Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Don’t ‘Zo (Or Mutombo) Quietly
Sometimes you can find comfort in the face of an old acquaintance. Sometimes the sight of a person you haven't seen in a long time brings back fond memories, and even if you never really liked them much, you'll happily reminisce for a minute.
And sometimes people outstay their welcome, and it starts to piss you off.
Alonzo Mourning and Dikembe Mutombo: you're starting to piss me off.
Hey, I listen to Pavement and Superchunk albums with the same nostalgia for the early-'90s as everyone else, but the surprise resurgence of these two particular players is really starting to grind on my already tattered nerves.
Normally, this would be the part where I'd stop foaming, and logically over the course of a paragraph or two explain the reasons why I get angry every time I see either of these two on the court.
Unfortunately, there aren't really any reasons. Okay, there are like one and a half reasons.
One is that as a Torontonian, city by-law requires me to wish a communicable disease on Alonzo Mourning at least once a week before bed, at least until he's no longer being paid by the Raptors.
After that, things get a little fuzzy.
The half reason is best described as a combination of the discomfort I feel looking at a 40-year-old Mutombo, and fury over the fact that he still wags his finger at the expense of transition offense, even though the guy he blocked will dunk over him the next six times down the floor.
I recognize Mutombo would struggle to help the transition offense of the Hebrew Academy of the Five Towns and Rockaway, and yes, I hated Mourning long before he was traded to the Raptors. So I know I'm reaching here, but you don't ask how a rainbow's made, so don't bother me on this.
The worst part is that I thought we were done with these guys. Most of the players from their drafts and generation are long gone, and the ones still around are rarely contributors.
Everything was going so well.
In 2003, Mutombo played just 24 games with the Nets and was inching towards the door like Michael Richards at a UNCF meeting.
Ditto for 'Zo, whose pathetic, Karl Malone-esqe hunt for a ring was being stymied by an uncooperative kidney.
Note: I'm wish kidney failure on no one. I'd love to see a healthy Mourning, just behind a Sun Network studio desk where he belongs.
And when Mourning played 49 games between 2003-2005, I thought it was time.
But then, as if waking from a blissful dream to a 6 AM wake-up call, it all went horribly wrong.
After successfully screwing the Raptors out of more than $10 million, ruining Rob Babcock's career (which, let's be honest, was ripe for the picking), and getting himself relocated on his old team/a championship contender, 'Zo plays 65 games in 2006, blocks close to 200 shots, and, of course, gets his friggin' ring.
Meanwhile, Mutombo is back in business in Houston, and while he hasn't put up huge numbers, still cracks the lineup enough to wag that stupid finger I've been haunted by since he was swatting Alvin Williams during the 2000 Eastern Conference Semifinals.
So what does this all prove?
Not much really, except that sometimes the people you like are the first to go, while just as often the ones you're dying to be rid of hang around like a once-great shot blocker on an NBA bench or, I suppose, an aging left-hander in a major league bullpen.
God, I hate sports sometimes.
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