#i have just realized i put rudys middle name instead of his last name... oh well im sure he would have written both of them anyway

[floofyeldog]

So, uh, that chapter was pretty interesting, huh?

[tessatechaitea]

Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing

So that's why I finally dropped this series: they dropped the "on:".

You might have forgotten that the biggest gang in Gotham in 1987 were the Jewish Surrealists.

I don't even care how many people don't know what the fuck I'm on about. Did you know this world is on fire? Batman is busting a cocaine shipment into Gotham in the prologue of this comic book. According to the cover, he's about to be crucified. I guess the Jewish Surrealists are still micro-managed by Caesar's Hand. Speaking of unbelievable things in comics (this segue works because I believe I was speaking about it fifteen hundred commentaries ago when Nightwing drove a motorcycle up the wall of a building), how does Batman always wind up unconscious and in some form of complicated trap and yet, in all the time it takes to put him there, nobody ever takes the mask off. Not one henchman is curious? Not one henchman binding Batman to the cross ever thinks, "If I knew Batman's identity, I could quit this henchman gig, sell the information, and retire"? I don't believe it. My theory is that thousands of henchmen have tried this plan but Alfred intercepted all of the blackmail notices, hired Jason Bard to find who sent them, and then hired Tommy Monaghan to kill them. I would just like it on the record that I spelled Tommy's last name correctly before looking it up. The Jewish Surrealists capture Batman because they had a sniper with a tranquilizer gun on overwatch during the deal. Batman gets drugged, blackjacked, and spit upon before nobody thinks to take off his mask.

At least I hope that's spit.

I guess if that isn't spit, I now understand why nobody took his mask off.

"Are ya kiddin' me, Rudy?! Put yer fuckin' dick away and help me schlep this bastard into tha van! The boss can take tha fuckin' mask off. Ugh."

Alfred calls up Dick Grayson when Bruce doesn't show up for morning stitches. Dick sighs, hangs up the phone, and goes off to do a literally thankless job because Batman thinks expecting people to be there for him is the same thing as gratitude. I hate complaining about the art because I never complain about the art. So when I finally complain about the art, that means I really fucking think the art sucks. And, well, I'm complaining about the art now.

"Fuck dinosaur references! I got this!" -- Stan Woch

This is some of Woch's earliest work with DC so I shouldn't be too hard on him. Plus he's still alive and he might read this. Although wouldn't it be worse if I were criticizing the work of a dead man? Also, he draws a pretty decent studio apartment and jizz dribble. Nightwing heads off to save Batman even though he knows Batman doesn't need saving. If Batman seems to need saving, it's only because Batman misses Nightwing and this is the only way he can see him without admitting that he misses him. "Oh no!" says Batman as he tries to remember what it's like to feel sleepy from tranquilizers or to feel concussed from a blackjack to the back of the head. "My legs are all, um, wobbly? I'm, um, falling now, right? OH! I'm helpless! I just peed a little too!" Then he lets the bad guys kidnap him and waits for Alfred to worry way too soon and call for backup. And of course Batman would choose a night when Jason Todd is off in California and Superman is off on Oa and Wonder Woman has her anniversary dinner with Steve Trevor.

Oh, just because he's suddenly half-robot, I'm supposed to believe some high school football star can now design high tech contact lenses?! Fuck you, comic books.

Dick finds a vial of acid left behind as Batman as a clue to who murdered him. I mean kidnapped him, probably! Who would kill Batman when they had the chance? I mean if they actually had a chance and Batman wasn't completely faking and ready to start breaking kneecaps the second somebody tugs at his cowl or tries to put a bullet in his brain. Anyway, the acid vial reminds Dick of that one case which was the only one ever in which Batman used a vial of acid which leads him to Drakkar, a Gotham drug lord. This is less evidence that Batman was in trouble and realized Nightwing would come looking for him and more evidence that Batman wasn't in trouble at all and was expecting Nightwing to come looking for him because Batman misses him.

With all the Batman themed stuff in this picture, that marquee obviously says Debbie Does Batman.

Nightwing threatens to beat up some cowardly punk named Skates who Batman apparently beats up every time he needs information. And even though Skates always gives up the information, he somehow hasn't been killed by any other Gotham criminal. Skates tells Nightwing that Batman is going to be killed at midnight in the graveyard. It's going to be a huge party. But instead of thinking, "I'll go to the graveyard and stop this!", Dick wastes precious time tailing Skates hoping he'll lead him to Batman or Drakkar. When Nightwing loses him due to Nightwing's fandom crowding around him, Nightwing thinks, "Wait. What did Skates say? Oh yeah! He gave me everything I needed to know! But now it's so close to midnight, I might not make it in time! Shoot!" Drakkar's plan is to auction off the right to unmask Batman and put a bullet in his brain. So, you know, almost the plan I proposed when they first knocked him unconscious! Stupid greedy thugs! Now Drakkar won't be rid of Batman or rich because Nightwing has found him! And he saves Batman in the nick of time! Time for hugs and demonstrations of familial love and intimacy!

Oh Batman!

Nightwing should know Batman cares because he didn't disappear the instant Nightwing looked away. Batman does smile at the end but not until Dick leaves. Only the reader gets to know Batman is capable of the tiniest bit of joy! And that joy probably wasn't due to Nightwing telling Batman that he's proud to have been Robin. The joy was probably in getting away with not thanking somebody for saving him yet again. Teen Titans Spotlight #14: Nightwing Rating: C+. If I had written this issue, it would have been from Batman's point of view. And all along the way, Batman would be thinking things like, "I'll drop this acid vial which will remind Dick of the Great Dragon caper which will lead him to Drakkar and the subway graveyard where I'm certain Drakkar will take me to kill me!" Then Batman will think, "I bet Dick and Alfred are brainstorming how to find me right now!" And later, as the gun is being put to Batman's head, he'd be all, "The lights should go out just about now! Dick will save me in the nick of time which I'll totally razz him over. Should I say, 'Cutting it pretty close, Boy Wonder' or 'Jason would have been here five minutes sooner'?" Then the final panel of Batman's life will be a bullet passing through his head as he's unmasked. The final page would show Dick Grayson sitting in his apartment listening to Cat's in the Cradle with the phone off the hook.

[prudencexed-blog]

The Decline - Part 2

Fifteen years old. Still a virgin. Heavy makeup melting in the hot August sun. Sitting on the tarry blacktop in the shadow of a car, smoking a joint all by myself. I don't know where Dawn or Kevin or my other friends have gone. I was beyond stoned. The screams and shouts and laughter of a thousand metalheads washed over me, merging into one voice, the voice of a metal god holding a bottle of Jack in one hand and a burning joint in the other. "You belong here" that voice said. "You're having the best day of your life."

I had taken a small, blue compact mirror out of my scuffed purse to check my makeup. But when you're drunk/stoned, you're convinced you look pretty hot, all things considered. Eye makeup smeared, eyes themselves red and glassy, lipstick long gone - traded for Zig Zags, for kisses, for bottle necks. A sudden flash of blinding white light interrupted my contemplation and I looked up.

Three stoner guys were sitting inside of an ancient pickup truck. Apparently, my compact had picked up the sunlight and thrown it back into their eyes, so they retaliated with a busted rearview. It became a game between myself and these three strangers: catch the sun, throw it back, like children with a ball. We were all laughing. I never knew their names.

An immense amount of time passed. It had probably been a minute, stretched into eons by the pungent weed I was sucking into my soul. I looked around and realized I was alone. The mirror fell from my hand and took an hour to make its cheap plastic clatter against the blacktop. I leaned over to retrieve it and stood up quickly. Where were my friends? My blonde boyfriend, my best friend Dawn, her blonde boyfriend? I was alone. I had stood up too fast. I had made the unwise decision to drink half a dozen swallows of Yukon Jack on top of his cousin JD and both were suddenly threatening to eject themselves from my hot, sloshy stomach. There was no food in there to soak it up and calm it down. I wobbled around to the front of the car whose shade I had sought and vomited between the bumpers of it and another slant-hood muscle rod, dry chrome sparkling mercilessly, like robot bones. A pure, fluid jet of yellow gunk shot out of my mouth and splattered all over the blacktop. The sour stink of it made me do it again. I spit and coughed and dry heaved for a few seconds, then nonchalantly wiped my mouth and casually stood up, certain I had gotten away with it, that no one had seen. Yeah man, I was still totally cool, I could handle this badass metal scene.

I saw Kevin and Dawn and Co. running towards me, their faces white, their mouths identical ghostly Oh's of concern. "Are you okay?" they all asked me. "Are you okay?" It became a mantra. It made me okay. My stomach calmed. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine. I was given water and more weed. Kevin put his arm around me and stayed with me, not daring to wander off again. No more booze for me, thank you.

I don't remember standing in line, or filing into the stadium where I'd been before, taken to baseball games by my dad a mere ten years previous. I don't remember finding our seats, which were not bad, facing the stage and giving us a clear view of the bands.

Victory took the stage first. I remember none of it. Rising Force was next, featuring Yngwie Malmsteen, who had not yet become a big name and who as of yet did not feel the need to include his middle initial of J. in his name, so as to separate him from all of the other Yngwie Malmsteen's, apparently. I remember singing along with "I Am A Viking" and that was it.

Then Metallica took the stage, the reason for our journey, the peak of the metal Mount Everest we had staggered up or some such poetic shit. There was Cliff Burton, head to toe in denim, smiling and somehow hippie-like. He would not have seemed out of lace standing beside a van with a teardrop window, blaring Foghat from its speakers. But when he began to pick out the first few notes of "For Whom the Bell Tolls" we knew the world had never been more metal than it was right at that moment. The stadium went insane. Fists punched the air. Voices screamed in unison "TIME MARCHES ON!" It was titanium heaven. It was that line from A Clockwork Orange: Oh bliss! Bliss and heaven! Oh, it was gorgeousness and gorgeousity made flesh. It was like a bird of rarest-spun heaven metal or like silvery wine flowing in a spaceship, gravity all nonsense now. As I slooshied, I knew such lovely pictures!

We sang along with every single song in their set. We knew all the words. We felt they were there for us and us alone. We were friends, not fans. We were home and they were home in the NorCal Bay Area. This was our time, our music - they were Gods and we were their chose acolytes.

And then their set ended and the joints began to go around again, because nobody cared about Y&T or Rats. Especially Ratt. Fucking poseur glam metal sissies. The guys didn't like Ratt, so neither could I...even though I knew all the words to Round and Round. No WAY was I going to admit that. I wasn't going to be labeled a poster. It was the ultimate cone of shame. So I became a lying hypocrite instead.

We stuck around for half of The Scorpions set. All of us approved of The Scorpions and would have stayed to see the show finish, but the last train back to Hayward was due soon and we had to go. We took the skywalk over the stadium, watching The Scorpions as we walked. I still remember looking down, seeing Rudy Schenker standing spread legged and beating the shit out of his instrument with a smile on his face. The stadium slid away as we walked and another couple of steps brought us a birds eye view of a parking lot filled with tour buses. People were milling about, beer cans in hand. One guy in particular stood out. Dressed all in black, with long, tightly curled black hair brushing the shoulders of a black leather jacket. Fuck me, it was Kirk Hammett!!!! I hooked my fingers through the diamond shaped links of the chain fence that enclosed us and gaped.

It was a backstage party. Or rather a parking lot party. There were no scantily clad metal strippers, no group orgies, no flamethrowers or piles of cocaine laying about. Just people, wandering about, talking, moving on. Kirk Hammett walked away. It did not occur to me to call out. I was no one. I wasn't even pretty. They wouldn't see me.

But one of them did. A tall guy dressed all in denim, his long brown bushy hair framing a narrow, pale face that turned up to the overpass upon which I stood, surrounded by thousands of teenage metalheads heading home to sleep it off. He locked eyes with me for one second, two perhaps. It was Cliff Burton and he was just standing there, staring at me. At ME. He saw ME. And then he turned away and was gone.

It was two seconds, but I knew it had happened for a reason. It would be my very first brush with fame, recognition from a star, an idol. I had been granted something that few people ever get - a moment. And when another year passed by and news came to us from Europe that Cliff Burton had died in a bus crash, I knew how lucky I was. He'd seen me. He knew me. We'd had two seconds, two seconds that nobody else could have.

[neomikey]

Unnamed: Chapter 2

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mom?”

“Jordan!  Good to hear from you, baby.  How's Sharon been?”

“She's fine.  Listen, I don't have long.  Could you come here to the station today?”

“The station?  Jordan, what's this about?”

“There was a break-in at Aunt Gladys's place last night and some kids got hurt.”

“Oh, that's...y-yeah, sure.  I'll be there as soon as I can.”

“We got the guy who did it.”

“There's a 'guy?'”

“How soon can you be here?”

“I'll go clear my schedule for the day.  Be there in about a half-hour.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“See you soon.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

~

The St. Elestria Police Department prided itself in its diversity.  While most of the staff were human, HR actively sought out animal people and elves to fill its ranks, sometimes going to the extent of recruiting them from across the country.  Ideally, their human staff could protect and serve the public just as good as anyone, but for the sake of getting differing viewpoints and having more representation while dealing with the sector's diverse populace, it helped to have more.

It certainly didn't hurt that it looked good for PR.

The station was rather easygoing for the afternoon.  It was the middle of the day shift, meaning many officers were out on patrol, while at the station, a number sat behind their desks, glumly filling out paperwork.  The Sector 12 station was located more towards the outskirts of St. Elestria proper, where there was generally little crime.  Instead of spending money on jail upkeep and high-end equipment, the precinct was able to afford allocating money from the budget to sprucing up the station without affecting their ability to fight crime.  They had a reputation among some of the other sector stations for being the “prissy” station, allegedly reserved for jaywalkers, candy bar thieves, and irate soccer moms.

An elf with short-cut silver hair was stationed at the front desk behind bullet-proof glass and was browsing through the SEPD database, trying to clarify an irritating report someone had turned in.  All that he could understand of the handwriting was that the offender's license plate started with J.

He was taking a pull from his Burger 'N Fries drink when a dark-skinned, gray-haired lady with a cardigan and black purse came into the lobby.  The elf perked up as the door sounded and momentarily scrambled to put away the fast food cup before he realized who it was.  He smiled brightly at the older lady.

“'Afternoon, Janice!”

“Maúrin,” she greeted back in her usual business-like tone.  “Did Jordan tell you I was coming by?”

“Yep, sure did. Let me page him real quick.”

“Sure, sure.”

Maurice picked up the comm nearby.  “Officer Henckley, there is a Code 7 at the front—“

“I didn't bring lunch,” Janice interrupted.

“—Code Mom at the front desk.”

“10-4,” came the staticky reply.

“He'll be just a moment,” Maurin confidently assured Janice.

“Of course.”

She took up a nearby clipboard and with her incredibly fancy pen, wrote her information on it, detailing her name, purpose of visit, officer she was seeing, and other pertinent information.  While waiting, she grabbed a coffee from their surprisingly expensive coffee machine. She never understood the fuss around coffee.  For her many years alive, she never could find anyone who truly “liked” the taste of coffee.  Whether it was cheap stuff bought from around the corner or the luxurious beans imported overseas from Stilneg, it all tasted bitter and had to be drowned in additives to be made palatable. Coffee was mostly about its effect.

Several sugars and flavored creams later, the door buzzed and opened, revealing her son. He had skin as dark as his mother's and was in full uniform, all the way up to the cap.  Jordan smiled brightly in greeting.  Janice did not reciprocate.

“So what happened?” she asked, as if already in the middle of a conversation.

“Nobody's dead,” he assured her.

“Good.  So what happened?”

“A vagrant happened.  We have him in holding right now.  Come on.”

Through the door they went.  It was a slow day in the Sector 12 station.  Some officers were at their desks, taking care of the minutiae of paperwork.  A few officers were checking social media.  It admittedly was a handy tool for investigations, but it also let officers look at the latest funny cat pictures.

“So these teenagers got into Aunt Gladys's house,” Jordan explained as they walked, “where this guy jumped 'em.  Stole this one kid's wallet, broke the other one's nose...it's all pretty messy.  He had several weapons, including a pistol, some knives, a sword....”

“What were they doing in Gladys's place?” Janice asked, her voice taking on an edge, seemingly disregarding all the weapons.

“Said they were just curious, Mom.  They were out on a midnight walk and saw the door open.”

“Are they stupid?”

“Teenagers – you tell me.”

Janice sighed and wiped at her face.  “Sweetie, I love you and know that you and everyone here have made great strides in keeping the district safe, but what kind of moron goes into some abandoned building in the middle of the—”

“Well, they did, and this is what we've got.  Processing the perp has been a bit difficult, since he has no ID and refuses to tell us his name, family, friends, or any kind of background.  No drugs or anything found in his system either, though he is suffering from mild malnutrition and exhaustion.  He just admits to the attack and says it was justified, but the evidence obviously isn't good for him.  Looks like he's likely gonna get thrown over to 19 and—“

“Don't you dare,” Janice suddenly interrupted.  “That—“

“Mom...!” Jordan hissed.  A couple nearby officers looked up for a moment, then went back to their deskwork.  He spoke just above a whisper.  “This is not the place to bring this up!”

Despite being almost a foot shorter than him, Janice's stern glare made Jordan feel like she towered over him.  Mothers never lost their edge.

“I would have already begun processing, but I knew you would want to talk to him. He's in the interrogation room right now with Rudy.  I'm told it's been rather quiet.”

“Not even talking about the Elks?”

Jordan scoffed. “He tried.”

With a swipe of his keycard, they entered the more secured area of the station.  Off to the side were concrete holding cells with thick glass walls, all of which were empty.  Only one had paperwork in the door slot.

“Hey, Janice!” the cop on duty cheerfully greeted.

“Not a Code 7,” Jordan informed her.  The lady's shoulders noticeably sagged, disheartened at the lack of food.

“Still in interrogation?” Janice asked.

“Yeah, go on ahead.

They rounded a corner, passed a few doors, and finally came to a door marked “Interview.”  There was a one-way mirror on the door, and within, they saw the vagrant.  His wrists were handcuffed to the chair, which was firmly bolted to the floor.  His clothes were tattered and dirty, and his right pantleg hung loosely from the stump.  Despite how ratty it was, the officers didn't take away the headband he wore which rested over his left eye.  A table sat in front of him (also bolted to the floor), and on the other side was a far more comfortable-looking chair.  His good eye was firmly locked on Rudy – a gray-haired rabbit man – who was leaning on the wall next to the door, bored since his attempt at sports-centered small talk had failed.  The homeless man, meanwhile, kept his eye on Rudy with palpable mistrust and caution.

“That's the savage who took out two teenagers?”

“Apparently,” Jordan confirmed.  “Wasn't exactly 'savage' when we picked him up either; more just seemed confused.  Didn't even recognize a taser when it was pointed right at him.”

“You didn't....”

Jordan sighed. “No, I didn't, Mom.  Just...listen, we can talk about all this later, okay?”

Before she could argue, he knocked on the door.  Rudy's ears went fully erect, his nose involuntarily twitched, and he stepped away from the door. Jordan opened it and Janice pushed past them.

“Thank you, gentlemen, I'll take it from here,” she informed them.

Rudy and Jordan locked eyes for a moment, before Jordan finally nodded.  “Yeah, sure,” he conceded,  “We'll be nearby.”  He nodded to the large mirror on the wall.  “You have ten minutes – no more.”

Janice folded her hands on her lap as she watched them leave, then allowed the door to shut on its own before finally turning to address the bedgraggled man.  “Well...” she began, “it seems like you've had an interesting day.”

The one-eyed man didn't seem to hear her, and instead was looking to the door.  Janice hung her purse on the back of the chair and went to sit down.

“My name is Janice Henckley, and I'm—“

“What was that beast?”

“'Beast'?” she said, an eyebrow slowly raising.  “You mean Rudy?” She waited for a response, but received none.  “He's a police officer, obviously.  A detective.”

“It wasn't human.”

“Of course not, he's a lapin.”

The man finally looked to her.

“A lapin,” she emphasized.  “A hybrid.”

His expression showed no comprehension.

“You...do know hybrids, don't you?”

His eye showed no understanding.  Janice resituated herself in her seat, suddenly finding the vagrant far more interesting.

“They're humans whose genetic make-up was mixed with those of animals as part of a military experiment over a hundred years ago who have since joined the average population,” she informed him.  “There are many different breeds out there.  Rudy there was a lapin, a rabbit hybrid. Canids are dogs, felids are cats, equids are horses, there are several others....  You've...never seen a hybrid?  Ever?”

“That's considered strange?”

“From where did you come?”

The man's eye went to the table.  A silence descended upon the room while Janice awaited an answer.

“You do know I was only given ten minutes to talk to you.  We can sit here in awkward silence the whole time or you can start talking to me.”

“Who are you?”

“Janice,” she repeated.  “I'm the owner of the house where you assaulted those two teens.”

“It was an act of self defense,” he explained.  “They threatened me.  Why do you own an abandoned house?”

“The teens threatened you how?”

“They tried to rob me.  Faced with death, I ensured that I would live.  I chose not to kill them, as that would have resulted in complications.”

“That's called 'second-degree murder,'” Janice explained, hiding mild amusement. “Did you pull the pistol on them?”

“'Pistol?'”

“Yeah.”

His expression was again showing little to no comprehension.  Janice furrowed her brow, then leaned on the table between them.  “What happened?”

“I was awoken, I was threatened, one brandished a knife, the other...something strange...and I defended myself.  I sent them away and that was the end of it.”

“'Strange?'” Janice seemed perplexed.  “What did it look like?”

“Metallic, had a cylinder, a grip—“

Janice interrupted with a heavy sigh, as she was developing more of a picture.  While she couldn't fully ascertain whether or not the man was telling the truth, she was finding his story more believable than the one Jordan had told her.

“So they had the pistol.”

“If that is its name, yes.”

“Why don't you know these things?” she asked with irritation, tapping the table.  “Hybrids, lapins, guns.  Seriously, just...where are you from?”

“I don't know anymore,” he finally admitted.  “I don't know where I am.”

“You're in St. Elestria.  Do you know where that is?”

“No.”

“How did you get here?”

“I stowed away upon a ship.”

“And from where did that ship sail?”

“I don't know.”

“Why don't you know?”

“I didn't seek the answer.  I didn't want to know where I was going or from where I was leaving.”

“You had to come from somewhere,” Janice insisted.  “What country were you in before?”

“I...I don't know.”  There was uncertainty, tiredness, and frustration in his voice.  “There is so much I question now.  I have lost my use.  My life feels as if it were for naught.  I don't know what to do.”

Janice blew out a long breath through her nose as she studied the odd, shabby, one-eyed man before her.  A long and awkward silence descended upon them.

“I can't exactly help you with your existential crisis....  You probably won't give me your name if I ask you for it.”

“I don't have one.”

“Of course.” She paused for a moment before reaching into her purse.  Withdrawing a business card, she slid it across the table to him.  “Well...at least I can give a more formal introduction.  I'm the owner of Dead Trees and Ink, a book publisher here in St. Elestria, and you were in my sister's old house...which belongs to me now.  You were by all rights trespassing on private property—“

“It was boarded up and unused.”

“—I'm talking.”  The stern look she gave lasted only a moment.  “That was private property, but I do not intend to press charges against you...not that it would do any good.  You don't have any background, and I'm sure that you don't have any money, save what you took from the one kid.”

“I took no such thing,” he insisted.  “I only took his identification.”

She raised a brow. “I was told you ended up taking their wallet.  Why...why would you only take—?”

“Names have power, woman.  They encompass all that you are.  They give you identity.  They give you associations and attachments to people, places, things, and ideas.  They make you trackable and traceable. In the magical world, they bear an even greater liability.  It is for this reason that I choose not to have a name, and it is also for that reason that I took the boy's identification, so I would have said power over him.”

Janice was looking dumbfoundedly at him.  “Did you just call me 'woman'?”

“You are one, correct?”  He seemed entirely oblivious to his faux pas.

Janice sighed, then gave a dismissive wave.  “Nevermind.  Listen, I don't know what's going to happen with you.  Knowing the department here, you're probably going to be put back on the street.  Have you been homeless long?”

He took a moment to think it over.  “Yes.”

“I'll be frank, you certainly look it.  I know you probably know how to survive out there, but just keep in mind that there are social programs that will try and help you out...however they can.”  She gave a heavy sigh.  “You probably don't know about the Urban Refreshment Act, right?”

“Correct.”

“Let's just say...it isn't good for you to be homeless and out in the main city...so as long as you look like, well....”  She gestured at him. “...don't come back to that part of the city...or downtown for that matter.  Do you know anyone here in the city?”

“I have no associates.”

“Well, you'll need to make some.  I'll talk with Officer Henckley about what they're going to do with you, and we'll proceed from there.  Do you have any questions for me right now?”

The man looked away.  “Not for you, no.”

“Well all right then.”  She pushed the chair back, retrieved her purse, then nodded towards the mirror.  The vagrant looked puzzled by the action, unsure why people kept looking to the large mirror on the wall.  “For being homeless, you're rather well spoken.”

“I read.”

“Well...we share some common ground.”

As she approached the door, Rudy was there to open it.  Janice nodded her appreciation, then walked past to the connected observation room.  It was a dimly lit room, mostly illuminated by the few monitors that sat on a table next to recording equipment.  Jordan was sitting in a chair, forearm resting on the table.

“Now Mom....”

She had the decorum to close the door before starting.

“Tell me about the boys,” she said flatly.

Jordan had been dreading this.  “Mom....”

“Tell me about the boys.”

The officer looked up and sighed.  “All right...they have some minor records. Trouble in school, one has a broken family, and they match the description of a pair of troublemakers we've had reports about over there by Aunt Gladys's place.”

“So they caused the trouble and—“

“We have no evidence, Mom,” Jordan insisted.  He gestured to the window, where the homeless man sat glumly.  “What you're talking about is all circumstantial.  What we have is an unregistered man, a couple of assaulted teens, and weapons and a wallet all found there at the scene.  We were told he broke a cell phone by stabbing it, and guess what we found there.”

“Can't you bring in someone from Arcane Investigations to look into this?  Talk to those boys with a Truth spell enacted or...or something?”

“Bring in a mage for a homeless nobody?  Do you know how much paperwork it is to get them involved for legitimate crimes?  He admitted to attacking them, Mom!  The one teen's mother was in the mayor's office today, insisting we execute him.  This guy's nothing but trouble for us, so we're going to ship him to 19 and they can deal with him.”

“You'll do that to an innocent man?  I know that you know something isn't entirely right over there at—”

“He's not innocent, Mom!” Jordan sighed.  “He's admitted to assault!”

She crossed her arms and looked down at him.

“I shouldn't have invited you...” he grumbled to himself.

“So why did you?”

“Because we're honest with each other, Mom, and I'm not going to hide something happening at Aunt Gladys's place from you.”

Janice sat in the seat across from him, resting her elbows on her knees, and leaned in. Like a switch had been flipped, her countenance softened and her tone became compassionate.  “And that does mean a lot to me, baby.”

Jordan gave a relieved breath through his nose, then gestured to his mother.  “Do you see what situation I'm in here?  I don't like it either! I'm caught between my mom and my job.  Listen...I know those boys are probably guilty as sin, and if it were up to me, I'd hook this guy up with the best social worker we had and have those teens there in the room instead, but that's not how things are. I've gotta do what I've gotta do.  We have procedure here at the precinct.  It's part of my duty with serving and protecting the city.  I don't always like it, but it's all in place for a reason.”

Janice turned her mouth and looked down.  “I know....”  She looked into the room, where the man was looking about with mild curiosity.  He kept looking to the fluorescent tubes on the ceiling.  “What are they going to do over there in 19?”

Jordan sighed and shrugged.  “I don't know.  Take care of him?  He'll be fed and cared for.  Just look at him, he needs it.  It's better than living on the streets, right?”

Janice looked sympathetically to him.  “He did have shelter at Gladys's....”

“You can't save everyone.”

“I know, baby....”  She gave a heavy sigh, then pushed off the table to stand up.  “You don't need me for anything else, right?”

“No.”

“I'm going home then.  I could use the rest of the day off....”

“How's By'ir doing?”

She snorted in derision.  “As stubborn as ever.  Thinks that because he's our biggest seller he can dilly-dally and turn in his chapters whenever he wants.  Still throws a fit like a diva when we give criticism.”

“Writers....”

Janice tugged her purse strap against her shoulder.  “I should only let myself be upset at one thing at a time.”  There was a pause as she breathed in.  “Thank you for telling me about this man and being honest with me, Jordan.  We'll...talk later.”

Neither of them looked forward to that conversation.  Janice left the room and started for the lobby.  Jordan, meanwhile, leaned on the table, laced his fingers together, and looked intently at the homeless man.

~

The ride out to Sector 19, the Wharf District, was rather uneventful. The crippled homeless man sat next to the window in the back of the squad car, watching the evening's city life pass by.  The buildings slowly degraded in quality, mimicking the setting sun, until the lights became sparse and the road condition had deteriorated.

The car ride had been entirely silent.  Aside from some uninteresting squawks over the squad car radio, not a single word had been said.

Jordan turned the car down a dark alley and drove in, before coasting to a stop.  He turned off the car and extinguished all lights, leaving the two of them in complete darkness.  He took in a deep breath, while in the back seat, the vagrant looked about with growing trepidation. This was all wrong.

“Listen...” Jordan finally said.  He went to continue speaking, but couldn't find the words.  He let out a heavy breath, then leaned forward on the steering wheel.  “I'm not a bad guy, okay?  I want to do right. I'm an officer of the law.  But more importantly than the law and those who tell me what to do, I also know right and wrong.”

He looked into the back seat where the homeless man was staring at him with stern tenseness.  Jordan took off his cap, then leaned his arm against the glass separating them.

“Buddy...things aren't black and white in this world.  I know you probably did what you had to.  I'm not going to fault you for that.  And neither is 19. It's sloppily run over there and paperwork goes missing all the time.  I might have to do some reports later, but if you somehow went missing, the world wouldn't end.”

He hit the unlock button on the car door and all four doors clicked open.

“I need you to get lost, okay?”

The man remained perfectly still and continued to stare at Jordan in the dark.

“You're getting let go.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a conscience.  I'll be honest, Station 19 isn't a good place for people like you to be.  Because of the Urban Refreshment Act, however, this sector is basically the only place where you can be.  So...don't get picked up by the police, all right?  Behave yourself out there.  No more attacking people.  Find people to help you.  You don't have to be alone out here, okay?”

The vagrant slightly tilted his head to the side.  “What do you require in exchange?”

Jordan scoffed.  “Don't tell anyone I did this.  Help out somebody else who requires a bit of mercy too, all right?  'Pay it forward' and all that.”

“For my freedom, this sounds like an unequal exchange.”

“You're going to argue against this?”

The man fell silent for a long moment and Jordan let him mull upon this.

“I shall pay you back appropriately for this,” the vagrant finally said.  “I don't know when or how, but my debt to you shall be paid.”

“If you say so.  You're good?”

“In what respect?”

“In...the leaving kind?”

The vagrant thought for a moment before replying, “Yes...I am good in the leaving respect.”

“Good.”

Jordan unbuckled himself, then got out and opened the back door – the doors could only be opened from outside.  The vagrant had some issues undoing his seatbelt, but finally extricated himself.  Jordan offered out a hand, but it was entirely ignored.  The homeless man pushed off the frame of the door, then awkwardly got to standing on his single foot.

“Sorry I didn't bring any crutches.”

“My freedom is more than adequate.”

“If I can help it, let's not see each other again,” Jordan finally said.

“I will repay my debt to you.”

“Don't sweat it.  Just...go, all right?  And keep your head down.”

The man hopped away from the car and leaned against the alleyway's wall, while Jordan returned to the driver's seat.

“Take care,” he called from inside the car.  The vagrant was illuminated red by the car's rear lights, and moments later, was left there alone in the dark.

(Prologue) (Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

[flauntpage]

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could've guessed. After Gordon Hayward's injury, the Boston Celtics look like they'll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

Seriously, though, the season is quickly shaping into an entertaining adventure nobody saw coming: an ongoing drama between belief and skepticism. Between the Little Engine That Could and Small Sample Size Mountain. Let's take a closer look.

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix's inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night's 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he's on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he's off, only 29.)

Parsons isn't blowing by defenders (unless they're named "Frank Kaminsky"), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He's averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that's partly due to JaMychal Green's ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that's still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there's a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they're there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

This might seem obvious, but with even more traditional centers stepping behind the three-point line this year, the guys asked to stop them are also drifting towards the perimeter more than they used to. The following qualifies as anecdotal evidence within a small sample size, but according to NBA.com Dwight Howard is contesting 2.7 threes per game this season, up from 1.5 last year. Marc Gasol is at 3.7 three-point contests, and last year he averaged 1.8. Steven Adams contested 2.7 threes last year and now he's at 3.6.

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven't seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid's pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who're forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today's NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don't think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can't shoot and doesn't possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto's offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter's vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl's playing time isn't as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly's Expanding Playbook

It's oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA's most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown's willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he's ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren't as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don't execute as tightly as they should (or when they're simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

After an Iverson cut towards the left wing, Simmons attacks away from the screen once he notices that Dallas Mavericks big Dwight Powell is hugged up on Amir Johnson instead of in position to ice the pick-and-roll.

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who're all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn't in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn't especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons's ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert's screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we'd never see. Rubio is making shots. What's even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio's three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can't finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio's gravity won't ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

On Wednesday, Rubio finished with 30 points (three short of his career high) on 17 shots. For just one moment, imagine an alternate reality where these developments are taking place on a Jazz roster that also has a healthy Gordon Hayward and Derrick Favors nearly back to the borderline-All-Star plane where he ascended before injuries weakened his antithetical impact. Is that the second or third-best team in the Western Conference? Does a Rubio, Hood, Hayward, Favors, Gobert lineup make the Warriors sweat?

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee's blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC's fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA's very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park's final scene.

7. Reminder: De'Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he's now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he's off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don't currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he's in there.

There's a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker's game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that's steadily elevating his game even higher than last year's All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He's a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz - USA TODAY Sports

Remember when the Knicks were mocked for constructing a roster that essentially barred Kristaps Porzingis from spending any time at center (only three percent of his minutes have been at that position this year, down from 21 percent last year)? Well, even after three-straight wins against the Brooklyn Nets, Cleveland Cavaliers, and Denver Nuggets that took place before they were slapped back to Earth by the Houston Rockets, these personnel decisions probably still weren't the way to go.

But what those personnel choices have done is help New York formulate a fun, possibly sustainable (?) Porzingis + Putbacks identity. With Carmelo Anthony out of the picture, Porzingis has spent the opening chapter of his third season mushrooming into an unguardable beanstock. Only Giannis, Boogie, and Steph Curry are averaging more points than Porzingis. Zero players have a higher usage rate.

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O'Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7'3" franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it's working!

10. I Can't Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you've happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court's baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA's most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let's Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can't be dealt until that month)—so I won't spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

But it sorta makes sense! Big picture, Toronto has a rapidly progressing core simmering beneath its veteran, All-Star-caliber contributors. The aforementioned Poeltl, rookie OG Anunoby, recently signed Norm Powell, and intriguing rotation players like Delon Wright and Pascal Siakam have the future looking solid.

They're successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray's upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver's cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who's made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says "wait." But Paul Millsap's decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he's still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he'd look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he's there this season and next?

Again, a trade like this is extremely complicated and would dramatically shift the direction of two franchises that seem to be content with where they are. But the word impossible doesn't exist in today's NBA.

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said "that's what we lived for" in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee's first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

On Halloween, the team decided not to pick up his fourth-year option, making Vaughn an unrestricted free agent this summer. For a team that has little financial flexibility going forward, completely whiffing on a first-round pick can have painful consequences. Giannis is clearly ready to win now, and the Eastern Conference is begging someone to usurp the Cavaliers.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee's front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6'6" three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody's time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn's team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They're Not

Even though Patty Mills' game-tying three didn't fall, San Antonio's execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they're the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal...until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson's Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he's on other people's songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles' bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He's efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he's the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it's because he's been instructed to attack. It's too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson's production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he's off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he's out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston's young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

Individually, the overwhelming talent Horford has had to corral is beyond impressive: Giannis (twice), Ben Simmons, LaMarcus Aldridge, Kristaps Porzingis, and Kevin Love. All opponents are shooting just 56.2 percent at the rim when Horford is on the floor. When he rests, that number spikes all the way up to 74.6 percent. The difference ranks in the 98th percentile among players at his position, according to Cleaning the Glass).

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford's occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of myriad pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they're wrong, and this year he's definitively worth every penny.

Using priceless instincts, flawless habits, and a wingspan that allows him to cover more ground than anyone his size should (only seven players contest more shots every game, per NBA.com), Horford has glued himself inside the all-too-early Defensive Player of the Year (pseudo-MVP?) conversation. He shouldn't leave it anytime soon.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland's Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson's struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It's obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league's roughest (from Cleveland's perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he's healthy, Thompson's numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here's an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I wonder how a lucky a front office feels whenever they draft someone 45th overall and then immediately watch him flourish in consequential ways. Is this like finding a $20 bill in your back pocket or hearing your train approach the second you descend onto a subway platform?

The Memphis Grizzlies have had their fair share of first-round blunders, but scoring with guys like Brooks has helped keep this organization afloat, stiff-arming a rebuild further out than it probably should be.

I don't have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who's relentless and difficult to screen. That's nice. He's also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn't really making his threes. But the fact that he's averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league's most pleasant surprises is telling.

The value of a second-round pick is never more clear than in transcendent figures like Manu Ginobili or Draymond Green, but they still feel like an undervalued commodity. Think about how different the Los Angeles Clippers might look today if they drafted someone like Brooks a few years ago?

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could’ve guessed. After Gordon Hayward’s injury, the Boston Celtics look like they’ll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

Seriously, though, the season is quickly shaping into an entertaining adventure nobody saw coming: an ongoing drama between belief and skepticism. Between the Little Engine That Could and Small Sample Size Mountain. Let’s take a closer look.

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix’s inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night’s 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he’s on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he’s off, only 29.)

Parsons isn’t blowing by defenders (unless they’re named “Frank Kaminsky”), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He’s averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that’s partly due to JaMychal Green’s ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that’s still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there’s a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they’re there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

This might seem obvious, but with even more traditional centers stepping behind the three-point line this year, the guys asked to stop them are also drifting towards the perimeter more than they used to. The following qualifies as anecdotal evidence within a small sample size, but according to NBA.com Dwight Howard is contesting 2.7 threes per game this season, up from 1.5 last year. Marc Gasol is at 3.7 three-point contests, and last year he averaged 1.8. Steven Adams contested 2.7 threes last year and now he’s at 3.6.

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven’t seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid’s pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who’re forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today’s NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don’t think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can’t shoot and doesn’t possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto’s offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter’s vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl’s playing time isn’t as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly’s Expanding Playbook

It’s oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA’s most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown’s willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he’s ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren’t as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don’t execute as tightly as they should (or when they’re simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

After an Iverson cut towards the left wing, Simmons attacks away from the screen once he notices that Dallas Mavericks big Dwight Powell is hugged up on Amir Johnson instead of in position to ice the pick-and-roll.

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who’re all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn’t in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn’t especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons’s ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert’s screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we’d never see. Rubio is making shots. What’s even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio’s three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can’t finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio’s gravity won’t ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

On Wednesday, Rubio finished with 30 points (three short of his career high) on 17 shots. For just one moment, imagine an alternate reality where these developments are taking place on a Jazz roster that also has a healthy Gordon Hayward and Derrick Favors nearly back to the borderline-All-Star plane where he ascended before injuries weakened his antithetical impact. Is that the second or third-best team in the Western Conference? Does a Rubio, Hood, Hayward, Favors, Gobert lineup make the Warriors sweat?

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee’s blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC’s fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA’s very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park‘s final scene.

7. Reminder: De’Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he’s now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he’s off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don’t currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he’s in there.

There’s a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker’s game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that’s steadily elevating his game even higher than last year’s All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He’s a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz – USA TODAY Sports

Remember when the Knicks were mocked for constructing a roster that essentially barred Kristaps Porzingis from spending any time at center (only three percent of his minutes have been at that position this year, down from 21 percent last year)? Well, even after three-straight wins against the Brooklyn Nets, Cleveland Cavaliers, and Denver Nuggets that took place before they were slapped back to Earth by the Houston Rockets, these personnel decisions probably still weren’t the way to go.

But what those personnel choices have done is help New York formulate a fun, possibly sustainable (?) Porzingis + Putbacks identity. With Carmelo Anthony out of the picture, Porzingis has spent the opening chapter of his third season mushrooming into an unguardable beanstock. Only Giannis, Boogie, and Steph Curry are averaging more points than Porzingis. Zero players have a higher usage rate.

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O’Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7’3″ franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it’s working!

10. I Can’t Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you’ve happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court’s baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA’s most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let’s Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can’t be dealt until that month)—so I won’t spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

But it sorta makes sense! Big picture, Toronto has a rapidly progressing core simmering beneath its veteran, All-Star-caliber contributors. The aforementioned Poeltl, rookie OG Anunoby, recently signed Norm Powell, and intriguing rotation players like Delon Wright and Pascal Siakam have the future looking solid.

They’re successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray’s upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver’s cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who’s made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says “wait.” But Paul Millsap’s decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he’s still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he’d look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he’s there this season and next?

Again, a trade like this is extremely complicated and would dramatically shift the direction of two franchises that seem to be content with where they are. But the word impossible doesn’t exist in today’s NBA.

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said “that’s what we lived for” in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee’s first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

On Halloween, the team decided not to pick up his fourth-year option, making Vaughn an unrestricted free agent this summer. For a team that has little financial flexibility going forward, completely whiffing on a first-round pick can have painful consequences. Giannis is clearly ready to win now, and the Eastern Conference is begging someone to usurp the Cavaliers.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee’s front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6’6″ three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody’s time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn’s team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They’re Not

Even though Patty Mills’ game-tying three didn’t fall, San Antonio’s execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they’re the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal…until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson’s Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he’s on other people’s songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles’ bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He’s efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he’s the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it’s because he’s been instructed to attack. It’s too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson’s production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he’s off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he’s out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston’s young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

Individually, the overwhelming talent Horford has had to corral is beyond impressive: Giannis (twice), Ben Simmons, LaMarcus Aldridge, Kristaps Porzingis, and Kevin Love. All opponents are shooting just 56.2 percent at the rim when Horford is on the floor. When he rests, that number spikes all the way up to 74.6 percent. The difference ranks in the 98th percentile among players at his position, according to Cleaning the Glass).

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford’s occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of more pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they’re wrong, and this year he’s definitively worth every penny.

Using priceless instincts, flawless habits, and a wingspan that allows him to cover more ground than anyone his size should (only seven players contest more shots every game, per NBA.com), Horford has glued himself inside the all-too-early Defensive Player of the Year (pseudo-MVP?) conversation. He shouldn’t leave it anytime soon.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland’s Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson’s struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It’s obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league’s roughest (from Cleveland’s perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he’s healthy, Thompson’s numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here’s an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I wonder how a lucky a front office feels whenever they draft someone 45th overall and then immediately watch him flourish in consequential ways. Is this like finding a $20 bill in your back pocket or hearing your train approach the second you descend onto a subway platform?

The Memphis Grizzlies have had their fair share of first-round blunders, but scoring with guys like Brooks has helped keep this organization afloat, stiff-arming a rebuild further out than it probably should be.

I don’t have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who’s relentless and difficult to screen. That’s nice. He’s also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn’t really making his threes. But the fact that he’s averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league’s most pleasant surprises is telling.

The value of a second-round pick is never more clear than in transcendent figures like Manu Ginobili or Draymond Green, but they still feel like an undervalued commodity. Think about how different the Los Angeles Clippers might look today if they drafted someone like Brooks a few years ago?

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[anavoliselenu]

Creighton chapter 10

A voice calls out from the entryway, distracting me from my thoughts.

“Mrs. Karas? We have a delivery for you at the request of Mr. Karas.”

Mrs. Karas? It sounds so foreign that it takes a moment before I realize whoever is here is looking for me. I look down at my gray long-sleeved thermal and black leggings, and wonder if I should run back into the bathroom and lock the door.

Screw it. I am what I am, and that’s all I’m going to be.

I leave the bedroom and head into the living room. Whoever it is didn’t come in and make himself at home, so I continue into the entryway. A uniformed doorman stands just inside the door, looking slightly uncomfortable as he holds a large rectangular box.

“Oh, excellent, I was afraid I might have entered at an inopportune time,” he says, holding out the box in my direction. “Mr. Karas specifically requested that I bring this inside when it arrived. Where would you like me to put it?”

What in the world?

“What is it?” The question pops out before I have a chance to think.

He smiles kindly, but with a lopsided tilt that you’d give a clumsy puppy or small child. “I don’t know, ma’am. You’ll have to open it and see. Where would you like me to put it?”

Duh. Of course he doesn’t know.

“On the . . . coffee table is fine.” I point to the living room as I stammer over my words. I almost said dining room table, but even the thought of it reminds me of what we did on that table last night, and it seems obscene.

I realize too late that maybe I should have tipped the doorman, but he’s already out the door and I’m left alone with the box.

Cautiously, I study it like it might contain human body parts, because that’s how I think in terms of measurement.

Trunks of cars? How many bodies can you fit in there?

Chest freezers? Same thing.

Creepy, right? Maybe I was a serial killer in another life, but I’m hoping not. Hopefully it’s just a country thing.

I use my fingernails to peel back the tape and tear the cardboard flaps open. When I see the black guitar case, I freeze, and my mouth goes dry.

He didn’t. Oh, but he did.

Like I’m opening a jewelry box containing diamonds the size of my fist, I flip the latches and lift the lid. My chest tightens as the breath I was holding whooshes out.

I reach down, almost afraid to trail my fingers along the pearlescent turquoise surface of the most beautiful guitar I’ve ever seen. With one fingertip, I trace the edge until I run up to the word Gibson. It’s similar to the one I played at Rudy’s the other night, but instead of black and bottom of the line, it’s the top-of-the-line model and my favorite color, which Justin couldn’t have known.

As the iridescent flecks of paint glitter in the light, I can only picture how amazing it’s going to look onstage.

I have to hear how she sounds, and instantly names start spinning in my head, because she has to have a name. Something feminine and kick-ass all at the same time. Eliza Belle. Okay, it’s got a little country twang to it, but since that’s what I’m going to be rocking out with on her, I think it’s perfect.

I lift Eliza Belle out of her deep purple velvet-lined case and hold her out in front of me. Perfection. Absolute perfection. How did he know?

My surprise rockets up a dozen more notches when I pull out the strap tucked in the case and take in the hand-tooled leather. My name is part of an intricate design of stars, guitars, and flowers. It’s . . . I’m speechless.

Holy shit. I’m in trouble.

But I push that thought away to hook the strap on and carry Eliza Belle to the living room where my notebook rests on a side table. It’s time to perfect some tunes.

All the while I’m strumming the chords, I’m thinking about Justin and how I’m going to find the words to thank him for this gift.

I open the door to my penthouse at six forty-five that night, and have the strangest urge to yell out something like Honey, I’m home. Although after yesterday, I now know there’s no guarantee that Selena will actually be here, despite my threats.

She seems inclined to do whatever she likes, and that’s something I’m going to have a hell of a time getting used to. When I give orders, I expect for them to be followed without question. But considering how much I enjoy punishing her for her lack of compliance, I suppose my complaints are not quite as intense as before.

But when it’s her safety at issue, all bets are off. The idea of her walking around Manhattan by herself bothers me more than I would have ever imagined. She doesn’t understand that she could easily be a target because of me.

Before I can say anything, though, the sound of Selena strumming the guitar and humming starts and then stops moments later.

I walk farther into the penthouse and see her sitting cross-legged in the middle of the couch, hunched over the guitar as she jots down something on the notebook in front of her. Her hair hangs loose over her shoulders, and she’s wearing leggings and a gray long-sleeved shirt. Her feet are bare, and I think as long as I stay silent, she’ll never realize I’m here.

I decide to watch her for a few minutes to test my theory.

My choice is rewarded when she starts again, closing her eyes as she plays a unique and unusually addictive tune. She doesn’t sing, but her lips move, forming words that only she’s aware of. In that moment, I want to see her in her element—onstage. My suspicion is that the confidence I see flashes of when she speaks so passionately about her career will shine even brighter when she’s onstage. She’s a unique creature, my wife.

She stops again and leans forward, scratching out something on the sheet and writing something new. When she glances up, she finally sees me standing in the doorway. Her eyes widen in surprise and she lays her pen down on the notebook.

“Hey, I didn’t realize you were back.”

“I was just watching you.”

Her smile is quick and her face lights up. “It’s not much yet, but it’s going to be a hell of a song.” Her head jerks toward the clock on the side table. “Oh crap, I didn’t get ready. You wanted to leave at seven. I’ll be quick. What do I need to wear? I kind of need some help in that area if you don’t want me to embarrass you.”

The easiness of her posture when she was playing is gone, and I dislike that I’m ultimately the cause of it. I know my decision to ask Cannon for suggestions on what to do with Selena tonight was the right choice, because I want to give her that easiness back.

With honesty, I tell her, “You’re fine the way you are. Grab your boots.”

Selena’s face is a picture of shock. “Are you screwing with me?” She glances down at what she’s wearing. “Because I look like . . .”

“A sexy-as-fuck woman?”

“A girl from Kentucky.”

“Which you are, so what’s your point?”

“This is New York. I’m not New York chic. I already stand out enough; I don’t need to stand out more.”

“You’re perfect. Grab your boots. We’re going out.”

Justin is crazy. He wants to take me out like this? I trail after him into the bedroom and tug on my boots, watching as he changes out of his suit into some slacks and a button-down shirt that’s marginally casual.

“I’m not going to be underdressed?” I ask. “Because you’re looking a lot fancier than me.”

He smirks. “Where we’re going, you’ll fit in better than I will. Trust me.”

And once again, I have a decision to make. When he reaches the doorway I’m leaning against and holds out his hand, I make my choice.

“If you say so. Let’s do this.”

I tuck my hand into Justin’s and we leave the penthouse, but not until he heads back to the master suite to get me a coat, hat, and mittens, as well as a jacket for himself. I’m surprised by the gesture, but it makes more sense when I don’t see a chauffeur-driven Bentley at the curb. Apparently we’re walking.

Justin leads me down the busy sidewalk, and we turn the corner onto an even busier street. People in New York truly never seem to settle in; they’re always hurrying from here to there. I try to avoid looking like a tourist and staring up at the buildings, so I instead look at the people around me as we walk farther and finally turn again. We’re heading toward a bank, and I’m completely confused.

“Where are we—?” I start to ask, but then I see a small black sign next to the bank.

Johnny Utah’s.

“Right here,” Justin replies as he steers me toward the door beneath the small sign. “It might be the only one of its kind in Midtown, and a friend suggested we check it out.”

We walk inside, and not only is the place already packed with the happy-hour crowd, there’s a mechanical bull in the middle of a wrought-iron fenced-in circle, surrounded by thick pads.

I jerk my gaze up to Justin’s. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“You gonna ride the bull?”

He smirks. “Are you?”

My own smile grows wide, and for the first time since I met him, I’m not ashamed of the accent I let color my words. “Baby, this ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Good girl. Because this I want to see.”

We sidle up to the bar, and I slip my hat and mittens into my coat pockets as Justin orders for both of us. I don’t argue, especially because he’s ordered two shots of whiskey. I’m reminded of our first night together at the Rose Club, amazed at how different tonight is despite how little time has passed. It’s crazy how everything can change so quickly.

“Only Prettier” by Miranda Lambert is playing on the bar speakers, and I have to smile. Her start wasn’t all that different from mine, and look where she is now. She’s also unashamedly herself. I could probably learn a thing or two from her.

But then again, she was married to a fellow country singer, like Tana, not a billionaire. This is a whole different situation. I’m trying to straddle two worlds, but at least for tonight, Justin is making an effort to bring me to a world that isn’t quite so foreign.

He slides one shot glass in front of me and raises his. “To us. We’ve officially outlasted at least one or two celebrity marriages. Britney Spears comes to mind.”

I choke out a laugh before I can offer the toast back to him. “I can’t even believe you know that.”

“I think everyone knows about that.” He continues holding up the shot glass and raises an eyebrow. “It’s bad luck to not reciprocate. Toasts . . . and other things.”

I smile, and it’s genuine. This sense of humor isn’t something I expected. “Well, I don’t think we need any bad luck. So,” I raise my glass, “to us.”

As we clink glasses and toss the liquor back, my eyes burn, and it has nothing to do with the whiskey sliding down my throat. I’m just stunned by the fact that there is an us.

Me and Justin Karas. My husband.

I squeeze my eyes shut and beat the sneaky tears back before they can completely surface. Then I slap my shot glass down on the wooden bar.

“Let’s do this.” I jerk my head toward the mechanical bull.

A girl is riding it, her fancy black pencil skirt riding up and her suit jacket tossed to the side. Her boobs bounce against her tailored white dress shirt with each swivel and buck of the bull. She only makes it a few seconds before sliding off onto the mats. Apparently someone was ready for the workday to be over.

Now I’m gonna show them how a real country girl does it.

“We taking bets?” I ask Justin.

“About how long you stay on, or how hard my cock is going to get watching you ride?”

My giggle breaks loose. “I don’t need to take bets on your cock. We’re getting pretty well acquainted, and I have a good feeling that he’s going to like this a whole lot.” I slide off the stool and slip my coat off my shoulders and toss it at him. “Let me show you how a country girl does it.”

Justin leans down, my coat in one hand, and whispers in my ear, “I know how this country girl does it, and she’s got me hooked.”

His words stun me into silence. It’s the first indication he’s given that he feels something for me beyond the need to possess me like his newest toy. I can’t process this right now, in the middle of a bar, not with Montgomery Gentry and “Hillbilly Shoes” just starting to crank on the speakers. It’s altogether too apt.

Justin doesn’t really know me. Not all of me. Not the heart and soul of me that I pour into my songs. Not the indescribable high I get when I’m standing onstage. Not the tiny town where I’m the girl who made good, and yet I haven’t been back. Not the important parts of me.

Will he still be hooked then?

I plaster a smile on my face to cover my racing thoughts. “I’ll see you after I’ve made the eight,” I say, and spin on my bootheel to walk toward the man at the edge of the bull pen.

Selena makes the eight, and she looks like a goddess doing it.

I want to tear every man’s eyes away from her, but even I’m too riveted by her smooth, graceful movements to do a damn thing but stare. It’s not lurid like some of the other women who rode the bull before her—chest heaving and making a spectacle. Selena manages to look beautiful and sweet even in this.

When she climbs off and walks over, I’m waiting at the gate. My hand is out, and something surges inside me when she doesn’t hesitate to close her fingers around it. She’s learning to trust me, and that’s not something even I can command. It’s something that has to be offered freely, and she’s starting to.

I’ll take it. All of it.

I lean down and press a kiss to her forehead. Not only because it’s my instinctual reaction, but because I want every man in this bar to be well aware that she’s not available and never will be. Selena’s mine.

I see. I want. I conquer. I keep.

“Your skills are outstanding,” I say, slipping her coat back around her shoulders.

Her smile is triumphant. “At least there’s one thing in this city I’m sure I can handle.”

Keeping my head low, I reply, “I think there’s more than one thing you’ve proven very competent at handling in this city.” Her blush is already rising when I add, “Let’s find our table.”

Her eyes widen. “You want to eat here? Really?”

“Come on.”

I lead her to the hostess stand and we’re seated immediately, although I don’t see any recognition on the hostess’s face when she looks at me or Selena. As soon as we’ve put in an order for another round of drinks, Selena is staring down at her menu, lips pursed. She glances up at me, her eyes sparkling with humor.

“Do you ever roll up your sleeves a little, fancy man?”

“I’ve been known to.”

“Good, because I’m ordering ribs, and there’s no way I’ll be able to eat them all, so you’re gonna have to get your hands a little messy and help me out.”

I reach out and unbutton one cuff and begin to roll it up before doing the same to the other. “You’re not afraid of me, and probably one of the very few people who also isn’t afraid to give me hell.”

“How many people are on that list?” she asks, laughing as she reaches for the beer the waitress places in front of her.

I’ve told Selena next to nothing about my personal life, and considering what I pushed her to share last night, I decide it’s my turn.

“It’s a short list, that’s for sure. My sister would be at the top.”

Selena chokes on her beer before setting it down and reaching for her napkin. “You have a sister?”

Her shock doesn’t surprise me. “She’s never in the papers, and I’ve made it clear that my personal life is as off-limits as I can make it. The only reason that works is because I own one of the three largest media companies on the planet.”

Selena’s confusion is evident. “So you control the flow of information about yourself? That seems like a dangerous power to have.”

I shrug off her comment. “As much as I can, but there are plenty of others out there who won’t bow to my dictates. You saw the headlines we made. That proves I don’t have ultimate power.”

“So back to your sister, what’s her name, and is she older or younger?”

“Greer. She’s younger by nine years. She’s a first-year associate at a big law firm here in town. She’s currently working her ass off while she could have a cushy job with me. But she’s stubborn as hell, and won’t come over to the dark side, as she calls it.”

“First, her name is awesome, and second, doesn’t being a lawyer in general make you part of the dark side? Who’s really keeping track of that, right?”

I laugh, amused that she shares my skepticism of lawyers in general. “There is some truth to that. Although I’m sure there are some decent ones out there. Maybe. Mine are sharks, so they don’t count.”

“So she’s a smart girl, wants to make her mark without riding her big brother’s coattails?” Selena asks.

“Yes, that’s exactly it. But she can’t change her last name, so she doesn’t escape notice completely. Part of me thinks Greer requests the toughest projects with the shittiest hours just so she can prove herself. It would definitely be in line with her character.”

“So she can make fun of you and not end up at the wrong end of that death stare of yours?”

“Death stare?” I tilt my head. “Is that what you call it?”

Selena nods, biting her lip. “You know the one; it says stop talking or you’ll regret it.”

“Ah. That death stare.” I know exactly what she’s talking about. “It works, doesn’t it?” I glare, or at least do my best to glare while I’m trying to keep from laughing. “Not anymore, it doesn’t.”

“We’ll see about that. So other than little sis, who else?”

I have to actually think about the answer to this question, and the timing is right because our waitress returns for our order. As promised, Selena orders ribs, and I go for a steak. When the waitress leaves, I answer.

“That’s pretty much it. Maybe Cannon, my EVP.”

“What’s an EVP?” Selena asks, reminding me that she’s the one person in my life who doesn’t speak corporate acronyms.

“Executive vice president. He oversees all of the division presidents, and keeps me from having to be involved in day-to-day bullshit unless it rises to a level of importance where I’m truly needed. It frees me up to deal with strategy and other things.”

“Am I ever going to meet this Cannon guy?”

Cannon is one of the most important people in my life, and knows more about Selena than she’ll likely ever know about him. If he didn’t know I’d put out a hit on him, he’d probably try to steal her from me.

“That’s very likely.”

“Maybe I can meet him the next time I’m in town.”

Selena’s statement isn’t all that subtle. She’s checking to see if I forgot that she’s leaving tomorrow.

What she doesn’t realize is she’s not the only one who’s leaving. I’m not about to let my wife out of my sight for an extended period of time. It has nothing to do with trust, and everything to do with the fact that I’m not ready for her to be that far away from me.

“I’ll have the jet ready to go tomorrow. I need to take care of a few things during the day, but I’ll get you back to Nashville in time for dinner. It’s a quick flight.”

Her brow scrunches. “Does that mean you’re going with me?”

“Did you expect me not to?”

She shrugs, and I wait a few moments before she finally speaks. “I don’t know. I mean, you have your life and I have mine. I kind of figured we’d go to our separate corners and do what we need to do, and then regroup later.”

Her plan is unacceptable on multiple levels. Any humor in my expression dies away.

“That’s not happening. I’m not letting you out of my sight, let alone go to another state without me.”

Dropping her gaze to her beer and the label she’s now intent on peeling off, Selena is silent for a beat. “Okay, then.”

“It’ll be more than okay,” I reply. “Just wait.”

“Just wait, he said. Just. Wait. I didn’t realize he meant it so damn literally.”

My words carry no heat or anger, just the heavy weight of disappointment. So much for Justin and his big promises. I’d woken with a smile on my face this morning, remembering how much fun we’d had at the bar last night, but that smile had faded as the hours crept by today without a single word from Justin. I’ve filled the time by working on my songs, but I thought he’d be back by now. Not only is he not back, he hasn’t even called.

I look at the time on my phone again, and the text message that came in twenty minutes earlier from my manager.

CHANCE: You back in Nashville yet? I need you here ASAP. Call me as soon as you’re in town.

I tap on my phone’s browser and check the flight times to Nashville. If I leave now, I can get to JFK and be on a plane and back in Nashville by nine. A couple of hours later than the private jet that Justin promised, but I have no choice.

Finally, I lose my temper. “Why won’t he freaking answer me?” I yell at the room.

When he didn’t show at four, I started to wonder. By four thirty, I couldn’t stop myself from texting; he didn’t reply. At five, I called; he didn’t answer. It’s five fifteen, and I decide to try one more time.

Before I can hit my contacts to bring his number up again, my phone vibrates with a text. I tense, heart leaping, but my hopes are crushed when I see Tana’s name and not Justin’s.

TANA: When are you getting in? I miss your face, and I want more dirty details.

A wave of humiliation washes through me. You know what sucks worse than being forgotten by your husband at a very important moment? Having to admit it to your friends. It’s one thing to know it yourself, but it’s another to have to endure the pity that comes with making excuses for someone else when the person you’re making excuses to can see right through you. I made excuses to people for my mama for years, and I swore I’d never put myself in that position again.

So that’s one brilliant thing about text messages. You can ignore them until you’re ready to reply.

Picking up my phone, I scroll through my contacts. Tapping on Justin’s mobile number, I hold my breath and cross my fingers . . . and it goes to voice mail.

Glancing at the clock, I see the deadline I set for him edging closer and closer. I pick the next number under Justin’s name—his office. Shockingly, it’s answered almost immediately.

“Karas International, this is Mr. Karas’s line. May I help you?”

I pull myself together and say, “Is Mr. Karas available?”

The woman on the other end pauses. “May I tell him who is calling?”

“His wife.”

Her pause is even longer this time. “Excuse me?”

“This is Selena Karas, and I’d like to speak to my husband.” It’s weird to say that name, but I guess it’s mine.

“May I put you on hold, Mrs. . . . Karas?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Generic music fills my ear, but it doesn’t last long.

“Selena?”

It’s not my husband’s voice. I have no idea who it is.

“Yes, this is Selena.”

“This is Cannon Freeman, I’m—”

“You’re the EVP,” I say, pulling the term from my memory, and he sounds surprised.

“Yes, that’s right. I’m so sorry to tell you that Justin is in the middle of something, and he can’t step away. This is a pretty big deal, one our team has been working on around the clock—even when he was off having fun with you yesterday—and if he leaves the table right now, we’ll lose too much ground. Is there something I can do for you?”

First the guilt comes, which I brush away. Justin chose to take me out last night; it wasn’t my decision. If he left his business in someone else’s care, that was his choice. And then comes resentment laced with anger.

My business comes first. Justin spoke those very words to me that first morning in Vegas. Then later, he promised not to do anything to put my career in jeopardy. Which is exactly what he’s doing.

Well, guess what, Justin? My business comes first for me, because it clearly doesn’t come first for anyone else. Not you, not the record label, not anyone but me.

“There’s nothing you can do for me, Mr. Freeman. No need to trouble him further.”

I hang up the phone without giving him a chance to reply.

My phone buzzes again, and I think for a moment that it’s Justin’s EVP calling me back.

It’s not.

CHANCE: Plans changed. We’re on the road tonight. Get your ass here now. You miss this bus, and you’re off the tour.

Of course. I squeeze my eyes shut. My husband is MIA, and I’m out of time.

When it comes down to it, there’s one lesson I’ve learned in my life: I have no one to count on but myself. It’s sobering to realize I started to count on Justin in this short period of time . . . and just shows how naive I truly am.

Thank you, Universe. I’ve learned my lesson.

I survey the penthouse apartment as I stand and head for the door. The credit cards with my married name on them sit on the counter, and all the clothes Justin had delivered before I even agreed to his offer are hanging in the closet where they belong.

I’ve got my purse and my notebook and the clothes I wore on New Year’s Eve. My pride dictates I take nothing that isn’t mine to take. Even the beautiful guitar.

I’m worth more than the time it takes to make a phone call and have a personal shopper pick up something. I deserve a little common courtesy, especially when I’ve made it clear that there’s one thing in my life that matters to me.

If what matters to me means nothing to Justin, how can we ever make this work?

Instead of feeling like I matter to him even in the slightest, I’m once again relegated into afterthought status. I’m a convenience. A doll that’s supposed to wait on the shelf for her turn to be taken down and played with when it’s convenient for him, and obviously it’s not convenient right now. He couldn’t even take my damn phone call.

You know what? I deserve more than that.

“Good-bye, Justin,” I say to the empty room.

>

[flauntpage]

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could've guessed. After Gordon Hayward's injury, the Boston Celtics look like they'll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

Seriously, though, the season is quickly shaping into an entertaining adventure nobody saw coming: an ongoing drama between belief and skepticism. Between the Little Engine That Could and Small Sample Size Mountain. Let's take a closer look.

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix's inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night's 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he's on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he's off, only 29.)

Parsons isn't blowing by defenders (unless they're named "Frank Kaminsky"), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He's averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that's partly due to JaMychal Green's ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that's still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there's a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they're there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

This might seem obvious, but with even more traditional centers stepping behind the three-point line this year, the guys asked to stop them are also drifting towards the perimeter more than they used to. The following qualifies as anecdotal evidence within a small sample size, but according to NBA.com Dwight Howard is contesting 2.7 threes per game this season, up from 1.5 last year. Marc Gasol is at 3.7 three-point contests, and last year he averaged 1.8. Steven Adams contested 2.7 threes last year and now he's at 3.6.

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven't seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid's pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who're forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today's NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don't think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can't shoot and doesn't possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto's offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter's vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl's playing time isn't as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly's Expanding Playbook

It's oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA's most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown's willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he's ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren't as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don't execute as tightly as they should (or when they're simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

After an Iverson cut towards the left wing, Simmons attacks away from the screen once he notices that Dallas Mavericks big Dwight Powell is hugged up on Amir Johnson instead of in position to ice the pick-and-roll.

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who're all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn't in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn't especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons's ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert's screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we'd never see. Rubio is making shots. What's even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio's three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can't finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio's gravity won't ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

On Wednesday, Rubio finished with 30 points (three short of his career high) on 17 shots. For just one moment, imagine an alternate reality where these developments are taking place on a Jazz roster that also has a healthy Gordon Hayward and Derrick Favors nearly back to the borderline-All-Star plane where he ascended before injuries weakened his antithetical impact. Is that the second or third-best team in the Western Conference? Does a Rubio, Hood, Hayward, Favors, Gobert lineup make the Warriors sweat?

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee's blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC's fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA's very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park's final scene.

7. Reminder: De'Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he's now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he's off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don't currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he's in there.

There's a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker's game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that's steadily elevating his game even higher than last year's All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He's a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz - USA TODAY Sports

Remember when the Knicks were mocked for constructing a roster that essentially barred Kristaps Porzingis from spending any time at center (only three percent of his minutes have been at that position this year, down from 21 percent last year)? Well, even after three-straight wins against the Brooklyn Nets, Cleveland Cavaliers, and Denver Nuggets that took place before they were slapped back to Earth by the Houston Rockets, these personnel decisions probably still weren't the way to go.

But what those personnel choices have done is help New York formulate a fun, possibly sustainable (?) Porzingis + Putbacks identity. With Carmelo Anthony out of the picture, Porzingis has spent the opening chapter of his third season mushrooming into an unguardable beanstock. Only Giannis, Boogie, and Steph Curry are averaging more points than Porzingis. Zero players have a higher usage rate.

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O'Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7'3" franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it's working!

10. I Can't Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you've happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court's baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA's most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let's Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can't be dealt until that month)—so I won't spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

But it sorta makes sense! Big picture, Toronto has a rapidly progressing core simmering beneath its veteran, All-Star-caliber contributors. The aforementioned Poeltl, rookie OG Anunoby, recently signed Norm Powell, and intriguing rotation players like Delon Wright and Pascal Siakam have the future looking solid.

They're successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray's upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver's cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who's made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says "wait." But Paul Millsap's decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he's still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he'd look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he's there this season and next?

Again, a trade like this is extremely complicated and would dramatically shift the direction of two franchises that seem to be content with where they are. But the word impossible doesn't exist in today's NBA.

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said "that's what we lived for" in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee's first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

On Halloween, the team decided not to pick up his fourth-year option, making Vaughn an unrestricted free agent this summer. For a team that has little financial flexibility going forward, completely whiffing on a first-round pick can have painful consequences. Giannis is clearly ready to win now, and the Eastern Conference is begging someone to usurp the Cavaliers.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee's front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6'6" three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody's time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn's team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They're Not

Even though Patty Mills' game-tying three didn't fall, San Antonio's execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they're the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal...until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson's Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he's on other people's songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles' bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He's efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he's the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it's because he's been instructed to attack. It's too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson's production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he's off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he's out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston's young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

Individually, the overwhelming talent Horford has had to corral is beyond impressive: Giannis (twice), Ben Simmons, LaMarcus Aldridge, Kristaps Porzingis, and Kevin Love. All opponents are shooting just 56.2 percent at the rim when Horford is on the floor. When he rests, that number spikes all the way up to 74.6 percent. The difference ranks in the 98th percentile among players at his position, according to Cleaning the Glass).

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford's occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of myriad pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they're wrong, and this year he's definitively worth every penny.

Using priceless instincts, flawless habits, and a wingspan that allows him to cover more ground than anyone his size should (only seven players contest more shots every game, per NBA.com), Horford has glued himself inside the all-too-early Defensive Player of the Year (pseudo-MVP?) conversation. He shouldn't leave it anytime soon.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland's Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson's struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It's obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league's roughest (from Cleveland's perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he's healthy, Thompson's numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here's an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I wonder how a lucky a front office feels whenever they draft someone 45th overall and then immediately watch him flourish in consequential ways. Is this like finding a $20 bill in your back pocket or hearing your train approach the second you descend onto a subway platform?

The Memphis Grizzlies have had their fair share of first-round blunders, but scoring with guys like Brooks has helped keep this organization afloat, stiff-arming a rebuild further out than it probably should be.

I don't have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who's relentless and difficult to screen. That's nice. He's also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn't really making his threes. But the fact that he's averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league's most pleasant surprises is telling.

The value of a second-round pick is never more clear than in transcendent figures like Manu Ginobili or Draymond Green, but they still feel like an undervalued commodity. Think about how different the Los Angeles Clippers might look today if they drafted someone like Brooks a few years ago?

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks

The first couple weeks of the 2017-18 NBA season have been more fun, unpredictable, and mind-boggling than anyone could've guessed. After Gordon Hayward's injury, the Boston Celtics look like they'll never lose again, Aaron Gordon appears to be a budding All-Star, and Cleveland Cavaliers general manager Koby Altman should probably consider blowing everything up and starting all over (kidding!).

Seriously, though, the season is quickly shaping into an entertaining adventure nobody saw coming: an ongoing drama between belief and skepticism. Between the Little Engine That Could and Small Sample Size Mountain. Let's take a closer look.

1. Chandler Parsons Looks (Relatively) Phenomenal

Heading into this season, expectations surrounding Chandler Parsons—at 29, post-several significant knee surgeries, after a year in which no player in the entire league (except, um, his own teammate Andrew Harrison) shot the ball worse—were lower than they will be for Netflix's inevitable rollout of Stranger Things 7. But instead of hobbling around as a $23 million ball mover, Parsons is one of the most efficient players in the entire league—last night's 0-for-4 outing against the Orlando Magic notwithstanding—and possesses its lowest defensive rating.

(When he's on the court, Memphis performs like a 79-win team! When he's off, only 29.)

Parsons isn't blowing by defenders (unless they're named "Frank Kaminsky"), but has finally rediscovered some confidence in his shot after starting the season with a petrified look on his face every time someone passed him the ball. He's averaging more points per 36 minutes than ever, and has spent nearly all his time at the four (a smart, new development that's partly due to JaMychal Green's ankle injury).

Parsons recorded two dunks in his first 100 minutes after a grand total of three in 674 minutes last season. On one play against the Charlotte Hornets, he grabbed a defensive rebound, leisurely dribbled to the top of the arc, and launched an open three. It clanged off the front iron, but that's still an encouraging level of comfort to see from a guy who was booed by his own fanbase a couple weeks ago.

What does all this mean for the Memphis Grizzlies? Parsons has only logged 19 minutes beside Mike Conley and Marc Gasol, and in that time they were outscored by 14.2 points per 100 possessions. But if they can gel some on an upcoming five-game road trip, and Parsons is able to sustain some of his efficiency in a larger role without suffering any health-related setbacks, there's a very good chance this team can not only qualify for the playoffs, but make some genuine noise once they're there.

2. Big Men and Closeouts

This might seem obvious, but with even more traditional centers stepping behind the three-point line this year, the guys asked to stop them are also drifting towards the perimeter more than they used to. The following qualifies as anecdotal evidence within a small sample size, but according to NBA.com Dwight Howard is contesting 2.7 threes per game this season, up from 1.5 last year. Marc Gasol is at 3.7 three-point contests, and last year he averaged 1.8. Steven Adams contested 2.7 threes last year and now he's at 3.6.

Again, these numbers are circumstantial—reliant on minutes, opponents, and scheme in a tiny sample size—and should be read with a grain of salt. Some centers (like Rudy Gobert and DeMarcus Cousins) haven't seen any uptick at all. But what matters here is the reminder that as NBA offenses continue to evolve, individual defenders are being forced to need to sharpen tools they barely used to need.

Centers who bite at Joel Embiid's pump fake, or wildly race out at Brook Lopez with no plan other than to run him off the line, put pressure on help defenders who're forced to either foul, take a very painful charge, or desert their own assignment and surrender an open look elsewhere.

Sprinting to a dead stop and then trying to laterally stick with a ball-handler is incredibly difficult, but in today's NBA this is what once-plodding seven-footers have to do if they want to stay on the floor.

3. Apologies to Jakob Poeltl

I don't think my opinion on a prospect has ever shifted faster than it has with Jakob Poeltl. It was unclear watching him last year how a seven-footer who can't shoot and doesn't possess leap-off-the-screen athleticism could carve out a meaningful role on a winning team.

This opinion was bad. Poeltl is awesome. Not only is he a putback monster who can control the offensive glass against the right matchup (Toronto's offensive rebound rate is 9.3 percent higher with him in the game), but the 22-year-old has also proven to be an agile pick-and-roll finisher, with touch and strength around the rim. His defense is phenomenal, too, particularly when switching out on the perimeter. Poeltl keeps one hand high to bother the shooter's vision, swivels his hips, and slides step for step.

This is valuable, but thanks to Jonas Valanciunas and Bebe Nogueira, Poeltl's playing time isn't as high as his skills suggest it should be.

4. Philly's Expanding Playbook

It's oh so very early, but according to Synergy Sports, the Philadelphia 76ers boast the NBA's most efficient offense after a timeout. This is a massive leap from last year, when, well, they came in dead last, averaging a measly 0.819 points per possession. Some of this is thanks to Brett Brown's willingness to experiment with the most talented and complementary roster he's ever had, and some is just because said talent is able to savage defenses that aren't as focused as they should be.

Ben Simmons is as perceptive as he is physically imposing; the 21-year-old has already figured out how to make opponents pay when they don't execute as tightly as they should (or when they're simply unable to squeeze the ball out of his hands).

After an Iverson cut towards the left wing, Simmons attacks away from the screen once he notices that Dallas Mavericks big Dwight Powell is hugged up on Amir Johnson instead of in position to ice the pick-and-roll.

The next play starts the same, with Simmons once again opening things up by cutting across the elbow. But instead of Johnson setting a screen, Joel Embiid posts up on the left block while three other Sixers (who're all respectable outside threats) clear out to the weakside. Trevor Ariza isn't in position to force Simmons towards the sideline, so the phenom behaves like a phenom and instead plows into the middle towards an open lane.

These two positive results come off action that isn't especially creative. But Brown is smart enough to realize that sometimes all he has to do is get out of the way. Wind up your franchise player, point him towards a simple two-man action, then let him wreak some havoc. Simmons's ability to read and react at warp speed is one of the many unteachable gifts he already has, and the scheme that can slow him down might not currently exist.

5. Is Ricky Rubio Finally Evolving?

Watch what happens when a defense goes out of its way to prevent Rubio from shooting the ball.

As he spins middle off Gobert's screen, Brandon Ingram leaves Joe Ingles (you know, the guy who made 44.1 percent of his threes last season and is even more accurate this year) to stunt and force a pass. The ball is eventually swung to the opposite corner, where Rodney Hood drills an open look.

This is probably more due to an antsy 20-year-old trying to make a play than a tactical decision from Lakers head coach Luke Walton, but it hints at a reality many thought we'd never see. Rubio is making shots. What's even more impressive than him making 38 percent of his threes (and a completely unsustainable 54 percent of his long twos) is a newfound bravery attached to his shot selection.

Rubio's three-point rate is currently 16.7 percent higher than his career average. Above-the-break treys are still all over the place and he still can't finish at the rim, but a willingness to fire away could change how defenses treat him over the course of the season. Off reputation alone, Rubio's gravity won't ever sniff most of his contemporaries, but an ability to make defenders pay every now and again is significant.

(Also, he has the best hair in the league.)

On Wednesday, Rubio finished with 30 points (three short of his career high) on 17 shots. For just one moment, imagine an alternate reality where these developments are taking place on a Jazz roster that also has a healthy Gordon Hayward and Derrick Favors nearly back to the borderline-All-Star plane where he ascended before injuries weakened his antithetical impact. Is that the second or third-best team in the Western Conference? Does a Rubio, Hood, Hayward, Favors, Gobert lineup make the Warriors sweat?

6. Reminder: Giannis is Huge!

The sight never gets old. In the opening few minutes of Milwaukee's blowout loss against Oklahoma City on Tuesday night, Giannis glided around the floor as a taller, stronger, longer, version of all the various wing defenders employed by the Thunder. It was funny, watching OKC's fundamental identity and nightly advantage look so delicate standing beside the NBA's very own Cloverfield. On the same court as Giannis, Paul George, Andre Roberson, and Jerami Grant looked like raptors flailing around in Jurassic Park's final scene.

7. Reminder: De'Aaron Fox is Fast!

Keep an eye on the shot clock.

8. Is 2017-18 Kemba Walker About to Become 2016-17 Isaiah Thomas?

Meaning, are we in store for a second unexpected leap from a spunky Eastern Conference point guard, one season after it felt like they already spilled out all they had to offer? Earlier this week, Walker ranked third in fourth-quarter scoring (he's now at 10th, with a number that would be top five last season), has never been more efficient from inside or outside the arc, and has damn near doubled his free-throw rate.

Walker has been fantastic inside the paint, and the Charlotte Hornets look deprived of all five senses when he's off the court. This is somewhat due to the fact that they don't currently have a backup point guard, but Charlotte is still an unbelievable 33.6 points per 100 possessions better when he's in there.

There's a jumpy, unpredictability to Walker's game right now. On one recent possession against the Memphis Grizzlies, Walker pushed the ball in transition and nearly penetrated beneath the basket before he decided to pump the brakes and dribble back out to set up the offense. But once he realized no Grizzlies were nearby to escort him to the perimeter, he curled baseline and knocked down a wide open jumper. Splash.

With more pressure to shoulder a heavier load after Nicolas Batum went down in the preseason, Walker is playing with an unseen self-belief that's steadily elevating his game even higher than last year's All-Star campaign showed it could go. Taming a tiger is less complicated than corralling him off a high screen right now. He's a virtual lock to make his second-straight All-Star team.

9. The New York Knicks are Rebounding the Shit out of the Ball

Photo by Wendell Cruz - USA TODAY Sports

Remember when the Knicks were mocked for constructing a roster that essentially barred Kristaps Porzingis from spending any time at center (only three percent of his minutes have been at that position this year, down from 21 percent last year)? Well, even after three-straight wins against the Brooklyn Nets, Cleveland Cavaliers, and Denver Nuggets that took place before they were slapped back to Earth by the Houston Rockets, these personnel decisions probably still weren't the way to go.

But what those personnel choices have done is help New York formulate a fun, possibly sustainable (?) Porzingis + Putbacks identity. With Carmelo Anthony out of the picture, Porzingis has spent the opening chapter of his third season mushrooming into an unguardable beanstock. Only Giannis, Boogie, and Steph Curry are averaging more points than Porzingis. Zero players have a higher usage rate.

Instead of spacing issues caused by the likes of Enes Kanter and Kyle O'Quinn, those two have butchered teams on the glass. The Knicks rank second in offensive rebound rate and third in total rebound rate. While almost every other team around the league is downsizing, New York has firmly positioned their 7'3" franchise player at the four. And, relative to some depressing expectations, it's working!

10. I Can't Wait for the Atlanta Hawks to be Good

If you've happened to catch any recent Hawks game at Philips Arena, you might remember sideline reporter Andre Aldridge posted up at a brand new bar that just opened along the court's baseline. It looks like the most amazing place on Earth.

The team is horrible, but have openly cuddled up beside a full-on rebuild that should (if all goes according to plan) make Philips Arena one of the NBA's most lively atmospheres a few years down the road. Until then, Dominique Wilkins and Bob Rathbun need to broadcast every home game games directly from the bar.

11. Let's Trade Jamal Murray for Kyle Lowry

The likeliness of a trade involving these two players is microscopic—the idea disintegrates if the Toronto Raptors and Denver Nuggets both look like solid playoff teams in late January (Lowry can't be dealt until that month)—so I won't spend too much time rationalizing why I think it should happen.

But it sorta makes sense! Big picture, Toronto has a rapidly progressing core simmering beneath its veteran, All-Star-caliber contributors. The aforementioned Poeltl, rookie OG Anunoby, recently signed Norm Powell, and intriguing rotation players like Delon Wright and Pascal Siakam have the future looking solid.

They're successfully rebuilding on the fly while Lowry, DeMar DeRozan, and Serge Ibaka begin to decline on big-money contracts. Trading (at least) one of those three for valuable assets would punt meaningful playoff contention from 2018-2020, but allow continuity to accelerate within a new, modernized offensive system.

If they can somehow land someone with Murray's upside and turn him into their new franchise player, the Raptors would seamlessly glide from a stagnant also-ran to a promising up-and-comer. Dwane Casey has already relented a bit, playing lineups that feature four or five young pups at the same time.

The main holdup here, besides contractual issues that make matching money a little difficult with these two teams, is Denver's cooperation. Why the hell would they give up on a 20-year-old who defends his position and may own the most invaluable offensive trait in basketball: an ability to knock down pull-up threes at a reliable rate?

Denver is almost an inverse of the Raptors. Both teams are operating on two timelines, but the Nuggets are more clearly loaded to do damage five years from now. Nikola Jokic is 22, Gary Harris just turned 23, and Emmanuel Mudiay (who's made 45.5 percent of his threes this year!) is 21. Common sense says "wait." But Paul Millsap's decision to climb aboard turns maximizing the present into a conversation.

Lowry has been pretty bad this year, but he's still one of the five or six most effective all-around players at his position. Imagine how he'd look next to Jokic and Millsap. How much better would Denver be if he's there this season and next?

Again, a trade like this is extremely complicated and would dramatically shift the direction of two franchises that seem to be content with where they are. But the word impossible doesn't exist in today's NBA.

12. Can Rashad Vaughn Maybe Become a Thing?

Vaughn (who recently said "that's what we lived for" in reference to the McGriddle sandwich) entered his third season with one foot in the league and the other on a banana peel. He logged a grand total of four and a half minutes in Milwaukee's first four games (during which he was trade bait) before draining four threes in an 11-point win against the Hawks.

On Halloween, the team decided not to pick up his fourth-year option, making Vaughn an unrestricted free agent this summer. For a team that has little financial flexibility going forward, completely whiffing on a first-round pick can have painful consequences. Giannis is clearly ready to win now, and the Eastern Conference is begging someone to usurp the Cavaliers.

As Malcolm Brogdon, Jabari Parker, and Khris Middleton each become eligible for a significant pay raise in the next couple summers, the pressure will be on Milwaukee's front office to complement their franchise megastar with a championship-caliber supporting cast before he can flee as a free agent.

On paper, Vaughn is an ideal puzzle piece: a 6'6" three-point threat who may one day be able to reliably knock down threes, make plays when the ball is swung his way, and threaten defenses by pulling up off a dribble hand-off or initiating his own pick-and-roll. Maybe the Bucks believe waiting to see if Vaughn pans out is a waste of everybody's time, especially now that Tony Snell already fills the role he was meant for.

But money issues constrict ways in which Milwaukee can improve from the outside. Internal improvement is key. Vaughn's team option feels negligible now, but giving up on him so soon may come back to haunt this team in one way or another.

13. The Spurs are Perfect Even When They're Not

Even though Patty Mills' game-tying three didn't fall, San Antonio's execution of this elevators action at the end of a recent loss against the Indiana Pacers exemplified why they're the coolest cucumbers around.

Everything about this is ideal...until the ball leaves his fingertips.

14. Jordan Clarkson's Usage Rate is Higher than Anthony Davis, Russell Westbrook, and Just About Everybody Else

To suggest Clarkson has made the most of his reduced playing time is to suggest that Kendrick Lamar sometimes steals the spotlight when he's on other people's songs. In ten fewer minutes than he averaged last year, Clarkson is averaging the same amount of points, knocking down threes at a more accurate clip, posting the highest assist rate of his career, and, generally standing out as a quality contributor off Los Angeles' bench. (He launched six threes in 14 freaking minutes against the Toronto Raptors!)

He's efficient for the very first time despite his usage percentage soaring into the rarified air normally reserved for All-Stars. Some of this is because he's the only shot creator on the floor, often paired with the likes of Corey Brewer, Kyle Kuzma, and Josh Hart. And some of it's because he's been instructed to attack. It's too early to speculate whether this is a breakout campaign or just an early-season surge, but Clarkson's production is flying under the radar in a city that thinks Lonzo Ball is the only player who ever lived.

15. Al Horford is Playing Better Defense Than Everybody Else

The Boston Celtics have the best defense in the NBA because Al Horford is playing like its best defender. When he's off the floor they guard like a bottom-10 unit, but when he's out there, nailed down as a human lighthouse guiding Boston's young pack of swarming athletes everywhere they should go, the Celtics are well-choreographed misery.

Individually, the overwhelming talent Horford has had to corral is beyond impressive: Giannis (twice), Ben Simmons, LaMarcus Aldridge, Kristaps Porzingis, and Kevin Love. All opponents are shooting just 56.2 percent at the rim when Horford is on the floor. When he rests, that number spikes all the way up to 74.6 percent. The difference ranks in the 98th percentile among players at his position, according to Cleaning the Glass).

For the fleeting minority that still scoffs at Horford's occasional humdrum box score, and are fed up with the Ambien-akin side-effects commonly linked to what happens after repeated exposure to negated entry passes, crisp high screens, and perfect execution of more pick-and-roll coverages, Horford remains an overpaid waste. Nearly a dozen years of evidence proves they're wrong, and this year he's definitively worth every penny.

Using priceless instincts, flawless habits, and a wingspan that allows him to cover more ground than anyone his size should (only seven players contest more shots every game, per NBA.com), Horford has glued himself inside the all-too-early Defensive Player of the Year (pseudo-MVP?) conversation. He shouldn't leave it anytime soon.

16. Tristan Thompson is a Black Eye on Cleveland's Bloody Face

The Cavaliers have dropped five of their last six games, with all five losses coming up against teams few, if anybody, projected to make the playoffs. Life is rough. But on a team with defensive woes that are as much due to mental indifference as they are physical fragility, Thompson's struggles across the board are particularly worrisome.

Two years ago, the Cavaliers allowed 101.7 points per 100 possessions with Thompson on the floor. This season, his defensive rating is 111.2. His minutes are down, his confidence is low, and his offensive role is non-existent. It's obviously possible for the Cavaliers to bounce back after Isaiah Thomas returns and LeBron James starts to feel like a superhero.

But up until he suffered a calf injury against the Indiana Pacers that will sideline him about a month, Thompson was a non-threat off the ball who launched more long twos than he ever should. If James leaves in free agency this summer, the $36 million Thompson is owed over the next two years turn that contract into one of the league's roughest (from Cleveland's perspective!) agreements.

To be fair, once he's healthy, Thompson's numbers should stabilize once Cleveland works an actual point guard into their rotation. Teams were able to switch James-Thompson pick-and-rolls, and the sliver of opportunity born from that action mainly arrived after a mistake. Here's an example, as miscommunication between Jrue Holiday and Dante Cunningham leads to an easy dunk.

17. Dillon Brooks is Found Money

I wonder how a lucky a front office feels whenever they draft someone 45th overall and then immediately watch him flourish in consequential ways. Is this like finding a $20 bill in your back pocket or hearing your train approach the second you descend onto a subway platform?

The Memphis Grizzlies have had their fair share of first-round blunders, but scoring with guys like Brooks has helped keep this organization afloat, stiff-arming a rebuild further out than it probably should be.

I don't have much to say about Brooks. He seems to be a cagey one-on-one defender, someone who's relentless and difficult to screen. That's nice. He's also committed a bunch of rookie mistakes and isn't really making his threes. But the fact that he's averaging 30 minutes per game on one of the league's most pleasant surprises is telling.

The value of a second-round pick is never more clear than in transcendent figures like Manu Ginobili or Draymond Green, but they still feel like an undervalued commodity. Think about how different the Los Angeles Clippers might look today if they drafted someone like Brooks a few years ago?

Plucking a helpful contributor in the second round takes quite a bit of luck, but some teams have an ability to carve their own more often than others.

18. Your Weekly Reminder that the Golden State Warriors are Unfair

Kevin Durant is shooting 49 percent from behind the three-point line, and his three-point rate has never been higher.

The Outlet Pass: Superstar Kemba, God Mode Horford, and the New Look Knicks published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv