In sporadically regular installments, OtB brings you a long-form joint re: NBA and its ontological extension unto all of sport. Epochrypha: writings or statements of questionable authorship or authenticity, but always impassioned and always with an eye on the times we're spectating in. Enjoy.
Alright kiddies, temporarily suspending the "biweekly" label from Epochrypha in light of my recent track record. Things are just too helter skelter for the nonce, so maybe the twice-moonly moniker comes back in a fortnight or so. Anyway, all this talk about suspension has me thinking not about Rasheed but rather about Rondo. Why? Because he was assisted from the court Thursday night after scooting past the Bulls' defenders like Hermes (y'know, winged shoes) to the tune of 20-6-11 and 5 steals. It's a non-story. Not the ankle that he turned pre-post-season, he said, just sore feet. That's fine, but I was struck by the way he gamely put off the press. Above, you can check out the sublime David Aldridge reporting on the feet and the ankle. We also get a rare 2009 Ubuntu sighting, which has been rarely mentioned through the title defense run.
I have no problem believing there's nothing wrong with Rondo's feet (DA says it was just a bad tape job), but it does make me think about the Celtics tradition of mind games. They never played them like Phil Jackson does, with choice words seemingly dropped to the media. There's was more an intimidation through attrition. Attrition of one's sense of security, of one's sense of the reliability of reality, even. Look, there was a reason the old Boston Garden was so renowned. It was a bitch to play in for the opposition. The visitor's locker room was had the inverse Mark Cuban touch to it. Hissing pipes, no heat, the (non)works. And the parquet. The finishing touch, really. It had dead zones. The ball wouldn't bounce right in certain spots. And all the Celtics players knew it. And the visitors did not.
So, in light of the pitch perfect handling of the Garnett injury (there was no disappointing announcement until just before the playoffs, meaning there was no end of season let down in expectations and meaning that it served as a rallying cry heading in to the playoffs), I wanted to take a brief glance at the long Celtics history of fudging opponents' sense of reality.
A helping hand: I point you to Ishmael Reed's Mumbo-Jumbo. It documents (and re-defines the word as a verb) the spread of the Jes Grew plague. Via Rastafari Speaks: "When asked about the origins of the sudden explosion . . . an unnamed witness shrugged and said 'It jes grew!' . . . The Jes Grew epidemic was unlike physical plagues. Actually Jes Grew was an anti-plague. Some plagues caused the body to waste away; Jes Grew enlivened the host."
Forget Ubuntu. I'm saying the Celtics are employing all out Jes Grew tactics. What they're saying isn't what's real and we know it (and admire them for it). From Mumbo-Jumbo: "All that's all right, what you speak of, but that ain't all. There's more. And I bet that before the century is out ment will turn once more to mystery, to wonderment." This new batch of feints mean no opponent will know exactly what to expect. Will Rondo be off? Are they completely diminished by injuries? You can't go for the throat for fear it's all feigned. At the same time, you can't exactly get up for them because there're all these images floating around suggesting they're hurting.
Speaking of images, Rose with roses? Jalen, another Rose, with a nice one: "to appreciate the rose, you must appreciate the thorns." This ain't no american beauty. This is a modern day Eliot Ness, trying to take down the big, bad subterfugal (that's like centrifugal, a fictitious force) syndicate. Oh, and lastly? Another incongruity. This vid of Rajon Rondo advertising Red Bull? Obviously a gimmick (questionably) playing off the first round match-up. But more irregular? Rajon's lack of wings in the vid. Dude is straight sleepy. Get up for your promo, son!
More on veils and wool tomorrow, by the by.
Epochrypha: Mumbo-Jumbo (Pt. 2 A.M.)
