Wednesday, April 25, 2007

The Golden State Warriors and Iraq

I know that most of you are probably thinking, "Adonal Foyle and Zarko Cabarkapa finally submitted their joint proposal to the United Nations?!?!" No, no, no, I'm not even sure that they ever even had one. This is about how the Warriors are teaching America some valuable lessons that they could apply to the war in Iraq, if only we would listen.

- You can take away the home court advantage, but it will only get you so far. The Warriors just "took away" the home court advantage from Dallas by winning the first game on their court, but where has it gotten them, really? We still have to win the series, and in order to really capitalize on the victory we'd have to win three games in a row at the Oracle Arena, a task as tall as it is unfunny. We can mitigate the fact that we are fighting on the insurgents' soil with superior technology and speedy transport, but ultimately we still have to stop the insurgency on the ground level.

- They just don't stop coming. Even once the Warriors beat the soulless Mavericks, we'll still have to tango with the next challenger, likely Houston's duo of Chinese giant Yao Ming and American-bred Tracy "I just woke up" McGrady. From then on we could take on Pheonix, the Spurs, or maybe even the Godless Adulterer himself, Kobe Bryant. Even if we manage to take out the local militia that exists in Iraq now, who's to say that reinforcements won't come poring in from extremist populations in surrounding nations? A conundrum as simple as it is real.

- The people that we're fighting against will go to any length to win. Let's not sugar-coat things here. Dirk Nowitzki's pointy elbows and Mark Cuban's referee intimidation tactics are akin (on a metaphoric level) to suicide bombers and oil embargoes in the Middle East. This is total war, where you go hard to the basket on every possession because it could very well be your last. But it leaves us drained, drained of soldiers in the saddest sense, drained of dollars in the most ironic sense, and drained of energy in the most annoying sense. What if another war starts up, what if we make it to the next round? We will have the resources to defend ourselves, or we will have to rely on our neighbors the Canadians to help defend us? That would be the basketball equivalent of Sarunas Jasikevicius going 45 minutes.

Despite all this, we push forward, behind Baron Davis' million dollar smile and the campaign financing of George W.'s millionaire oil tycoon buddies. Somewhere, deep on the horizon, lies a moral, a conclusion, a way for America to find itself while it watches grown men run up and down an 84-foot court. It seems to tell me that there's no way we'll ever win, and just like Alexander the Great and numerous 8-seeds before us, we'll wind up condemned to a footnote in the history books of yet another failed Iraqi nation-building attempt, of yet another failed run-and-gun offense. But from the other stratosphere I spot hope: an end to Iraq, the National Basketball Championship, looming there, refusing to go away. And you and I, America, are stuck in the middle, trying to decide whether it's worth rooting for my hometown team or whether I should just give up and vote Green. To quote the Notorious B.I.G., "you either slangin' crack rock or you got a wicked jump shot." Preach, Biggie, preach. We're listening.