All you AV haters - there's good stuff in here to fuel your feelings.... 
The Webber bashing continues.
http://www.sacbee.com/content/sports/story/13702922p-14545583c.html
There are plenty of doting fathers, protective husbands and new-age health nuts in professional sports, so give or take an herbal tea bath or two, Doug Christie is not exactly unique. But this is Doug Christie we're talking about here.
Of course he's an icon.
Of course he deserves better.
Of course he deserves the cheers, the chants, the tears.
The Kings of the recently departed era never would have been the same without his relentless, resilient presence, never would have come within a few clutch plays of eliminating the Los Angeles Lakers, of reaching the 2002 NBA Finals. They never would have recovered from Chris Webber's injury absence throughout most of 2003-2004, and before the hobbled power forward returned and poisoned the atmosphere with his all-about-me personality, produced some of the most exquisite, unselfish and wildly efficient basketball in recent memory.
Few teams passed the ball like those Kings. Few teams moved as one, as did those Kings. Mike Bibby. Peja Stojakovic. Vlade Divac. Bobby Jackson. Brad Miller. Doug Christie.
Christie, now a Dallas Mavericks reserve who sat out the preseason opener Tuesday night to rest his surgically repaired left foot, remained the good soldier, the great teammate. He played ferocious defense, snatched critical rebounds, found the seams for slithery drives and innovative passes, and found Peja, too. He epitomized the very best of the Kings - no, the very best of pro athletes. He was all about winning, not all about Doug.
Funny, isn't it, to hear Christie depicted as a malingerer during his brief tenure in Orlando? As an aging, overpaid veteran who sulked and split for Seattle because he was unhappy about the February trade that trimmed his $8.2 million from the Kings' payroll, and in the process, stuck Rick Adelman with Mr. Sticky Fingers himself, Cuttino Mobley?
No, not Doug Christie.
Not ever Doug Christie.
The 13-year pro could stroll into Arco Arena in a visitors uniform, or as he did Tuesday night, dressed in black slacks, white T-shirt and oversized light blue sweater, and Kings fans would still pick him out in a crowd and warmly call his name. Former teammates and bosses would still afford him tremendous respect. During early pregame warmups, for example, Miller stood off to the side, patiently waiting while Christie conducted a battery of interviews. And then there was Jackie Christie, watching from courtside seats provided by the Maloofs, and Bibby, grinning and yelling toward the Mavericks' bench, toward his old friend, just before tipoff.
"It feels kind of weird," said Christie, who signed with the Mavericks over the summer as a free agent. "My wife and I had great years here. We won't forget that."
Of all the criticisms that have been aimed in his direction through the years, among them, that he was careless with the ball (Lakers, New York Knicks), guilty of disrupting team policy while adhering to unconventional marital vows (Toronto), and failing to consistently convert open jumpers, slamming Christie for a lack of professionalism - as was done during his tenure with the Orlando Magic - is almost unfathomable. This is a guy who seldom took a night off, who never took a play off. Those bone spurs in his left foot really must have scraped his nerves raw, leaving him physically limited and emotionally exposed, and prompting the abrupt withdrawal that alienated Orlando fans and officials alike.
They missed a lot, missed it all.
His defense, his passes, his passion.
"When Doug has been out there (in preseason)," said Mavs assistant Del Harris, "we look like a better team. He just knows how to play."
Who can forget Christie's brilliance against these very Mavs during the 2003 postseason? Who doesn't recall the eruption in the huddle, the tears in the locker room? The sight of of the slinky 6-foot-6 veteran slapping his palms atop the press table, slapping his hands together in a cloud of resin dust, then expending every ounce of energy and ability out on the court? Who doesn't remember the surprising sounds of his most candid admission - that he choked while shooting those air balls in Game 7 in 2002 - and his subsequent vow that it would never happen again?
"I'll be back," insisted Christie, smiling, his next appearance scheduled here Dec. 22, "or just keep the memories in your head."
No, he deserves better. At the very least, he deserves another night in Arco.
The Webber bashing continues.http://www.sacbee.com/content/sports/story/13702922p-14545583c.html
There are plenty of doting fathers, protective husbands and new-age health nuts in professional sports, so give or take an herbal tea bath or two, Doug Christie is not exactly unique. But this is Doug Christie we're talking about here.
Of course he's an icon.
Of course he deserves better.
Of course he deserves the cheers, the chants, the tears.
The Kings of the recently departed era never would have been the same without his relentless, resilient presence, never would have come within a few clutch plays of eliminating the Los Angeles Lakers, of reaching the 2002 NBA Finals. They never would have recovered from Chris Webber's injury absence throughout most of 2003-2004, and before the hobbled power forward returned and poisoned the atmosphere with his all-about-me personality, produced some of the most exquisite, unselfish and wildly efficient basketball in recent memory.
Few teams passed the ball like those Kings. Few teams moved as one, as did those Kings. Mike Bibby. Peja Stojakovic. Vlade Divac. Bobby Jackson. Brad Miller. Doug Christie.
Christie, now a Dallas Mavericks reserve who sat out the preseason opener Tuesday night to rest his surgically repaired left foot, remained the good soldier, the great teammate. He played ferocious defense, snatched critical rebounds, found the seams for slithery drives and innovative passes, and found Peja, too. He epitomized the very best of the Kings - no, the very best of pro athletes. He was all about winning, not all about Doug.
Funny, isn't it, to hear Christie depicted as a malingerer during his brief tenure in Orlando? As an aging, overpaid veteran who sulked and split for Seattle because he was unhappy about the February trade that trimmed his $8.2 million from the Kings' payroll, and in the process, stuck Rick Adelman with Mr. Sticky Fingers himself, Cuttino Mobley?
No, not Doug Christie.
Not ever Doug Christie.
The 13-year pro could stroll into Arco Arena in a visitors uniform, or as he did Tuesday night, dressed in black slacks, white T-shirt and oversized light blue sweater, and Kings fans would still pick him out in a crowd and warmly call his name. Former teammates and bosses would still afford him tremendous respect. During early pregame warmups, for example, Miller stood off to the side, patiently waiting while Christie conducted a battery of interviews. And then there was Jackie Christie, watching from courtside seats provided by the Maloofs, and Bibby, grinning and yelling toward the Mavericks' bench, toward his old friend, just before tipoff.
"It feels kind of weird," said Christie, who signed with the Mavericks over the summer as a free agent. "My wife and I had great years here. We won't forget that."
Of all the criticisms that have been aimed in his direction through the years, among them, that he was careless with the ball (Lakers, New York Knicks), guilty of disrupting team policy while adhering to unconventional marital vows (Toronto), and failing to consistently convert open jumpers, slamming Christie for a lack of professionalism - as was done during his tenure with the Orlando Magic - is almost unfathomable. This is a guy who seldom took a night off, who never took a play off. Those bone spurs in his left foot really must have scraped his nerves raw, leaving him physically limited and emotionally exposed, and prompting the abrupt withdrawal that alienated Orlando fans and officials alike.
They missed a lot, missed it all.
His defense, his passes, his passion.
"When Doug has been out there (in preseason)," said Mavs assistant Del Harris, "we look like a better team. He just knows how to play."
Who can forget Christie's brilliance against these very Mavs during the 2003 postseason? Who doesn't recall the eruption in the huddle, the tears in the locker room? The sight of of the slinky 6-foot-6 veteran slapping his palms atop the press table, slapping his hands together in a cloud of resin dust, then expending every ounce of energy and ability out on the court? Who doesn't remember the surprising sounds of his most candid admission - that he choked while shooting those air balls in Game 7 in 2002 - and his subsequent vow that it would never happen again?
"I'll be back," insisted Christie, smiling, his next appearance scheduled here Dec. 22, "or just keep the memories in your head."
No, he deserves better. At the very least, he deserves another night in Arco.
