So I don't clutter up IW's comments
Basketball bores me, with the occasional exception of college ball. And the bit about Steve Nash's split nose the other day seemed like a royal case of Ye Mountain and Ye Molehill (at least to a hockey fan). Even the next morning's SportsCenter got into the nonsense, spending several minutes of recap on something that probably wouldn't even merit a three-second side-mention during a hockey game, let alone the next morning. But one of the local sports columnists did a bit on it a few days ago that made me chuckle. Then incoherentwench commented that the hoohaw about Nash's nose seemed way overdone and for the same reason I thought it was. So now I figure I'll post the Nash-relevant bit of said column, just for grins:
Near the end of Sunday afternoon’s playoff action, [Nash] accidentally bashed his face on the head of San Antonio Spurs guard Tony Parker. Though the collision didn’t appear to be especially violent, Parker went down as if he had been struck by something really dangerous - like one of Shaquille O’Neal’s free throws. He stayed down, too.
And Nash? He checked to see if Parker was all right, before casually walking away. It didn’t appear Nash was hurt. Then he turned around and everybody saw the blood.
Nash suffered a wound that would require six stitches. As for the blood, even Chuck Wepner would have been impressed.
As trainers attended to the prostrate Parker, Nash calmly returned to his corner - uh, bench - while efforts were made to stem the red sea. Quite a scene, I thought, as my mind leapt to national stereotypes.
Nash is Canadian. What’s a mere mangled, bloody nose to a tough Canadian? On the other hand, that Parker, the Frenchman, was down for a long count somehow seemed fitting.
A bloody nose wouldn’t have stopped Wayne Gretzky. And when you think about Nash’s clever approach to basketball - the way he moves the ball and himself up and down the court and all that he does to help his teammates - Nash is the Great One in sneakers.
With a gash on his nose wide enough to drive a Zamboni through, Nash would go on to sink two key baskets, pausing between plays to wipe away blood with his jersey, before being forced to the bench in the crucial final 45 seconds when the bandages couldn’t stop the bleeding.
It made for great theater, though not a Suns victory.
Meanwhile, Parker spent so much time on the ground I was expecting a crew from CSI: Phoenix to arrive on the scene. When he finally got up, we learned that he had suffered only a small boo-boo to his forehead. Did I mention that he’s French?
Am I the only one who bothered to make these international connections? Maybe so.
Okay, the CSI bit made me laugh. Some mornings I'm very easily amused...
Near the end of Sunday afternoon’s playoff action, [Nash] accidentally bashed his face on the head of San Antonio Spurs guard Tony Parker. Though the collision didn’t appear to be especially violent, Parker went down as if he had been struck by something really dangerous - like one of Shaquille O’Neal’s free throws. He stayed down, too.
And Nash? He checked to see if Parker was all right, before casually walking away. It didn’t appear Nash was hurt. Then he turned around and everybody saw the blood.
Nash suffered a wound that would require six stitches. As for the blood, even Chuck Wepner would have been impressed.
As trainers attended to the prostrate Parker, Nash calmly returned to his corner - uh, bench - while efforts were made to stem the red sea. Quite a scene, I thought, as my mind leapt to national stereotypes.
Nash is Canadian. What’s a mere mangled, bloody nose to a tough Canadian? On the other hand, that Parker, the Frenchman, was down for a long count somehow seemed fitting.
A bloody nose wouldn’t have stopped Wayne Gretzky. And when you think about Nash’s clever approach to basketball - the way he moves the ball and himself up and down the court and all that he does to help his teammates - Nash is the Great One in sneakers.
With a gash on his nose wide enough to drive a Zamboni through, Nash would go on to sink two key baskets, pausing between plays to wipe away blood with his jersey, before being forced to the bench in the crucial final 45 seconds when the bandages couldn’t stop the bleeding.
It made for great theater, though not a Suns victory.
Meanwhile, Parker spent so much time on the ground I was expecting a crew from CSI: Phoenix to arrive on the scene. When he finally got up, we learned that he had suffered only a small boo-boo to his forehead. Did I mention that he’s French?
Am I the only one who bothered to make these international connections? Maybe so.
Okay, the CSI bit made me laugh. Some mornings I'm very easily amused...