Warriors heighten expectations

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Warriors heighten expectations

Once again Wednesday night, the Golden State Warriors blew a golden opportunity to bring some calm, rational, sane perspective to their season.

They won in Miami. They won a close game in Miami. They won because a rookie saw a veteran overplay the wrong guy and another veteran not cover his overplay and broke to the basket wide open for the winning layup with .9 seconds to play.

[HIGHLIGHTS: Green's last-second layup gives Warriors win in Miami]

In other words, they continue to get people heated up about a season that would make We Believe look like We Feel Like Our Cough May Be Abating A Bit.

(It is at this point that we should warn those of you who are sarcasm-impaired that the rest of this story will continue along this vein. If you find that off-putting, confusing, or excessively left-handed, you should go somewhere else. Or grit your teeth and misunderstand it with all your might. The choice if yours. For the rest of you, we will continue).

In beating the defending NBA champions on their own floor for only the fourth time in 31 tries going back 20 years, the Warriors have done the unconscionable – they have forced a fan base accustomed to temper its hopes and expectations to ratchet them wildly upward.

And that means what, children? Demands, more expectations, more demands. Suddenly folks on the street are going to remember that they know more about basketball than the coaches and players, and that if they were only coaching or playing the team would be much better than the one which is currently on a pace to win 56 games.

(And yes, we know that “on a pace to” is the lousiest phrase in sports. Go with us here a bit, will ya?)

It means angst and arguing about what will happen when Andrew Bogut returns, and how Andris Biedrins should be in the rotation more, and when Draymond Green and Harrison Barnes are going to hit the rookie wall, and whether Carl Landry or Jarrett Jack should win Comeback Player of the Year.

[RELATED: Ratto -- What will Andrew Bogut's return mean to the Warriors?

It means bullying their way into conversations about the NBA that Laker and Heat and Celtic and Maverick and Spur and Thunder fans have been holding behind their backs for . . . well, 35 years now.

It means tavern fights.

All because the Warriors don’t know how to gradually escape earth orbit. They are 5-0 on a seven-game road trip, entering Orlando Friday night – the same Orlando that so thoughtfully reminded them that the NBA is no place for children by slapping them on their own floor a week and change ago.

And all because they couldn’t turn down the thermostat a bit by losing at Washington the night after winning at Brooklyn.

And all because they are doing this while the Lakers are aggressively stinking out the division. They’ve suddenly become some sort of ESPN charity case, as though the Staples Center was damaged in Superstorm Sandy and desperately needs not only Steve Nash’s return but a relief concert with Billy Joel and Paul McCartney as the septuagenarian headliners.

Now how do the Warriors expect the customers to hold their pants on with all that happening?

It is this level of wasteful emotion that imperils what we have all safely and comfortably predicted for them – a nice 38- to 42-win season in which improvement is evident yet not overwhelming. It is a classic example of getting out over one’s skis, as the tragically hip like to say. They are Peaking Too Early.

Not for themselves, of course. They presumably have been told that every win now is a game that cannot be a loss later, and that playing defense and rebounding are not just a jocular repudiation of the failed basketball of the last two decades, but a way of life. They’re doing fine.

But in doing fine, they imperil the rest of us. The bandwagon hasn’t even been fitted for the second axle yet and already it looks like a refugee ship. The carefully crafted plan for slow, solid growth that can last more than a few years is being abandoned for the more fashionable win-two-out-of-every-three-games nonsense that has attracted the Heat and Mavs and Lakers and Spurs and Celtics.

We are faced with a choice far too early in our development – buy in now, buy in later, or don’t buy in at all. The third choice seems increasingly foolish, the second seems prudent but a bit Elmer Fudd-like, and the first just seems throw-the-empties-out-the-sun-roof reckless.

Warrior fans are not used to this level of agony before Christmas. This is plainly wrong and unfair, and the mass vertigo of the moment cannot be good for anyone’s constitution.

Maybe what the Warriors need, then, is a Great Time Out.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll run out the back door so as not to be struck by any flying beer steins.

Ray Ratto is a columnist for CSNBayArea.com

Frank Deford's longform storytelling made him worthy of our attention

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AP

Frank Deford's longform storytelling made him worthy of our attention

Frank Deford’s death over the weekend did not mark the end of longform sportswriting as we knew it; he had long ago become part of the electronic commentariat that has reduced longform’s place in the public’s attention span.

But there is still longform writing and storytelling to be found in many places, and it is still worthwhile. It has more production value, as the TV folks like to blather, and the words have to fight for their place between the cracks left by the pictures and the mutated graphics, but longform lives, and it should, lest we all agree as one people to further desiccate that attention span like a grapefruit left in the sun.

Deford’s death, though, reminds of when longform was the zenith of the storytelling art. It could, and still can, give you access and depth and breadth that a TV crew simply could not, and cannot. Even extended TV features are by their very nature so contrived by all the equipment that nothing is natural, nothing is a surprise, and the act of writing is almost an afterthought.

Deford knew this. He more than merely dabbled in TV himself, playing the wizened old raconteur who was as much character in his pieces as storyteller. He was also a star and a starmaker with The National, a daily sports network in newspaper form that was long on talent and ideas but short on delivery and distribution. It lasted 17 months, until mid-1991, but it led to grander attempts decades later, and could if you squint your eyes hard enough be the natural parent of Grantland and The Ringer and Vice and SB Nation and dozens of others – all bigger ideas, positioned in the post-typing world. Some lasted, more didn’t, but capitalism is like that – making fuel to keep the fires burning and the engines churning.

Deford could have thrived in such a world, to be sure. He was not, in the hideous phrase, “a man of his time.” Indeed, he was a crossover figure years ago in ways that other longform writers attempt to resist even now. They want to be Deford at the height of his powers at a time when the instruments for their gift are either dying or veering away from anything that hits the 600-word mark.

But his passing did not kill the art of clever writing and incisive storytelling. There are far too many people who can do that still, even if the market for their gifts is neither as pronounced nor as eager for the product as it once was. It did remind us not only that he was a giant, but that there are still giants among us should we deign to take the time to seek them.

Thus, Deford’s death marked his passing but not the thing that made him worthy of our attention. Storytelling, longform and otherwise, remains the heart of why this is still worthwhile to a culture, and when the generation his work spawned starts to die off, I suspect we’ll still be saying the same thing then. Notebooks are smartphones, photographs are streams, but the human eye and ear and hand still remain pre-eminent.

That is, until the robots take over, at which point reading won’t be worth it.

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

Does St. Louis' suit against NFL mean hope for the City of Oakland?

You thought you were done worrying about the Raiders. You thought the votes were in, the moving vans booked for three years down the road, and all gnashing and sharpening of teeth was over. You thought you were free.

Then those buttinsky-come-latelies from St. Louis decided to rear their litigious heads, and now you find yourselves slipping back into that desperate-hope world from which no one escapes.

It seems the city and its regional sports authority has decided to sue the National Football League and its 32 semi-independent duchies over the relocation of the Rams 15 months ago because, and you’ll like this one, the league allegedly did not follow its own relocation rules when it moved the team.

As you know, there is no such thing as a rule if everyone governed by the rule decided unanimously to ignore the rule. This doctrine falls under the general heading of, “We’re billionaires, try and stop us.”

But all lawsuits have a common denominator, and that is that there is money at the end of the rainbow. St. Louis is claiming it is going to miss out on approximately $100 million in net proceeds (read: cash) and has decided that the NFL and especially their good pal Stan Kroenke is going to have to pay for permission to do what they have already done -- specifically, leave.

Because the suit was filed in St. Louis, the benefits of home field advantage apply, and the league is likely to have to reinflate their lawyers for some exciting new billable hours.

As to whether it turns into a windfall for the jilted Missourians, well, as someone who has known lawyers, I would list them as prohibitive underdogs. But there is nuisance value here, which brings us to Oakland.

The city and county, as we know, did not put its best shoe forward in trying to lure the Raiders into staying or the other 31 owners into rejecting the team’s pleas for geographical relief. By that, we mean that the city and county did not fall all over itself to meet the league’s typically extortionate demands.

But they did play angry enough to start snipping about the 2019 part of the Raiders’ 3-More-Coliseum-Years plan, and they are threatening to sue over about $80K in unpaid parking fees, so filing their own breach-of-rules lawsuit might be a possibility.

Because, hey, what’s the point of sounding like a nuisance if you can’t actually become one?

By now, it is clear that everyone in SuitWorld got what it needed out of the Raiders’ move. The city and county could concentrate on guiding the A’s into activity on their own new stadium. The team could go where Mark Davis has been agitating for it to go for at least three years – somewhere else. The state of Nevada could find a place for that $750 million that was burning a hole in its casino vault. And the league went to a market that it, at first reluctantly and then enthusiastically, decided should be its own.

The fans? Oh, please. Who cares about them? To the NFL, and to all corporations in all walks of business, folks are just walking wallets.

But for some cash? Well, climb on board, suckers. The gravy train is pulling out on Track 3.

Nobody is fool enough to think the Raiders would be forced to return. Hell, even St. Louis isn’t asking for the Rams back. They just want to get paid for the money they probably banked on in the good old days before Stan Kroenke decided to head west.

And that would doubtless be Oakland’s stance as well if. Now the circumstances are slightly different, in that St. Louis worked harder to keep the Rams than Oakland did to keep the Raiders. St. Louis scared up $350 million toward new digs for the Rams, well short of what Kroenke would have accepted, while Oakland said it could get its hands on some infrastructure money and no more.

But Mayor Libby Schaaf complained in her relocation post mortem that the league didn’t follow its own guidelines (yay correlation as causation!), maybe with an eye toward throwing a few lawyers into the fire to see how long it would burn.

There is not yet any indication that the city and county are going that route (and the silence may simply mean that they are sick of the Raiders’ saga as everyone else seems to be), but if they do, well, don’t freak out that the team might be forced to return.

Except, of course, in that place where migraines start. Dragging this back up is a bit like the phantom pain amputees feel -- but hey, people will do a lot for a bit of court-ordered cash. Anyone who has ever watched Judge Judy will understand.