Opening Day Was Saturday

These pictures are the only reasons to hate the Pistons.

As I've written before, I'm not in the picayune business of denigrating college basketball in order to glorify the NBA or vice versa. They're different enterprises, and you can enjoy both, recognizing the unique merits of each. Besides, there are better sports targets--like the taste in women common among sports journalists (I mean, come on, Danica Patrick? Maria Sharapova? Get out some times!); like the romanticized boredom that is watching any baseball on television that doesn't include a Barry Bonds at bat; like the whitest man in America, King of Conservatives Jim Nantz (please come back tomorrow for that); like Bill Simmons--for my fire and venom.

Appreciating the college game and the pro game necessarily entails recognizing their differences, though, and this past weekend was a fine reminder of why each is what it is.

Life is all about compromises, and that was never clearer than on Saturday, when those of us who had spent the previous two weeks enraptured by the excitement of what, through the conclusion of the Elite Eight, had arguably been the most enjoyable NCAA Tournament that I can remember had to meet with Satan to go over the terms of our agreement. The meeting went something like this, if I am recalling it correctly:

Us: This Tournament has been unbelievable. Upsets each day; heroic performances; buzzer beaters; a bevy of competitive games; anarchy in the office pools---this is too good to be true!

Satan: Yes, that is actually correct. Pursuant to article 17, subsection 32b, paragraph 9--the standard Consequences for Too Much of a Good Thing clause--the Final Four must be comprised of the following elements, including but not limited to: two of the ugliest motherfuckers on the planet (see here and here); two anti-climactic games that make you earnestly intrigued by the notion of switching over to Erin Brockovich on TNT; the failure of everyone's favorite breakout star (see the first name listed) to make a significant contribution, severely dampening the enthusiasm; the early death of a protagonist playing the token Cinderella role; and the worst announcer tandem on the planet (this last aspect is non-negotiable and is applicable in perpetuity).

Most of you were at the meeting, too. That's pretty much how it went down, right? I'll assume so. Thus, we all suffered through a horrible Final Four, a fitting measure of karmic balance. This Final Four was nearly everything that can be bad about college basketball. The talent deficit can be staggering at times, rendering strategy and coaching nearly obsolete. Incongruous styles can make for ugly games that are lopsided even as the score remains close enough to kindle some kind of hope for drama. And when teams don't possess individual players who can create their own shots with regularity, the level of basketball is left at the mercy of system execution. That's a deceptive duality, of course. We are thrilled by West Virginia but driven mad by the inadequacies of the LSU perimeter attack. And when a system breaks down, well, honestly, that's just not fun.

None of this is intended to mean that college basketball is bad, though. To the contrary, I love it. I love that it's a coach's game; that the Tournament regularly draws out performances that are entirely unexpected and unprecedented; that teams can draw emotional strength from cohesion and faith in a well-devised style; that the ball and the players regularly move freely. It's all great stuff, and it is an annual affirmation of the wonderful product generated by teamwork. But it's not without its flaws, and those were apparent this weekend.

They were made to seem even worse as the NBA officially seized control of the spring and early summer over the weekend, something it does each year around this time.

As Tony Kornheiser would say, nothing makes the needle move like Tiger Woods contending for a title (especially at a major championship), but these jolts of sports energy are fleeting in a macro sense, and they are only continual and not continuous. We don't get to follow Tiger Woods from week to week because he doesn't play each event, and the many variables at work in professional golf necessarily undermine most attempts its denizens undertake to create cohesive narratives. The Big Five; the Young Guns; the not-so-secretly hoped for animosity--none of these stories is reliable, and none of them is part of something larger. I can't wait for The Masters, and I love the challenge presented by a U.S. Open course, but those are momentary fits of excitement. The NBA offers a spring and summer of compelling storylines that culminate in the seductive fashion that characterizes the best works of literature.

Every year, there is a predictable rhythm to the Lig. It opens with fantastic energy, as fans eagerly seek answers for the myriad questions that arose in the offseason. By Christmas, many of the recurring storylines that will help organize NBA information throughout the season have emerged. The all-star break is simultaneously a sublime celebration of what's been accomplished and a doorway through which we can begin to see the final third of the year. And by April, as the college kids are finishing up, the NBA's regular-season stories crystallize and set up the playoffs, the most dramatic and enthralling event in sports.

Unlike a formulaic movie, though, the drama of the NBA's regular-season conclusion is not characterized by a second-act lull meant to provide an emotional juxtaposition for a thrilling third act. Rather, it's a time of intensity that hints at the crucible of the playoffs, and that was apparent as Dwyane Wade and LeBron James dueled on Saturday. Threes, drives, assists, steals, rebounds--they were doing it all, their play epitomizing everything that separates NBA basketball and elevates the league.

Great NBA basketball is about the triumph of individual skills. And not to the exclusion of team play, but rather, as a means for it. Damon Jones and Donyell Marshall hitting crucial baskets; Sasha Pavlovic throwing in a ridiculous put-back dunk; Anderson Varejao grabbing boards and finishing at the rim--these manifestations of refined skills were all happening in crunch time on Saturday, and the action owed to the greatness of James. Whether it was his passing, the spacing he created, or his ability to break down the defense, LeBron's skills were the catalyst for the Cavalier team effort. Similarly, you couldn't help but assume that Antoine Walker and Gary Payton and Udonis Haslem were gonna find ways to hurt the Cavs given the attention Wade commanded and the opportunities for his teammates that this attention was creating. If he wasn't getting an offensive board and finishing at the rim, he was setting up a teammate. In the NBA, the outcomes of the games are placed in the hands of individuals, and those who find success are the ones who understand how to work with their teammates. In fact, teamwork built upon a foundation of maximizing individual abilities helps to bestow an ineffable emotional quality on a team, and this intangible lift often yields better execution down the stretch.

But it's not the same thing as Florida getting Joakim Noah touches or UCLA running a high screen for Jordan Farmar. As you watch the college kids do as they've been instructed and attempt to get the basketball to players in positions from which they can do something, you don't have the confidence that they will be able to improvise if they fail to recognize the situation. You don't trust that the five guys on the floor all have a basic level of basketball competency that makes the extraordinary possible. This doubt is part of what makes the NCAA Tournament thrilling; you're always a little anxious about whether what you're seeing is real. Did those kids really just run that play? This kind of skepticism doesn't exist in the NBA because you're conditioned to make certain assumptions as you watch. The players are such great athletes and can do so many things at such a high level that it's not a matter of basic comprehension. You know that they know what to do; the variable outcomes are all within reach. An NBA player might not always hit the shot or make the right pass, but you aren't regularly surprised when he does.

And that was the case on Saturday, as the two best players in the Lig "made their teammates better" in a way that was reminiscent of Bird and Magic and Michael. LeBron and Dwyane were playing the NBA game at a high level, exploiting their gifts to create scoring situations--some familiar, some not--for themselves and their teammates. And as you watched, you weren't so much surprised as you were excited: Of course these guys can make those plays; I just didn't know that they were going to.

It was more of the same on Sunday as the Pistons and Suns staged an incredibly enjoyable late-season game with the character of a playoff showdown. For 48 minutes, two teams found ways to maximize the talents of their respective rosters, and everything from heady outlet passes to deep threes to improbable runners delighted an audience that didn't know what was coming next but was certain it was gonna be something. And as Hubie Brown would say: That's what you love about this Lig. These guys are the best athletes in the world and so many of them can do so many things. You aren't always sure what it's gonna be, but you know it will be spectacular and you know it will be done at a high level.

What more can you ask for heading into the playoffs?