Category: People

Hump Day Hoops: Indiana Pacers- Think Tank

 

Okay. I give up.

 

I won’t try anymore.

 

The relentless optimism and best case scenarios; the hypothetical matchups and ‘well, what if’s. It's all over now, Blue and Gold. No more pretending.

 

It’s time to tank, Pacers.

 

Maybe there’s still some universe in which the Pacers can win a playoff series but I don’t think it’s this one. Not anymore.

 

After the debacle of Mo Williams (MO FREAKIN’ WILLIAMS) scoring 50 points on the Pacers, there’s no reason to encourage the Pacers to continue making an effort to win every game this season.

 

It’s really a shame too. The East this season is likely the worst conference in modern NBA history. The most important statistic is this: Only 5 teams in the East have a positive point differential; only 5 teams in the West have a negative point differential. The Pacers of the last two years would be the favorites to win the whole conference this year.

 

Except the Pacers aren’t anything like they have been for the last two seasons. Mo Williams wouldn’t have sniffed a 50 point game against those Pacers. The reality is that this group is bad enough that I’m convinced they should begin planning now for next year.

 

Since the Pacers still have the core of a contending team, they don’t even have to pursue some radical renewal plan. They can back to the top of the conference next year with good health and a couple straightforward moves. Next year, they have a first round pick they should use to get another lottery talent on the roster, preferably an offensive minded wing. Right now Paul George is the only Pacer who can drive to score.  They also have three second round draft choices and some easily offloaded contracts that can be parlayed into a useful player. Heck, who knows, Dallas might be willing to do Devin Harris for CJ Miles straight up.

 

The problem is that the Pacers seem scared to do a short term rebuild. They appear stuck in the old fashioned mentality that every win is beneficial. That’s just not the case in today’s NBA. If you’re interested in winning championships in a place like Indiana you simply must acquire maximum talent through the draft. (Signing premier free agents simply won’t happen.) It’s much harder to get that kind of talent drafting at 15 than it is at 5. (And yes, the Pacers are bad enough that they might reasonably have the fifth worst record in the league this year. They don’t need to rely on lottery luck.) This much is clear.

 

It is, at best, unclear if the Pacers have the organizational discipline to play for the long term instead of the short term. I don’t think they do judging by Larry Bird’s public statements. The talk of Paul George playing 1 on 1 is frightening. The very worse thing that could happen to the Pacers is another injury to Young Trece. The second worse is his return lifting them to the 7th or 8th seed this Spring.

 

The Pacers don’t need to be a .500 team this year. They need to be bold enough to be bad for a year. And Pacer fans need to let them know it’s ok.

 

It’s time to tank, Pacers.

 

I probably need to thank Mo Williams for proving it to me.

 

 

 -Franklin Oliver

 

 

World B. Free

 

Twenty years ago

I went with my dad

To an old stadium

Gone and dearly departed

If not regretfully

To see my Indiana Pacers who

I loved stridently

At home

In the new Curtis Mathes set that

How were we to know

Lasted far too long

 

But there in person

For the first time

Was a different kind of feeling

Since they were bad

And most of my focus

Started and stopped on a man named

World B. Free

Although I’m not sure how much of

This poem

Is true

I have no doubt

About World B. Free

 

It started with his hair

Though it was not exceptional

Except in its lack of exception

Stuck in a time

I may never understand

But all the rest fit too

How much he loved the game

Even when it was an awful game

And tried without ever looking

As if he were trying

Mostly though

The shooting

Like little orange only rainbows

Up and down

With no gold at the end

Only more orange

And then at its beginning

The look that might have been a smile

If he’d known no one could watch

 

At the end of the game

It seems that no one did

Because watching him play

Might have kept someone from skipping school

Or me from stealing gum

Off the too short racks

Meant to taunt me

At the store

But lots of kids did that

And their parents drank too much

Cheated with a stewardess

Then left

Not because of the children

Even though they’d seen World B. Free

On the court downtown

 

When I asked later on

My dad said he used to be called Lloyd

That may well be

But he was always World B. to me

 

 

 © Gayle Force Press 2002

 

 

Christmas Crossing

 

It’s Christmas Eve and my wife is napping

At the other end of the couch

Dreaming in a Santa hat

 

Tonight when she wakes

And after tomorrow’s presents

I’ll try my best to remind her

That my life is more complete

Better and more real

Than I could have imagined for myself

 

Her presence animates my life

Not in a slavish sense of duty

But through the constant commitment of love

Densely defined and elaborate

Telling as the Rubicon,

broad as the Nile

 

I have fully crossed over

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2006

 

Justified Use of Force

 

This summer I told a friend that I couldn't write any more poems about police brutality. So here's an old one. Again. I initially wrote this poem in 2002 and when performing it in public through the years have changed/updated the names. Mike Brown  Eric Garner is only the most recent addition to the litany of blood.

 

 

Justified Use of Force

   

Every month there’s a new one

A Diallo, Bell, Brown

Ford, Garner, Rice or me

 

Clamoring loudly

Broken faces on TV

We ask so many questions

But no one’s forced to answer

 

With sympathy’s short half-life

Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop

And the questions to disappear once again

 

Just like us

In our lives

And our deaths

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2014

  

 

Carole’s Songs

 

I’ve been listening to Carole King

Singing about love and loss

But mostly life

 

Although I know she’s not singing to me

She must be singing about me

 

Since so many of my fears

find breath through her sighs

And all my hopes take wing

with her hoarse cries of possibility

 

 

© Gayle Force Press 2004

 

 

One Size Fits All

 

It doesn't happen very often that I think the New York Daily News provides an important contribution to the national dialogue but this cover does exactly that. (Please take a moment to look.) Creating an explicit connection between Trayvon Martin and Emmett Till, Michael Donald, Yusef Hawkins and others puts race in the forefront of this situation. Right where it should be. 

 

As hard as it is for some of us to acknowledge, race is the defining element of the Trayvon Martin story. It was race that created the initial decision of George Zimmerman to find Trayvon suspicious and it's race that deeply animated the actions of the police, the broader community, the attorneys on both sides and probably even the jury.

 

In one sense, this is perfectly clear. Tall, skinny White teenagers like my son just don't frighten grown men. Tall, skinny Black teenagers like Trayvon do. Enough so, that millions of Americans seem to have decided that George Zimmerman undertook reasonable actions throughout his confrontation with Trayvon. 

 

This reality is heartbreaking but not shocking. Not when we take a moment to recognize just how deeply feared and mistrusted Blacks (particularly men) are in our country. That fear and mistrust is why Trayvon is dead and Zimmerman is a free man. It's also why Emmett Till, Michael Griffith, Sean Bell and so many others fit into that hoodie on the cover of the Daily News. For millions of Americans, it fits us all. 

 

 

FDO 

 

 

Justified Use of Force (for Trayvon Martin)




Every year there’s a new one
A Diallou, King or me
Clamoring loudly
Faces on TV
We ask so many questions
But no one’s forced to answer



With sympathy’s short half-life
Soon most are hoping for the noise to stop
And the questions to disappear once again
Just like us
In our lives
And our deaths



© Gayle Force Press 2002


The Other Half of Balki

 

I didn’t remember his name

No, that’s not true

 

Mark Linn-Baker

 

What a funny, unforgettable name

I didn’t care to remember it I
suppose

He didn’t matter to me

 

Really Mark Linn-Baker was just there

Archived in my brain

Alongside Tracey Gold and Ken Kercheval,

Todd Bridges and Lisa Whelchel,

Roxie Roker and the rest of the litany

Of not quite stars

That worked so hard to barely input themselves

On my consciousness

 

The lot of them hardly identifiable

As individual entities

Only who they pretended to be

Which for them, like me,

Was the only important reality

 

The masks we wear for better

And for worse

Define us and allow us

To define each other

Whether the me you think you know

Or Mark Linn-Baker

 

You remember him, right

Cousin Larry

 

The other half of Balki

 

 

 

© Gayle
Force Press 2002

 

 

 

Mt. Hibbert Explodes!

 

A friend of mine mentioned that since Roy Hibbert’s press
conference Saturday, he’s now rooting for the Heat. That started me thinking
about what Hibbert was actually aiming for in that presser. 

 

 

I must admit that I've always been perplexed by "no
homo". That phrase is often used in ways that are totally nonsensical.
There’s an interesting Slate article
from a few years ago that describes some of the curious ways it functions in
rap music. For Hibbert to have used “no homo” seemed like acting out as part of
a broader attempt to be tough. The same is true of his calling the reports
"motherfuckers". They both sounded false coming from him. (It verges
on funny to watch Hibbert consider whether to actually say “motherfucker” or
not. I immediately had flashbacks to middle school.)

 

 

Let’s face it, Hibbert is just not a 'street' guy.
Particularly in Indiana in the decade long aftermath of the ‘Malice in the
Palace’, NOT being a street guy is part of why Mt. Hibbert is widely beloved. He’s
one of the faces of the Pacers franchise and in a world wherein Wilt
Chamberlain could believe, “Nobody loves Goliath,” Hibbert’s kindness, charity,
quick smile and obvious love for his family have made him an important
exception to the rule. We Hoosiers love our Goliath. 

 

 

That’s part of what was so jarring about Saturday night. The
eyes of the nation are rarely on the Hoosier State where the NBA is concerned.
The Pacers have been the most important, positive surprise of the playoffs but
Saturday’s after game was a deeply unpleasant, unanticipated surprise. The
contrasts between the press conference and Hibbert’s immediate postgame
interview were shocking. It seems clear that Hibbert’s 'Happy Birthday Dad' hokum
was authentic. The badass wannabe posing he did on the dais wasn’t. Thank
goodness.  

 

 

Of course, it’s always hard to balance who you are and who
you are expected to be, isn’t it? I imagine that’s particularly true on big
stages with bright lights. I’m pleased that David Stern pulled some charity
cash out of Hibbert’s pockets. My hope is that Saturday night will serve as
another clear reminder that the world continues to change and we all need to change
along with it. 

 

 

FDO

 

 

 

Fumbling Memories

 

For some reason, I recently started thinking about my
stages of listening to Sarah McLachlan. It has been an odd roller coaster ride moving from disdain to love to virtual irrelevance.

 

In the mid 90s, my girlfriend gave me the worst possible introduction to Sarah's music. The GF basically told me that she was
justified in being a selfish ass because of a Sarah M. lyric. What the %*@^? It didn't make sense but it did leave me with a sour impression of Sarah M. (As well as with the soon to be ex-GF!) I had no interest in finding anything more about this music. 

 

Yet, the very first time I listened to Fumbling Towards Ecstasy I was blown away. Discovering the album was actually just a happy accident. My roomie at the time
came home and started playing the album, not noticing that I was napping. I woke up pissed at his thoughtlessness but it only took a couple songs for me to forgive him entirely. (Thanks, EZ.) In fact, it wasn’t long before I came to love Sarah McLachlan!

 

That voice! Those lyrics!
The musicality!

 

In 97, my girlfriend Gwen and I saw Sarah @Lilith Fair in Vancouver and it remains one of the best concert experiences I’ve
ever had. For awhile, listening to Sarah's albums became a kind of default for us. If we couldn't quickly decide on what music to play, we went to the well of McLachlan. In fact, her Surfacing album was the first joint purchase Gwen and I ever
made. 

 

But now it’s been ten
years since her album Afterglow, the last one I bought. Now, I mostly think about Sarah McLachlan in conjunction with the horrifying ASPCA commercials that feature the song "Angel" and prompt everyone in my house to race for the remote control. At this point, Sarah may as well be Frankie Beverley and
Maze for me. It's great music that belongs strictly to my past. There's just no
resonance to my current life.

 

But on those rare occasions when I decide to listen to "Mary", "I Will Not Forget You" or "Fallen", I smile at both the songs and at the past.

 

 

FDO