But I need to know who the scrub on the Cavs’ bench was who, immediately after Lebron knocked down the game-winning three, stood up, made the “count it” motion with his hands, and started walking like a pimp towards the screaming, yelling, insane mass of teammates that was jumping up and down at midcourt.
It was pretty much the most baller move I’ve ever seen in my life. Like this guy all of a sudden had all the answers to every question the world around. Lebron’s trey was nice, but I’ll never forget that pimpin move by the scrub.
Ron Artest’s greatest enemy is himself. The only person who can take the man out of a ballgame, it seems, is Ron Artest. Possessing a manic personality that is as volatile as it is mercurial — one minute smiling, the next minute snarling — the Houston Rockets forward is an enigma that is equal parts blessed and cursed at precisely the same time.
We have all heard the stories of Artest’s redemption time and again and rest assured, this is not one of those. Ron Artest is hardly a redeemed man, barely able to move past the now-infamous 2004 “Malice at the Palace” incident that sealed his fate as one of the NBA’s greatest thugs.
He is more entertaining now, and often more contained, able to pick and choose the moments when Mount Artest erupts, in spite of the lava that threatens to flow at all times.
Continue reading Ron Artest Making His Mark on NBA Playoffs