I’m still sorta new to this whole media thing.

I spent a few days in Las Vegas for Summer League covering the Warriors, which was a very humbling and important learning experience. But that’s Summer League, and now comes the real show.

As I walked through the hallways of Warriors headquarters for the first time, I was greeted by Warriors legends — both players and coaches — who have brought historic moments to an otherwise downtrodden franchise. Don Nelson, Purvis Short and Manute Bol are just a few of the legends displayed, and you can’t help but ask yourself, “Well, who’s next?”

No, I’m not implying that anyone on this current team will have make the Hall of Fame, win a championship or one day have their FatHead grace the walls of Warriors headquarters. Most Warriors fans are simply hoping for a playoff birth or an All-Star.

Now comes media day. The ultimate utopia for a franchise, fans and players. Most teams believe they have a chance to win a title, and all teams are even in the standings.  For the Golden State Warriors, media days have been a hub for moped updates, trade rumors, troubling guarantees and obscure photo shoots.

The Warriors aren’t usually ones for a tame media day.

So, as I walk past Nellie on my way into the gym, it was a pleasant surprise to notice just how at ease the entire atmosphere was. While this was my first time attending a media day, the feelings inside the room between the media, Warriors employees and the players was a mutual sigh of relief.

It certainly helps that this is the best Warriors team in quite some time, but the fact there were little “other” items to discuss was refreshing.

As a member of the young conglomerate — I’ve yet to have my first legal drink yet — I wanted to absorb all the information I can while also having a good time. There’s only so many times you can ask a player “How does your elbow feel?” or “How do you feel you’ll fit in this system?”

Players hear those questions everyday, so while I did ask some serious questions, I kept the mood light and asked about a various number of subjects.

First up was Andrew Bogut, who answered the most questions out of any other Warriors player. When I asked him to compare the coaching styles of Scott Skiles and Mark Jackson, he mentioned Jackson as being a “players coach” numerous times. He answered all the injury questions without hesitation, and you can tell he just wanted to get on the floor and play. The key to the Warriors season, Bogut carries a heavy load, but he knows what has to be done.

Harrison Barnes carries a noticeable level of swag. Coming from North Carolina and being a former top high school prospect — he signed his first autograph when he was 12 — the 20 year old carries himself like a five-time All-Star. This isn’t a bad thing at all, it’s refreshing to see a Warriors player who doesn’t act like he’s lucky to be there. He knows he’s good, but he’s also humble. His association with NBA 2K13 and his love for Kendrick Lamar, A$AP Rocky and Schoolboy Q brought about the kid in him, and I can’t disagree with those music choices either.

David Lee acted like the team captain that he is. Most noteworthy quote from Lee from his interview session: “Outside of Dwight Howard, he (Bogut) was the toughest guy guarding me.”

Brandon Rush says he would be happy regardless of how the small forward battle played out. On a lighter note, he mentioned being disappointed with Kanye West’s “Cruel Summer” album. Hard to disagree with him there.

Stephen Curry seemed noticeably tired of the injury questions. The Monta Ellis subject also made a comeback this media day, noting that he wasn’t sure who would take the ball down or control the offense on each possession. He couldn’t not mention the importance of Andrew Bogut either, but no surprise there.

This team carries a certain chemistry that hasn’t been seen in years. There are no hindering personalities on this team. There is no Curry-Ellis hostility going around. It really seems that this is a (gasp!) team.

While optimism is always high at these type of events, this time there is good reason for it. In Warriorland, optimism is usually followed by failure. If all goes right this season, expect an ascension to NBA relevance.

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It happened on Saturday, but bears repeating: Monta Ellis and Ekpe Udoh played their first games as Milwaukee Bucks against the Golden State Warriors, of all teams. Fans had no adjustment time, their first glimpses of Ellis and Udoh in opposing uniforms occured at home. Shocking as the sight of both in red and green was, I was more surprised to hear Oracle in full-throated support of Ellis. This same crowd half-booed Baron’s return as a Clipper, and continues to jeer Mike Dunleavy, every time he visits. Monta had quite a rocky time in Oakland. There was the MoPed incident, declarations that he “just can’t” play with Stephen Curry, and a recent sexual harassment allegation. Moreover, there are indications that Ellis had wanted out, and he did not exactly seem heartbroken over leaving. But they loved him.

Monta Ellis was the inscrutable man who grew up right in front of us. He appeared relatable in the beginning, if only because his bulging eyes betrayed a raw, rookie terror. This fear was further amplified by his incredible quickness, it was like young Ellis was afraid of an unbridled force that pulled him faster than the speed at which he could process high pressure decisions.

He was a spindly kid, he’d come straight from high school in Mississippi to Oakland via the second round. I didn’t know what I assumed of his personality, but those first televised post-game interviews were shocking. He just didn’t make sense with words. Interview questions were swallowed up by his garble, though I’m sure that some watching back in Mississippi understood him just fine. Monta’s interviews revealed America as a bigger country than I’d previously known, a vast land where whole dialects flout the rules of English as I understand them.

That was the genius of And 1′s Ellis-based commercials. They probed Monta’s world for all its hardships, for all its warmth. They took you deep into Mississippi and into his childhood. These commerce-based manipulations are the closest I ever got to really feeling I knew anything of the man.

Alongside Baron Davis, Ellis grew into an efficient, exciting player. Davis would slash into the paint, kick out to Monta on the wing. Ellis would run toward the pass en route to the quickest layup in the league. I’ve never been the biggest Bob Fitzgerald fan but his, “Monta to the rim!” call was always fun.

The spindly kid mostly played a background role in that “We Believe” run. Either Don Nelson didn’t trust him, or the old man preferred to blast the Mavericks with a barrage of threes from surer shooters. It was working fine right up until the momentary disaster of Baron’s Game 6 injury. My viewing party assumed the worse, as the whole experience exuded “too good to be true.”

That was Monta’s call to action and he answered. The series may be remembered as the inevitable result of a bad matchup, but Ellis’ steady hand saved the day at a juncture that wasn’t the fourth quarter or final shot. Six threes from Stephen Jackson helped, of course.

From there, Ellis looked in control of his instrument, he even grew a deadly line drive jumpshot. I had never expected him to become a shooter, so this addition made his potential appear limitless.

In the Summer of 08′, Baron left for Los Angeles, the Warriors got Corey Maggette. This kicked off a dark period, an era marked by Monta’s leading of a sputtering GSW offense. Before it could even begin, Monta Ellis injured himself while driving a MoPed.

It got ugly. The Warriors did not know whether to part ways with damaged goods, punish their star, or merely welcome him back with open arms. Half measures resulted from an inter-organizational rift, poisoning the situation. In this league, stars are not fined millions of dollars by their teams, even if they screw up. It just isn’t done. But the Warriors did it, fining Monta 30 games worth of pay, right after signing him to a 66 million dollar contract. Chris Mullin’s ouster as GM soon followed.

Fortune favored the Warriors on 09′ draft night, as the Minnesota Timberwolves quite insanely drafted two point guards. Stephen Curry donned the GSW hat. Ellis welcomed the addition with the aforementioned declaration that the two simply couldn’t play together. Monta was probably right, bad optics aside.

It got bleaker. Don Nelson further descended into a whimsical kind of madness, occasionally playing all guard lineups. This era was marked by such incongruous horrors as Vladimir Radmanovic at center, and Mikki Moore playing major minutes. Ellis was no longer the hyper efficient complement to Baron Davis. He dominated the ball, often taking horrendous shots at the beginning of the shotclock. This tendency did not abate through the following Keith Smart and Mark Jackson stints.

And now, here we are. Many Warriors fans have hoped for this moment, the expedition of a decision that had been made long ago. “Steph or Monta?” has been hanging over this organization for years, and it is a relief to see it finally settled.

In my admittedly brief time covering Warriors games, I never saw the two talk once in the locker room. Though to be fair, Monta rarely spoke to anyone. He would come in, draped in Beats by Dre, holding a hand bag. Sometimes he would eat a turkey sandwich in the corner. After games he would often exit as he arrived, quickly and quietly.

He was always at a distance, but fans felt a visceral thrill from watching him play. There was a certain Iversonian romance to how Monta hurled himself into 360-degree layups. It connected with the crowd, even if every measure spoke to his negative impact on GSW’s record. They watched him grow up, from a distance. And they’ll always love him, at a distance.

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It’s the spring of 1993, and after watching Michigan takeover college basketball for the past two years, they have become somewhat of a phenomenon. The Wolverines have made back-to-back Final Four appearances but lost both times in the national title game. And yet, their swagger, confidence and tantalizing play on the basketball court are clearly evident and also quite intriguing to those from the outside looking in.

Basketball fans from around the world look at this team and have one of two reactions:

I. They hate these seemingly arrogant jerks

II. They want to emulate their games

Michigan basketball is now all about trash talk, behind the back passes and dunking on your opponent and letting him know about it. We might not know it then, but after a few years, we can see the parallels between this basketball program and the Miami football program (you know, the one they call The U) that slowly took shape in the 1980’s.

At the center of it all though is one extremely gifted prospect; a player that comes perhaps once in a generation: Chris Webber.

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Andris Biedrins “came off the bench,” against the Wizards–which is a nice euphemism in this instance. The term emphasizes his arrival, makes it sound as though the arrival time was Biedrins’s choice. And it doesn’t capture the symbolic significance of Warriors management, finally giving up on a once-prized big man.

The sad truth is that he’s fading away as a basketball player. This is very different from when an old veteran starts losing his skills. As Andris fades, so too does the player many imagined he’d become. Today’s Biedrins has lost the considerable potential that the 20-year-old promised. Not many 6-11 guys could run, jump and finish like the Goose. The modern version certainly doesn’t, which means he’ll probably never raise the bar higher than 2008.

Andris is only 24, so his decline is a regression. The brimming confidence of 2007 is melting. Biedrins is slowly becoming his gawky beginnings–he’s the hermit crab who disappeared into the shell of his former self.

While many have sympathy for Greg Oden, few feel for the Latvian. To my eyes, the message boards and comment sections have ruled harshly. Much of the antipathy likely stems from how Andris avoids contact these days. Big men are supposed to be tough, and Golden State’s center swivels from drawing fouls in a manner that’s probably intentional. He’s averaging .6 free throw attempts per game, down from his 08-09 mark of 3.5.

His free throw shooting plummeted in Nellie’s final year and it hasn’t returned to an acceptable mediocrity level. Biedrins’s inability to conquer this wide-open 16 Ft shot has tainted the other aspects of his game. People can buy playing hurt, but they can’t countenance a mental block. To the engaged Warriors viewer: Andris Biedrins is scared of free throws, so he plays a brand of basketball that’s an affront to low post masculinity code. Hard for a fan–or coach–to fall in love with that manifestation of human frailty.

And the situation isn’t correcting itself, likely not with the Warriors organization. It’s just damned frustrating. I hardly see team as much as Rusty Simmons or Marcus Thompson, but Biedrins works whenever I do. He’s always polishing low post moves in my periphery. He’s always augmenting a game that’s slipping away.

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If you loved Nellie, if you’d prefer the Nelson coaching eulogy to be reverent and tasteful..cover your sweet doe eyes.This hindsight is unscrubbed, because eulogies should be honest historical renderings–not overly sensitive schmaltzings.This hindsight still sees Vlad Rad at center. Mikki’s skinny frame still gets scoped–hindsight glowers as passes bounce off Moore’s mitten hands. With infrared vision, hindsight somehow views the abstraction that is the absence of Biedrins playing time.The altogether awful defense? Sometimes that’s all hindsight sees–in the middle of the night–while he bloodies neighboring ears with screams louder than burning cats:

“AHHHHHH!!!!! THERE ARE FIVE OFFGUARDS ON THE COURT RIGHT NOW!!!! THE OTHER TEAM IS TIPPING IN TIP-INS OF TIP-INS OF TIP-INS….OF…(heaving, breathing) TIP-INS!”

Many fans choose to revel in the relative glories of one abrupt playoff run.There’s nothing else there, save for a 48 win season that saw too little of Biedrins. The whole ride ended with a 2008 loss to the Suns. Hindsight says, that was when it stopped, right there. Everything after that isn’t history. It’s money, time, and energy thrown into a woodchipper–wasted moments that built to nothing but pain, dismay, and frustration.Yes, that two-round run was a grand fluke, and we all knew that either consciously or subconsciously. “We Believe” resonated because it was triumphantly incompetent. Give Nellie credit for making it happen, and heightening the ridiculousness of that triumph with post game beers and defeat predictions. Continue Reading…

Who is Keith Smart, and is he who he was when he was Nellie’s sub? If he was who I thought he was, his hire would signal a sideways step.

(I put a media narrative aside in red, re–, reh, ROYAL BLUE. You can skip to the Keith Smart part if need be)
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I’m going to miss a mostly Curryless Russia-USA game due to a marauding wisdom tooth. It’s rearing its ugly cap en route to punching my face in slow motion. Impressively, the tooth has survived in secrecy longer than Stephen Curry has existed. It will be ripped from my jaw, coated in dripping dark blood. Perhaps the tooth will be laced with that rancid sulphuric plaque stench-my deviant brain can only imagine what odors lie beneath. The experience will be unpleasant, but the longer it stays, the worse my mouth’s trajectory. Wait in denial, and expect crocodile features, that morph into creatures worse than wrong. So it’s an extraction worth celebrating, especially since the little bastard’s cutting my inner cheek like Carl Landry sent it on a mission.

And in that spirit, it’s time to move on from Don Nelson. This isn’t an angle coming from an armchair GM–it’s the visceral Continue Reading…