Ilgauskas on the Cusp of Something Better

Now Ilguaskas worked in the front office and as such had a wonderfully moderate salary, a rather plush Cleveland apartment that did not stray too far from the Rustic Masses, and the reputation of a solid, if clumsy and unambitious businessman. GM Danny Ferry was finally stepping down as Cavaliers GM to seek some job in European basketball. And his assistant, a middle-aged man known mostly for his persistance, would be named his replacement, presumably in the next several hours. It was eight o'clock in the morning, and any minute over the course of the day, Big Z or Mr. Ilguaskas as he was known as now, or what have you, would be named General Manager of his former franchise, the Cleveland Cavaliers of the National Basketball Association. Not to say it was official - but Mr. Ilgauskas's promotion was set in stone except for a contract. Mr. Ferry had promised him this promotion yesterday and this contract would only be the "logical conclusion of an existing fact", Danny Ferry had said. Ilgauskas sighed and opened the drapes of his apartment. "What is the logical conclusion of an existing fact?" he asked himself? Ilgauskas saw that dim shade of blood that iron can turn in the distances of Cleveland. The clock, he now noted, was eight oh five.

Some two hours after this, Mr. Ilgauskas was called into his office after a short nap of manifold little pleasant images strung together by the light of the morning and the smell of the hot coffee pot neglected in the kitchen near his sofa. Checking his hygiene and dress briefly, Ilgauskas put on a blue-and-red Cavaliers sweater and a perfunctory Indians cap and then he went out the door into the mid-morning of Cleveland in Spring, its bleak hues redundant upon his sweater. He smiled and breathed in the cool air. "Finally", he thought, "My recognition will be total and legitimate." His first title with Cleveland had been marred by a surreal trade. His franchise record for games played had been marred by a surreal benching on the very night he'd brought his family. His Lithuanian Olympics, his childhood dream, had been cut short by Ferry. But now, it was his turn to lead this organization, and there could be no doubt of the respect this position would carry. "And not too much more responsibility," he thought, "Just enough to keep me busy."

Cavs SotU

"We are strong. But we are strong because we are fast. But we are fast because we are strong. Or not. The bottom line is, I am definitely the president. I don't think we have any argument there," as President James addresses the joint session to applause.

"And Shaq is certainly the Majority. The Big Fella, half the body weight of the entire team." More applause.

"And Mike Brown is certainly the Supreme Court. His husk could move continents of garment companies, deciding who lives and who dies - a sort of Solomon ruling with terrifying wisdom." More applause.

"And Mo Williams is a child. He is a child." Mo looks offended, and all eyes turn to him, no one saying anything. "No, I don't mean like immature. I mean he looks like a child. It's not a bad thing, Mo. You are a fine point guard. You are...just fine, Mo, the way you are. But you are a child." Less applause, still some enthusiasm. Mo is heard to mouth, "Not true" but the incident passes.

"Big Z is surely our working class. He gets angry and populist, and falls down sometimes and we laugh at him, but we all know, without the working class we are nothing, or would want to be after losing him. Let's hear it for Big Z." Reluctant applause as Z stands up clumsily.

The Cavs are losing again.

The Cavs have lost two straight to teams that they should have beaten. Evidently Mike Brown's brilliant stunt has begun to wear itself out. Let me explain.

You see, when Mike Brown maliciously benched Big Z, giving him a DNP-CD on the night he was to break the franchise record for games played, Brown also gave the other Cavs a motivation for positive action. Lebron famously looks on Big Z as an older brother, so Mo Williams and Jamario Moon look up to Big Z as a beloved uncle. So we have that the Cavs played with the fire of family scorned. They fought like insurgents in a brutal quagmire. Of course, because of this, the Cavs won a number of games consecutively, even trouncing the Suns in his glorious return to action.

New NBA Rule: Players can't talk to coaches

In the wake of the sordid Ilgauskas-Mike Brown fiasco, in which Mike Brown somehow managed to be as evil as Big Z is mediocre, David Stern has passed a new law: Players are no longer allowed to speak to coaches, on or off the court.

"We just want to prevent, you know, that *element* from coming into our league," Stern moaned, through opaque membranes of apparently organic chambers, in between the sound of a woman babbling in French. "If Mike Brown had not had the chance to engage in malicious drama with Z, and probably with management as well, I am certain Brown wouldn't have benched Ilgauskas on the day he was expected to break a franchise record for games played with the only DNP-CD of Z's career."

The new rule forbids a coach from talking to his players, as well. It is this aspect that has unsettled many coaches.

"When they are playing bad, I want to tell them that," Lakers coach Phil Jackson said, "Or when they're good, or when they need to guard passing lanes better, or tighten up on offense. Or even just tell them that this hellish rule of silence will someday be lifted."

"My Eyes Bleed Just Thinking About it"

Dear LeBron,

I've been watching your post game and I think you could improve. Enclosed are a bunch of pictures of Kevin McHale to inspire you.

--Alex, age 20.

Dear Alex,

Thank you for the pictures of Kevin McHale. I was certainly inspired! But I am on a progress fast, because Mike Brown has benched Big Z indefinitely. He is a chipmunk, Alex. Anyway, because he is a chipmunk, he is jealous of Big Z's longevity. As you may know, the lifespan of chipmunks is typically less than 10 years, and Big Z has been a staple of the roster since 1997, over 10 years ago. It is physically offensive to Mike Brown, as a chipmunk, to allow Big Z to outlive him in the history books, so now Big Z won't break the Cavs record for most games played.

I know how you feel about Ilgauskas, because I read your blog. But he means a lot to me. You know how some people are lunks, but are dependable and do their jobs pretty decently every time? I know that Big Ilgauskas never made a lot of points. But attention could be paid. And so, I will turn in totally mediocre performances until Mike Brown apologizes or retires. I will be the worst best player in the world to honor the best best worst player in the world until the worst coach does the best thing.

My Eyes Bleed Just Thinking About It,
LeBron, Age 25.

Inspired by: LeBron’s Annual To-Do List, Part 1: The Post Game

ζ

Okay, now just a nice little highlight film.

You know, some nice alternative rock over a highlight film of Big Z.

Nothing special at, say, :52, that you might want to see.

I would start at the beginning to get the whole effect, but after :52 or so, it's pretty mundane. Come on, Z doesn't even make any passes here. I counted none. It's all slightly impressive post moves and easy dunks. It doesn't get more exciting than that the whole video. Wow, he dunked on Shaq. Wow, once he had hair. LeBron creates a lot of the plays anyway. Alright, fine, I admit it: I ineffably hate Big Z and that's clouding my judgment. My hate is ineffable. If I could speak its name then I would have its power. If I knew why I disliked Z, I would know why I like myself and being alive. It's like with the sun. If you know where the sun goes when it goes down, then you know where it will come up. I mean, suppose you thought the sun were just...a lightbulb in the sky. That sort of thing. Anyway, Big Z is just fine in the video.

Of course, there's :52 that you should keep in mind.

Darnell Jackson will outlive us.

Darnell Jackson will outlive us.

Big Z, Il Gauske, the Big One-Dimensional, the Big Dismal, the surreal second center of the Cleveland Cavaliers...is in constant conflict with his superior, Shaq, but it is not the one-sided conquering the casual might expect. On his side Z has not youth, but the relentless consistency of mediocrity. Shaq is a million feet tall and can get into foul trouble quick. He is a force of nature that is actually...really inconsistent and unpredictable, for such a renowned competitor. Big Z can "accidentally" injure the Big Man when Mike Brown inexplicably plays both centers.

But whereas Shaq is incredibly inconsistent, and whereas Z is incredibly mediocre, and they are in ineffable dialectic, there is a third center on the roster: the little-used, invisble Darnell Jackson. Less than 25 and looking like an undistinguished Shaq, Darnell Jackson is Dustin Hoffman from the Graduate, but of the center position of the Cavs. He exists in the rare case that one of these two archetypes (that represent the two sides of Mike Brown's personality) is injured, and Mike Brown needs a dependable third wheel. He has no adjectives. When Darnell plays, he is the absence of form, structure, and meaning.

Categorical Marxism; Shaq. But I repeat myself.

Scientists have known that the world is a giant category ever since Karl Marx proved it in the 19th century. The denialism surrounding this revelation is just plain denialism. The reasons? Well that's a category unto itself.


What is a category? A category is two things. First, a category is a bunch of dots, representing objects. Second, a category is a bunch of transitive arrows between the dots. These arrows represent transformations between objects. So, two objects might be a blank manuscript, and then this very essay. This essay didn't used to be written, but now there it is. I am an arrow going between that blank manuscript and the manuscript of this write-up. Now we have an essay thanks to my miraculous arrowing of that blank scroll. I arrowed the hell out of it. I wrote the essay, son.

Why I support the Spurs this year (I'm with you in Utah)

Why I support the Spurs this year
by Alex, age 20.

Dear SI-for-kids,


I'm sorry to be writing to a publication primarily aimed at sports fans half my age, but the knowledge I have encountered goes beyond age. I may be forgiven for having the pretensions of a more skilled author, just as your young readers may be forgiven for their naïve literary tastes and nebulous views of their home teams, good and bad. May I recommend to you Lovecraft's “At the Mountains of Madness”, kids? Do you know what a shoggoth is?



The god of scientists is an engineer. Whether this engineer is acknowledged as a god is another story, but whatever his name, his function is clear: To create a universe based on elegant laws and constants that we as humans can hope to divine through reason. This god is not a direct creator so much as he is a good engineer. A good electrical engineer doesn't constantly supervise the value of every circuit; rather, he uses as little information as he has to, in order to avoid repeated work and misunderstandings. Humans are therefore merely a consequence of creation, and not a cause, and that we happen to exist on this planet is a matter of likelihood, and not a matter of divine blessing.