The Works: Andrew Bogut and We

Today in The Works: what to make of Mo Williams in this new moral universe of ours; how Greg Oden and the Blazers might yet derail Durant; and Carmelo fatigue.

But first, our watershed virtual run-in with Milwaukee Bucks star Andrew Bogut.

Communication Breakdown

Last night, Bucks center Andrew Bogut (@AndrewMBogut) waged war on The Works. The Chasedown has a nice summary from a third-party perspective. From where I'm sitting, Bogut went after the wrong man, retweeted incessantly and never really revealed what he was so worked up about. Eventually, he claimed it was all in good fun (I actually believe him on that) and deleted a few of the initial Molotovs.

Meanwhile, I was sleeping. It wasn't a good sleep because as I was falling asleep I got a text asking what I'd done to anger Bogut.

Instead of racing to the Tweetdeck battlefield, I laughed and went about my sleep. The carnage would be there in the morning, and besides, I already knew what I'd done to anger Bogut.

It was a Works item last week. I discussed a potentially racist promo ad for Australia's National Basketball League. The ad largely came to the attention of American hoops fans because, of course, Bogut had tweeted a link to a story on it. In that story, two black NBL legends said the ad was racist. Bogut's reaction? That the claims of offense were "crazy crazy." It was flippant, and I noted as much in The Works. (I also noted that a week prior Bogut had gone on a Twitter rant about the horrors of welfare, and linked to an old story everyone knows about the time Bogut ripped his NBA brethren for their lives of excess.)

Last night, after tweets had been lobbed between Bogut and my colleagues, the Buck made a good point (via retweet): if writers can criticize players, can't players criticize writers? Can't we all criticize each other?

Yes, we can. But you know how certain writers criticize players without actually saying anything? They criticize simply to be critical? That's terrible. That's Skip Bayless. It's useless, and a waste of time. If you're going to be critical, make it about something, not someone. My NBL item was critical of Bogut's too-flippant (in my opinion) reaction to the controversy. That's a specific beef I presented.

Bogut's response? He told me to kiss his ass. (Well, he asked the favor of Shoals because he wasn't clear who wrote the NBL item, but don't worry, he later tacked me on.) But about what? What does he disagree with? That he tweeted what he tweeted? That it was flippant? He didn't explain his issue with the column, and so (unfortunately) his point will never get across.

As a writing critic, he's basically Skip Bayless. More power to him. I'm not going to lose any more sleep over it. (TZ)


The Passion of the Mo

Generally, people such as myself, who are fortunate enough to have, through whatever accident of history, been granted a bully pulpit, are in the business of telling others how to feel. Or, we share our feelings and presume that you're interested.

At times, though, we have no choice but to stand on top of our little mountains and shout down, imploringly: WTF!?!?!?. For those of you collecting a pension, that means I need guidance, and I need it bad.

What else, other than that celestial being Mo Williams, could provoke this sort of epic consternation? Williams told Yahoo!'s Marc Spears that when LeBron James left town, he, Mo Williams, nearly quit the game of basketball. I really don't know what to make of these comments. Actually, back that up. I do know, in the sense that they are weird and virtually unprecedented. Were I only a practicing mental health professional, I would call Mo a codependent freak and advise him to get out more.

But Williams is a professional athlete, and his strange remarks happened to involve the most hyper-moralized American sportsman since -- well, since Byron Russell took part in that fake Michael Jordan D-League hoax. To put in the terms that have become familiar to us all, LeBron is a stinky-poo, and therefore, any equal or opposite reaction in response to his actions are grounds for immediate sainthood. Far from being a weirdo, Mo Williams may yet turn out to be a man so rich in character that the mere thought of him can cause your deck to collapse.

The question, then, is what exactly did Williams do? He appears guilty only of having loved LeBron, and the game they played together, too much. Here's a teammate so loyal that he couldn't imagine life beyond LBJ, as well as someone who has repeatedly given voice to the jilted lover-dom that so much of Cleveland seems to be feeling. Williams was willing to walk away, losing millions in the process, all because friends are supposed to stick together in his vision of the world. When they don't, disillusionment and sadness set in, and it's just not worth going on.

Here's where I get all mixed up inside: Why exactly is Williams unwilling, or unable, to keep on pushin'? When we teach our children to go forth and ball, we want them to understand the importance of that ethereal bond between them and their teammates. But a team, while the sum of its parts, is made up of parts. A man has to stand tall before he can join together with others; to work as one in service of the amazing invention called basketball, one must prove himself worth of stepping in the arena. In other words, Williams may be an idealist, but this also comes across as -- dare I say -- cowardly.

So what do you think? Is Williams the opposite of a traitor? Or in his refusal to face an uncertain future and take on the awful burden of responsibility, is he more like James than not? There's no denying that Williams has shown us that he cares. Sometimes, though, caring can be awfully similar to wanting only the best -- that awful, spoiled thing we call perfectionism. When you get too attached to taking the easy way out, basketball has no use for you -- no matter how much feeling you have going for you. Besides, don't James, Wade, and Bosh love each other like brothers? (BS)