I really can't take it anymore. If you must know how or why Baylor continues to play Earl "the Goat" Manigault to our sports-goggled, weekend warrior check out the last Baylor write-up.
What happened tonight was eerily similar. In fact, it's mindnumbingly frustrating that our staff made nary an adjustment to try to make the game respectable. Point blank, we were pimp slapped for the fourth time in a row by a program that is a few short years removed from college basketball's version of the death penalty.
Think about that.
As far as this particular embarrassing performance goes, a couple things caught my eye.
First, we have absolutely zero floor balance especially against a zone. Floor balance means you have the correct distribution of players to attack the offensive glass while still having enough transition defenders to stop the break. Floor balance is very important against a zone because the location of the guards on defense are such that once a ball is shot the opposing guards are already in good position to get up the floor on the break. As for floor balance, getting back, stopping the ball, protecting the basket before you fan out to find your man...yeah, we don't do that so well.
In fact, we usually use at least one guard to attack the interior of the zone or the baseline of the zone in our offense, leaving the other guard to get back on defense and protect the basket. If you couldn't tell already, I don't think our other guard has been made aware of this responsibility. In fact, I think there's a solid chance that our other guard is being taught to hope the ball bounces to a "muthafucka in burnt orange!", or simply hope against hope that the rock goes through the hoop.
Even still, I'm not sure the make gives this bunch enough time to get back on defense anyway. Perhaps we can get Suns coach Mike D'antoni on the horn to clarify if there's some nuance with the "Random Screen Offense" as it applies to transition defense that we may be missing. I'm honestly all ears at this point.
The other thing that was interesting about this game was the insertion of J'Covan Brown into the lineup. I have to applaud the staff for trying to exercise this talent muscle that we'll certainly need down the road, not only this season but next season as well.
I thought Brown played pretty well and did some things at the point that we haven't seen out of the position for most of the year.
That typed, I thought the use, or lack thereof with respect to Jordan Hamilton was abjectly asinine. Unless this guy is validating his shoe size by exposing himself at midcourt, you have to play him as many minutes as possible to get him ready for primetime. Point blank. Bad with the good. Good with the bad. You do Jordan Hamilton, his confidence, team chemistry, and the program itself an absolutely huge disservice by having the talented wing on the bench to prove a point about a random quick shot. Especially when that quick shot happens amongst a litany of other player errors all over the floor. Come on, Rick.
This kind of hardline coaching has no value at all in light of what's been going on this season. Zip, zero, nada. The benching makes little sense in the context of Hamilton's marked improvement over the last month or so.
Put away the stick and grab the carrot.
It smacks of Hickory, North Carolina, small town coaching jingoism and nothing more. It's stupid coaching dogma on par with always press a pressing team and not fouling up 3 with under 10 seconds to go.
There's no reason for Barnes' actions on this front other than to win some juvenile pissing contest that probably originated when Barnes was a player back in high school.
Other than that, the game was monumentally entertaining in a, "Hey look, HenryJames slipped Vasherized some rohypnol in a room full of Mexican midget wrestlers" kind of way. Every fiber of your being tells you not to watch, but you just have to, making note of which teabags are Lipton and which are generic.
Now imagine you're sitting there, knowing that it's your job to write up these Hispanic grappling shenanigans along with every horrifying detail about to ensue. That's how I feel before I push the little red button on my DVR prior to a Texas game.
I'm looking for the tiny, masked Espectrito coming off the top rope in all of his diminutive glory. Lately, I haven't been able to get out of his way.