While working out at the gym tonight, Celtics-Knicks was on. My first chance to see Anthony Randolph, the heavily hyped forward New York received from Golden State in exchange for David Lee.
In a word: Blech.
My least-favorite kind of basketball player. Receives a pass—shoots. Dribbled up the court—shoot. Falling away, head turned toward the stands—shoots. Grabs a rebound—shoots. I saw him play for approximately seven minutes, and it’s all I need to make the assessment that this guy is bad news (not as a human; just as a forward).
It’s funny—as a kid I loved players like Randolph, because they filled up stat sheets, and stat sheets were all I needed. In baseball, I assumed San Diego’s Gene Richards was legend, because his average was always around .300. In hoops, I never understood how Tony Campbell of the T-Wolves wasn’t playing for a better team, what with his 22 ppg. On the football field, Lam Jones was going to be the greatest Jet receiver of them all, because he boasted 4.3 speed.
Now, it’s Randolph.
People here are excited about the Knicks, and I think it’s severely misplaced. I obviously like Amar’e Stoudemire, the team’s first legitimate star since the Houston-Spree days. But is Ray Felton a guy you want playing point? Do they have a center who can even average, oh, 8 points and 7 rebounds? Can a bench with dudes like Roger Mason and Bill Smith produce?
I think, uh, no.