Alas, as The New York Times' Pete Thamel reports, after just three months in Haifa, Israel, Tyler is being turned into your standard American basketball bogeyman: listless, undisciplined, money-obsessed and supremely self-entitled.

His coach calls him lazy and out of shape. The team captain says he is soft. His teammates say he needs to learn to shut up and show up on time. He has no friends on the team. In extensive interviews with Tyler, his teammates, coaches, his father and advisers, the consensus is that he is so naïve and immature that he has no idea how naïve and immature he is. So enamored with his vast potential, Tyler has not developed the work ethic necessary to tap it.

The 6-foot-10 Tyler scored a single point in his first two games, and his season thus far has been notable mostly for his talent to turn everyone around him into Mr. Wilson. He was fined $1,000 for missing a workout and turning up late for an interview. His neighbors have called the police with noise complaints. His girlfriend is Erin Wright, daughter of Eazy-E, whom Tyler's father calls a distraction and a "gold digger."

"It is too early to declare Tyler a bust," Thamel writes, "but it is safe to say that he has transformed from a can't-miss prospect into a project."

Maybe so, but we've been here before. In January, the Times did some concern trolling about another age-rule martyr, Brandon Jennings. Like Tyler, Jennings bundled himself off to a foreign land in part to help bring down an unfair and misbegotten rule. Like Tyler, Jennings' struggles were swiftly put to use as a cautionary tale about the ingrained selfishness of American basketball and the perils of bucking the system. Jennings couldn't find his way off Lottomatica Roma's bench and before last June's draft was said to be an "enigma" with a "bad attitude." Today, he's so well-regarded that Knicks president Donnie Walsh is more or less openly apologetic about not drafting him. Tyler is even younger than Jennings was when he shipped off; if he were back in California, he'd be starting his senior season of high school ball right about now. He'll be fine. He just has to survive another year-and-a-half of other people's handwringing.

Photo via The New York Times

Young, Talented and Unhappy Playing Basketball Overseas [New York Times]

Noah Chang loves basketball. F'ing loves it. Enough to put together a 10-minute video of him taking a little girl to school in his driveway, all the while showing us the basics and throwing in some motivational quotes.

Some highlights:

•It is physically impossible for Noah to shoot without saying "He looks...he shoots...and he scores."
•"It's my favorite sport. Why?" (Looks off camera for line.) "Because it's very exciting." (Makes layup on 6-foot basket.)
•Noah lists for us the equipment needed to play basketball. I would have thought this was obvious, but I never would have thought to include "socks."
•He cruelly plays keep-away from his sister, for at least 30 seconds past the point of awkwardness, in the name of showing us how to dribble.
•Noah wants to show us how to dunk, but warns us that he might be unable because he's "not so tall." He tries anyway, and fails.
•There's a freaking outtake reel at the end of the video!

Coach Noah leaves us with the words of Michael Jordan, but I'd like to leave you with the words of Noah Chang:

He looks...he shoots...and he scores."

Shabtai Kalmanovich, one of Prokhorov's partners in post-Soviet billionaire sports owner crime, was murdered on Monday. Kalmanovich is the owner of the Spartak Moscow women's basketball team that is famous for shelling out big bucks to sign WNBA stars like Lauren Jackson, Sue Bird, and Diana Taurasi. He was also gunned down on the streets of Moscow when another car pulled up alongside his and opened fire. Yeah, not exactly a random act of violence.

Police say they believe that the murder could be linked to Kalmanovich's business activities, and maybe even "his prominent role in Russian basketball." So that must make people like Prokhorov feel really safe and secure. The NBA too. It sure won't make David Stern comfortable imagining one of his owners getting blown away outside the Meadowlands. (Of course, if it happened at the Meadowlands there's a chance no one would notice.) Maybe he's trying to buy the Nets not to bring NBA "technology" to his homeland, but so he can get the hell out of dodge.

Personally, I'm shocked to learn that running a business in the former Soviet Republics could be so dangerous! Or ... here's another theory. Kalmanovich is also a former KGB spy who spent time in an Israeli prison for espionage. I'm not an expert on the post-Cold War politics of Eastern European spy networks, but I'm going to go out on a limb and say his brazen gangland murder might be related to that.

Spartak Moscow owner Shabtai Kalmanovitch assassinated [Women Talk Sports]
Ex-Shin Bet, KGB double agent shot dead in Moscow [Haaretz]
Ex-spy Kalmanovich to be buried in Israel [YnetNews]
Russian spy-turned-tycoon gunned down [The Age]

Arboleda had just been called for his second flagrant foul of the game and apparently did not like the "profane" language hurled at him by a hapless spectator. Thankfully, the heckler was in the front row, which not only made for easy pummeling, it meant he didn't have to leap over ten rows of seats and incite a riot to take his revenge. Much more efficient that way.

The league commissioner, Sonny "Crockett" Barrios, issued a stern warning (get it?) to Arboleda, pointing out that the PBA already has a bad rep in this conservative nation and crap like this doesn't help. If it happens again the 10-year veteran will be banned for life.

Lost in the all controversy, however, is a much more disturbing truth about the state of international basketball. Arboleda plays for a team called the Burger King Whoppers. He will be suspended without pay or fries.

Filipino basketball player banned for season after punching fan [Ball Don't Lie]
Arboleda banned for rest of the season [Manilla Bulletin]

Carroll, who was 60, became known primarily through his autobiography, The Basketball Diaries, later made into a movie premised on the dubious notion that Leo DiCaprio could pass for someone who was able to dunk. An excerpt:

Summer 65: Fucked up yesterday, lost our last game in the summer 15-and-under league up at George Washington High School, and that deuced us out of the championship game today. We had a good squad, mostly cats from down the block in the projects but they had a rule that no Varsity players could play. That ruined our chances of using big Lewie Alcindor even though he's from the neighborhood and all. I mean, shit, most of the teams got ringers but it's a little difficult to sneak in a seven foot All-Everything cat onto a court. He can't exactly use a fucking pair of sunglasses, dig? So I go up to watch the game today and pick up my trophy for the all-league team and what a hassle is steaming as I bop into the gym. THE SUGAR BOWL ALL-STARS, one of the teams playing, are in a rage bitching about the ringers on the RUTGERS team. So true! those cats didn't have a dude under eighteen running for them, none of them played school ball, but they were some of the best playground players in Harlem. I walked over and was rapping to a few friends, Vaughn Harper, an All-American from Boys High, and Earl Manigault, a Harlem legend of 5 ft. 10 in. who can take a half dollar off the top of a backboard. He's invariably on and off his school team because of drug scenes and other shit. These two cats are, with big Lew, the best high school players in the city. Finally the captain of SUGAR BOWL points over to us and tells the other team and the man who runs the gig that if they're gonna use that team, that their team's gonna use Harper, "Goat" Manigault, and me. The bossman axes the idea of letting in Harper and "Goat" but says they can use me, which is fine with the other team who don't even know who the fuck this white boy is. Before I say a fucking word I get a uniform tossed in my mug and since there're bunches of chicks in the stands, my new team mates are huddling around me and I whip on the shit and start warming up. Big fucking difference I'm gonna make 'cause we need leapers for the boards and no backcourt dude like me. Anyway the slaughter starts and I'm hitting long jumpers like a fucker (I gotta say that I always burn up that gym, something about it that I just can't miss, crazy) so we're holding our own by the alf and I got twenty-eight points, each move of which I make sticks out like a hardon because I'm the only whiteman on the court and looking around, in the entire fucking place, in fact; my bright blond-red hair making me the whitest whitey this league has ever seen. So in short we made a good show for a team our age, but can't keep up with the other dudes and lose by ten, but that ain't bad and I got myself forty-seven points and at least got to play for once with these cats I've always had to play against in various tournaments since Biddy League days. Then to bust all kinds of balls, the bossman gets some college scout in the stands to testify the other team got at least three ringers he knows and we are awarded the champ bit. After the gold is handed out and all (I didn't get a trophy for the game 'cause they were one short and I had to say "fuck it," but got an outofsight plaque for All-League), we go in a corner and pose a team picture for the Harlem paper, "The Amsterdam News." We're waiting for the birdie to click when the photog calls over the SUGAR BOWL coach and whispers something to him who then walks over to me and mumbles, "Dig, my man, don't know how to say this but for, well, ..." I cut him short and told I got the message and stepped out of the pix. I guess I would have messed up the texture of the shot or something. Or maybe they didn't want to let the readers get to see that the high scorer was a fucking white boy.

And from Forced Entries, another book of diaries that contains what might be the truest and most affecting line ever written about the game. It's the last one below:

When I say I "fucked up," what I mean is that I'm sitting here watching the NBA All-Star Game on TV and I'm watching guys I used to seriously abuse on the court scoring in double figures now against the best in the game. Ergo, I fucked it up. I should have stayed an athlete, body well-tuned, cruising around with my accountant in a Porsche, maroon and chrome. More important, with basketball there's always only one direction: to the cylinder on the fiberglass rectangle. And you don't have to aim. If you do, you're off.

Poetry has too many variations. Mr. Frost was right about one thing: there are always promises to keep, and variations on that theme. With basketball you can correct your own mistakes, immediately and beautifully, in midair.

Jim Carroll, Poet and Punk Rocker Who Wrote ‘The Basketball Diaries', Dies at 60 [New York Times]

Contrary to the legends made popular by Yao Ming and the CIA, the Chinese are not a race of seven-foot tall supermen. Some of them are quite short and they like to play basketball against others who are their own size. Unfortunately, Huizhou Qiaoxing of the Dream League signed Chinese Basketball Association slam dunk champion Hu Guang, who was listed in the CBA as 1.95 meters. (The league limit is 1.88m. The metric system will enslave us!) Hu refused to be measured, so his first opponent refused to take the floor and had to forfeit the game. The league finally did measure him and he passed, but some accused him of bending his neck to mask his true height. I didn't realize "standing up straight" could be so controversial.

Qiaoxing's next game went on as planned, but fans became so disruptive that it was called at halftime. So naturally the other fans started a riot.

By the way, all this happened because the league admitted that they had "limited ability and technique in measuring." So we're supposed to be worried about a world-dominating superpower that apparently doesn't own a tape measure?

"Too tall" player sparks fan violence [Yahoo/AP]

The Venezuelan squad says they came to Alabama (that should have been their first warning sign) under the impression they would take on squads from Nigeria, Uruguay, and Liberia, among others, in a week-long competition between friendly nations. You know, international diplomacy and all that. Instead, they got one game against the semi-pro Birmingham Gladiators and a tour of the local YMCA. No other international teams showed up and the Venezuelans had to go begging among the city's Latin American community for free dinners. The team now wants organizers to reimburse them for $18,000 in lost expenses.

In his defense, the promoter, Anthony Toney of Birmingham, says he did take care of the hotel and airfare (he has receipts!) and the only reason that six other teams weren't there is because they couldn't get visas to enter the U.S. That doesn't mean the "Freewill Games" were a disorganized mess! Now, let's congratulate the Gladiators on their "championship."

Also, Venezuela is run by communists so maybe they got what was coming to them. First of all, they trusted a man named Tony Toney. Second, does any "league" sound more fake than Toney's "Americas Basketball International"? Finally—and I can't stress this enough—why would anyone think it's a good idea to go to Birmingham, Alabama?

(Hey, do you want to hear a funny joke: Birmingham, Alabama wants to host the 2020 Olympics! That's the entire joke.)

Even the commenters on the Birmingham News website, who I assume are the most literate people in all of Alabama, are disgusted with the city's latest black eye:

Alright Birmingham! Those Olympics are a lock! Can't wait to see the dome!"

"TYPICAL MAGIC CITY HOSPITALITY. COME TO BIRMINGHAM AND WATCH YOUR MONEY DISSAPPEAR! THIS TOWN IS A JOKE. WHY DID MAYOR LANGFORD LET THEM GET HERE BEFORE THE DOME WAS BUILT?"

"Surely, the Mayor could have given them each a Pat Robertson New Testament and a unicorn . . ."

"That would be embarrassing, were we not numb to Birmingham's embarrassments, now."

"See! If we had our dome we could host more major events!!! Wait a minute, let me see if I see flying pigs."

"Absolute disgrace. B'ham is as B'ham does..."

"Another great humiliation for the city at the hands of a crooked promoter. If we were to build a dome, who the he11 would show up to play in it?"

"Is the Fair Park area eactly what we want international, national, or even local people to endure for a basketball game? .... I guess Fair Park really wasn't that bad of a choice........I mean whats the difference between 5,000 empty seats and 18,000 empty seats? The goal is still the same height!

"the Fair Park area is reminiscent of a third-world country!"

"Fair Park? Haha. Why on earth would international team come to play there? I bet I could ball on these scrubs. I can't help but feel that Larry is somehow involved in this...."

"I was going to call B'ham the Detroit of the south; then I remembered Detroit has the Pistons."

And these are people who like Birmingham! Don't worry—there's still plenty of racism, xenophobia and gay bashing left in the comments.

In case you're wondering, Larry (a.k.a. LaLa) is Mayor Larry Langford who dreams of building a spacious domed stadium that will attract all manner of tractor pulls and swap meets, dragging Birmingham squarely into the 20th Century. The "groundbreaking" was last Tuesday, even though they haven't even finished the blueprints yet. Just don't clap too loud, sports fans! You wouldn't want to compromise the structural integrity of the roof!

Venezuelan national team shows up in Birmingham, but no tournament [The Birmingham News]
Birmingham, Alabama's quest for a Domed Stadium [Birmingham Dome]
The Freewill Games [ABI Basketball]
Groundbreaking for Birmingham's dome facility confronted by strong winds and opposing voices [The Birmingham News]
Let Me Tell You Something About Birmingham, Alabama [Deadspin]

The Washington Post has an excellent look at Kim Jong Un (also known as Pak Un), a thoroughly Westernized sort who attended school in Switzerland and who everyone assumes will step into Kim Jong Il's jumpsuit when the old man finally goes to his reward. Jong Un, it seems, is quite a hoophead — of a type last spotted in the mid-1990s near Schaumburg:

A video of a school music class he attended shows a lithe, intense-looking Asian boy wearing black sweat pants, Nike Air Jordan shoes and a long-sleeved black sports shirt. He sways uncomfortably while classmates pound African drums and beat tambourines. Though generally quiet in class and sometimes awkward, particularly around girls, Pak Un showed a different personality on the basketball court, former friends recalled. He fell in with a group of mostly immigrant kids who shared his love of the National Basketball Association. Kovacevic, who shot hoops with the North Korean most days, said Pak Un was a fiercely competitive player.

"He was very explosive. He could make things happen. He was the playmaker," said Kovacevic, who now works as a tech specialist in the Swiss army. "If I wasn't sure I could make a shot, I always knew he could."

Marco Imhof, another Swiss basketball buddy, said the Korean was tough and fast, good at both shooting and dribbling. "He hated to lose. Winning was very important," recalled Imhof.

[...]

During his time in Liebefeld, friends remembered, Pak Un showed scant interest in politics and never vented publicly against Americans. Instead, he worshiped American basketball stars. He spent hours doing meticulous pencil drawings of Chicago Bulls superstar Michael Jordan.

At his spacious apartment on Kirchstrasse, said one friend who visited, Pak Un had a room filled with American basketball paraphernalia. He proudly showed off photographs of himself standing with Toni Kukoc of the Chicago Bulls and Kobe Bryant of the Los Angeles Lakers. It is unclear where the pictures were taken. On at least one occasion, a car from the North Korean Embassy drove Pak Un to Paris to watch an NBA exhibition game.

The best part of this is that Jong Un's rise came at the expense of the middle brother, Jong Choi, who the Associated Press reportedly recently was considered "too effeminate for the job" (this according to Kim Jong Il's sushi chef). Right. Because nothing is more manly than a guy who does meticulous pencil drawings of Michael Jordan. Still, it'll be nice having another basketball fan on the world stage. One day, let us dream, all our geopolitical disputes will be settled by a furious game of knockout.

Who Will Succeed Kim Jong Il? [Washington Post]

First, here's the metaphor, from the text of her resignation speech:

Let me go back to a comfortable analogy for me - sports... basketball. I use it because you're naïve if you don't see the national full-court press picking away right now: A good point guard drives through a full court press, protecting the ball, keeping her eye on the basket... and she knows exactly when to pass the ball so that the team can WIN. And I'm doing that - keeping our eye on the ball that represents sound priorities - smaller government, energy independence, national security, freedom! And I know when it's time to pass the ball - for victory.

All of which would look something like this:

MS Painting by Ben Cohen

Turns out, however, that since he's assumed the Oval Office, there hasn't been as much time to hoop it up. He swished some shots with the UConn women's team and plays when he can, but there is also a world to save.

He might get a few more runs in now that he's converting the outdoor tennis court into a basketball court, he told Brian Williams on Inside the Obama White House last night.

"We have commissioned new lines to be painted alongside the tennis court lines, and we're going to have some removable baskets so we're going to have an outdoor court on the tennis court. And I am confident I might be able to get in at least a weekly game. I've played a couple of times so far since I've been in office, and for an old guy, I'm hanging in there."

The AP did a healthy profile on him because he's big and he's fun to photograph towering over tiny six-footers forced to come face-to-face with his crotch in an attempt to avoid a screen. Currently, MingMing plays for the Hamamatsu Phoenix in a Japanese league, but he's still hopeful the NBA is in his future. The problem is, a one-legged George Murhesan could beat him up and down the court. He's working on it though. But for now, he can just stand in the paint playing giant and still be effective:

"It's surreal," says 6-foot-8 forward Lynn Washington, a two-time MVP in Japan. "You can't really do much because he's so big. He just holds the ball up in the air and it looks like a tennis ball."

China's Sun Shining In Japanese Basketball League [AP] (Via Big Picture)

As usual with a Malcolm Gladwell story, there's a nugget of truth hidden under mountains of dubious anecdotal evidence. The premise makes sense—unconventional warfare (or sports-fare) allows weak opponents (Davids) to expose the flaws of a larger, more powerful adversary (Goliaths). When David does something unexpected, Goliath becomes confused and panicky, usually leading to his downfall. The proof? A eighth-grade girls basketball team.

Well, there are other examples, like George Washington, T.E. Lawrence, and of course Rick Pitino—the three pillars of leadership—but much of the article is on basketball and the lost art of the full-court press. Pressing always works, you see, because it gets teams out of their comfort zones and all it takes to be good at the press is hustle and anyone can do that. Yet, hardly any teams press full-time. Why so stupid, America?

Because hustle is not all it takes. It's actually very difficult to run a well-executed press and teams that specialize in it are usually lousy at everything else. (Because all their precious practice time is devoted to pressing.) All it takes is one calm point guard to mess everything up. Plus, when you press all the time, that's what you become known for and teams on your schedule can prepare for it. The idea of "changing the rules" is as much about the element of surprise as it is about the unusual tactic. Those eighth-grade girls who were so flummoxed by the heroines of the story had probably never seen a press before in their lives and would probably fare much better the next time around. Just because it works in specific isolated situations, that doesn't mean it's a guaranteed path to success. Sooner or later you run into a Goliath who can dribble through a trap.

Gladwell's other examples of this winning strategy include a military simulation from a computer that places no value on human life and the actual story of David and Goliath, which did not really happen. And it's also disingenuous to say that Rick Pitino worked his Kentucky magic with a bunch of no-talent chumps.

College coaches of Pitino's calibre typically have had numerous players who have gone on to be bona-fide all-stars at the professional level. In his many years of coaching, Pitino has had one, Antoine Walker.

Umm, ever hear of a little fellow by the name of Nazr Mohammed? I rest my case. (Seriously, though nine players from his national title team played in the NBA, so it's not like he was recruiting wheelchair players.)

Annals of Innovation: How David Beats Goliath [The New Yorker]

I'm waiting for the day when a player jumps to pro basketball from the eighth grade, but for now we have Tyler, who's going pro before his junior prom. They grow up so fast. It's the first time an American basketball player has jumped to the pros before finishing high school. And what does Tyler's father think? Surely he'll stop this madness!

"It's just the old way of doing things and no one wants to swallow the pill of change. Basketball is an American sport and they want the kids to go through the channels. And I think there is so much money generated in collegiate sports that they don't want that interrupted. It's a double standard."

Tyler, who averaged 27 points per game his junior year at San Diego High School, had verbally committed to Louisville. But instead he'll play two years in Europe — most likely in Spain — get his high school GED on the Internet, and then enter the NBA draft. Coincidentally that was also my plan after my junior year, except that I was also going to be a British secret agent and/or a supermodel swimsuit photographer. Where did it all go wrong?

Tyler just wasn't looking forward to his senior year of high school.

"It was boring and I wasn't getting better," Tyler said. "Each game was the same thing. I was getting triple-teamed and getting hacked. After each game I'd have scratches and bruises up and down my arms from getting triple-teamed. It just wasn't for me."

But think of all that he'll miss. No Senior Cut Day, no scavenger hunt, no doing donuts in the parking lot on graduation day, no filling the language art teacher's car with fresh sod from the football field and rolling it into a creek (that last one may only apply to me).

Basketball Prospect Leaving High School To Play In Europe [New York Times]
Jeremy Tyler Goes Pro Before His Junior Prom [Money Players]

Patrick, a senior who has Down's Syndrome, practices with the team but had never played in a real game. He recently he got his chance, however, during Greely's Senior Night, and he made the most of it. And the video above only tells part of the story.

Patrick made sure his opportunity counted, scoring a 3-pointer with just his second shot. Then, with one minute left in the game, fans stood and chanted Patrick's name. The coach put him back in the game and he delivered — sinking another three-pointer at the buzzer. Patrick's teammates swarmed around him, and carried him off the court.

Hey WCSH, way to leave the game early to beat the traffic.

Patrick's father, Perry, suffered a stroke two weeks ago, and was released from the hospital the day before in order to see his son play. Hey, I've always said it: Patrick Thibodeau is going to get his points; you just have to make sure you stop everyone else.

Here's a longer video from Bootlegger Sports, which includes Patrick's final shot (at the 3:47 mark).

Student With Down's Syndrome Scores For Greely High [WCSH6]
Bootlegger Sports [A Very Special Night]

Ray Floriani is a blogger who doubles as a youth basketball ref in the Orange, N.J., area. On Monday he found himself officiating a sixth-grade boys game between South Orange and West Orange, the latter team being coached by Sen. Richard Codey, D-NJ.

We get going and early on South Orange gets out to a lead. Codey shows a little of the mentor that works about a half mile down the road by debating a few calls or no calls. Still, he is working hard genuinely teaching and encouraging his kids. On one play I call a three seconds on his player. 'His foot wasn’t in the lane,' Codey protests, 'Coach it was,' I answer politely. Plus I gave him about five seconds.' "

"During a time out, my partner comes over and tells me Codey wants a Technical on the South Orange cheerleaders. 'Why,' I ask. 'He said they are too loud and he can’t think.' I suggest to my partner let’s just move on.

Codey, whose team lost by 32, was acting governor of New Jersey when Jim McGreevey resigned in 2004. He also once introduced a bill to remove the word "idiot" from the New Jersey Constitution. So you know that in order to break that iron concentration, those cheerleaders must have been really raucous!

Thou Shalt Not Tech The Cheerleaders [Rush The Court]

Kevin Laue, an 18-year-old 6'10" basketball player, breaks his leg and misses his senior season. Therefore, he signs up for one of the prep academies that grooms basketball players for college when academics or athletics hold them back. He's spotted by scouts and is told he's definitely a D-I prospect... except for that left hand missing since birth. So he pockets a few feelers from D-III schools and holds out for an Ivy League invite. Why couldn't Tommy Amaker have allegedly tampered with this fellow instead?

The New York Times also credits Laue for taking the time to help a young woman his age adjusting to being one-handed after her recent car accident. Unfortunately, the Times undermines its case of sweet charity when it mentions she's "... blond and pretty, a junior psychology major at Mary Baldwin College." Yes, we can't possibly understand why an 18-year-old guy in prep school would reach out to an attractive older college woman with whom he has something in common. Like hormones.

Prospect Provides Inspiration With What He Doesn’t Have [New York Times]