The All-NBA “None of Yo Damn Business” Team

The NBA Season is upon us (rejoice, immediately, if not sooner) and while breaking down teams, their competencies and downsides is fun, there are only so many “Bulls Can’t Shoot Jokes” I have left. So instead we’re going to put together a different kind of All-NBA team.

Being a professional athlete is already a show of confidence. It requires a certain level of both “fuck you” and “fuck it” in your blood that should already come with knowledge that you’re a top 1% athlete in the world. You’re better than mere mortals in certain things. Exceptionally better. LeBron once jumped up into the atmosphere, spent a few Earth hours there and then spiked a basketball into an alternate dimension to win a NBA championship. I have to take constant brakes to breath going up to my apartment and I live on the second floor. I ain’t got shit on LeBron.

But with that kind of ability comes a certain responsibility (rhyme scheme is copy-written). We expect our athletes to go through scripted routines during any and all public appearances. The 24 hour media cycle turned us into sports consumption gluttons. We can’t just watch the game, we must consume, engulf and inject all kinds of basketball and basketball related information into our system. This is why we hunt down players who will more often than not will give us a well-treaded tour down “the other team tried harder” or “we just executed better” sports cliche lane. Because in those moments they are still not individuals, they are the part of the media conglomerate machine built specifically to deliver us a product and nothing more.

So today we celebrate those who simply said “fuck it.” They recognized their responsibilities as an athlete on the court. As a dude who can jump higher, run faster and terrify opponents better than you or me. But that is where their social contract ends. Beyond that, they are the ballsiest, the Marshawn Lynchiest human beings in the NBA. Your All-NBA “None of Yo Damn Business Team.”

Damian Lillard

Don’t talk to Dame about super teams. Or how Portland is doing now that LaMarcus Aldridge is gone (ask him how that’s going by the way). Don’t tell him that you think his bars could be tighter. Don’t ask him if he thinks they could beat the Warriors if he averaged like 3 points a game more in that series. As a matter of fact, don’t talk to Dame about anything except for buckets.

Dame plays with a Moon sized chip on his shoulder and a set of cajones that may be twice that in diameter. Constantly overlooked, doubted and excluded from this narrative of which he very much wants to be a part of. This has pushed him to not only perform to the top of his abilities where he has strapped the Trail Blazers onto his shoulders and hoisted bucket after bucket in the most “fuck it, if you want something done you have to do it yourself” mode ever. He also doesn’t hold back about what this means to him and how much it irks him, doing his talking not only through ethering teams on the court (ask the Warriors how those 51 points feel) but with his words:

“If somebody wants to go join people and do that, it’s not against the rules. They can do it. It’s just more pressure to win when you do it. Some people say, ‘Oh, they had to do that to win it’ but we play the game to win it. So when people do it, that’s their decision. I wouldn’t do it. That’s just not who I am. I might have too much pride for that or be too much of a competitor where I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but it also makes it more fun. You get to take a monster down and that’s always fun.”

Translation: Fuck a Golden State Warrior.

Russell Westbrook

To be fair, if I was Russ I’d probably choke a reporter at this point for asking me dumb questions ad nauseam. Actually, I’m surprised one of them didn’t write “how do you feel about Kevin Durant leaving” in chalk outside of Russell’s window yet. It still might happen though, despite the fact that we’re at least 2 months removed since this narrative should have been rightfully dead. Now it shouldn’t just be dead. It should be killed, taken out back, put into a hole, covered in cement, buried and then set on fire. But I guess people have taken to asking Russ dumb questions.

Because of this, Russell Westbrook treats the interview process like he treats basketball rims, basketballs and other various on floor equipment — with no regard for their safety whatsoever. When faced down with the typical interview questions with the depth and complexity of something haphazardly written on a cocktail napkin five minutes prior just after looking at the box score, Russ has invented the perfect response:

Ya’ll tripping. I got shit to do.

Paul Pierce

You know that old man at the Y that comes in wearing Adidas Pro Models Circa 2004 and cooks your whole squad draped out in newest Kobe Whatever The Astronomical Greco-Roman Number They’re At Nows? Did you ever try talking trash to him? If you haven’t, don’t. If you have, you’re usually met with some sort of short response that is generally punctuated with buckets and or “get off my damn court youth.”

That’s Paul Pierce in a nutshell. Not old enough to hang it up and young enough to know he can still ball on you young guns. He doesn’t handle your requests and questions with braggadocio of a rap star because he’s annoyed at them, he does so because everything he does is specifically geared towards cutting out an opponents heart with a serrated rusty knife. Paul Pierce does not live for your entertainment, he lives for staring through to his opponents soul and then pulling it out of him thread by thread.

LeBron James

A year ago and this would have been Kevin Garnett or Tim Duncan, two superstars existing on the exact polar opposite sides of the “fuck it” — “fuck you” scale (I’ll let you track them on this yourself). This year, it’s LeBron James. LeBron earned this. He laboriously established a Cleveland Cavaliers monopoly, got everyone on that team paid, got J.R. to put his shirt back on (allegedly). He is beyond your mortal squabble.

James was already the best basketball player of his generation, but when he strapped the city of Cleveland on his frame and carried them, nah PUSHED them to a Championship through displaying multiple superhuman feats per game he transcended all that. He’s no longer LeBron James the Basketball Player. He is LeBron James, the Demigod of Athletic Entertainment Universe. He barked at Curry, possibly some sideways things about his moms or maybe how “Del couldn’t shoot worth shit.” He trolled the soul out of the Warriors. He basically got the banana boat crew syndicated AND he signed the world’s first billion dollar apparel contract with Nike. Oh, and he did some basketball things too like eating Andre Iguodala’s soul and temporarily possessing Kevin Love’s body to play the defense of his life. He has no time for you. He’s no longer in the business of basketball. He’s in the business of LeBron.

Translation: I’m not a businessman, I’m a business, man.

DeMarcus Cousins

DeMarcus “Boogie” None Of Your Damn Business Cousins is the NBA legend of subliminally not minding his own business on social media. Sure he often looks subdued, tranquil even in interviews, but that’s because he knows you’re baiting him into answers that will cultivate his reputation as, to use an lazy writing cliche here, a “hot head.” A “poor chemistry guy.” Then again, he’s the guy who’s been constantly let down by his coaching, his teammates and most importantly his team’s ownership to maximize his level of “top five at my position talent.” It must be frustrating to trot out there with basically a rejected cast of a sitcom pilot, a revolving door of coaches and a manager who’s idea of running a basketball team is watching three Bond movies at random and then trying to apply the villains’ ideas to a sport.

But Boogie will play your game. He will answer your questions. He will entertain your petty sports story lines on the surface. Beneath it all he will add a dribble move and the ability to shoot threes to his arsenal. He will also sub-tweet the ever-loving shit about of you, your momma, your sister, your daddy and anyone else who even remotely bought something at a convenience store in line behind you.

Honorary Sixth Man — Evan Turner

I love Evan Turner. I love him with all my heart. This love is entirely unrelated to his basketball abilities. It is almost entirely tied to his supreme confidence in the long-range two as a sole and undisputed proprietor of his ability to keep getting them cheques (justified, based on his contract with Portland too). Saddled with the weight of being a high lottery pick, It’s safe to say Turner never really panned out to be the talent indicative of his draft spot (although not as bad as some). He bounced around the league, getting clowned on by some analysts and being dismissed as another failed top 3 pick.

So instead, Evan changed his narrative. He became the NBA’s lovable weirdo with the confidence of Puff Daddy draped in three different kinds of furs. Evan Turner simply stopped caring about what you have to say and started living his best life. Let’s be honest, when you have the testicular fortitude to do this, you don’t really care that much either, you’re just out here minding the your own damn business, which coincidentally isn’t none of others’.

Coach: Gregg Popovich

We reached out to Pop for comment on his honorary position as the coach of this team. His answer: “who the hell are you?”