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Guilty Pleasures

21 Dec 2011

The lovely and talented Ethan Sherwood Strauss makes a persuasive case for Derrick Rose as the NBA’s preeminent “guilty pleasure,” his athletic gifts overwhelming the synapses of even the most cerebral Tom Thibodeau fan:

[Y]ou can’t resist Rose. He will beguile you–no matter how coldly analytical you pretend to be. Look at him fly towards the hoop, both hands behind the head so that his body forms the silhouette of a striking cobra. It’s beautiful, vicious, athletic poetry. For a brief moment, I forget Dwight Howard exists.

Like the hoary “I read Playboy for the articles” excuse, I pretend to appreciate Chicago as a connoisseur of defense. “Oh my, look at them switch! What a deft ballet!” “It’s ASH-EEK, not ASS-ICK, you rube.” It’s all a charade, I’m checking my watch through Chicago’s stingy second unit, waiting for another one of Rose’s high-speed contortions. I might hide behind the occasional Win Share, but I’m just as depraved as all of you monsters. D-ROSE FOR MVP OF GUILTY PLEASURE!

Get ready to feel guilty Sunday afternoon. I have a feeling Rose will be living in the paint against the Lakers.

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