For most of the first trimester of this NBA season, there has been one man constantly stealing the spotlight away from such places as Lebron’s new found transcendence, three teams (Si, three teams) that could reasonably reach 70 wins without surprising anyone and the widening of the PG gap between Chris Paul (I refuse to refer to him as CP3. It’s an awful nickname) and Deron Williams: Mr. Head Tattoo himself, Stephon Marbury.
First it was the scalp art, then the sometimes dramatic, always absurd melodramatic divorce between Starbury and the Knickerbockers, and now this:
Besides the obvious tension that would exist between Stephon and his first wife, Kevin Garnett, this could potentially bring down the House that Ainge built. How would he interact with the BIG3? What would happen to Rondo? Could he prevent another Celtics dynasty? Would he get Red Auerbach tattooed on his head as well? No one can say for sure.
The point is, that Marbury has been turning the greatest sport in the world into a joke in the very city that brought it to greatness in the first place. Stephon Marbury is an enigma, simultaneously showing the light side (players such as Dwight Howard, the aforementioned Chris Paul, and Brandon Roy) of the game by serving as an almost comedic and disproportionate foil to these players, and at the same time representing all that is rotten in the league (unquenchable thirst for money, power, and fame). He shouldn’t be villainized , he should be celebrated as the ludicrous and farcical character in the great production of the NBA. Do not reject and scorn this man, respect and treasure him as the ultimate agent of absurdity in the king among sports.