around, and no indication of how to find anyone who could access the facility.  Armed with this information, I felt confident that I could talk as big as I wanted without fear of repercussions.  I was playing with the house's money.

"So Steve, you gonna bungee-jump tonight?"

"I wish I could!  I was really looking forward to it!  In fact, I was just up there trying to schedule it, but there was no one around.  It doesn't look like they're open.  Darn the luck!  It looks like I'm not going to get to do it.  It's really too bad, because I was looking off that 200 foot cliff and what I really wanted to do was jump with a rubber band on my ankles!"

So we ate our dinner and had some beers.  In fact, I pretty much had two dinners, since Cheryl had a tendency to eat about 1/10th of the food they brought her, and I always got her leftovers (thanks Cheryl!)  After dinner, Nick had a revelation for the group.

"Guess what everybody?  It turns out that Paolo, in addition to being our guide in the canyons, also operates the bungee jump for the hotel!  I just spoke to him, and he has the key, and anyone who wants to jump is more than welcome to do so.  Isn't that great news, Steve?"

"Yeah, grrreaaat.  Yippee?"  Maybe that second dinner wasn't such a good idea.

Up on the terrace overlooking the cliff, Barbara tells me that she wants to go first.  Fine by me, whatever you want (secretly relieved).  Paolo's girlfriend, Loriana puts her in the harness and ankle straps that represent the difference between life and death in this admittedly bizarre ritual.  Barbara works her way to the end of the platform where Paolo awaits.  Nick and his ubiquitous camera (was this all a ploy to get some good photos for the ZAC web site?) also dons a harness so that he can venture out on the platform for the money shots.  The rest of us wait on the terrace, and watch as Paolo goes through his final safety check.  Barbara inches to the edge of the platform, leans forward, and... can't seem to let go of the handrail.  She returns to an upright position, leans further forward this time and... once again aborts at the last second.  It turns out, it's hard to convince your body to jump headfirst to what it believes to be its death.  Go figure.  We cheer encouragement from the terrace, not really convinced that we should be encouraging this behavior at all.  The third time she goes through with it, and plummets toward the earth.  Her shrieks fill the night, and even elicit an amorous reply from the peacock on the hotel grounds, clearly impressed by her vocal cords if not her tail feathers.  As Barbara bounces and swings on the end of a rubber band, and is then hoisted back up (a wench and wench according to Bob), the realization sets in: it's my turn!

As I am gearing up, I nervously chat with Loriana (who speaks perfect English, unlike her boyfriend whose broken English nonetheless remains miles beyond my Spanish).  "So, Loriana, have you ever bungee-jumped?"  "No, but I think maybe today I will try."  I sullenly empty my pockets, handing my iPod to Maya, my wallet to Cheri, assuming but somehow not convinced that I'll be getting them back a few moments hence.  I clip into the safety tether and work my way to the end of the platform, a dead man walking. 

Standing on the end, on what can only be described as a 200 foot diving board erroneously erected over arid earth, I contemplate the fact that it is night.  There are lights shining down from the platform, but they can't actually illuminate the ground so far below.  So is it a good thing that I can't see the bottom?  Would I be more comfortable diving toward the fully visible earth so far below, my subconscious completely convinced that death is the only possible outcome?  Or is it better to be jumping into a black void, where death is no less likely, but perhaps delayed, perhaps indefinitely, by some bottomless pit?  The question is interestingly rhetorical, but I for one will never know the answer, since I don't plan on experiencing the daylight version at this point.

Paolo asks me if I want to dive forwards or backwards.  (Forwards, thank you very much.)  He explains to me that I have to dive headfirst.  (With the bungee attached to my ankles, I had actually figured this one out.)  Now he wants me to get to the very edge of the platform with my toes dangling over the void.  When my right foot is four inches over the edge, but my left foot is a mere three inches, he wants me to move my left foot out further.  (REALLY, Paolo?  I'm jumping off a platform 200 feet in the air, and you're concerned that my feet aren't in exactly the right spot?  What's going to happen?  Am I going to stub my toe?)  He tells me he's going to count to three, and he wants me to jump.  He counts.  I jump.

I kind of surprised myself on that one.  I fully expected to have at least one false start.  After all, you're telling your body to do something totally illogical - your survival instinct isn't particularly interested in the redundancy of the bungees, the backup tether to your harness, the various and sundry assurances that it's all perfectly safe.  There still comes a time when your mind tells your body to do something that it feels rather strongly it shouldn't do, and it usually takes quite a bit of convincing.  But after a couple years of canyoneering, I guess I've learned to trust the equipment (most people experience a similar mind-body disagreement the first time they lean back over a 100 foot cliff).  Paolo got to three - I jumped.

I'm pretty sure I executed a perfect swan dive.  Nobody told me differently, anyway.  I'm proud to say I did not scream in terror on the way down, though I did let out a rather loud 'Whoo-hoo' as I started to bounce (which likewise prompted a response from that confused, randy peacock).  The descent was fun, and the bungee provided for a surprisingly gradual stop.  So gradual in fact, that it was hard to tell exactly when you were at the bottom.  Whether or not the darkness affected the fear factor on the top of the platform, I feel convinced that it contributed to my disorientation after I jumped.  Catching mere glimpses of the ground, the platform, the side of the cliff, the flash of Nick's camera, it was almost impossible to tell where I was at any time.  The top of the bounce was unmistakable, with its weightlessness.  Other than that, it was all a formless mess.  And though dangling upside down may have helped align my back in the absence of my chiropractor, hanging there with the blood rushing to my head was not a particularly pleasant experience.  And that second plate of enchiladas was not sitting well, that's for sure.

via nicoantonio.smugmug.com

The coda to this story involves Loriana.  She did indeed decide to try her first ever bungee-jump.  Apparently, none of us found it more than mildly strange that she was helping setup the equipment, that she dated the guy with the key, that she was a rock climber and canyoneer with to-die-for earrings or tiny carabiners, and yet she had never before tonight taken the plunge.  She walked out to the edge of the platform, positioned herself to dive BACKWARDS, and executed a perfect quadruple back somersault as she flew through the air and we howled with laughter at her little joke.  In retrospect, of course we should have known that she was pulling our legs.  But something about the language barrier (even though she spoke perfect English) makes you take people at face value.  It's difficult enough ensuring that you understand what they're saying.  You just don't really take into consideration the possibility that they might also be lying to you!

Despite the fact that I painted myself into a corner with all my big talk, I'm glad I had a chance to bungee-jump.  It was fun, and one more thing off the list.  Not to mention, that I needed a little cred hanging out for four days with a couple of F-16 pilots.  Did Wolf and Bob embrace me after the bungee experience?  More on that later.

I've mostly stayed out of the meta-discussion concerning the nature and validity of sports blogs.  I do what I do because I want to, and people can choose to read what I write or not.  In the particular case of ClipsNation, it would seem that a long tail is in effect - the Clippers do not receive a lot of newspaper coverage, so the (admittedly limited) audience that is interested in Clippers news and analysis is eager to read what I write, in spite of (or is it because of?) my lack of journalism degree or access.

But the exchange that took place on HBO last night on Costas Now cannot be ignored.

In a segment discussing the role of the blogosphere in sports, Costas convened Will Leitch of Deadspin, sports writer and author Buzz Bissinger of 'Friday Night Lights' fame, and Cleveland Browns tight end Braylon Edwards (who neither blogs nor reads blogs - what, they couldn't have gotten Gilbert Arenas?)

I highly recommend that you read the post by Ken Tremendous on Fire Joe Morgan right now.  It's a pitch perfect summary of the incident.  And given that he was in fact interviewed for the tape segment that preceded the panel discussion, it would seem that he has some skin in this game.  Likewise, you should probably stop by Deadspin, as they have compiled a nice list of links as well as posting the video, not to mention Will's post mere hours after the show.  Talk about skin in the game.

From my own perspective, let me say that I met Will at the blogging conference in Las Vegas last November.  (The Clippers were 4-0 - it was a good time.)  He's a very clever and savvy guy.  Interestingly, two solid days of panel discussions invariably returned to the same topic that was at the heart of last night's Costas debacle - why do traditional journalists hate the blogosphere so much, and its corollary, so what?  I will also say that I don't really agree with everything that Deadspin does, and told Will as much.  But Deadspin doesn't represent all sports bloggers any more than TJ Simers represents all sports columnists.

The irony of the proceedings on the Costas show was almost too much to take.  Bissinger, with a manila folder of incriminating blog posts, lamenting the mean-spirited lowering of the discourse, springing a trap about CW Heinz that was both pointless and failed to trap Leitch -

Bissinger:  Have you even heard of WC Heinz?

Leitch: Yes.

Bissinger:  Have you read anything he's written?

Leitch: Yes.  I read 'The Professional.'

Bissinger:  Have you read any of his sports columns?

(And at this point he no longer allows Will to respond, probably because he's worried that the answer will again be yes, or possibly because he hasn't heard anything Will's said so far, so why waste time waiting for a response.)

Honestly, what was the point of that?  Was his intent to illustrate that Leitch was an illiterate slob?  If so, he failed, as he proved to be somewhat, you know, literate.  Was his point that Leitch is an unworthy successor to so brilliant an author as Heinz?  Well, let's face it, Steinbeck existed, and if those who cannot write as well should not ever try, there will be no more writing.  Besides, while Heinz was undeniably a sportswriter, his best known work is the novel 'MASH' (co-written with Richard Hornberger under the pseudonym Richard Hooker).  Heinz was clearly the kind of talented author who would have his voice heard regardless of his background or training - no one limited him to writing about sports.  Talent is talent, and some of it may very well be writing on blogs today.

Costas, for his part, decided to conflate comments on blogs with blogging, failing to recognize that newspaper websites have been furiously adding commenting features to their websites to try to take advantage of the passion and interplay that is inherent in blogs.  For the host of a show on HBO to bemoan the use of the F-word by a COMMENTER is beyond ridiculous.  One imagines a similar discussion on a network news/talk show a decade ago, predicting the death of good, clean, family oriented entertainment on television because of 'Sex and the City.'  "Good heavens, the things that Kim Cattral says!  It gives one the palpitations."

The ultimate irony still belonged to Bissinger.  In blaming Deadspin for fomenting a disrespectful and vulgar environment, he opened by unceremoniously interrupting Will to say he was 'full of shit' and proceeded to drop multiple F-bombs and a slew of other profanities.  If he had only come across as a cranky old journalist, it would have been one thing.  The truth is he looked much closer to insane.  There's a difference between "It is unfortunate that the tone in the sports blogosphere is often hostile and disrespectful and I feel that you should strive to foster a more civil atmosphere" and "Fuck you for dumbing down America, you fuck face."  The latter, Bissinger's approach, is a bit like shooting all the people who oppose stricter gun control laws.

In the end, there remain several things that are as true today as they were yesterday, and Costas Now served very nicely to illustrate some of these things. 

The blogosphere is big and diverse, and there are terrific blogs and there are horrific blogs.  But it's not my opinion about them that matters.  This is the ultimate meritocracy, and the public is free to read what they want to read.  And unlike newspapers, where finite column inches dictate that salacious writing might push out serious journalism if it sells papers more effectively, this is not a zero sum game.  Mean-spirited, rumor-mongering, hot-girls-of-the-SEC blogs don't have any impact on ClipsNation, nor on the New York Times.  If someone wants to read about ogle the hot girls of the SEC, I'm happy they've got a place to go.

Ultimately, those journalists with degrees and contacts and 35 years of experience who feel threatened by the explosion of the blogosphere and the fact that it gives a platform to anyone with an opinion can rant and rave and rail against the demise of journalism all they want, but it won't change anything.  They might was well be telling us that beta max is a better video tape format.  Or that they don't trust Automated Teller Machines.  It doesn't really matter.  More people are reading blogs today than they were yesterday.  And more will read tomorrow than today.  And Buzz Bissinger's tirade certainly hastened that inevitable trend, if only slightly.

I don't pretend to know where all this is going.  But it's pretty clear that if this is a war, I'm on the side that's going to win.

Although there's some indication that it may already be too late , Phoenix Stan has convened a Star Chamber in the the NBA Blogosphere to decide the fate of Suns coach Mike D'Antoni.

Let me first point out that I called the Shaq trade a mistake from day one.  It's interesting that the conventional wisdom at this point is that it was D'Antoni's idea, and first year GM Steve Kerr had to be convinced.  The assumption early was that the new guy was the one pushing to shake things up.  So D'Antoni would seem to be culpable in his own demise.  Still, D'Antoni the coach should be separated from D'Antoni the GM.

Before I get too far into l'affaire d'Antoni let's look at what happened in this series.  It seems pretty clear to me that the personnel, and not the coach, lost to the Spurs.

1. Depth - Owner Robert Sarver's penny-pinching has deprived the Suns of several first round draft choices, as well as James Jones and Kurt Thomas over the last several seasons.  Grant Hill was a gamble that, surprise, surprise, didn't pay off when he was injured at exactly the time they needed him most (the fact that it was an abdominal strain, and not ankle related, is little consolation).  The Suns lacked depth three seasons ago - it has gotten progressively worse.
2. Style - Steve Nash won MVP awards in 2005 and 2006, and was a leading contender in 2007 when he arguably had an even better season.  Leandro Barbosa was the sixth man of the year in 2007.  In this series, neither was a factor (16 points and 8 assists per game for Nash, 10 points for Barbosa).  Did they each have a sub-par series, just one of those things?   Maybe.  Is Nash's age (34) catching up with him?  That's part of it, undoubtedly.  But let's face it - with Shaq and Amare clogging the middle and a dearth of three point shooters spreading the floor, Nash and Barbosa were not able to do what they do best - penetrate and dish (Nash) or penetrate and finish (Barbosa).
3. Shaq - I think most would agree that Shaq played pretty well in Phoenix; better than many expected.  But game 5 against the Spurs was a microcosm of why the trade was ill-advised.  On at least three occasions, Nash threw lobs to the front of the rim for him - he finished one of them.  The other two, he could not catch up to the ball, made the catch on the ground, and was immediately fouled.  Likewise, Boris Diaw fed him at least two perfect passes under the basket.  He missed layups as he was being fouled, and subsequently missed free throws (of course).  This is Shaquille O'Neal we're talking about!  His inability to finish around the basket is now entering Chris Kaman territory - and not Kaman 2.0 either, I'm talking Mr. Flippy here.  In a game the Suns trailed by 2 points with 20 seconds to play, Shaq cost his team at least 8 points on gimmes.  Forget about the free throws, since that was a known before the trade.  Shaq's athleticism has diminished to the point that he can't finish with authority around the basket.  Which makes him, what?  Erick Dampier?  Consider also that Shaq's well-known reluctance to give the regular season his all will likely doom the Suns to visitor status in the playoffs next season even in the best case scenario.  Does his presence in the playoffs make up for the loss of home court advantage?  Not if he can't finish.
   

So, like I said, the Suns lost this series because of the players on the floor.  Not that I was particularly impressed with the Spurs, but these Suns just weren't going to beat them.  Not running the offense through Boris Diaw in the low post.

So, I think it's dubious to conclude that the coach should be fired because the personnel is not as good as it once was.  I suppose you could make an argument that a different coach would fit the current personnel better.  But if you're taking that tack, it should also be noted that D'Antoni has had  just over 2 months post trade.  It's more than a little unfair to get rid of a guy (with two years left on his contract, no less) for not utilizing his personnel correctly, without even giving him a chance to have a training camp. 

But the more practical question before this Star Chamber isn't 'Should he be fired?' but rather 'Whom do you hire?'  Is there really a better coach out there, waiting for your call?  (By the way, what a difference a year makes, right?  Ten months ago, D'Antoni was the toast of the NBA, the genius credited with re-making Team USA in his offensive image, and top assistant Marc Iavaroni had been handed the head-coaching job at Memphis as D'Antoni-lite.  Now Iavaroni is long gone in trouble [UPDATE: I jumped the fun on that one - Iavaroni was only gone in my head, I guess], and D'Antoni is as good as gone.  I guess he'll have plenty of time to concentrate on Beijing.)

Mike D'Antoni's record coaching the Suns is 253 wins and 136 losses.  In full seasons as the coach he has never won fewer than 54 games!  And unlike fellow hot seat resident Avery Johnson who has an equally stellar winning percentage, D'Antoni did NOT inherit a 60 win team.  D'Antoni took over a team that was 8-13 and whose point guard was Stephon Marbury.  So recognize this: if you let him walk, his replacement will not be as good.  Period.  Maybe he will be less stubborn, maybe he will get along better with the GM, maybe he'll trim his mustache more judiciously, maybe he will throw better dinner parties: but he will not be as good a coach.

Another factor in all of this is entertainment value.  If Robert Sarver is as aware of the bottom line as they say, he should realize that D'Antoni's coaching style puts butts in seats.  It's certainly valid to question whether it can win a championship - obviously it hasn't so far.  But no team is more fun to watch, and the Suns have been playing to full houses since he arrived in the Valley of the Sun.

Just as was the case with the Shaq trade, I of course cannot speak to the interpersonal issues involved.  Was Shawn Marion a cancer in the locker room who simply had to go?  Is the relationship between D'Antoni and Kerr untenable?  I don't know.  But if the Phoenix Suns allow Mike D'Antoni to leave, it will be the latest in a series of front office blunders that will take the Suns from the most entertaining in team in the NBA and one of the best, to a boring also-ran in the Western Conference.  They're likely on their way to also-ran status regardless of the coach, and maybe the guy would be better off in Chicago with a bunch of young talent.  But there's no question in my mind that he's a great coach, and the Suns will be a lesser team without him.