Is 'Melo a Top-Five Player?

With a mischievous grin and a taunting gleam in his eye, Robby asks me, "Do you think 'Melo is a top-seven NBA player?"

In that one short, quirky question (note that he said, top-seven, not top-five), I knew Robby was packing a lot of innuendo, along with some subtle jabs. On the literal level, by using "7" instead of "5," he was reflecting his own view that while Carmelo Anthony may not be up there in the stratospheric level, he's pretty damn close. He was also poking fun (for a change) at my early-season stance that the Knicks shouldn't part with Wilson Chandler, Danilo Gallinari, or Landry Fields -- or any combination of those three players -- in a package for Anthony, but rather should build on the core they already have in place. (After the Knicks were demolished by LeBron and Kobe in late December and early January, I changed my tune on that one.)

But Robby's main intention was to get a rise out of me because he loves to hear my reaction every time an ESPN insider or WFAN talk show host labels some player a top-five NBA point guard or a top-five NFL quarterback or a top-five MLB pitcher: I want to know the other four. I mean, seriously -- you listen to these guys and eventually they'll give you twenty top-five MLB pitchers!

You want to call someone an All-Star? Go ahead! This is a factual label. There are a finite number of NBA All-Stars. You may think KG is past his prime, but he was a 2010 All-Star. You may say Chris Kaman is always injured, but he was an All-Star, too. And you can hate Pao Gasol, but you can't say he's not an All-Star. For that matter, you can also call anyone you want a superstar. The label is way over-used, but it's a flexible, general term -- subject to interpretation -- and nobody's really going to call you on it.

But a top-five player? Sorry, but there can be only five of them. You're gonna have to give me some documentation. Okay, Kobe I'll accept without any backup. Same goes for LeBron. I'll probably take D-Wade on faith, too . . . and Kevin Durant. A lot of people like Superman, aka Dwight Howard, in that group. (His Stan Van Gundy impersonation alone should get him in.)

Wait a minute, though. That's already five. Robby keeps raving about Durant's running mate, Russell Westbrook -- who is amazing. He'd also tell me I was nuts if I didn't consider Derrick Rose and Blake Griffin. Chris Paul's got to be in the conversation, too. Knicks fans will insist on including Amar'e ("MVP! MVP! MVP!") And who doesn't love Rajon Rondo? But hey, now we've already got eleven top-five players -- and we're just getting warmed up. We haven't even included Carmelo Anthony!

Call me old school, but here's my deal: You can label anyone you want a top-five player. Just be sure you're ready to name the other four.

-Hank

Kemba

Do I even have to address the rec basketball post? My dad's right. He's not a high school senior. So let us have our fun, let us not play any defense, let us throw up our half courters, and let us block people's shots as hard as we can and then make fun of them for the rest of the year.

Unfortunately, my upcoming shoulder surgery means I only have two games left in my rec career, and that thought alone is keeping me awake at night.

Anyway, I want to talk about someone who's a lot better than me and my friends at basketball: Kemba Walker.

Wow.

UConn was down last year, failing to even make the NCAA tournament. Out go their two leading scorers, Jerome Dyson and Stanley Robinson, and in come a group of unheralded freshman recruits. The one constant? Kemba Walker.

Kemba averaged only 14.6 points per game last year, and although I had high hopes for him coming into the year, I certainly didn't think he alone would have UConn in the Top 25. In the preseason polls, UConn was picked to finish 10th in the Big East. Not the nation, the Big East!

Not so fast. That 14.6 is up to 25.5, good for second in the nation. The Huskies aren't 10th in the Big East, they're 8th in the land. And Kemba is clearly instilling confidence in his young teammates that'll help this team in the near and distant future.

If I was on his team, I'd feel pretty good about things. All everybody else really needs to do is keep the game close for about 39 minutes. Because we've seen that Kemba owns the 40th. Here we are, halfway through the season, just six games into Big East play, and Walker already has three game-winning shots in the final minute (all three coming against ranked opponents).

UConn, according to my estimations, did not play anywhere near its best game Monday against Villanova. They were stagnant on offense and shot only 35% from the field. But as I said in a text message to my brother's friend (who happened to go to Villanova): "We have Kemba, and you don't."

Similarly, Coach Calhoun said this after the game: "We were very fortunate to win that basketball game. But we have Kemba Walker to win the game for us. He made sure we won the game."

I tend to root for athletes who are clutch. The ones who play the best when the game's on the line. Not the ones who shy away from the ball with 10 seconds left, but those who demand it. And that's what Kemba is. He hates losing, and he does everything in his power to avoid it.

Chances are that next year I'll root for the basketball team of the college I attend. But this year, I'm definitely not complaining about being a Huskies fan. And if Kemba stays for his senior year, there might be a pretty big conflict of interest for me next year. Because this guy seems pretty hard to root against.

-Robby

Fundamental-Free Basketball

It's Thursday night, and Georgetown, my son's high school rec hoops team, is playing Miami. Though the line on this game -- if there was one -- would have had Georgetown as a 15-point favorite, we're actually being toasted by Miami, who's raining 3's from all over the gym.

I, as the Georgetown coach, call a timeout. (I use the word "coach" here very, very loosely. The Westport Basketball Association requires its high school teams to have parent/coaches primarily to keep the peace and make sure nobody is maimed. It's been years since any player has actually listened to me about anything having to do with basketball.) Calling a timeout is something that's generally frowned upon in this league, and my players are staring daggers at me, but I do it because I just can't watch anymore of what I've been seeing. "These guys are embarrassing you," I say, stating the obvious. "You're better than this." (The photo above is the championship T-shirt we won last year.)

"They're hitting everything they throw up," whines player #1. (Actually, this happens to be true.) "Did you see that piece of garbage that just went in for (name of Miami guard, who stinks, according to my guys)!?" echos player #2. The implication seems to be that it's not fair that these inferior players are hitting good shots.

"Yeah, okay," I grant, "but maybe they wouldn't be shooting lights out if you put a hand in their face." At the suggestion that they actually play . . . defense . . . my team looks at me as if I have three heads.

Okay, as I said in "Extreme Hoops: High School Edition," my Westport News column on this subject (http://www.westport-news.com/default/article/Home-Team-Extreme-Hoops-High-school-edition-901445.php), I get that this league is all about fun. I get that HS juniors and seniors have a ton of stress, and don't need more the one hour a week they play rec hoops. I get that this league is their chance to unwind.

But I also know these kids -- and I know they're capable of playing a hell of a lot better than this. It seems to be an unwritten rule, though (maybe it's even written somewhere, for all I know) that in this league that you never box out; that's old school. You just leap over your opponent. Also, you never take a simple open shot if one's given to you; instead, you drive wildly to the hoop where your attempt can be contested by five players. Similarly, you never move your feet to establish position on defense; you let your man blow by you and then attempt to swat his shot into the rafters. And you never, ever, ever play man-to-man defense. Instead, you play zone -- which really translates to not playing defense at all.

See, now I would think that playing hard, playing well, playing the way you know how, sticking to your man and shutting him down . . . I would think that would really be fun.

Then again, I'm not 18. And I'm not a high school senior.

-Hank

The End of an Era

Before you hurry to x-out of this window, read a few more sentences. Because this title has nothing to do with Brett Favre retiring. If anyone out there isn’t sick and tired of reading, hearing, and watching Favre coverage, then they haven’t been following sports for the past three years. After 17 retirements, 16 workouts at the local high school in Hattiesburg, Mississippi, and 24 concussions, that era is finally in the books. Actually, at this point, I can’t really say that with much confidence.

The era I’m talking about is more of a personal one. Today was the last time that my friends and I gathered in my playroom to watch NFL football. It all started eight years ago when my parents asked me what I wanted for my birthday, which happens to fall a few days before the opener of every NFL season. My brother Matt did everything in his power to make his little brother the biggest Dolphins fan possible, and it worked. I told my parents that I just wanted to be able to watch every Dolphins game that year. Since we live in Connecticut, the Dolphins were rarely on local television. My present? NFL Sunday Ticket on DIRECTV. Every game, every Sunday.

The rest is history. Aside from my family’s annual trip to Miami for a Dolphins game, nothing has stopped my friends from coming over every Sunday to eat wings and watch football. Sunday Ticket made us all much more diligent with our school work; if you had a lot of work, you woke up early and made sure it was done by 1:00. Nobody let anything get in the way of the one day a week where we could get away from everything and watch the greatest game in the world.

A lot has changed since that first season back in 2002. When it all started, four of us could fit on each couch. Eight years later, only two of us can. Back then, we had enough energy to play outside during halftime and between the first and second set of games. Eight years and one rigorous high school football career later, the outside portion of the routine has dwindled away. We used to root as hard as we could for our favorite teams. Eight years later, we root as hard we can for our favorite teams and our fantasy teams. Through all those changes, however, one thing has remained constant: We always looked forward to Sunday.

As we all move on to college next year, Saturdays will be enhanced, as we’ll all have a rooting interest in our college’s football team. But Sundays will never be the same. According to my calculations, today was the 128^th Sunday of this amazing tradition, and I’m going to miss each and every one of them.

-Robby