Half-assed Preview: Hornets @ Heat

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Published: December 18, 2006

Man, the Hornets season is so screwed up right now, I can't even think straight. They've lost nine of their last eleven games, their two best scorers are out indefinitely due to surgery, and Bobby Jackson's rib isn't looking any less cracked.

Entering today's game in Miami (tip at 6:30pm), their current record is 10-12, which, believe it or not, puts them just a half game behind Golden State for the eighth seed in the West. Unfortunately, that record figures to get a whole lot worse before it gets better. Every game on the schedule looks tough right now. The Hornets are pretty much the underdog no matter who they play, and any win they manage in the next few weeks can be seen as nothing short of miraculous.

But hey, apparently this is the best time of year for miracles. Let's all keep our fingers crossed and hope the Hornets can keep this ship afloat until… ahhhh, who am I kidding? THIS FUCKING SUCKS!

I don't even know what to write. Seriously, I've been trying to write this thing for the past hour. I keep thinking that it could be worse, trying to remember that 2-29 record just two years ago. But that isn't working. At least we all knew then that the Hornets sucked and they wouldn't be making the Playoffs.

But this? This is just torture. Stuck in NBA purgatory. We might get healthy, make the Playoffs and do some damage, or maybe we'll end up in the lottery. You can't call it either way. Back injuries, inflamed elbows, cracked ribs, headaches, headaches, headaches.

Somebody needs to invent some way to measure how injury prone a player is before teams invest millions in them. Maybe it could work like a pregnancy test. You piss on some gizmo and if it turns blue, you don't get that big contract, because you're about as durable as Sam Jackson in Unbreakable. And I'm not just ragging on Peja Stojakovic here. I'm ragging on every Baron Davis, Jamal Mashburn and Larry Johnson that ever played in teal. Ankle sprains, back spasms, positional fucking vertigo. You can't make this shit up.

And the worst part is that there's nobody to blame. Blaming somebody makes it easier. You can point and say "Ha! It's your fault. You're the asshole whose fault it is!" But who do you blame with injuries?

Fuck it, let's blame Dwyane Wade. It's all Dwyane Wade's fault. He kicked Peja. I saw him. He bit David West. There were teeth marks. He was driving the car that knocked down Stephen Jackson. The brawl in MSG on Saturday? That was Wade. He shot Kennedy, he stole Paris Hilton's cell phone, he ate all the cheese pizza on purpose, he introduced John and Yoko, he drafted Sam Bowie, he left the milk out, he invented cancer, he killed Bambi's mom, he lost my virginity, and it was him, yes him, Dwyane Wade, who told everyone Bruce Willis was a ghost.

The bastard.

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