I'm routinely blown away at the depth of knowledge and humor displayed every single day in the comments of this site, especially late at night when game threads morph into impromptu rebus competitions or faux movie poster art shows.
What happened after last night's overtime loss? Literary parody, of course.
"Smallball is something else than men. It happens that every man in smallball hates what smallball does, and yet smallball does it. Smallball is something more than men, I tell you. It’s the monster. Men made it, but they can’t control it."
–John Steinbeck, Grapes of Curry
... and then Gabe took the torch:
"Many complain that the words of the coach are meant merely as justification for smallball, and are of no use in daily life, which is the only life we have. When the coach says: ‘Go small,’ he does not mean we should cross to some actual place, which we could do anyhow if the labor were worth it; he means some fabulous yonder, something unknown to us, something that he cannot designate more precisely either, and therefore cannot help us in the very least. All that smallball really sets out to say is merely that the incomprehensible is incomprehensible, and we know that already. But the cares we have to struggle with every day: that is a different matter.
Concerning this a man once said: ‘Why such reluctance? If your team only followed smallball they would become smallball, and with that would rid you of your previous cares.’
Another man said: ‘I bet that is also smallball.’
The first said: ‘You have won.’
The second said: ‘But unfortunately only with smallball’
The first said: No, in reality: with smallball you have lost.’"
-Excerpt from Kafka’s "On Smallball"
"This is a very bad offense you’re coaching," I said to myself.
"I know," I said.
"You’re afraid you’ll kill your team the way Don Chaney did," I said.
"I know," I said.
Kurt Vonnegut’s "Breakfast of Champions" (and by "Champions" he clearly means Michael Curry)
And, of course, Rob G came through, not once ...
For something completely different, here’s the season done a la Emily Dickinson:
Small ball - small ball!
Were I with Curry -
Small ball would be
Futile - the Bigs
Who seek the paint
Done with Defense!
Done with Rebounds!
Might you - tonight - wear
A check’d Suit!
... not twice:
Finally, before retiring… Hemingway:
"They’ve probably bombed hell from three point range but never touched Granger and company," Michael Curry said to himself. "The damned three guard lineup scares you to death, but it don’t kill you."
"Smallball goes on," said Arnie Kander, listening to the jeers of the crowd. He had winced at every missed rebound and now licked his dry lips.
"Why not?" Michael Curry said. "It is now a part of our league." He ladled stew onto a plate.
"What did smallball do?" asked Maria, her eyes frightened.
"Nothing. Eat," Michael said.
... but three times:
I lied. One more. "A Rose for Curry" a la Faulkner:
"I want a poisoned lineup," he said."
"Yes, Mr. Curry. What kind? For the Pistons and such? I’d recom-"
"I want the worst you have. I don’t care what kind."
The assistant coach named several. "These will lose even to the Bobcats. But what you want is-"
"Smallball," Mr. Curry said. "Is that a bad one?"
"Is… smallball? Yes, sir. But what you want-"
"I want smallball."
The assistant looked at him. Curry looked back at him, erect, his face like a polished globe. "Why, of course, if that’s what you want. But the fans require that you hold a press conference."
Mr. Curry just stared at him, his head straight on to look him in the eye for eye, until he looked away and went and got the clipboard and drew up the smallball lineup for the game. When Curry looked at the top of the clipboard, under a skull and crossbones: "For losing."
I'm serious, game threads like these almost make losing fun.
Update: predictably, the madness continues in the comments of this post -- start here and scroll down.