The Last Cut is the Deepest

In truth, I blame a lot of this on myself. True, that might be a bit arrogant, but this is the way I want to view the end. As my own creation. You always hurt the ones you love the most. And now, as this era maliciously, fiercely excises itself from our collective NBA conscience, we are left to wonder “Where did it all go wrong?”

I could have been louder, could have written more, could have used more !s. But no, I let it die. Took away that precious oxygen of rumors and rants, forcing my most cherished, invaluable connection to this wonderful sport to break. Toiling in the shadows, cutting back alley deals, using his improbable weekly paychecks to detach, emotionally and psychologically, from his still current, yet former team. Paid to headhunt for himself for 9 months, our angel – the man who helped build this site – chose to facetiously ponder new alternatives, to plot his escape.

And escape he has. Today, because we were so silent, because our cheers and jeers moved on to fawning adulation for actual basketball, for teamwork, for achievement and away from the lambasting and deriding of the Ozymandian collapse of Isiah Thomas that we are now the ones left to suffer. No more 120 word posts exhalting his idiocy. No more pictures of his incorrigibility before assistant coaches, players, management, fans, popcorn salespeople, co-workers, cab drivers, Stephon Marbury, women in general, bloggers, clowns, astronauts, Somali pirates and the Royal Canadain Mounted Police (you just know he hated those guys).

I can’t speak for the rest of the blogosphere, but I feel that we just had a bit more to give. More posts about how he stuck to his guns, shot from his hip, how he was the decider (like George W. Bush). In fact, I don’t think of that as too gross a reach. In fact, parrallels between Zeke and W. run far and wide. Perhaps I will craft that post some day. In memoriam.

But truly, I will be sad. I will go to my blogging grave feeling like I could have given it just a little more, hammered a little bit harder, joked a little more coarsely. However, I will do my best to focus on this as a positive and as a chance for me to refine my skills and to cover the game with a greater eye towards to the pristine execution and fluidity of this game – and spend less time talking about Isiah trying to kill himself with pain pills, only to blame his daughter because the man is the walking embodiment of selfish arrogance and remorselessness in sports today (and yes, I know Jim Calhoun is still coaching at UConn).

I just want to congratulate the young men and women at Florida International University. Admittedly, my advice on any number of issues tends to be highly subjective, incomplete, biased and relatively useless, but please hear me when I say “Rejoice, Rejoice.” I hope you realize what a treasure Isiah will be to your school, your city and your fervent need to filter your angst and frustrations through the written word and not through malice towards your fellow man. He has been sent to bless your institution and, more importantly, your blogosphere. Use him wisely, for you never know when this glorious gift may be found defective and returned for a refund.

And so, it is today, that I (bloggerifically) pour one out for my homeboy. God speed, sweet saint. Teardrop :`(

Seth Carstens