A Phone Call from Sacramento

Sergio: ¡Hola, Rudy!

Me: ¡El Chacho! ¿Que pasa, mi amigo?

Sergio: I merely wished to check in with you. Long time, no alley oop!

Me: ¡Naturalamente! So this has nothing to do with your match last evening?

Sergio: I don’t know which match you mean—

Me: The one in which you had 24 points, five assists, and two steals in 24 minutes?

Sergio: Ah, THAT match. Yes, fortune indeed smiled upon me. But you forgot something.

Me: Nonsense!

Sergio: No turnovers! Further, at this juncture, only Chris Paul and Steve Nash outstrip me as the NBA's top point guards!

Me: ¡Felicidades! Ah, but wait… I smell something…

Sergio: Are you cooking pollo?

Me: No. But I detect the odor of a most unsavory gloating wafting up from south of Portland!

Sergio: Ha ha! But there is no need to be churlish, Machetero! Now let me tell you about a particular alley oop. At one point, I took a knee at the three-point line and threw a behind-the-back pass to the rim—

Me: Please! Speak no further of making spectacular passes at your mates, for I am consumed with envy! Last year, 103% of my alley oops emanated from your able Canary Islander fingertips. And this year, I am below the poverty line for alley oops-ing.

Sergio: Forgive my insensitivities! It must be difficult to be paired with mates who are not as sympatico to your needs as a fellow countryman. And so, onwards to happier topics! Let me tell you more about the charming pavilion in which our matches transpire. It is called Arco Arena and…[end transcript]

Sergio foto from Sactown Royalty.

Things I Would Do in Lieu of Losing Two Matches in a Row by an Unseemly Margin

1.) Quaff lye.

2.) Don Steve Blake’s apparel for a fortnight.

3.) Pose with Ricky Rubio on his eponymous website.

I am no expert at losing! But observing my mates, I conclude that the figure of Loss guts ALL the varieties of fish that come to his net. He counts among his prey both rookies and graybeards, both the diminutive antipodean (Patty Mills) and the indigent Goliath (Greg Oden).

He is not queasy-stomached; Loss swallows without chewing, cramming unspectacular guard play and weak-chinned defense into his ungracious maw. Loss thirsts after our victories, and drinks them down like mother’s milk.

In short, Loss is most horrible!

Enmienda: I must amend a previous statement. I would rather encounter Loss than appear as a model on Ricky's website. Such a photo-shoot would represent a fashion Loss even more grievous than the indignities we have suffered on the parquet. (The mascara, mi Dios, the mascara!)

Errores Artística

Did you know? I enjoy painting! My palette is usually derived from an unusual list of ingredients which includes dyes wrung from espresso grounds, opponents’ tears, turnip greens, axle grease, the leaves of the Oregon grape, boiled jimson weed, burnt matchsticks, crushed spirits, pine sap, and the sodden red crepe paper streamers that are left over after home victories.

And when these hues fail me, I just use the leftover house paints that I found abandoned in Sergio Rodruguez’s garage.

But during our recent match against the Chicago Bulls, I committed an unusual artistic mistake. Seeing the opportunity for a most dastardly assist, I whipped the ball in an unexpected way towards the basket.

But it was then that Luol Deng’s visage intervened! A facial ricochet! The ball bounced off Deng’s features with a fearful thudding! Everyone in the pavilion quailed or cheered, depending on their dispositions as Deng took on a reddened, swollen aspect. It was not a hue I meant to choose, but ¿qué podía decirle?

Rudy foto from rudy5.net, tweet from Pdxtrailblazers.

A Note to Corey Brewer

For the final time: I do not have any spare coinage (euros or otherwise) upon my person.

The Mantle That Covers Human Thought

As is known, Andre Miller is an active streaker. But as his streak is not dermatological, it is unapparent to even the most astute observer. That is to say, he has played in over 540 straight NBA games without failing.

What is his secret? As the point guard is a taciturn fellow, his few words on any matter are magnified in meaning. (Inversely, this explains why my mates cheerfully ignore Martell Webster’s monologues.)

Spying Andre being interviewed on his capabilities, I had two hopes. One was to hear how he does it. The other was to hear Andre intone “I am Iron Man” in a deep, robotic voice.

Sneaking closer, I dropped from the eaves to listen in… only to find that Andre attributes his successes to multiple naps! As a Spaniard, you can imagine my pleasures at this. I come from a culture that was founded on naps and built from dreams!

Thus enthused, I interrupted the interviews proceedings.

“Blessings on him who invented sleep, the mantle that covers all human thoughts, the common currency that buys all things, the balance and weight that equalises the point guard and the power forward, the simpleton and the sage,” I recited.

The Iron Man and the reporter looked at me without expression.

After a moment, Andre turned to the journalist and said, “Plus I don’t eat barbeque.”

Miller foto from the AP, Rudy from origen desconocido.

A Catch-and-Shoot-22

I am a child of the mean sands of Palma de Mallorca.

I point out this obviousness for a reason. It seems that even now, opponents and journalists are sometimes unaware that my lanky frame belies a coiled steel within! This steel was forged years ago in the languid heats of my home island.

Because Palma de Mallorca is Europe’s playground destination, its grittiness, like mine, is also frequently misunderestimated. But rest assured, mi amigo, semi-hardened criminals have been known to lurk in the few locations on the island that are not kissed by the sun.

Per ejemplo, as a teenager, my mates and I once returned to my home from a mid-day outing at the beach only to find a thief going through my family’s belongings. Given our numbers, the rascal had no chance of making the escape! Judging from his shamed countenance and excellent clothing choices, I decided to give him a choice: the police or a three-point shooting contest with me.

To my infinite delight, the thief chose the latter. So we escorted him to the local parquet, and minutes later, his wails could be heard throughout the community.

“Police! I want the police!”

Rudy foto from the Oregonian.

A Farewell to Legs

On the Blazers, five of my mates begin each match. Then, as time passes, these players are replaced by the so-called “bench-mates.” And I count myself proudly among them. We bench-mates are here to provide sparks off the bench. How is this accomplished? With static-generating shorts! As we leap into action, sparks fly and fans swoon.

But sadly, in our recent Charlotte match, two of my bench-mates fell victim to the injury. Travis Outlaw suffered a broken foot bone while busting a routine move. And in a manner most bizarre, Jerryd Bayless tripped over a hump in a hallway carpet and nearly killed himself!

His bellows of pain filled the coliseum, and I had to assist him to assistance. This was no easy matter; Jerryd is a most dense 200 pounds (195 without his cologne). How to explain such a sad conjunction of misfortunes in Charlotte?

It was almost as if Travis and Jerryd were being manipulated by some barely-glimpsed and malevolent puppeteer. Ah, but surely such a notion is ludicrous!

Top Bayless foto from Blaze of Love, Larry Brown from the SI Vault.

Clotheslined!

In our recent match, I thought I hit the jackpocket. Not only did the fearful Ukrainian Oleksiy Pecherov barely take part in the game, but I filled my in-boxes with 15 points, 5 rebounds, 4 assists, 4 turnovers, and 3 thefts of the basketball from the opposition. (I lead all bench players in the latter category.)

And even so, I feel as though I have been knocked senseless and left out to dry! I refer not to my minutes but to the misdeed perpetuated at the blog site known as Ladies… Its “Hump Day Hotties” posting was dedicated to the Portland Trail Blazers. Who would reign supreme as el hombre más caliente? It is a surprise! While beefcake-on-a-fashion plate subjects like Jerryd Bayless and myself are alluded to, the focus of Hump Day Hottieness is…

Steve Blake?

Like Zach Randolph suddenly jabbing his thumb in my cornea, I did not see that coming! Yet though I am slighted, I offer Ladies… the instructive words of Miguel de Cervantes in the best spirit:

“A private sin is not so prejudicial in this world, as a public indecency.”

Rudy foto from BlazersEdge.