A Tale of Two Halves by Ron Richards   It was the best of halves, it was the worst of halves, it was the age of the fast break, it was the age of the turnover, it was the era of the jump shot, it was the era of the air ball, it was the reason for optimism, it was the season of darkness, it was the day of hope, it was the night of despair, we had victories before us, we had losses behind us, we were all going direct to the finals, we were all going direct to the lottery, there was a point guard with tats, there was a point guard with a headband, there was a City by the Lake, and a City besides itself. In short and in truth, it was so much like any other game as to beggar description. What the Dicken’s am I writing about? This, my friends, is what is referred to politely as a learning experience. Another way to look at it, and a good way to look at it, is the Jazz’s pups got their respective tails smacked by an undermanned team who simply decided they weren’t going to lose a game they had no business winning, while a team who had no business losing made it their business and hopefully learned something......Anything...... I was sitting next to a fellow yellow journalistic purveyor and friend, and we looked at each other with the same expression on our faces at the same time. How do I put a positive spin on this stinker, this clunka who’d a thunka? First, you do have to put the RMR in perspective. It’s not about wins or losses, it about learning. Hopefully, the team learns, the players learn, the fans learn, and we’re all better for it. In reality, learning is simply realizing what is left when the chafe is blown away and/or the old couple looks at each other one morning after thirty years of marriage. You can like it or hate it, but you better learn to live with it because that all there is, baby. Suck it up and take it like a gender unspecified man, or spit it out and find something that’s digestible. Personally, I had a long day and I wasn’t in the mood for something so unpalatable. I promptly went home, had a bite, forgot about it, and went to bed. The morning after, this morning, I feel compelled to comment before I vomit..... What did I really see last night? Merely one of the NBA’s brightest young stars look simply unstoppable and unflappable in the first half....The second half....Well......That’s why there is a long season ahead, Deron. I saw the Jazz’s newest great hope make basketball easy. It’s not. It’s not easy to run the baseline and lay it up, time after time. It takes great quickness uncommon in one so long and tall, and that in itself is a special story for another time. Ronnie is real, baby. Forget about the worries of the funky jump shot. Pete Maravich had a funky jump shot, too. Dee and Paul had their moments as well. I hoped they learned from it. For once, for posterity’s sake, I want to see Dee really open it up and run. He looks like Seabiscuit in a phone booth. Paul looks like Superman ripping his shirt off in the same booth while the Hulk is calling his girlfriend. Excuse me, Clark. This is really important. Haffa, hafta adapta everafta. Reel it in, take a deep breath, Mr. Araujo. You don’t have to rearrange the furniture and someone’s teeth every time you enter the front room. Just sit down on the couch and pick up the remote. Turn the TV on, and enjoy the show. Oh.......Hit a jump shot now and then. It helps keep Jerry from chewing some heinee....A layup that actually goes in the basket would be nice as well. Surprisingly, astoundingly, I get a suspicion that Haffa may not be a bust given some confidence and a little time. CJ.....I look at this kid, this man child growing into a body and a legacy that only needs time to ripen and grow.....Ok, he’s not there yet. Almost. There are times when I wish he didn’t try so hard and let the game come to him, just a little more. There are no other times. Just relax. The rest of the ‘team’? What? Sorry, don’t see any help there. Fillers, smillers, and definitely not thrillers. And having played basketball, it’s one thing to realize these scrubs are so talented as to defy description, and yet they’re not good enough. That’s one of the sad things about professional sports. It’s cruel, stark and cold. Next, please. I want to see the tall one in the shorts. Yes, you. Ok.....Next? That’s about it. A cold beverage of the right persuasion might relieve the bad taste in my mouth. It’s worth a shot. Maybe two. Oh....And one more thing. Has anyone else noticed the good cop, bad cop thing with Tyrone and Frank Jr? Here’s the way it works. Tyrone, let the kids win. Don’t reel them in, let them play. Scotty.....You take one for the team. Sorry, kid. It’s for the best...And it’s better than New York. Remember?