“You kidding me?”
My dear Minnesota Timberwolves,
It is me, the Atlanta Hawks. Before tonight’s scrimmage commences between you and I (8:00 PM Eastern, Fox Sports Southeast and 92.9 FM in ATL, Fox Sports North in MSP), I’m stopping by the Target Center to address you, heart to heart. I’m afraid, my longtime confidant, we need to have That Talk.
What… ARE we, right now?
No, seriously, I thought we had a mutual understanding. A simpatico. A powerful bond, one transcendent of any other NBA teams’ comprehension. I was growing weary of mostly fruitless playoff appearances. You thirsted to grab a quince from the Garden of Postseason, perhaps at some point before the Martians get here. We not only found each other, we co-exist, to chart one another’s destinies. We belonged together. Or, so I thought, until recently.
I mean, just imagine, me, with my multiple lottery selections this summer, expertly drafted by Travis Schlenk. And you, with your… whatever that is you’re doing… with your prodigious talent tipping off against mine, plus all the great free agents we’re bound to draw, in the 2020 NBA Finals, the first ever for our lovely NBA cities. That was the dream. That was OUR dream, don’t you remember?
By 2020, we’re not supposed to be sitting around watching your promising lottery-protected pick deteriorate into a pair of piddling future second-rounders. By 2020, you’re not supposed to be still mired in the swamp of Secaucus in the springtime, promising your fans, “This time, I’ll be sweeter!”
This “thing” is just not working out, this… “relationship,” if that’s what you want to call it… between you and me. I get it, you thought Adreian Payne could someday become your Taj Gibson, so you wouldn’t have to go out and get him yourself. Heh, at one point, I held some high hopes for Major Payne, too. We have each moved on from him. But you, my dearest Timbo, have not yet held up your end of the bargain. You, my precious Minny, are threatening to not be there for me, right when I need you most.
Ugh! I can’t even bring myself to friend-zone you right now. I honestly believe we need to start seeing other people.
Other people, that is, pulling the strings in your player personnel department. As evidenced by Monday’s disheartening 101-93 loss here at the hands of the “bear”-bones Grizzlies, your coach’s cooking hasn’t been all that great. So, why, pray tell, are you so enthralled with letting Tom Thibodeau buy the groceries, too?
You are endowed with my former All-Star point guard, Jeff Teague. You not only have an All-Star center in Karl-Anthony Towns, you let Thibodeau reunite with All-Star Jimmy Butler, and nearly got sixty games out of him. That is, before Coach Thibs ran Butler, as he is wont to do, into the frozen tundra. Why are you not at 45 wins already? Why, as the calendar turns to April, do you need my help to get there?
That Jimmy Buckets (torn meniscus, return unknown; NBA-high 37.1 MPG) has become Jimmy Buckled once again was predictable. What is unacceptable is that, by now, the Great Value Jimmy Butler, Andrew Wiggins (20.0 PPG and 5.2 RPG this month, but 44.6 FG%), and Towns (53.3 FG% this month, down from 58.1% last month) haven’t grown defensively under the auspices your handpicked, supposedly defensive-minded coach/GM.
Further, that the starters’ over-exertion to compensate defensively is eating away at their collective offensive capacity. (108.5 PPG this month, lowest since November) What’s intolerable is going just 8-9 since replacing Butler in the starting unit with Nemanja Bjelica, 4-7 in your past 11 games. That’s just not working for me, not at all. When will MY needs be important to you?
Frankly, the withered Rose you bought wasn’t what I needed. Never mind that it arrived weeks after Valentine’s Day. Derrick Rose (questionable, sprained ankle) isn’t even what you needed. You already had a scoring guard that’s a defensive sieve, in the eminently durable Jamal Crawford.
Unlike Payne, you knew what you were getting when you started courting J-Craw last summer. If you weren’t sure, you could certainly have consulted me. Yet now, thanks to your strident insistence on redundancy, your fanbase is turning on poor Jamal, who came in from the warmth of L.A. to grace you with his presence. You don’t deserve him, tbh.
Were you aware that, besides Crawford, there is a whole other set of reserve Thibobullves at the end of the bench, sitting on their hands, eager to contribute? How can I trust your commitment to our “relationship” if you can’t even bring yourself to activate Justin Patton, a Riverdale native that’s just a few months senior of my John Collins. You recall, Patton, a center that you selected three picks ahead of mine last summer? How soon we forget.
You’re telling me Patton couldn’t be relieving KAT (36.4 MPG last six games, the Wolves 2-4 in that span) by now? That he couldn’t be putting in more productive minutes than Gorgui Dieng (14.0 MPG last ten games) and Cole Aldrich (team-low 2.4 MPG, questionable due to illness) with a little more emphasis toward developing the youngsters?
Speaking of youngsters, with your team near the cellar in assist percentage, why is Tyus Jones (career-high 53.1 eFG%), your promising first-rounder from 2015, wasting away on the pine, and expected not to move the ball on the rare occasions he is in the game? Do you really need Jeff to put in 42 minutes just to (try to) outlast the Grizzlies? Were I not already volt green, you could color me unconvinced.
If you were sincere about your intentions, you would not be crawling into April with a defensive efficiency (108.9 D-Rating, 7th-worst in NBA) that manages to be worse than mine (108.5 D-Rating, 8th-worst). And my intentions have been clear from the outset, engaging in a tryst with The Process That Dare Not Speak Its Name (okay, fine, Tanking. It’s Tanking, don’t act like you’re unfamiliar with that) to the extent the law allows. Why is your defense still palling around with mine?
Try as I might here in Atlanta (21-53), I cannot accommodate you with my long-held playoff spot. You, Minnesota (42-33, 1.5 games ahead of 9-seed L.A.), must earn your own reservation, in the rough-and-tumble Western Conference (15-23 in-conference, decidedly worse than the 19-19 Clippers). And you could be doing so much more to keep our waning “relationship” a healthy one.
I understand, you thought you were helping me when you lost to the Suns (twice), the Nets, the Magic, the Bulls, and now the Grizzlies (twice). But I have overrated squads like the Wizards and heat to do that for me. See? There you go again, being redundant.
You had one job, split into two tasks. Clinch. Then lose. Win those games (11 losses to sub-.500 clubs; 17 wins, fewest among playoff-eligible teams) and you would have already shaken your playoff hex by now. But here we are.
Look, I am trying not to be difficult. I’ve got my pugilist point guard Dennis Schröder on the shelf, getting his sprained ankle in shape for a bracelet he might have to wear down the road. He won’t be out there tonight trying to get comeuppance against his former mentor. Remember my 105-100 “victory” in Atlanta back in January, when Teague shot an inauspicious 1-for-12 from the field? Dennis has been-there, done-that plenty of times already.
I’m giving you one more shot to redeem yourself, Minnesota. No Schröder, no Kent Bazemore in the backcourt. You don’t even have to put up with Malcolm Delaney, or DeAndre’ Bembry, or Jaylen Morris. Can you conceivably handle Isaiah Taylor instead? Please, try not to turn Damion Lee and Tyler Dorsey into Tim Hardaway or Wayne Selden tonight.
Dewayne Dedmon isn’t taking any days off. But he should be at least a breath of fresh air for Towns, after your center got pushed around at turns by Joel Embiid and Marc Gasol (4-for-7 3FGs, 10 rebounds, 6 assists, 3 blocks on Monday) in recent days.
There’s no point in wearing your starters down just to beat me tonight. I’ve let go of the rope. Former Yellow Jacket Marcus Georges-Hunt is over there on Thibodeau’s bench for a reason. You don’t need any fancy scouting report for me. I’m serving up fellow Minnesotan Mike Muscala on a platter for 25+ minutes, some of it alongside Tyler Cavanaugh. If you don’t know me by now, you will never, never, never know me.
I don’t intend to keep you up all night, tossing and turning, as you’ve got real work ahead of you. If all goes as it should, very soon, you’ll go your way, and I’ll go mine. There’s no need for you and I to be back here next year, with you regurgitating your tired, empty promises. Officially, we should be through with one another, as of moonrise today.
I bid adieu, and I wish you well in your future endeavors with other NBA partners. But just so we’re perfectly clear: if I’m not walking out of Target Center today with a loss, it’s not me, my darling Minnesota. It’s you.
Let’s Go Hawks!