Tom Pitt
Well-Known Member
The Tankathon is in midseason form, only we lost by winning last night to the Kings from Boogie's old town of Sac (Boogie Cousins is an epic dbag. He bullied Sauce Castillo and for this I think it would be beneficial to everyone if he tore his achilles, sat down and became humble. He's a big bird Bi*** and the fact that fans voted him as an all star center really seems to indicate a societal problem with where we place our values. Okay, I am done with that rant). Yet even with the slight bump in the road to rock bottom, I started my day crunching on a combination of recess puffs, Donovan Mitchell highlights and unflckering pipe dreams for the Utah Jazz in the 2018 Draft.
The most latter item on my morning agenda led me to a trove of scouting videos on the top draft prospects of 2018. Trae Young played tricks with my mind, as I watched him morph in and out of Steph Curry. Marvin Bagley's combination of size and guard like movement made me feel like I was skating along cloud roadways with 1 or 2 lortab's simmering in my gut, and I marveled at the prospect of a Mitchell, Bagely, Gobert core and a penitent teary eyed Hayward ready to return in 2020 to join them. Future cover of GQ magazine guy Michael Porter, Affable Ayton, Mohammed Bamba (the Spurs attempt to create a better version of Rudy Gobert but he escaped from their top secret facility in the remote scablands of Texas, where Kawhi wander's the halls rehabbing from a glitch gone wrong.), I watched them all... Suffice it to say, I dove deep and emerged with insight, but more importantly a stern warning; The Jazz must not draft the one they call Doncic. Now let me begin by saying, before today I had not watched him play a single minute and yet I have been hearing about his pending greatness for months now. Just as the first tape got rolling, I was filled with intrigue, curiosity, a barely quaking excitement, and yet as the first roll of film rolled onto its end so did my intrigue with this Slovenian Superboy.
And so here I am, a prophet among you not unlike the One you call Dalamon the Subtle and Salacious whisperer of superstition, except that I bring you truth undiluted by purple prose insomuch I will speak plainly and with brevity... here we go: Doncic is slow, he's unatheltic, he has a suspect handle by NBA standards and hes an okay shooter in a land where time and space to wind up and shoot are ever in rich supply. He has some impressive traces of basketball IQ but this can only take him so far. A good starter is his ceiling but even that may be an unlikely outcome. And so if you come to Doncic Island looking for the bright lights of stardom, you will not find them here. In fact, what you may find is that you will be wandering his cobble stone European streets and alleyways with an interminable bottle of scotch and a deep and indelible feeling of want never to subside not to mention a life time of mornings wherein you awake to a nebulous sunrise, a cranking headache and the stark realization that you never made it home but wandered drunk until you passed out.
The most latter item on my morning agenda led me to a trove of scouting videos on the top draft prospects of 2018. Trae Young played tricks with my mind, as I watched him morph in and out of Steph Curry. Marvin Bagley's combination of size and guard like movement made me feel like I was skating along cloud roadways with 1 or 2 lortab's simmering in my gut, and I marveled at the prospect of a Mitchell, Bagely, Gobert core and a penitent teary eyed Hayward ready to return in 2020 to join them. Future cover of GQ magazine guy Michael Porter, Affable Ayton, Mohammed Bamba (the Spurs attempt to create a better version of Rudy Gobert but he escaped from their top secret facility in the remote scablands of Texas, where Kawhi wander's the halls rehabbing from a glitch gone wrong.), I watched them all... Suffice it to say, I dove deep and emerged with insight, but more importantly a stern warning; The Jazz must not draft the one they call Doncic. Now let me begin by saying, before today I had not watched him play a single minute and yet I have been hearing about his pending greatness for months now. Just as the first tape got rolling, I was filled with intrigue, curiosity, a barely quaking excitement, and yet as the first roll of film rolled onto its end so did my intrigue with this Slovenian Superboy.
And so here I am, a prophet among you not unlike the One you call Dalamon the Subtle and Salacious whisperer of superstition, except that I bring you truth undiluted by purple prose insomuch I will speak plainly and with brevity... here we go: Doncic is slow, he's unatheltic, he has a suspect handle by NBA standards and hes an okay shooter in a land where time and space to wind up and shoot are ever in rich supply. He has some impressive traces of basketball IQ but this can only take him so far. A good starter is his ceiling but even that may be an unlikely outcome. And so if you come to Doncic Island looking for the bright lights of stardom, you will not find them here. In fact, what you may find is that you will be wandering his cobble stone European streets and alleyways with an interminable bottle of scotch and a deep and indelible feeling of want never to subside not to mention a life time of mornings wherein you awake to a nebulous sunrise, a cranking headache and the stark realization that you never made it home but wandered drunk until you passed out.
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