Vanilla Sky Has Fallen

Two years ago The DR draft coverage spotlighted a white boy of considerable intrigue: Joe Alexander, a kid who's combination of size and athleticism was surpassed only by his memorable nickname, Vanilla Sky. Turns out, two years later, that his size was irrelevant, his athleticism underwhelming, and his overall potential vastly inferior to his epic nickname. This season brought about a new low for the Vanilla One: a demotion to the NBA's D-League, a development farm for wannabes and busts. Turns out white guys can jump. To the minors. And then I remembered something important: Vanilla Sky was an atrocious movie starring an atrocious crazyman(long, only need to watch a minute to get the gist). Poor Joe never had a shot with a nickname like that.

But as I thought more about it I became fixated on the reality that in fact white men cannot play basketball very well. I began to scour NBA rosters to find American-born white folk with skills. And what I found was, frankly, gross and pathetic. The best white players aren't very good in the macro view, and they tend to be big ugly ogres who get by on heinous looks and technically perfect box-out techniques. Men like Chris Andersen, Kevin Love, Chris Kaman, Spencer Hawes, Troy Murphy, David Lee, and Brook Lopez. Then there's a whole crop of absurdly mediocre whitebreads who play further away from the hoop, with no increase in success, dudes like Mike Miller, Kirk Hinrich, Mike Dunleavy Jr., Kyle Korver, Luke Walton, Luke Ridnour, Jason Williams, Chase Buddinger, and the Matt's, Harpring, Carrol, and Bonner. Yes I left out some people, but does it matter? You know the state of the white-man has really hit a low point when Louis Amundson might be one of the top 15 caucasoids in the league. Truly, what would you trust any of these men to do well, other than pick out a polo shirt to match their khakis?

But I don't give up hope. Someday there will another white player with serious game, a man who can combine the game of Chris Paul with the skin of Ron Paul. Until then I will yearn for the days of Tom Chambers and Jack Sikma, Rex Chapman, and even the poster boy, for being posterized, Shawn Bradley.

I want to end on a sad note, the end of AI's marriage. How the hell a women stayed with this fella since high school without being accidentally shot by his posse amazes me, but something must have finally pushed her over the edge because she filed for divorce. Seriously, I'm full of sadness for the Iversons. This year has been a string of disappointments and disasters. No attempts at humor here, just saying I think it's sad. Like Vanilla Sky's career.