• All Hail The Pathos Of The NBA Draft Lottery

    By Will Leitch, 12:20 PM on Tue May 19 2009, 32,703 views

    This is a weekly column from Leitch.

    As anyone who has been unfortunate enough to come across my turgid prose over the last few years knows, I have a difficult time working up much enthusiasm for the NFL or NBA Drafts. Drew made a solid case as to why I'm wrong a few weeks back, but I just can't help it: I'm never going to be convinced that watching men in suits read names off index cards for several hours is a productive use of my time. Agree, disagree, whatever, we're both right and we're both wrong.

    But I'm about to gut my point. Because I love tonight's deformed third cousin to the NBA Draft: The NBA Draft Lottery. This makes no sense, of course; the only real advantage the NBA Draft Lottery has on the NBA Draft is that it is shorter. But I love it anyway. There's something about watching representatives of professional sports franchises -- people who, by definition, are control freaks -- put on suits and piss themselves in fear while the indifferent hand of chance either grasps their bosom or slaps them across the face.

    Last year was a particularly great one: The Bulls somehow lucked into Derrick Rose, and we got to watch someone named Steve Schanwald, executive vice president for basketball operations, display his balding middle aged white guy pumped-up face. This was legitimately the closest Steve Schanwald will ever come to any semblance of athletic activity, and it was glorious: He looks like a guy who just pulled out an amazing final-round victory at Trivia Night at Applebee's. The only reason Schanwald was there in the first place was because the Bulls had such small odds to win the top pick: If they were at 4:1, you'd have to think they would have sent a Paxson, or even a Bob Love out there. But instead: Steve Schanwald. Awesome.

    There's something inherently lovely in watching defeated, doomed losers -- who, after all, were the worst teams last year -- beg ping-pong balls for a deus ex machina to save them from their own ineptitude. (Bill Simmons' "Elgin Baylor is a Draft Lottery veteran" riff still makes me laugh.) Most in sports is visibly merit-based: This throws fate into the mix. It's always there, of course, fate: It's just now we can see it plain and clear. Right next to desperation.

    Who are the highlight reps this time? The Sacramento Kings have the best odds, and we're lucky to have Chris Webber on stage. This guy reps the Clippers, the always-great Kevin Love stands up for the Timberwolves, Allan Houston limps on stage for the Knicks and we'll see Larry Bird out there for the Pacers, which is something he must just love. It's fractions and decimals and the mercilessness of luck, for us all to watch. And it'll be over in 20 minutes.

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    Send an email to Will Leitch, the author of this post, at will@deadspin.com.

    By Will Leitch
    May 19, 2009 12:20 PM 32,703
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    All Hail The Pathos Of The NBA Draft Lottery

    Lars Von Trier. If you're one of those normal human beings with some semblance of a recognizable existence on a planet of sunshine and hope, you probably don't know who Lars Von Trier is. He's the old purveyor of the "Dogme 95" cinematic technique -- which basically boiled down to "just point a camera and shoot, and make it cheap," something he invented and then ignored -- and he directed the films Breaking the Waves (great), Dogville (great), Dancer In The Dark (pretty good, plus, it features Bjork being hanged) and Manderlay (pretty awful). Well, he has a new film coming out this summer, and, well, screenings at the Cannes Film Festival are revealing it to be a heartwarming night at the movies. It's called Antichrist, and it's about a grieving husband and wife trying to kill each other. And it features the following scene.

    From what we gather, here's how it goes down, more or less: After knocking him unconscious, Gainsbourg bores a hole in Dafoe's leg with a hand drill and bolts him to a grindstone to keep him from escaping. Then, she quickly smashes his scrotum with some sort of blunt object (the moment of impact happens slightly below the frame). We don't actually see his testicles become disengaged from this body, though it's apparently implied. Next, she bring him to a climax with her hands and he ejaculates blood (yes, it shows this).

    Well, that's pretty much the exact description of how I felt watching the first Transformers movie, so, you know, sign me up.

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