I MACHINE, NO MORE

Cyber challenges arose Tuesday night, depriving me of the ability to launch an epic treatise on the Sasha/Joe Johnson extravaganza. In fact, I didn’t even know about Johnson initially, the talking heads at ESPN apparently not finding it tangential to the trifecta. A friend filled in the gaps via text. By the time I was able to log on, some 24 hours later, the trade had fallen off the Yahoo front page. If it was ever there to begin with. Not exactly Melo material I guess.

I wasn’t wild about the deal Tuesday and haven’t changed my opinion since. So what if the Machine was an expiring contract in a luxury cap nightmare? He played psycho-ferret defense and could nail a three at the beginning of the clock, despite being the fifth option on the play. Lasting memory: Sasha going to the charity stripe, grimacing and holding his neck after being clothes-lined.... then, fastidiously grooming his eyebrows with moistened fingertips before calmly sinking his free throws. Oh kid.

This trade would engender more sobriety if we’d gotten back someone who might actually play more minutes than Sasha. Don’t get me wrong, I used to really like Joe Johnson. Around 30 years ago, back when that whole T-Wolves tampering thing went down. I may be in the minority here, there’s some that think he could provide useful vet minutes. Yeah, like the Jim Jackson acquisition a few years back.

I’ll miss Sasha. He once had a bright and shiny future, earned himself a nice contract and became just a little too high on himself. The following season was abysmal and the next one not much better. There wasn’t much room for him in the current rotation but he remained a legitimate long-range threat and certainly knew the system. I read that he’s hoping to double his production with the Nets. Three points per game is definitely doable.

I hope Theo returns soon. Maybe we’ll get to see a Ratliff/Johnson combo, advancing up the court with those four-legged walkers with tennis balls on the bottom.  Slide forward, dribble. Slide forward, dribble. Pause to catch breath. As for the Slovenian Rico Suave, may the wind be at your back and best of luck convincing Farmar to pass you the ball in New Jersey.  He never did in L.A..