This Is All Your Fault, Mike D’Antoni


As Rob spotlighted earlier, this Eddy Curry fiasco looks like prime time Knicks material. I mean, there aren’t too many ways you can upstage the Twilight Zone-esque absurdity of the Isiah years, but Curry may have just found the way. This lawsuit appears, at least at first, to have some sort of legs that will keep it meandering in and out of the mainstream for quite some time. Because, as we all know, the New York press loves to just uncover great stories and then never do follow ups.

My initial reaction was this: it’s D’Antoni’s fault. Why, you might ask? Well, my mother always told me “Idle Hands are the Devil’s Playground.” (see above picture) Although I am quite sure she wasn’t talking about hurling ethnic slurs and racists epithets at my hired help while I forced him to touch my schlong, I can assume that her sentiments tip-toed around a vaguely familiar line. If this is true (and right now, who could really say for sure – except for, as Rob noted, why in the hell would anyone not getting sexually harrassed want to make this up?) then I have to chalk it up, at least in some part, to all the idle time Eddy Curry has on his hands. He hardly practices, rarely plays and obviously has refused to pay attention while the Knicks are busting their butts on the court. So, in the meantime, Big Eddy’s thoughts can drift wildly, creating ridiculous scenarios about what a man of his stature and financial well-being can do with his social life. There is no need to be disciplined or self-regulating in your behavior. You are being paid extremely well to NOT PLAY BASKETBALL. That, coupled with a sense of immortality and entitlement that often (though not always) comes from being a professional athlete can lead to some rather blurry bouts with reality.

Of course, blaming D’Antoni is just a ruse. But, I don’t think it can be taken totally out of account that if Curry were out on the court burning testosterone, feeling appreciated for his skills and effort and having to live a far more focused personal life, these allegations may not have come to light. Maybe his driver really IS just making this up (New Yorkers have come up with far more outlandish stunts than this for noteriety and financial gain). And maybe Eddy, just like all of us, took his round of “The Penis Game,” just a little too far. I mean, what’s a little grab-sausage between friends, right?

Right?

Anybody?

Regardless of the what/when/why/where/who the situation, it will be interesting to follow. Just when we thought the NYK ship would be tight and sailing straight, along comes one of Isiah’s embarrassments to try and capsize the entire crew. And really, my life will be more complete scouring the NY Post everyday for the newest facts on this kooky, and somewhat oddly appropriate, case. Use all the “white devil” and “cracker” digs you want, Mr. Curry. For your sake, I hope your personal nickname for Mr. Kuchinsky wasn’t “BITCH.” Isiah would not approve.

Seth Carstens