For what are the dog days of summer, if we don’t let a little rankings-based anger off the leash?
There is a time for love in basketball, a time to marvel at the spectacle of a sport played well. When it happens, you know. It’s there when LeBron makes a spectacular title-saving block, or when Mike Breen yells out “bang” after a deciding play. It’s a beautiful thing and the world is better for it.
But it is late in August. There is nothing but a grand stretch of non-basketball time before us. Now, my friends, is the time for hate.