—By @nocoastoffense and myself—
Stropical depression
Stroppin’ bombs on your moms
No Strop Till Brooklyn
Strop snitching
Strop it like it’s hot
All Strop and no play make Homer something something
Bonus: Can’t Strop won’t Strop
The NBA playoffs are jumping like a lie detector, and we’re nearing peak season of the percentage of truth per game. Football’s designed to focus solely on what happens in the playoffs, and baseball is forever about what could, or could have, gone down. Basketball’s solidly in the middle, the fleshiest body with which to work. Almost no one doubts the wisdom of the best-of-seven-game basketball series, so it’s endlessly compelling in real time. There are five ideas about how this will all play out that maintain any credence: The Heat pull it out, the Heat blow it, the Celtics somehow hold on, the Spurs asphyxiate more victories, or Oklahoma City bombs and hops its way to glory. There are at at most 13 games to figure this all out, which means a fortnight of new world orders.
I think that’s all I had to say, but here’s Rondo being Rondo:
Bryan Joiner 