1992 Dream Team vs. 2016 Me Team

Selective memory has warped your brain. Your grandmother’s cooking was not very good. The girl that sat across from you in algebra never liked you. Both of your childhood dogs had below average intelligence (even by dog standards). That beautiful, foreign woman, who emailed she loved you and needed $5000 transferred to her account in order to escape…actually, that one seemed pretty legit. And the 1992 Olympic Dream Team is not the greatest basketball team that ever was, or will be.

Sorry, the grandmother thing was harsh. I’m just trying to talk you into being more open-minded about certain opinions and/or memories that have been corroded by time. In other words, you’re a stubborn-ass-mule and it’s really annoying. Hell, I’m guilty. If you ask me the greatest hip-hop album of all time, I’m going to say A Tribe Called Quest’s “Midnight Marauders.” And the greatest television comedy of all time? Seinfeld.

So, if what you feel about your grandmother’s cooking is on the same level as what I feel about Seinfeld — this article faces a sturdy uphill climb. But I don’t want to fight. Let us join hands brothers and sisters and sing songs of change and unity. Maybe there are funnier shows on television today and Seinfeld was simply the first of its kind. Maybe your grandmother’s eggs were runny and she occasionally burned the toast. I’m sure age is getting the better of our once reasonable minds. Maybe our lawn should be a place where children come to frolic and play. Let’s remove the “keep off grass” sign together.

I chose to focus on the ’92 Dream Team because I too thought this team was untouchable — but that’s changed. Greatest at that time? Sure, no argument here. But to say there can never be a greater team? Since 1992, it’s all been downhill? That’s spitting in the face of today’s players (probably from Charles Barkley, he was a spitter).

But here’s what’s interesting. My father’s formative years were in the late 1960’s and 70’s, and this is the NBA era he thinks will never be bested. All I heard growing up were the names Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Jerry West, “Pistol Pete,” George Gervin, Oscar Robertson, Dr. J, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Bill Walton, Nate “Tiny” Archibald, Walt Frazier, Elgin Baylor and Moses Malone. Oh, don’t even get him started on Moses Malone. I thought he was the savior long before they started pushing Jesus.

And look, I could probably be talked into these legends being the all-time best if you catch me on the right day. I think Michael Jordan is the best basketball player ever until you start reciting me Bill Russell stats. He won how many championships? Wilt Chamberlain averaged how many points a season? And slept with how many women? (It would be tough dating a woman knowing she slept with Wilt the Stilt. It was how long?)

So I argue, if I put together my own Dream Team comprised of stars from the 2016 NBA season, they would not only equal the original team, but far surpass them. (I also think the 1996, 2008 and 2012 were just as good, but people still seem to remain loyal with the originals.) I stuck with the original Dream Team’s format of four point/shooting guards, six small/power forwards, and two centers. And I chose a collegiate player to match.

1992 Dream Team

(PG’s) John Stockton, Magic Johnson, (SG’s) Michael Jordan, Clyde Drexler, (SF’s) Charles Barkley, Scottie Pippen, Chris Mullin, (PF’s) Larry Bird, Karl Malone, Christian Laettner, (C’s) David Robinson, Patrick Ewing.

2016 Me Team

(PG’s) Chris Paul, Stephen Curry (SG’s) Dwyane Wade, Klay Thompson (SF’s) Lebron James, Kawhi Leonard, Paul George (PF’s) Kevin Durant, Blake Griffin, Brandon Ingram (C’s) Anthony Davis, Demarcus Cousins.

Keep in mind I have no idea what the hell I’m talking about. You want analytics? I’m like the Charles Barkley of analytics. I would use SportVU player tracking cameras to measure how efficient my cat Ling-Ling is at chasing her tail (Her PER is 28.25 — not too shabby). If my job was to supply advanced stats on players, I would be fired immediately for typing “Boobs” on the calculator. This is just an attempt to amuse you ­– please keep that in mind.

Centers

Patrick Ewing was one sweaty bastard. Did he even bother with an antiperspirant? They had to bring in three extra mop guys on game night, focused solely on his puddles. The 4th quarter sweat alone could have saved the lives of an entire desert village in Africa from dehydration. They would have called him “Kubwa Kubwa Maji” which in Swahili means, “The Great Water Giant” (thanks Google Translate).

Ewing was a quality center but I have another sweaty monster of my own…BOOGIEEEEEEEE!!! DeMarcus Cousins can do everything Patrick Ewing can do, plus shoot threes (sort of). I just need Boogie to feel like Ewing has disrespected him in some way. I need angry Boogie. “Hey Boogie, Ewing said HE looks better than your girlfriend!”

David Robinson was a military veteran and a dunking/shot-blocking Hall of Famer. But if Hollywood had a keener eye, he would’ve been an incredible “Captain America” in the mid-90’s. No need for a doctored costume to simulate muscles, he was the mold. And every superhero needs a villain and surly it would have been Hakeem “The Dream” Olajuwon. But for the 2016 sequel the villain is being re-cast with Anthony Davis a.k.a. “The Brow.” I’m making him watch game tape when Robinson won the NBA MVP award during the playoffs in front of Olajuwon. “Brow! Do what that guy did!”

Power Forwards

Larry Bird would be really tough for any of my guys to play against…if it was 1986. In 1992, just to play, Bird’s back needed ice, heat, ice again, a wish granting monkey’s paw, and more ice.

He’s going to have a tough time covering Kevin Durant. Unless by some miracle, Bird could somehow switch Durant’s body with that of a child (with poor basketball skills) making him a bumbling fool on the court, unable to do anything right. That sounds like a funny premise. Ooh, and what if that child gained all of Durant’s skills? Oh my, can you imagine the hijinks? Forget this stupid article and let’s start writing the script. What’s that? Thunderstruck? Dammit, even the title is fantastic.

Karl Malone is a frightening man. He’s a white redneck trapped in a black man’s powerlifting body. He hunts, drives a tractor trailer, and wears cutoff sleeves that show off arms only a middle linebacker should possess. I feel sorry he had to live in Utah all those years because NBA players like to take naps. Can you imagine how many times he was startled awake by a couple of white boys on bicycles ringing his door bell? You don’t want to make a cranky guy, with arms that big, even crankier (that’s how you get 40 stiches in your head).

Watching a Utah Jazz game was absolute torture. Anytime John Stockton made a layup, my eyes would grow heavy. Then Karl Malone would get fouled and during his tedious free throw monologue, which must have been like hypnosis, and I would black out, wake up, and he’d have 30 points.

So I’m putting Blake Griffin on him. I almost went with LeMarcus Aldridge since he’s a jump shooting nightmare for opponents, but unfortunately a nightmare for my conscious brain. He’s boring. But with Blake, there’s a chance he’ll dunk and put his bi-racial balls on Malone’s forehead.

I once thought Christian Laettner was a preppy, privileged, douchebag from Duke. But after watching the 30 for 30 “I Hate Christian Laettner,” turns out he was actually a blue-collar, bullying douchebag from Duke. He’s getting matched up with fellow alum, Brandon Ingram. About the same height, and both can shoot and play defense. Neither one is getting any playing time so who cares right?

Small Forwards

When it comes to Charles Barkley I have to visit his YouTube highlights to remind myself what a dominating player he was. Because the Barkley that sits before us today, is a shadow of his former self. It’s like seeing a decrepit, 85 year old woman, and being told she was once a playboy bunny.

I’ve come to a point where matching up a ’92 Dream Teamer with a ’16 Me Teamer doesn’t make sense anymore. But I’m in too deep, and more importantly, too lazy to change it now. So let’s pick a name out of the proverbial hat…LeBron James! Lebron is going to be one of my jack-of-all-trades defenders. But in this scenario he is on Barkley and Sir Charles wants no part of The King. Barkley will strategize, “I got to play really good defense and I got to score the ball.” A brilliant basketball mind indeed. Hold on, I need to look at those Barkley YouTube highlights again.

Doing some brief research (Wikipedia) to see if Scottie Pippen would be a matchup problem, I discovered two things. (1) Yes, he would. (2) Did you know in 2008 Pippen played two games in two days for a team in Finland? If you handed me a world map, unlabeled, and told me to find Finland — I might get it right on the 11th try. Here? No that’s Norway. Here? No that’s New Zealand. Here? No that’s Indian Ocean dummy!

He played for the Torpan Pojat and scored 12 pts against Espoon Honka and the very next night he scored 9 pts against Porvoon Tarmo.

But get this, Dennis Rodman played one game for Torpan Pojat in 2005 against arch rival Espoon Honka and scored 17 pts, and 15 pts were from behind the 3 point line. I know Pippen was a ripe, 42 yrs old at the time, but Rodman was 47! This must bring shame upon the Pippen household. You follow up your crap performance against Honka, and then stink up Finland the next night against Porvoon Tarmo with just 9 pts? Scottie must atone. I’m walking him down the streets of Chicago, nude, with Rodman behind him ringing a bell yelling “shame.”

I chose Paul George over Draymond Green. I lost a lot of sleep trying to make this decision (not from anxiety, I just need a better mattress). But I chose Paul because he “Theismanned” his leg and came back stronger than ever. Plus, I think Draymond’s yapper might make him annoying in the locker room and I have a soft spot for people named Paul. I’ve never met a guy named Paul, and upon discovering we had the same name, not had a great interaction.

Every team needs a rock — that stoic guy who never loses his cool. I wish I could have been in the Leonard household when a young Kawhi was around the age of seven. Hair, not quite long enough to cornrow. Hand, not quite big enough to claw (but could still palm a basketball I bet). I want to see Lil Claw’s face when he unwraps that new bike he begged for in his letters to Santa. I want him to shout with joy, and smile so hard his cheeks hurt. But that’s just a fantasy. The truth is you’re getting the same face he had 10 mins ago when he unwrapped those argyle socks. Stone-faced. And while that sucks for mamma and papa Leonard, that’s exactly what I want from my defensive superstar.

Yeah, I’ve got him matched up with Chris Mullin, but I’m going to put Kawhi on whatever ’92 Dream Teamer needs the wind taken from their sails. And not just the wind, The Claw will tear your whole boat apart and throw the anchor through your home window on Christmas morning. Smashing your child’s brand new bike he just unwrapped from Santa. And The Claw stands over you — expressionless — a basketball serial killer.

Chris Mullin is a Hall of Fame basketball player and a devout Roman Catholic. But if I put Kawhi on him, prayers won’t be enough. He’ll need to pray to both the old gods and the new (sorry, I’ve been watching too much Game of Thrones). I don’t think Mullin has ever had a defender with hands that freakishly large. Ever see people caught in the rain without an umbrella and use their hand to keep their head dry? That only work’s with Kawhi’s hand — or his teammate, Boban Marjonovic. His massive hands could have saved all of NYC during hurricane Sandy. (Poor Boban, can’t walk within 500 feet of any village without pitch forks and torches being distributed.)

Shooting Guards

When Clyde Drexler was twenty, he looked like he was in his early forties. My man had a receding hairline at twelve (probably buying liquor and cigarettes too). As an adult and NBA all-star, I don’t recall him being much of a shooter, nor quick enough against the man I have assigned to guard him — Dwyane Wade.

Choosing between Wade and Russell Westbrook brought forth another sleepless night (again…more a lack of lumbar support). But I ultimately went with Wade because of that banana boat. I had two best men for my wedding, because I have an equally strong friendship with both of them. But I don’t think either of them would ride on a banana boat with me. “Ride on what? Nah, let’s just go to the bar.” So yeah, I’m picking Wade to keep the “banana boat brothers” intact.

Michael Jordan. Shit. It always comes back to Michael Jordan doesn’t it? People will discredit my entire team because of MJ. I’m not denying the man’s greatness, but was he God? Did he create basketball in six days? (Resting on the seventh for golf?). When he farts, does it not stink? (His breath is no picnic either — cigar smoking — it’s why his tongue is always out.)

But it’s Michael Jordan, so what’s your best chance? Hope he has an off night and don’t make him mad. But please don’t sleep on my man Klay Thompson. Don’t let his beautiful shooting stroke and beautiful wavy hair make you overlook size and quickness on defense. They both had two of the greatest games I have ever seen in the NBA. Jordan with his “flu game” and Klay when he scored 37 pts in a quarter.

But that damn “flu game” is still king. Next time you get the flu from eating a poorly made pizza and you have fluid of various colors coming out of both ends, think about playing basketball. I don’t think I could even go outside and casually shoot free throws, forget about playing and dominating game 5 in an NBA finals game. But I still have complete confidence in this 2016 team, just make sure Jordan’s pregame pizza is THOROUGHLY cooked!

Point Guards

Magic Johnson’s 1992 status is almost on par with Larry Bird, but instead of being older with back issues, Magic was older with HIV issues. 1987 Magic Johnson might no-look-pass this entire article’s argument into the garbage with his brilliance, but it’s just not the reality. Plus, he’s matching up against Chris Paul and the only advantage he’s going to have is height. This saddens me since I grew up a Laker fan with Magic being my favorite player, but Paul is just so phenomenal, this is another check for my team.

It also still saddens me the Chris Paul trade was kyboshed by David Stern back in 2011. I’m not a booing kind of guy, but like a 401K account, I’ve been saving up for Stern. Even if David Stern presents one of those big checks for a million dollars to my family for whatever reason, I would shake his hand, thank him, and then, “boooooo!” Dude gets booed so much I doubt he would even blink an eye. His family doctor probably boos him, “Take two of these and boooooo!”

John Stockton reminds me of a guy I always play against in pickup basketball games (i.e. YMCA). The guy you’re relieved when you first see him because he doesn’t look too menacing or athletic. But as soon as you start playing he’s immediately up in your grill and he’s “Mr. Fundamental.” He outhustles you, makes better decisions, and never talks trash. He’s a living-mirror reflecting your lazy, selfish game.

And after some brief Wikipedia research I see that Stockton has a crap ton of family (8 total) playing or having played on the collegiate level. Great, soon they’ll have families of their own and produce even more fundamentally sound irritants. Playing textbook pick and roll, diving for loose balls, and giving you positive pats on your butt — making you feel guilty for hating them.

Well you can have John Stockton because I have Wardell Stephen Curry. Once Curry is unleashed, I predict a Dream Team walk-out before the final buzzer sounds just like the Pistons did against the Bulls in 1991. As soon as it’s clear all of the old hand checking rules, harder fouls, and fill-in-excuse here ______, really doesn’t matter when you have the revolution of basketball.

Of course, this subject matter is one of those debate show topics designed to move the needle with fans and advertisers. Hey, let’s debate something impossible to prove, yet still have two media puppets flail their arms with bogus opinions. Meanwhile villages in Africa are dying from dehydration — with no “Kubwa Kubwa Maji” in sight.

Oh wait, I forgot to pick a coach. Eh, better to just let LeBron choose.