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The dismal performance (comparatively) of the US National Basketball Team at the last Summer Olympics in Athens may have been a blessing in disguise. While America has always boasted having the best basketball players in the world, it has had trouble lately assembling the best basketball teams. That, combined with the earlier losses at the world championship level, have sent waves cresting through the NBA, with the gigantic question "are we the best in the world anymore?" riding the crest and the answer riding in the wake, in the form of short hints like "teamwork", "fundamentals", with possibly even *gasp* "humility" hanging around somewhere back there.
It's no clear coincidence that last year's champions were the Detroit Pistons, a team with no real marketable superstars, but horrendous amounts of team ethic. Defeating the superstar-laden Lakers was the tolling of a bell. And this year, a repeat win for a team rather than a collection of superstars will only cement that sentiment. Perhaps a team like......Phoenix.
Speaking of Phoenix, as if driving the stake further into the heart of the egotistical, swaggering machismo of the NBA stud who insists he's bigger than the game that made him, point-guard Steve Nash was voted this year's MVP, giving hope to lanky, pale-faced white boy dorks from Canada everywhere. It's all about the hair, man.
When reporters asked Steve what it was like being listed with such legendary, mouth-gaping superhumans like Jordan or Bird, Steve's meek reply: "Ummm...which of these things doesn't belong?" And he's right. Steve isn't a superstar. He's simply a guy who does his job, and does it very well. He makes everyone around him better as a result. He's not out to be the best. He's simply out to win.
John Stockton--a mold in which Nash was definitely cast--never won the MVP. But he played in the era of the superstar. An era that, frankly, the NBA, sportswriters, and we, the ever-vigilent bouncey ball consuming public--are sick of.
We're sick of the Shaq & Kobe thing already. We're sick of the Sprewells. We're sick of the Rodmans. We're sick of the Artests. We're sick of the pouty Vince Carters who don't want to play in certain cities because it's not cool enough and it hampers their endorsement prospects. We're sick of the Steve Francis' who decide which team they want to play on before they've even set foot on an NBA court. We're sick of the whining, the snobbishness, the self-righteous, self-absorbed, self-consumed, self-aggrandizement of the hoops hero. They've gotten too big, too rich, too pampered, and too worshipped to ever be related to--much less tolerated by--Joe Fan and his wallet.
If the voting tallies for the MVP are any indication (in which Nash handily defeated the obstinate Shaq), the league and sports pundits across the country are sick of it too. It's time to take them down a peg. And, also, more importantly, it's time to return the game to its roots. There can still be alley-oops and face-full-of-crotch dunks, but an increased importance on sound defence, expert playmaking, and WNBA-style passing, shooting and fundamentals are what is demanded of the NBA again.
Then, once things are back on track, maybe America can start winning intrnational competition again. Because the world is no longer in awe of the solo-ist slam dunk competition America brings to international tournies anymore. And from the looks of things, neither is the NBA.
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