ALEX LEN IS A PEEIIIIIMP!

   It was a rebel yell in enemy territory and it could be heard from two states away. Phoenix Suns center Alex Len, with the ball at center court, made a quick move to the right, shaking off a lumbering, swatting Tim Duncan. He dribbled the ball once, then cradled it with hepped up, childlike ambition, moving with intent and purpose.  The lane was his. It never mattered how many grey jerseys were in the way. 

   As Len slammed the ball, one-handed, with legs kicking outward in a perfect v-shape, he let out a warring cry and suddenly everyone in San Antonio knew what we in Phoenix have been lucky to witness this season: the expedited evolution of Alex "Steal My Sunshine" Len.

   The move, as Suns commentator Eddie Johnson pointed out, had "nasty intentions." Rolling past the Suns bench, Len pounded his chest and everyone overflowed with ecstasy.

   Allow me then to make a prediction: Alex Len, in three seasons' time (starting this year), will be on the shortlist of the game's best big men. It is only a matter of in-game experience before this Ukrainian Gumby is on the same level as the Gasols, Howards and Duncans of the league. And he will be a major factor in helping keep this young Suns team in the win column.

   In every game Len has improved his skills little by little. Early on, he seemed nervous, a kid amongst professionals. His rookie season last year was cut short by injuries, putting his much-touted potential on standby while Miles Plumlee came into his own.  

   After the first few games of this season, the fifth overall pick, began to find his rhythm. First his ball handing excelled; he wiped the butter from his fingers. Then, his defensive presence in the paint started to hobble opposing plays. At 7-1, it's not difficult. All he's got to do is put his long arms straight up and the blocks will come. But he's not just an immovable force; he looks for the shot, times it right and slaps away the potential point. We're only ten days into January and he's already averaging 3.6 blocks per game.

   Len's hard work hasn't been lost on Coach Jeff Hornacek. He's kept him in the starting lineup, making Plumlee a second thrust of defense off the bench. Between their four giant palms the Suns are on track to become a major defensive threat in the league.

   In a game against the Sacramento Kings, on December 26, Len and Plumlee each tallied five blocks--the first Suns duo to hit that mark since Amar'e Stoudemire and Shawn Marion did it in 2007. Anything that harkens back to the days of Nash will always bring a source of light to Suns fans.

   And Len's game just keeps expanding. In recent games he's found a jump shot and made a few quick passes to a cutting Goran Dragic. At this rate--even at his height--Len can't see the ceiling of his game.

Phoenix Suns Worst Team In The League?!!??!

Does anybody remember October?

     Standing here in mid-April with the lightning round of one NBA season settled, each month between then and now feels like one year in length. For Phoenix Suns fans the conclusion of year 2014 is nothing but bittersweet.

     I wish I were the one on top of the hill screaming, I told you so!, driving a forefinger into everyone's face, but I'm not. And nobody is. The Phoenix Suns, after a total combustion in the 2012-13 season, where they finished 25-57, were picked to remain dead last in the Western Conference this year. Lower even than the Sacramento Kings! Equal with the 76ers! With no one older than 25 playing! The disrespect!! 

     The Suns were a complete non-thought by every basketball pundit in the land, projected to win ten games less than the previous year. Destined, we all thought, to grind aimlessly in the doghouse another couple of years before working back into playoff form. 

     Instead we were given one of the most surprising, whirlwind Phoenix Suns seasons in history and missed the playoffs only by the hair on Z-Bo’s chinny chin chin. It played out better than most “best case scenario” descriptions in preseason magazine previews. The Dragic/Bledsoe era came rushing in and the eyes did not cease their widening. 

     It all starts with Suns Executive of the Year nominee, Ryan McDonough. Since his hire last May he has expertly culled together a group of guys too used to playing second and third fiddle, ready to play with a purpose. Eric Bledsoe, surely anxious to step away from the Chris Paul glare, showed the potential fuel he can bring to the rapid-fire, two-guard tandem. Early tepidness of having two explosive guards run the floor at once quickly dissolved. 

      McDonough flipped Luis Scola for Gerald Green and Miles Plumlee, garbage time collectors behind an impressive Indiana Pacers frontcourt and All-Stars Roy Hibbert and Paul George. Green, who earned 41 points one night against the Oklahoma City Thunder, it could be argued, had the most stunning turnaround season, adding layers to his flashy Slam Dunk skills. He was at times Phoenix’s number one three-point threat. And there was also the double-pump, triple-pump dunks. 360 windmill dunks. Two-handed from behind the head drunks. Selfie off-the-backboard bounce pass dunks. Green showcased the gauntlet. 

     When Bledsoe went out with a knee injury for two months midseason, Dragic showed the world he can carry a team, putting him on the scroll of valuable NBA point guards. “Plumdog” Plumlee put the numbers on the board. The brotherly Morris connection helped to sanctify team chemistry. Channing Frye made his successful return to action after losing last season to his big fat heart. PJ Tucker got even tougher. The Blur returned. Ish Smith zigged and zagged.

     When the mighty Phoenix sun beamed down on their faces, they recognized an opportunity to make something of their budding careers. Put Suns alumni Jeff Hornacek in the nice suit from The Clotherie to draw out plays and you’ve got one magical season. The top Coach of the Year candidate had a grab-bag of talent and he worked it into fine form.

     Each oncourt Suns lineup, no matter the point in the game, played hard. They fought back from games that seemed over with only minutes remaining, chopping down three 20-point deficits for comeback wins. They tuned out the negative preseason press and when it dawned on everyone they were too good to tank, and phrases like “Cinderella story” and “the surprising Suns” were bandied about, they adjusted their focus even more.

     The chemistry oncourt is so good you'd think they'd all grown up in the wilderness together, killing their food and protecting each other. The team collected eight wins with a margin of 15 points or more (including battles with the Spurs, Pacers and Clippers). They finished with the best win percentage for a non-playoff team since the 1983-84 season, which...is...sort of cool, I guess.

     Missing the playoffs is a deep hurt. It’s painful to see the purple and orange bursting basketball sun missing from the playoff bracket. The Suns, though, are in prime position going forward and can sit back in ninth place with a big bowl of oranges and watch the unfolding playoff drama.

With four potential draft picks this summer, a pocketful of cap space, plenty of valuable assets (and a GM proving himself a meticulous planner) the Phoenix Suns are sitting pretty atop Camelback Mountain waiting, preparing, for the summer to deflate into the fall.

DRONE CONTROL

Grappling with the Loss of Mother Nash

There were fireworks—yeah—they were going off.

“Lakers.” was all a text read sent from a friend in Arizona. In my absinthian July Fourth haze a few squabbles of information loosely gelled together. Free Agency had begun in the NBA and Steve Nash was at the top of everyone's wish list. A final tug of realization stitched them together as my computer turned on and flashed Espn.com showing Nash with purple and gold behind his grinning mug. Never in my young life have I felt such shock—a shock that diminished reality and turned everything one-dimensional. Nothing about the moment was real and it still haunts me when I see “Nash” and “L.A.” in the same piece. But writing is healing, God let it be so, writing is healing.

The two-time MVP put it succinctly: "Everybody knows there's no loyalty in sports." And if anybody in all of sports were to finally burn a period into the end of that sentence, it would be Mr. Loyalty himself after signing with one of Phoenix's longtime rivals. You're right, Mr. Nash, there really is no loyalty in sports, but as I watched Lebron James leave his hometown for Miami, then Carmelo Anthony demand a trade from Denver, then Deron Williams demand a trade from Utah, this year it’s Dwight Howard’s turn, I held out hope that MVSteve wouldn’t be the next domino to fall. Ray Allen skipped to Miami farting green the whole way, then Nash took the 10 West through scorched earth to his new residence. Oh, but it did happen. The air has left the lungs of amity leaving them deflated like two-week old party balloons. Yeah, nothing is cherished and who cares.

Get over it. I know. I’m trying. Undoubtedly, Nash will be a perfect fit in Los Angeles. He’ll never have to dribble over the three-point line if he doesn’t want to. Between Kobe, Pau, and Bynum he’ll have plenty of exit passes to take. They’ve easily wiggled into the top three of the West. It’s troubling, though, that I won’t be rooting for him, for to do that is to root for the enemy. Sorry, brother, but you’re not wearing my colors. Only in retrospect, maybe ten years after, will it be sensible to celebrate World Champion Steve Nash, because hoping for positive things in Lakerland just is not in the DNA of any Suns fan.

The post-Nash era in Phoenix has already had a few burps and snaps. Eric Gordon, for a moment, made everything feel okay. A decent consolation prize, but the New Orleans Hornets matched the Suns’ offer. We lassoed Goran Dragic back from Houston, stringing his teammate, Luis Scola, along in an amnesty victory and added Michael Beasley from Minnesota. A decent core is developing and Sarver’s got some money packed tightly into his back pocket. Let’s see what roster Phoenix ends up with and hope nobody comes in wearing number 13. We had Nash for eight straight years. By the rules of heartbreak, that means it’s going to take four years to get over this. To be continued…

DRONE CONTROL

NASH APPRECIATION

One of the dirtiest, most filthiest, things just happened to me. In discussing the impact of Amar'e Stoudemire fitting back into the New York Knicks' newfound rotation, with sudden superstar Jeremy Lin effectively working the point, ESPN showed old clips from the Steve Nash/Stoudemire era from 2002—10 in Phoenix. The real disgusting and most offensive part, though, was not the steepening sense of disappointment, but, when the clips ended it was Bruce “Bowtie” Bowen, the ex-Spur, doing the analyzing with his dumb face. I had to take a shower to let all the aggression slide away.

Bowen was on the San Antonio team that beat the Suns in the Western Conference Finals in 2007 winning the championship that year, and it was Bowen’s multiple cheap-shots to Nash’s groin, and Stoudemire’s ankle the following year, that created a hostility between the two teams that will never die (Horry, Duncan, Ginobli: you are not forgotten). But this is not about holding a grudge the size of Texas, but rather paying tribute to the best point guard to ever play the game of basketball. A point guard who makes everyone he plays with (even Lopez) better. Stoudemire flourished with Mr. Assist and is now considered one of the top power forwards in the league. No one threads the needle with such grace or has the cool and calm to dribble in and out of human trees and wait patiently for the perfect pick-and-roll to present itself. And if none of that pans out, he’ll just do a quick hop and drain a three. That’s Nash 101 and we in Phoenix hold onto it with our collective grip like it’s a dying baby slipping from life’s grasp on a hospital bed. Steve Nash, 38, heads to his eighth All-Star game Feb. 26 as a reserve and he’ll be there representing the team that gave him the platform to be a star.

In today's hypercharged market, basketball stars are constantly chasing the next best scenario. Lebron James, Carmelo Anthony, Chris Paul, Deron Williams have all suffered from inflated ego and visions of gold and confetti, but still have had trouble controlling their destinies. Their anxieties have created an atmosphere of constant discontent in this league. If your name isn’t in lights and you’re not immediately deemed Larry O’Brien-bound by a bunch of ex-basketball star hacks, then you’ve failed by many. Forget chemistry, loyalty and honor, it’s nothing but a crab factory on this beach.

By all accounts, Nash could’ve asked to be traded from the organization in these last few seasons and no one would’ve blamed him. But that’s not his style. He stuck around when Coach D'antoni left; looked for the beauty in adding Shaq—the biggest, clunkiest player ever—into a “run-and-gun” offense; was patient after two early playoff exits and two years under .500; and still remains mired in the post-Richardson, post-Dragic, post-Carter era we now find ourselves in today.

“Maybe I’m old school,” Nash says, on honoring his contract amid all the terrible moves the front office has made. (It was only two years ago that we lost the Western Conference Finals at the hands of Ron Artest only to trade half the team away!) He could be shipped to New York or Orlando and get his ring by this June, but he’s hung around. That loyalty is next-to-impossible to find on any other team and before the unfortunate, damning event that he actually is traded, let’s pause and shout hallelujah for such an icon and one that may be the last of his kind. Steve Nash, you’re my hero (Monta Ellis ain’t nothin’ but a bitch to me).

DRONE CONTROL

NASH IT OUT

    I was just in NYC (to eat my first McRib sandwich in years) and Amar’e Stoudemire clobbered the walls of Madison Square Garden (where they served the McRibs) and I’ve got to say, he looked a little sad. It’s not his fault. Phoenix Suns owner Robert “Lowball” Sarver offered him a raw deal (with unguaranteed years and less cash) to stay in the valley of the sun (and meth-labs). Stoudemire took the comfy offer from the New York Knicks wanting to be holy team captain (only he ended up a co-captain with troll Raymond Felton).

    So now the Knicks have Phoenix’s old coach, Mike D’antoni AND Phoenix’s old forward, and, oh yeah, now the old Nash-to-NY trade rumors have been jostled again and there’s talks of sending HIM to the Knicks if Phoenix can’t prove their playoff worth early. And well, now I’m wondering if Al-Qaeda might be Phoenix Suns supporters. How insulting to have three of the most powerful minds, responsible for taking Phoenix so far in the playoffs only a few scant seasons ago, all working on another team in the East! What the fuck is that!?

    But these are just rumors, made up by greedy mischievous sports journalists and I should just ignore them and swallow the puke in my throat. Aaaaaah. And anyway the Suns have looked great so far this infant season, though caveman Robin Lopez is now injured. Regardless of Wednesday night’s loss to the Miami Heat, the Suns just ran through two top Western teams – the Denver Nuggets and the Los Angeles Lakers – in back-to-back games no less! It’s been a marvelous week for the team. Jason Richardson, literally on flames, helped achieve a team record of 22 three-pointers! Against LA! And Steve Nash got divorced this week! And had his third child on Friday! For lunch! Things are OK in Phoenix! Just please retire a Sun Steve, I don’t want to have to make homemade bombs and blow up Madison Square Garden and US Airway Center because if I can’t have you, no one will.