We are the New York Knicks (20-45). Tonight we face the Atlanta Hawks (20-46). I mean... they just lost in such a dumbfounder. Do they really have to do it all over again? Did Bobby Portis ever play for the Hawks before? If not, I don’t think I really want to see him get minutes. Maybe Mike Miller can convince him that he did indeed play for the Hawks once. The dismay I feel every day the Knicks suit up is really starting to feel like the nurse just can’t find the vein and they are stabbing me endlessly trying to draw blood.
Am I a just another worthless junkie searching through the trash for a hit?
Frank, you’re too beautiful.
Can you imagine how hard it would be to understand this sentence if the words were out of order? His how Miller is uses that rotations Mike. These Knicks are more than primed for a lineup change and rotation shift. It’s like you should do an oil change every 5,000 miles to make sure your car is always humming.
Any stupid way, the Knicks are fully healthy. I’m sure that means, Frank Ntilikina’s groin is acting up and he’s day-to-day. In another day he’ll be questionable. In a week he’ll be out of the rotation in favor of Dennis Smith Jr. Nice things are not! Allowed!
The Hawks meanwhile are dealing with the absence of Clint Capela or whatever because they traded for a guy that wants to play for a contender. You ever think about that, Atlanta? You try hards! You demons! You... Ah what’s the use?
No matter what we think, we’re always beaten down and pushed back. Throttled under the oppressive aura of our forefathers who enslaved and mutilated the very principles of civility in the name of men birthing modern civilization. Our oafishly balanced anthropocene cruelty gazes over the edge. This land is not mine or yours or ours. This land owns us, and the house has decided on punishment for these greedy parasites, this mass on mother earth’s breast. You’ll breathe the punitive hell fire of your own doing over the entirety of this imperiled rock’s remaining puffs of oxygen. May doom meet you sooner than your maker’s ark can save your repulsive hides. As the fire lances through your burbling flesh and your offal sputter a putrid stink. In that final chaotic gasp for human decency, may you pray that the next hell and the hell after that, cut you off in a field as you pick an idyllic flower for your one true love, rather than watching the wretched Knicks smother your petulant childhood over and over and over again. Anything but this disastrous smell, in your mouth, the decades of impacted shit. Yellow arrowhead cinders of disaster throb and crackle over your carcass.
Climate change is a real sun of a gun, huh?
Keys & Predictions
Ah who gives a damn? Not your parents and not your old fucked up grandparents. I predict the Knicks will try to do the same thing they did yesterday. Mike Miller will stick to his stupid rotations. He chucked the starters in the trash early in the game yesterday only to foolishly over-rely on them in the second half. It’s like he knows how to throw one thing against one wall and just tries to do it over and over again without checking to see if it’s relevant or serviceable. I feel great about this, if you can’t tell.
Any god damn way, anticipate Trae Young getting the mega star whistle and despite playing impeccable defense against his entire series of moves Ntilikina will be immediately voided with foul trouble. Dennis Smith gets some early minutes sprinkled in and he stinks it up. Thankfully, for his sake, he does just enough to make it resemble some cool real-hoopers-know bullshit. If only it ever once worked. He never lets go of the back up point guard reins ever again.
Knicks by -6,942,033.
Warm Up Music
Stop smiling. You don’t get to go there.