Of Secret and Dark Obsessions

"You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you, as mine has been."

It has become something far from odd that in my mind I apply my different reflections on daily experiences to all the different aspects of my life. My latest thoughts were born from the visualization of Pedro Almodovar's latest movie: The Skin I live in. The experiments of a tormented doctor that constantly tries to win a battle with time and life that he has already lost made me think of one of my favorite novels during my studies: Frankenstein. Both artistic productions dwell on the thoughts of men fighting with unusual and unethical methods to try and alter the course of time, the melodies of life.

Dealing with these ideas in my mind lead me instantly to think about Danny Ainge. While it may seem far fetched to apply these characteristics to Mr Ainge, we cannot either forget the strange obsession he has for trying to create life -basketball wise- to players who seem to have lost all their chances to do something in the league.

Yes, my friends. Let's talk about Ainge's secret diary of a basketball madman and about the different transactions he has made to create something out of nowhere.

The name of Darius Miles first comes to my head. A player with a career threatening injury, riddled by a not very clean off court reputation. It must have represented a juicy object to experiment with for Ainge. Nothing to lose, a lot to win. It was exactly 3 years ago that Danny tried to give a final chance to those knees that had helped a player jump to the highest NBA expectations with the Clippers and Cavs. As you already know, the experiment wasn't very successful as Miles didn't beat Scalabrine for the last spot in that year's team.

Stephon Marbury is the next name to comes to me, just as natural as breathing. Marbury, an ego swollen by losses like the Big Apple of the New York Knicks. Another extraordinary player that underachieves and seems lost for any team oriented cause. Danny pursued and finally got his extravagant wish: Marbury wore green and actually didn't do too badly for us. Unfortunately his brain had already said goodbye to more fight and he decided to live on internet shows and took his talents to China.

I think of Michael Olowokandi and his second chance with the Celtics in 2006 but the thought and the will to comment on that one vanish fastly. The same happens with Sebastian Telfair and his neverending attempts to prove that he belongs in the league. I also think of Michael Sweetney and his desire to win a place in the league by losing the weight gained by different life problems. Another talented player that cannot bounce back into the league. Another failed attempt by Ainge to go back in time and rescue something from a player.

Younger players have also been subjects of Ainge's secret lab experiments: we knew JR Giddens had had his share of trouble in the NCAA. We knew Robert Swift had never fulfilled the expectations of Draft Night in 2004. Ainge didn't hesitate to push that button to open the door for those hidden desires that never lead him to anything good.

Wait a second. Almost never. I can recall Leon Powe for instance. Those knees were equally done before his NBA career even started. Danny drafted him and he gave us game 2 of the 2008 Finals. The brave Powe battled even when his ligaments were torn again next year. This leads us to something quite interesting and contradictory in Ainge's behaviour:

Once the experiment proves to work he just lets it go.

"the beauty of the dream vanished, and breathless horror and disgust filled my heart."

Powe wasn't given another chance, as another young players such as Kendrick Perkins or Tony Allen. Some of the experiments are left into the oblivion of forgetfulness, for who remembers now Tom Gugliotta, Patrick O'Bryant or Shelden Williams? What happened to those -basketball- monsters that as Frankenstein are abandoned and banished from the sports scene?  What is the point in creating life -or trying to provide one- if once the experiment ends the light becomes a flash in the dark rather than a torch to hold it? 

"I, the miserable and the abandoned, am an abortion, to be spurned at, and kicked, and trampled on."

With all these cases exposed to public light, one cannot cease to wonder which other secret ideas dwelled in Danny's hidden side. I am also falling under this spell cast by Ainge's bizarre mind and constantly try to anticipate his next move. In vain I try to find his secret diary, the diary of a true basketball madman, to read in his pages and find out which other rocambolesque  experiment he will perpetrate.

Will it be the resurrection of Adam Morrison's NBA career? Will Shaq find his Achilles miraculously repaired by Doctor Ainge? Are Cuttino Mobley and Bryon Russell still in Danny's radar?

Prepare, my friends to witness again a new twisted brain thought squeezed out from an exceptional and yet sometimes unbelievable basketball mind. Prepare to turn a new page of Danny Ainge's dark and gothic diary of a Celtic madman.

It may not be as insane as Robert Ledgard, and it may not become as tragically epic as Victor Frankenstein, but Danny Ainge can be as fun to comment as the aforementioned characters in such wonderful artistic pieces.

"Learn from me . . . how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge, and how much happier that man is who believes his native town to be the world, than he who aspires to become greater than his nature will allow."