Kevin Durant is a Vibe Destroyer

4 NBA Lessons I Learned This Week, plus come get ya March horoscopes.

March Horoscopes

It’s been a minute since I brought you guys horoscopes but I’m feeling in tune with the universe. The planets have aligned, opening my eyes to the divine. Here are your March horoscopes:

Saggitarius

Expect a windfall of good fortune this month. Buy a couple lotto scratch-offs, you’re guaranteed to at least get your money back. Oh, but if you win big, you owe me a cut for suggesting it. That’s legally binding.

Cancer

You’re gonna butt heads with your loved ones this month. Learn some helpful communication tools like saying “I’m fine” when you’re pissed, ready to crash out at any moment.

Make a list of all the realistic ways you could get away with murdering them. And don’t just write “cut brakes”, like, do your Googles and figure out how to even do that. As you learn more about vehicle brake systems, you’ll soon forget why you were even angry in the first place. Perhaps, you’ll walk away with a new fascination with cars. Look at that, you found a new hobby. Namaste.

Scorpio

Have you tried meditation? Boring as hell, right? Instead of clearing your mind of clutter by sitting quietly Indian style on your bedroom floor, say all of your thoughts out loud. Just unload your inner thoughts at all times. This month, make talking to yourself cool. Take it back from the serial killers. Normalize solo yapping.

Aquarius

March is about to be a nightmare for you. But god gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers. Unfortunately, we lose strong soldiers on the daily. So.

Libra

Read “The Medium is the Message” by Marshall McLuhan. Read “Anti-intellectualism in American Life” by Richard Hofstadter. Read “Nickel and Dimed” by Barbara Ehrenreich.

Virgo

Every border implies the violence of its maintenance.

Gemini

Start a DIY project. Those people seem content with life eating off dining tables made from rotting wood pallets they find behind the old Mattress Firm—yea, the one covered in moss and mushrooms that haven’t been identified yet. Don’t you want shelves on your wall made from old license plates? I know you work 6 days a week but you should make time to rip the circular saw out in the backyard, first thing in the morning too. Make sure all your neighbors know how handy you are.

Taurus

St, Patrick’s Day isn’t even a real holiday. Stay home.

Leo

They used to light women on fire when they had their own original opinions. Don’t be so shy. You’ll make it home safely.

Capricorn

Tip your DoorDash driver. Hold the door open. Say thank you. I know you heard that man sneeze, say bless you. Dap a baby.

Pisces

You can’t plant all the seeds you want but if you never water them, you’re just hoarding dirty seeds.

Aries

Stream Emilia Perez on Netflix. It’s really important to Zoe Saldana.

---

4 NBA Lessons I Learned This Week

Let’s talk some Sunday evening hoops (or, I guess, whenever you read this). From Luka joining the LeBron and the Lakers to Mitchell Robinson rising from the dead to save the Knicks, here are 4 NBA lessons I learned this week:

1. RIP (Cool) Luka Doncic

Rooting for the Boston Celtics or Los Angeles Lakers will always feel like dweeb endeavors. Vanilla ice cream, Dasani water, white generic New Balance behavior. “Hey, I’m not starting this car until everyone has their seatbelts on”, bib collar tucked, SuperCuts customers.

And now they have Luka Doncic.

This is hell.

Thanks to a petty general manager convincing a new, cheap, dangerously powerful ownership group they should trade their 25-year-old superstar—less than a year from leading this organization to the NBA Finals—Luka Doncic now plays for your lamest friend’s favorite team: The Los Angeles Lakers.

Luka Doncic is an arrogant, showboating, ball hog who, at any point in the night, can turn a game into a carnival event. His dribbling appears so labored and physically taxing then, in the blink of an eye, through herculean efforts, he finds enough space to launch a deep 3-pointer that rims in, 12 labors later—barking at his defender, or the crowd or the opposing team’s bench—as if he convinced himself someone in the building doubted his talent.

Dallas Mavericks GM, Nico Harrison, claimed Luka was an obese, hookah-smoking alcoholic—like, yea, that’s the shit that makes Luka so cool.

Luka looks like a bus driver in Queens, by day—by night, one of the most dynamic scorers on the planet, smoking cigarettes at half time and finishing a 6-pack of Bud heavies before the team bus gets to the hotel.

He’s like if Clark Kent shotgun a beer to transform into Superman.

And now he’s joining forces with LeBron James—a man who spends more money to maintain his physique than Elon Musk spends on the aliens he keeps siring, whose names are all strong password suggestions.

LeBron’s emitted dad energy for at least 12 years now. I mean, shit, his son is literally on the Lakers. LeBron James is the team dad.

Luka is about to go through Boot Camp, returning from summer vacation with an entirely different personality. Swag confiscated. Luka is about to have the best posture—this soon-to-be well-rested, on-time, well-mannered milquetoast, predictable professional.

All the flashy, risky cross-court passes are memories. Corporate Luka is here to win basketball games efficiently. You must win games and please the sponsors. The Lakers are running Luka through the lame machine.

RIP to the beer-chugging, shit-talking, ass-kicking, Stone Cold Steve Austin of the NBA.

---

2. Mitchell Robinson is the reason I’m even writing this

In 2018, the New York Knicks drafted Mitchell Robinson in the 2nd round. 2018 was a nightmare. David Fizdale was a statue on the sidelines, smiling ear-to-ear, Milhouse-fitted, as the Knicks lost by 50 every night.

They won 17 games that year. 17.

The front office was lit on fire, allowing Leon Rose—one of the biggest talent agents in North America—to emerge from the ashes, revealing his mob ties, bringing in Tom Thibodeau, an assistant coach on the 90s Knicks and Rick Brunson, a player from the 90’s Knicks—and eventually signing their son, Jalen Brunson, the most clutch player in the NBA today.

Blood in, blood out.

The days of sitting on the edge of my seat, anxiously waiting to see how this 12-second Eddy Curry post-up will end, are over.

Somehow, someway, Mitchell Robinson is the only player left from the before times, back when Emmanual Mudiay was our Lisan al Gaib.

Robinson has survived a hostile takeover—proving his worth with Odell Beckham sticky, one-handed touchdown hands, sucking every rebound in arm’s length—generating momentum with insane offensive rebounds, propelling Knicks fans to their feet, turning Madison Square Garden into a Travis Scott concert. Be safe.

But Mitchell Robinson has been out all season after Joel Embiid—frustrated by the crown of thorns placed upon him by an organization he never chose to play for—put him in an ankle lock in the first round of last year’s playoffs.

Despite this, the Knicks are 39-20, lounging comfy in the 3 seed of the Eastern Conference. They’ll have back-to-back 50-win seasons for the first time since 1995—I was chillin on Sesame Street.

A small problem’s arisen.

The New York Knicks are 0-7 against the OKC Thunder, Cleveland Cavaliers and Boston Celtics—the top 3 teams in the NBA.

Not only have they lost every matchup against these teams, but they’ve been kicked out the club—including last weekend with a 142-105 loss to the Cavs on Friday and a 118-105 loss to the Celtics on Sunday.

Basically, the New York Knicks are the best team in the NBA—until they play the actual best teams in the NBA—in which case, the Knicks are just a team in the NBA. Barely.

I love Karl-Anthony Towns—one of the best big men in NBA history.

Karl-Anthony Towns is averaging 24.6 points and 13.3 rebounds a night on 53% shooting from the field and 47% from 3. He’s had 19 games scoring 30+ points, including a couple weeks ago when he scored 44, 40, and 32 in back-to-back-to-back nights.

And it doesn’t matter.

Oklahoma City, Cleveland and Boston knock on their front doors and the Knicks get down and whisper “shh..” at each other, pretending not to be home.

Unfortunately, even though KAT is only 29 years old, he’s in his 10th NBA season. Injuries have robbed Towns of any athleticism—shuffling around the court like my great-grandmother waddling to the bathroom.

The Knicks star, Jalen Brunson, is my height. He can’t dunk a basketball. Karl-Anthony Towns is 7-feet and can’t run or slide or jump or move.

Their defense has more holes than something with a lot of holes. Sorry. The horoscopes took most of my brain energy.

When OKC, Cleveland or Boston see the Knicks on the schedule, they float into the arena like they followed the aroma of a pie sitting on a window sill.

But on Friday night, the vision was actualized. The longest-tenured Knick returned from the grave.

This team does not function, at full capacity, without Mitchell Robinson—the scarecrow standing in the paint, preventing opposing teams from getting easy buckets at the rim.

Robinson played 12 minutes, scored 6 points, collected 5 rebounds and was a team-high +11 as the Knicks beat the Memphis Grizzlies—a team that came into the game with the same record as New York.

Mitchell Robinson is the key to the Knicks winning a championship this season.