Northwest things we knew, didn't

We knew the Kroenke failson was bad with basketball teams, bad with business (0therwise he'd have his own), bad at basketball scouting, bad with leadership, those little beards, the blue pants with brown shoes. We know the only reason he runs an NBA team is because his dad married some lady.

We knew Josh Kroenke alone cost perhaps the greatest player in NBA history a chance at a smooth repeat, the Nuggets making notoriously singularly-funded championship outfits in Chicago and Los Angeles look luxurious in comparison.

We knew Jiggly Josh reduced the Denver Nuggets to a pile the cheapest possible parts plus Michael Porter Jr., whom Josh dug because he and MPJ listened to the same daily podcasts. We knew Josh made Calvin Booth lie through his teeth about all of it. No small feat for Calvin, after all, he is left-handed.

That meant absolutely nothing, and I wish someone would have shown it to Josh before he fired the Nuggets braintrust on Tuesday. Give Josh a random splotch of words to confuse him, distract him.

We didn't know they'd fire the coach with three games left. Any coach.

Like, who does that? Josh Kroenke. Literally Josh Kroenke and nobody else. Josh Kroenke looked around and saw that no other NBA coach had been fired with three games left in the season, let alone one on a playoff team, let alone one who brought a title plus 11 home postseason games (21 shared playoff receipts total) to Denver in 22 months ago. Looked around and saw this and said "I'm smarter and different than everyone else" and dove in without explaining the "smarter" part.

We know why he's different. Josh's dad married some lady.

The list of reasons why not to fire a coach with three games before the playoffs, a credible championship bid, is too long to bore readers with. The Kroenke's were too bored and irritated to bother reading it. Which is a shame, couldn't we get this guy to a months-early screening of some superhero movie? Comic books, whatever the kids want, take Josh to a roller-coaster until he loses patience with waiting for the adults to finish speaking.

This isn't a thing. You don't do this, to any coach, just before their rip at the playoffs. We don't do this.

The NBA shouldn't have to implement a mid-February Coach Firing Deadline for teams over .500.

Billionaire owners aren't allowed to disappear the face of the franchise ahead of its playoff ubiquity (one round or four, teams and coaches saturate spring TV and social media), just because the owner won't go to therapy.

(That's barely a joke: March and April are rough, for a lot of people, and I'm glad you're here. Playoffs, soon. Flowers, blooming. All of us, everywhere. In the rain, chanting.)

Unlike Malone, Calvin Booth knew he was out of a job the second Denver and Booth failed to agree on a contract extension. Confirming Calvin's thoughts from the second the Kroenkes told Booth that they wouldn't be going into the luxury tax for a certifiable championship team built around one of the top basketball players of all time.

Booth knew he was cooked from all the times he had to chew through the names "Peyton Watson and Christian Braun" at press conferences. Knowing neither were ready. Understanding that while both own unique charms, at the moment they were far from the veteran orthodoxy Nikola Jokic deserved performing through the minutes the youth, instead, occupied.

Neither is the problem, the problem is Booth's orientation, the Nuggets have one or two scorers too many, limited catch-and-shoot options, unexpected defensive soft spots at key positions. Booth wasn't allowed the opportunity to sustain the defense and ball movement as he, a championship GM, deserved.

NBA teams don't restock depth through the draft, not immediately, again, it just ain't a thing. The Nuggets weren't subject to pile in on someone like OG Anunoby, to poke around for Rui Hachimura or Alex Caruso or Marcus Smart or even a Kentavious Caldwell-Pope. Roaring health and Sixth Man Award-level contributions from DaRon Holmes don't alter this.

Booth knew he was the fall guy for the crushing majority of his time on what should have been a joyful job.

I haven't read any reaction yet, any leaks, I don't care if Michael Malone parked his car sideways in the two (mostly absent) Kroenke spots, spray-painted SHOP LOCAL on the sidewalk leading into the Nugget offices. I don't care if Michael Malone was irritable, curt, condescending, or whatever other substitute you people use for "Irish" these days, why are they talking to Michael Malone anyway? Isn't it April? Who even looks at the coach, in April?

Let alone this coach, 5-1 in overtime this season, a demonstrably season-saving statistic which reflects accurately upon Michael Malone's pristine ability to render the sets necessary for his team to score ten in the space the other team scores eight.

I don't care if Michael Malone broke into the stables, set Jokic's horses free. No capable leader fires the coach in spring.

PORTLAND

Portland, holy horses. This team will be impossible once Donovan Clingan starts playing over half the contest. I haven't seen a rookie sweat this much since Adam Morrison worked 78 games in that Slade haircut we all had.

We knew Deni Avdjia was probably the best contract in the NBA.

We didn't know the dude would average 24-10-5 in March on 51/46/81, 32-14-7-assist averages in April in three games. Knew it was in him, not that it would take place so smoothly, suddenly Deni can't stop rolling to the basket and scoring and sometimes getting slapped. March and April are March and April, but buckets be buckets.

We knew they'd be compelling.

We didn't know they'd be so competent, or that they'd win so much. That the Blazers would look like a relative model of savvy after suffering through what Texas tried that evening or that crap the Midwest was up to.

Whether the Blazers were putting a promising tail on our evening's NBA broadcasts, or plying Portland's trade on the road, the group was as sturdy as "35-44 but in the West" sounds.

We knew Chauncey Billups played for head coach Rick Pitino for the initial two-thirds of Chauncey's first season in the NBA.

We didn't know Chauncey was listening.

The Blazers don't trap and press so much as they attend-to, check up upon, and never leave. The Blazers are a hovering group of servers, hosts and bus artists, looking to turn over a table as many times as possible in an evening because the owner told them it'll be the only way the restaurant survives the weekend.

Not bring turnovers to the table, that's a different analogy, and that's the Thunder.

Portland is different, you'll finish the meal and won't drop any silverware but you will feel rushed. Every meal will be cooked perfectly and exactly as ordered but every order you choose will be incorrect. You'll settle on that pesto chicken, fine, whatever, but a little basic. Should've done the halibut special instead, or at least added gnocchi to the chicken. You'll get a white wine because chicken, or fish, you couldn't decide and now you're stuck drinking white wine and not because you brought one over from the bar. You ordered the berry plate but you didn't want the berry plate. Nobody wants the berry plate. You blurting out "berry plate" instead of "chocolate lava" this one time kept the berry plate on the menu for another ten years. You didn't eat the bread to save room for a berry plate? What a waste.

Thanks to Chauncey, your server.

OKLAHOMA CITY

We knew the Thunder unquietly had the best (Memphis' greatness defies ranking) music touch of any game operations in the NBA.

Yet we didn't know, until considering it, the Thunder is the only team which plays Bernard 'Pretty' Purdie inside its arena ('Rock Steady,' Aretha Franklin).

That was all we learned? I suppose there was probably more.

We didn't know the Thunder were really like that.

Knew they had to be great, last year's Western-wallopin' dominance mixed with inarguable minutes winners like Caruso, Isaiah Hartenstein, and whatever Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and Jalen Williams work up on the way to the Hall of Fame. Didn't consider the sound of that greatness until retrospect: Oklahoma City was rather quiet in its trip around the bases, remarkably so for a team this young, and for how far the ball was hit.

Maybe it was because I grew up watching Orlando, slam dancing at midcourt, commercials all over TV, or the turn of the century Lakers, everyone with a pre-recorded track. Or when the Miami Heat celebrated their NBA title with Super-Soakers at the championship parade. Shaq, basically.

Maybe it was because I grew up with Shaq that I expected far, far more corniness extending from Oklahoma City's vast ranges. Instead, we got some encouraging improv routines after running up and down a court for two hours, nobody stops the ball even in a bit.

These players grew up watching the modern player interview, maybe even guessing the machinations behind it: PR leads the player of the game to talk to the TV, the second star talks to the radio, top two or maybe three stars ascend to the podium in the postseason. This team, after spending the last hour on the bench conversing during a blowout, doesn't want to leave work yet, they don't want to stop hanging out.

The Thunder are a model of leadership, in step behind its much-admired top scorer, the plays aren't abandoned midway through, defensive effort is constant. Nobody wants to be the one that stops it.

UTAH

We knew they'd tank again.

Thought I would be sick of it, them. Am not!

Maybe there is a blend of NBA relegation I've become inured to, the way it is doled throughout each evening's viewing schedule. By the time we fly over Utah, I'm ready for something fast (the Jazz were No. 5 in pace this season) and bright and blue and giving the visitors a hard time before completely falling apart.

The Jazz were noticeably worse in several areas in 2024-25, star power lessened by the alternating currents of ineffective or absent Lauri Markkanen. Plenty of John Collins, the NBA's forever opening-act, the league's version of George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers and you KNOW I say this with the utmost respect for John Collins and George Thorogood and His Delaware Destroyers.

Isaiah Collier was roundly inefficient this season, literally, I enjoyed every second I watched and ask Jazz fans, we had to watch many, many seconds of Isaiah Collier (8.7 points and 6.3 assists in 26 minutes an outing, 46 starts and counting, fifth-most minutes among 2024 draftees) in 2024-25. He's nowhere near 21 yet, he'll be fine, and if he's here I'll definitely be here when you guys open again in October.

Keyonte George (17 points per game on 39/35/81 in 31 minutes) is 21 and, let me tell you, the Utah Jazz taught this man how to shoot. Well, done. This summer, he'll work on "makes." Collin Sexton is out there, looking entirely reasonable by comparison, wondering what's gone through the head of the most-recent NBA generation. Jordan Clarkson was there, before he was injured, appearing utterly befuddled by the youth.

Second-year lottery pick Taylor Hendricks was out all season, 2024 lottery pick Cody Williams (32 percent from the floor, 33 percent in 22.8 minutes per game greater exposure in March) might as well have been. More Sprite for me, gulps Kyle Filipowski, picking up and dunking every loose ball available. Some of the dunks go in.

Walker Kessler led the NBA in offensive rebounds and blocks per game but his Google search requests from Minnesota went down 82 percent in 2024-25. Sensabaugh? Hardly. Sense a coming around.

The Jazz will start winning soon, Danny Ainge is getting tired of the same few local courses, not happy with this season's pin placement. Danny did a reverse rebuild in Boston too, starting up top (36 and then 45 wins in 2004 and 2005 before 33 and 24-win campaigns) before shedding weight, wins. The Jazz' spectrum is greater, from a 60-win pace in 2020-21 to 16 or 17 wins in 2024-25.

One rookie star, even Cooper Flagg, won't crank the turnaround. Ainge doesn't have to find his next Kevin Garnett, but he does need to work up a trading partner as interested in Utah's talent as Danny appears to be.

The Jazz should have the best odds at the top overall pick. If Flagg and the Jazz win nearly half their games in 2025-26, he'll have enjoyed some help, veteran additions who will join the team at the same time as Cooper, plus an All-Star'ish run from Lauri.

MINNESOTA

Do yourself a favor and get to Minnesota's all-time page on Basketball-Reference before Rudy Gobert passes Sam Mitchell in career Wolves Win Shares.

I watched damn near every game these two played alongside each other and though I didn't cover the team in person, this image at least expresses the televised dynamic I felt was pervasive. If I recall correctly, the local coverage of the time confirmed it.

We knew this 2024-25 Timberwolves would put up numbers. That Minnesota would always be among the contenders to tip the Thunder, no matter what form that group grew into (at the moment, 46-33, No. 8, a full game behind the Clippers/Warriors/Nuggets/Grizzlies, two games behind the Lakers). Does that one-game standings separation mark some distinct difference in precision between the Wolves and the pack they chase? Nah, the Clippers, Warriors, Nuggets and Grizzlies are sloppy as hell.

I didn't know Minnesota could do it without the drama. That the Timberwolves could be just another NBA team. When Anthony Edwards rises to his boisterous moment, we don't stop the game to hand him the ball. When Rudy Gobert saved another regular season, he didn't besmirch the digital microphones with smarm. When the swaggering ex-Knick moved in and out of the lineup with various setbacks, suggestions, nobody made it a thing.

The team was finally sold, or agreed to be sold, all of our cracks came true: A-Rod and that other dingbat didn't have enough money and Glen Taylor didn't want to sell after making a bad deal, we moved on, basketball!

Even the Jordi Fernandez, um, stepback. Yesterday's distraction.

Make a mess of one's self in Milwaukee? Who among us?

How did they do this? I shoulda known: Mike Conley. Probably the rest of the guys own individual agency and all that, but every time I see Mike Conley on the sideline I'm reminded to take the garbage out and be nicer to my brother and finish not just my homework but a little bit of that project due at the end of the month and nobody needs to learn a curveball at my age, it isn't good for my elbow, but we can work on that four-seamer out here in dusk.

The sign of respect takes shape in odd expressions. Most observers see the Timberwolves losing to the Pacers twice and think, so they can't beat the Pacers, I see the Timberwolves laying down for Mike Conley's home team. The Milwaukee loss was out of respect to Doc Rivers, these young Timberwolves think Conley used to play for Doc on the Celtics or Spurs or something.

Last year, a loss like Tuesday's would send the Timberwolves off the rail from Milwaukee to Minneapolis. This year is different, and not because a chief rival lost its head a few hours before, not because the Timberwolves aren't the least-embarrassing team on Tuesday.

Because they'll handle it. They can do that now.

WHATEVER I DO

I wrote that joke about settling Kroenke down with some candy and a trip to the movies and later remembered there is an actual 'Superman' movie due for release, I meant no disrespect to Superman or anyone from that cool-looking planet Superman is from.

Were the bad guys in the second one from the same planet? How did they develop those dyes?

Thanks for reading. Even this part.