Sloan's deep dark secret...or, how I learned to love Giricek anyway

A month ago, if the Peppermill would have given me the odds, I’d have bet a week’s unemployment check to say there’s evidence Kevin O’Connor seriously considered slipping Gordon Giricek some roofies after the Jazz’ December 20 game. He envisioned wrapping Gira up in a hotel rug and dragging him to Billy Knight’s house in an Atlanta suburb and ringing the doorbell. When Knight answered, Giricek would be laying unconscious on his porch with a note around the neck saying, “You have no idea what this means. Everyone in the league appreciates your helping us out in our time of need. ”[1]

It’s hard to believe I’m saying this but…when the team played Cleveland on Saturday, they actually missed Gira—in a positive way. Recently, he’s hitting open jumpers and can now take a dribble or two and hit a bank shot. His frozen-rope 15-footer doesn’t look pretty, but it’s starting to drop through the white twine. On defense, the Croatian claiming to be a NBA veteran actually stays in front of his man—mainly by doing an awkward herky-jerky dance near them that confuses his opponent into thinking actual defense is being played. No longer do the Jazz have a corpse laying on the perimeter.

Why was Giricek getting minutes instead of Ronnie Brewer? Ronnie finishes well around the hoop, stays in front of his man on defense, and rebounds well. All things Giricek has not done this entire season, until late last month. Trying to figure out the possible reasons Sloan wouldn’t play Brewer has resulted in no less than four hours worth of conversations between my brother and I that went something like this…one of us calling the other in the middle of a game, not even saying “hello” and then simply delivering the following sentence: “Damn it. What the hell? I mean seriously, what the [expletive]?”

The response: “I know. I don’t get it… I just don’t get it.”

We were cheering for Giricek to be ditched by the side of the road. Lost with the luggage on some canceled flight and adopted by a JetBlue customer service representative. Addition by subtraction, we said.

In order to explain the Jazz’ two-guard mystery, my brother constructed a theory that really came out of my head, but I’m attributing it to him anyway because I’m too embarrassed to own it. Here goes: Coach Sloan has strange sexual rituals which take place after team practice. Certain players have unwittingly stumbled upon these habits. Then, Sloan feels compelled to play these players at the expense of more talented men at the same position—David Benoit over Bryon Russell being the quintessential example. Under this theory…Gira, having discovered Sloan’s disturbing habits, is given undue playing time to keep quiet.

O’Connor is aware of this situation and realizes he must move Gira for the good of the team. Of course, once removed from the Jazz, Gira could go public with Sloan’s perversions but it would seem like sour grapes at that point and nobody would listen. Wrapped into this theory is David Benoit’s return to the Jazz in 2001-2003, despite the fact he almost destroyed the franchise during his first tenure. Benoit, you see, was in the waning days of his career and needed cash. If not put on the roster, he threatened to go forward with a book entitled, “Rescued by Necrophilia: My Bizarre Tale of Success in the NBA.”

In order to pave the way for a Bryon Russell-like emergence for Brewer, O’Connor was working the phones constantly on February 24. However, you can’t swap “nothing for something”[2] (unless, you are dealing with Billy Knight, see note 1).

Like most UFO sightings, our idea was in response to a situation that simply didn’t make sense. As humans we must impose a rationale, even if it is a false one, onto a disturbing situation. Left without some explanation for cause and effect, a fear of the world’s unpredictable nature creeps in and stultifies our every day living…and we wouldn’t want that.

Whether real or imagined, Giricek thought O’Connor wanted him gone as much as fans really did want him gone. Through the cosmos (as well as the newspapers) Gira could sense it. His neck was in the guillotine and he couldn’t resist constantly looking up, wondering when the blade was going to fall. With all that squirming, not knowing how to confront his indefinite future, he couldn’t concentrate and perform the basic tasks in front of him. He was tortured by the possibility of what a life as a JetBlue baggage hander might have in store for him.

By strange coincidence of fate, Giricek was given another chance. The Governor staved off execution. Freed from his shackles, Gira has made the most of his second chance. It all makes sense now. Gira, man, I completely understand. Who would want to write a book on necrophilia? That would be a distraction. Just keep hitting shots and I promise you’ll never have to say anything, John Amaechi is planning a sequel after all.

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[1] However, O’Connor couldn’t pull this trick because Knight had already given the Jazz more than their fair share of charity. Only a year and a half ago, Knight mixed up two draft prospects named Williams—leading to this conversation with the Hawks’ assistant General Manager, “Wait, you mean ‘Deron’ is the point guard? Are you sure? Well, what position does this ‘Marvin’ kid play? No. You can’t be serious.”

[2] Seriously, what in good god’s name could you have traded for Giricek on his own? In January, you couldn’t have even asked for a signed poster of Ray Allen. You might have been able to haggle a used DVD of “He Got Game.” After much debate Dylan and I concluded exactly what Giricek was worth: one candy bar. …O’Connor could have traded him for a Milky Way, or maybe one of those Hershey’s things with nuts in them that’s named after money.