You might not remember this, but NBC used to be great at comedy. Over two decades of laugh tracks and catchphrases, the Peacock trained viewers to associate Thursday nights with the gloriously hyperbolic concept of "Must See TV,” a label that collected Friends, Seinfeld, Frasier, and Will & Grace under its affable, snarky, and, it must be said, extremely white umbrella. And for one astonishing moment in the late aughts, it assembled the Avengers of whip-smart meta-sitcoms: Community, 30 Rock, The Office, and Parks and Recreation. In retrospect, it was the supernova before the black hole. The problem with cramming four excellent-yet-niche shows next to each other is that “niche" is essentially a euphemism for “bad business," and so by 2015, NBC had hastily dispatched with the dying embers of “Must See TV" and debuted a full Thursday lineup of debatably smart not-comedy: The Slap, Heroes Reborn, The Blacklist, Shades of Blue. (Comedy survived, but elsewhere on the network and nowhere near as acclaimed.) For the past year or so, “comedy on NBC" has been spoken of in the past tense, something great we were lucky to enjoy before losing to the sands of time, like Freaks and Geeks or New York in the '70s.Read More
Through this season’s first seven games, Dwight Howard has been very good and so have his Hawks. It makes me sad and frustrated but also happy and excited, which I know sounds at least a little bit weird, but it’s really not. First, some numbers. Right now …
OK, so those are some numbers and those numbers are good (and in some cases great). And it’s making for a mix of feelings in my chest.
Here’s the thing: Dwight Howard is currently my third-favorite NBA player to root against. My first-place guy to root against is James Harden, who plays basketball like your friend plays a fighting video game — just doing a foot sweep over and over again — by which I mean to say he plays in an undeniably effective way but also in an irritating way. (To be clear, Harden is without question one of the four best basketball players in the world right now. There is no denying that. I don’t want it to sound like I don’t think that’s the case, because I do. He very well might foot-sweep his way all the way to the MVP trophy in May.)
My second-place guy to root against is Steph Curry, and I want to be sure here to relay that I love Steph Curry and think he is tremendous, but it’s just that he’s so good at basketball that it sometimes makes me mad. I will never have dominion over anything the way Steph seems to have dominion over everything. I’m jealous of that. Sometimes it’s just nice to see a winner trip over his shoelaces, you know what I’m saying.
And then there’s Dwight, the big galoot, in third. He used to be higher up; in 2015, back when the Rockets were good and intimidating, he was probably first or second. Then 2016 happened (a double-thumbs-down season for Howard and also the Rockets) and he fell all the way off the fucking planet. And when that happened, it was just like, “What’s even the point of rooting against this guy anymore?” Because, OK, sure, it’s a tiny amount of fun to watch someone you’re rooting against squirm around a bit in obsolescence. But after more than a few minutes of it, it feels less like you’re rooting against someone and more like you’re picking on that person. I don’t like that. It’s not that good of a time. It’s why it was so super not fun watching Dwight lose to the Warriors in the playoffs last year.
I like for the players I’m rooting against to be players I’m terrified of. It’s exciting to know that, should they feel inspired to do so, they can remove my basketball head from my basketball shoulders in a game I’m watching. A convenient example: The Spurs and the Rockets played in San Antonio on Wednesday night and James Harden, that beautiful motherfucker, put up a very gross triple-double (24–12–15) in a two-point win. I was upset that my beloved Spurs lost, but I was happy to see that the Rockets this season (fun and a real threat again) ain’t the Rockets from last season (a big box of dirty diapers). I’m excited about the possibility that they’ll be good in the playoffs again. I’m excited to root for them to lose, but only because I know there’s a real chance that they could win. That’s how it has to work, I think. It’s paradoxical — hoping for success for someone just so you can see it get taken away later is still, in a manner, hoping for that person to be successful — but I guess it just has to be that way. Rooting against the Warriors in the Finals last season was such a great time, and it wasn’t because of Draymond Green’s all-world goon qualities or Klay Thompson’s perfect jump shot or Steph’s perfect life, it was because they’d climbed so high up that watching them fall became more interesting than watching them win.
Do you remember 2009, back when Dwight Howard looked like he was making the leap? That was the year he became the second player to win the Defensive Player of the Year award at the age of 23 and also the year he piled all of the rest of the Orlando Magic onto his quarter-mile-wide shoulders and carried them to the NBA Finals. That was a great period. He’d actually made himself into a proper superstar during the Dunk Contest at All-Star Weekend the year prior, joy and charm pouring out of him in a way that was undeniable. He was so likable during that Dunk Contest, and then after that his 2009–10 season and his 2010–11 season were so good and dominant. But then things turned to ash in Orlando. He left for L.A. and then had his legs cut off by Kobe. Then he left for Houston, and he of course eventually poured water all over that sand castle, too. And somewhere during that super-long episode of Come The Fuck On, Man, he became a fun guy to root against. Then, just that quick, he just all the way disappeared.
Now he’s back. He’s in Atlanta, his hometown, and it looks like — fingers crossed — he might be good again.
I’m sad about that because he is my enemy and I don’t want to see my enemy do well, but I’m happy about that because he has to do well for him to be my enemy and having enemies is more fun than not having them. There’s a reason they make the bad guy scary in movies.Read More
In the wake of The Walking Dead's well-hyped seventh-season premiere - in which (spoilers) longtime fan-favorite Glenn and medium-time fan-not-least-favorite Abraham got their brains bashed in by Big Bad Negan's phallic Lucille - the director and cast described the draining production in terms previously reserved for the filming of Apocalypse Now. For Jeffrey Dean Morgan (Negan), "The Day Will Come When You Won't Be" was "10 days of hell." For Steven Yeun (Glenn), it was "10 days in a hole of despair and shit."
For viewers, it was 45 minutes that felt like they lasted 10 days. The episode sparked widespread blowback online, prompting complaints about both its level of violence and the way in which that violence substituted for story. Some viewers, whose patience had already been strained by a Glenn-related red herring and a frustrating cliff-hanger at the end of Season 6, vowed to stop watching, which sent Walking Dead–watcher-watchers like me running to the ratings to see how many would make good on the threat. "We almost certainly won't see a sizable drop-off from previous premieres on Sunday, when casual watchers will tune in to see who was on the receiving end of Negan's assault, and hate-watchers will hope he keeps swinging," I wrote in a piece published during the week leading up to the premiere. "But once that suspense is resolved, will an undecided audience keep coming back?"Read More
Jamal Murrays didn't see OG Anunoby coming. Kentucky's star freshman came into the second round of last year's NCAA tournament on a tear, averaging 23.6 points on 50.4 percent shooting in his last 15 games, including 33- and 35-point demolitions of Vanderbilt and Florida, respectively. There's no easy way to cover an elite shooter with a lightning-quick release and the ability to get around defenders off the dribble. When Kentucky put Murray in ball screens and forced a bigger and slower defender on him, the defense had two equally unappealing options: either play off him and concede the jumper, or press up on him and allow a driving lane to the basket.
Indiana managed to upset Kentucky, 73–67, in large part because Anunoby, an unheralded Hoosiers freshman, gave them a third way. Indiana threw waves of defenders at Murray, holding him to 16 points on 7-of-18 shooting, and none made a bigger impression than Anunoby, who was able to block the sharpshooter from behind the arc not once, but twice. "I always come into the game confident," Anunoby said about matching up with elite players. "I don't care about recruiting rankings or any of that stuff."
OG was long enough to contest Murray's shot, and quick enough to stay in front of him. That was the difference between Anunoby and all the other big defenders during the season tasked with slowing down Kentucky's lead guard: when Anunoby got down in a stance and chased Murray on the perimeter, he covered ground just as quickly as his much smaller counterpart. Anunoby's older brother Chigbo is an NFL defensive tackle, and OG (whose first name is actually Ogugua) brings an element of football to the basketball court. Murray was being covered by a defensive end–defensive back hybrid, a mobile tank who could eat up space in a matter of seconds while being able to blast his way through screens. It was like someone had slipped a create-a-player from a video game onto the Indiana roster and no one noticed. Anunoby was a superhero without an origin story.