Mike Bibby threw a long alley-oop to Chris Webber the other night and on the slow-mo replay the ball just floated to him like there was no other way it could have gone and Webber jumped up and tipped it in and fell to the ground afterward and the whole drawn-out thing looked the way a poem sounds - amplified and potent, but soft, too. The playoffs on mute bring some of that thrill and wonder back. It's hard to imagine now, but there must have been a time when slow-motion technology made people's heads spin. I'm noticing guys on the bench I'd forgotten about or lost track of. That is, until your wife tells you that you're technically violating the terms of the mute agreement and then breaks the news that you're not better than the guys on TV, after all. They're more sympathetic and, for that reason, more impressive. Guys are worrying and working and enjoying themselves. George Lynch is holding a towel up to his bleeding nose. Paul Pierce bobs his head slightly and sets his jaw, shuffling back after a 3. Tim Duncan's got that stoic thing going on. Vlade's eyes are peeking up at the scoreboard. The game's a lot more about players' faces. Dirk Nowitzki is real tall and Nick Van Exel shoots from anywhere, just like with the sound on. Forget what he makes, pay attention to how he makes 'em. Has there ever been another player as good as he is, as creative and deft and intuitive and brilliant as he is, who's looked this unorthodox? It's a strange, awkward-looking thing, really, but it's amazingly effective. I'm keying on Jason Kidd's high dribble, the way he keeps the ball out in front of him and almost never at his side. Hard to knock the unorthodox, but effective, style of Jason Kidd. I notice that players constantly give each other support and encouragement. It became a game of rhythms and bursts - I was more aware of how much energy the players were using than I was of the score. Every once in a while, I'd just focus on the midcourt circle and let the players blow by me like cars on an interstate. The Mavs-Kings game Monday night was a blur. I have a better feel for the speed of the game. I get a feel for the whole of the game, for patterns and waves, and I start to sense where and when someone's going to be open. And if I don't concentrate too hard, offensive plays and defensive schemes emerge. I see 10 guys rather than the one or two around the ball. Kobe's is flawless, Shaq's is almost a topspin, Steve Nash's gets this light, quick spin, like he's let the ball go in a panic. Without announcers framing the game story or directing my eyes with the play-by-play, other elements are coming to the surface.
And, as it turns out, I'm seeing it differently than I do when the sound is on. I argued at first, because I grew up listening to Chick Hearn call Lakers games and Bob Blackburn do the Sonics broadcasts, so I couldn't really imagine the game without sound. So our arrangement is, I can watch pretty much any game I want, on mute. My wife is a serious football fan, and she's got a warm feeling for baseball, but basketball doesn't do it for her. It's part of a deal I struck in the interest of domestic bliss. I'm watching the NBA playoffs with the sound off. Kobe Bryant 's ball rotation is flawless. Tuned in with the sound offĪ weekly survey of what's happening at the busy intersection of sports and pop culture: