It's So Cold in Your D

The D is for Do-It-Yourself D'Antoni car washes and auto parts. The J is for letters not in Wilson Chandler's name.


The New York Knickerbocker tradition has already seen enough low moments to last a millennial nightmare. Disaffected fans have leaned into that sense of heroine comfort that comes with Zeke Era flubs. Not only did Isiah Thomas drag the red and blue franchise through the mud, he took the logo on a horse shit hayride with his apple-picking buddies. Even Stephon Marbury, in his brilliantly dull, none-too-subtle way, alluded to forming the perfect point guard tag-team for some PR pawnette in their secret world of Escalade BJ's and discarded rubbers. When Mike D'Antoni arrived, his smile seemed to belie Eddy Curry's waistline, Chris Duhon's commitment, and Larry Hughes's shot selection. For a moment during the LeBron 2010 preseason appetizer, all was right. Apparently, the Italian kid with the bored Toni Kukoc impression was the best shooter of all time, and even if the dim forecast had cast clouds over the MSG empire, the taste of Nate Robinson pull-up treys soothed like General Tso to a cold Hebrew stomach.

Now, Mike's offensive wizardy, hailed in the Valley of the Sun as a career savior (see: Quentin Richardson), looks like a half-baked, hard sell...especially to him. He's unveiled his inner cynic as the LeBron questions give way to the "defensive mindset" questions, making him amenable to the ever ravenous press corps. That the media has exhausted its losing team questionnaire so early in the season has long-time hopefuls wondering when his look of fatigue will deteriorate into Jeff Van Gundy's classic perma-pout. It's the one that sets in when he realizes he's traded gold rings for a fan belt and some dusty brake pads.