Of Goats and Men

In the carpool lane of Chicago sports, there proceeds a caravan of winners and losers. Setting the pace up front, one will find the consummate leaders of the new school -- Derrick Rose, Jonathan Toews, and Starlin Castro. These are the refreshing superstars who supplement their skills with hard work, professionalism, and deferred egos. Pulling up the rear, we have a much maligned Maserati -- Alfonso Soriano is driving, Jay Cutler is sitting shotgun (how's that for some dual airbags!), and Carlos Boozer is now stretched out in the back seat after a successful hitch-hiking campaign (a natural extension of his defensive philosophy). These are the dry-heave superstars who accentuate their mediocrity with bad attitudes, insincere teamwork, and general stupidity.

In the middle of the pack, Patrick Kane is driving the party bus (perhaps out of town), and Lovie Smith is driving the church bus (a good natured man, for sure, but if Jesus was the GM, I'll tell you WWJD? He would keep Lovie a defensive coordinator).

Certainly there will be occasions to further address the virtues and vices of these noteworthy passengers, but for now, I will spend the next 271 words eviscerating Carlos Boozer:

Ever since he lied to Gordon Gund (the former / blind owner of the Cleveland Cavaliers), the karma police have been chasing Carlos Boozer like O.J. Simpson on the Los Angeles freeway. Injury prone and fraught with personal acrimony, Carlos Boozer is the most expensive plague to hit town since Mrs. O'leary's cow started the Great Chicago Fire. Speaking of farm animals, here's a little advanced scouting lesson I once learned from the University of Common Sense: If it looks like a goat, and it walks like a goat, and it smells like a goat ... well, then it's probably a goat. I mean, seriously, is it not now completely obvious that Taj Gibson, Kurt Thomas and Omir Asik would collectively cover Boozer's would-be offensive production, moreover, do everything else better with respect to defense, energy and toughness?

Carlos Boozer adds de minimus value to the Chicago Bulls, plain and simple. His best contribution last night would've been punching Jeff Foster and getting suspended for the next series. I'm tired of his false bravado, and I'm not surprised by the hollow cheerleading he contrived while by standing from the bench last night. Maybe Carlos will find another gym bag to "slip" on, and maybe this alleged turf toe he is suffering will allow the Bulls to cushion his fall in minutes.

But if Carlos ever needs a ride, I'm ready to go -- I've got a full tank of gas, half a box of cannolis, and I know of some secluded ponds in Indiana that we can back into.

In Chicago, there simply isn't enough room for another cursed goat.