[Proprietor note: this recap of Saturday’s Wolves/Clippers game was written before news of today’s 2 p.m. press conference and Wittman’s firing broke. As such, it probably becomes even funnier and more poignant. Also note that we will be at Tuesday’s game. That is all. Brandon (of World of B fame), you have the floor].

Man oh man, did you all miss one classic game Saturday night.

A quick glance at the box score reveals a 107-84 trouncing, which seems a forgettable loss in an already forgettable season, but that doesn’t tell the story of the experience at the Target Center Saturday night.

My date and I snuck down to the lower level midway through the opening quarter when we realized the 60 or so open seats in Section 109 were up for grabs. Turned out we made the right decision. Here in 109, we were treated to a double date on our left, guzzling beers like it was their job, and an couple two rows in front of them, doing the same. Fireworks were to ensue.

As the Timberwolves played the most uninspiring basketball I’ve seen in some time – I lost count of the number of traveling violations they committed at 74 – the real fun was in the stands. First, one of the double date couples erupted in a vicious argument, complete with the woman turning in her seat 90 degrees and berating her mulleted date with head shakes and finger points and the whole nine, while Mullet stared straight ahead in something of a drunken paralysis. It got so bad the second couple up and left for two solid quarters while the woman continued on her spirited diatribe.

When I directed my attention back on the court every so often, I saw the Wolves players treating Randy Wittman with visible disdain. During a play stoppage, Witt would call one of the players on the court over to him for some frustrated direction, and each time the player would half-heartedly nod while backing away slowly. It was a sight to see. At this point, Wittman is the parent chaperoning his kid’s prom, while the players are just trying to get back on the dance floor. It’s in one ear and out the other. He’s lost the players. Probably for good.

As the Wolves ignored their leader and threw up one brick after another, they took a predictable and deserved 14-point deficit into halftime. The Chaska varsity danceline took the floor for their routine, and this is where the fun started. The super-drunk chubby guy in front of us – also sporting a mullet, this of the flowing perm variety to go with a pencil-thin mustache and oversized white Sean John sweater, and no I am not making this up – could barely keep his eyes open and was draped over the seat of his date, a less-than-skinny woman now sitting in his lap and hollering nonstop. The rest of us were doing our best to pretend not to notice them while staring out the corner of our eyes, and all of a sudden the guy, eyes mostly closed, started emitting these incredibly loud “woos” during the danceline routine that caused damn near everyone in the arena to stare back and wonder just what in the world was going on. Incredible. The guy just half-laid there and yelled at the ceiling as his eyes rolled back in his head.
In the third quarter, a man walked down the row and made a rude remark to the “woo” gentleman, who promptly did his best to sit up and climb down the seats to attack him. He could barely function, however, and had trouble standing up, so the security guard jogged down and gently nudged him back in to his seat.

Later, the double date couples (argument resolved) started up a “we want Mad Dog” chant, which hilariously led the “woo” guy to turn around and try to go after them as well, only at this point he could do nothing more than turn around and slowly wave a fist in their direction, a mere four rows away from making any contact. (At this point, everyone within 50 feet was staring.) The usher again calmed down the gentleman though he began wooing pretty much constantly at this point, and the couples continued chanting.

Near the end of the game when the 100 or so remaining fans began sarcastically cheering for anything done correctly by the Wolves – and I mean anything, as in, “successfully inbounding the ball” and “making a layup” type stuff, which had to hurt the front office more than anything else so far this season — the couple gets up to leave, and of course of course the guy can’t even walk anymore, and he stumbles right into me and I have to gently push him up the stairs as the 15-year-old security guard looks like he’s swallowed his tongue in shame because he didn’t eject this clown an hour or so ago, and as the final buzzer sounds and everyone is still staring in our vicinity due to the lunacy that just occurred, I get up and mimic the stumbling fool on my way up the steps, to much snarky laughter, which may or may have not been the most childish thing I’ve done all month, but still, it was a moment of fun after two-plus hours of flat-out embarrassing basketball by our Wolves, so you know what, if I’m going to see a loss, at least it’s of the memorable variety. I’ll take the cheap laughs, and the empty stands, and the drunken antics.

But, as much as I love a good story, I admit I’d trade it all for a competent coach.

Ladies and gentlemen, your 2008-09 Timberwolves!

As promised and/or predicted, here is Brandon with the follow-up to Roughkat’s Game 8 post. Actually, both of those fine gentlemen appear in this post. It’s cute how they just pass the laptop back and forth. Neat! OK, guys:

Suddenly, the Thrill is Gone

Brandon: I knew this couldn’t last. After three spirited, long-winded write-ups to kick off the T-Wolves season, I’ve already realized there are only so many ways for my mushy brain to state the obvious: this is a bad basketball team.

Saturday’s game against the streaking Denver Nuggets posed an even bigger challenge – not only were the Wolves predictably, boringly beaten by a superior squad, but my date and I were in a zombie-like state due to our recent return from The Vegas via red-eye. We stared at the court while wordlessly sharing a bag of peanuts and diet soda while secretly wishing that instead of watching Chauncey Billups run the floor with ease, instead of scratching our heads at the Wittman substitutions, we were at home, fast asleep. It was one of those nights.

Obviously, I don’t have much to say. So, I’ll take this time to discuss with Roughkat, who was also at the game.

B: What would you like to tell the millions of RandBall readers about Saturday’s Timberwolves game?

RK: It was exciting to see Kevin Love get so much playing time. I’m not expecting him to be an All-star but I would take an 18 and 12 game from him every night. I’m still 100% behind trading Mayo to get him. Speaking of that trade, how would you grade Mike Miller’s performance and also his Geico caveman photo that was shown 53 times during the game?

B: It’s just too bad Caveman Miller had such a terrible game during his own special night. He must’ve gotten flustered seeing the tens of people sitting in the stands. Agreed about Love, though I don’t see him as much more than a role player his whole career. His downfall is both simple and damning: he can’t jump. Sadly, as a 6’8” forward, that is kind of a big deal.

Who can I blame for pretty much every point guard having career games against us? Foye? Telfair? Wittman? Please say Wittman.

RK: I blame Wittless for pretty much everything. I opened up my maths calculator and found there are 792 possible lineup combinations using the 12 man roster. I can only assume that Coach is trying to fill out his bingo card with all of them.

That being said, if you check out 82 Games, which does all the math for you, you’ll see that Ollie is statistically the best at defending opponents PGs. Foye and Telfair are both terrible at guarding the PG. Foye’s PER is also 16.0 when playing SG and 10.6 when he’s running the show. They have stats for these things. I’m not sure Wittless knows that or else you’d think he might use them. Which once again proves your theory that he’s to blame. So there you go.

I checked the gamelogs and it was, indeed, the Birdman playing for the Nuggets. I think the Wolves’ real problem is that the players don’t have enough nicknames. We should make some up.

B: Agreed. Caveman and Wittless are good starts, as is Craig Smith as The Rhino. Let’s make it our mission throughout this sure-to-be-bland season to devise some great nicknames. We also need to direct our collective creative juice towards devising some decent in-game entertainment. Because the stuff they’ve got going right now, the strange jumbotron races, the “hold up your US Bank card” giveaways and the likes are not cutting it.

But like I mentioned, my brain is mush right now. This’ll have to wait.

Programming note: You’ll recall that throughout the season we are requiring anyone who uses tickets from the Timberwolves 41-game season pack purchased by ourselves, Brandon and Roughkat ($3 per ticket!) to write a commentary on the game. Up now: Roughkat, who attended his first game last Wednesday. Good job, Roughkat! Here we go.

I finally got to go to my first game last Wednesday against the Suns since I had to miss the opening night. I was pretty psyched to go, even though my SELF was salivating at the thought of Steve Nash. I might have a strange thing for girls that say ‘aboot’ but she’s got a weirder thing for Canadian guys who like soccer but play basketball, eh.

Since the game is 5 days old I can’t spoil the ending by telling you the Wolves played some serious Whitless basketball once again. I should probably check out who the NBA lotter guys are this year so I know who it is we’re trying to draft. I do have to argue with Zgoda’s take on Shaquille O’Neal, though. Shaq’s performance was very underwhelming, I thought. He may have scored 18 points and had 10 boards but he also was 4 of 9 from the line and missed several seemingly easy shots. I remember when people flocked to see him, but those days are long gone.

What I really want to talk about is the lack of atmosphere at the Target Center. It’s pretty appalling really. The night started with a quick stop at the concessions on the 2nd floor. They were out of both pretzels and nachos. The guy behind the counter explained they had asked for more 30 minutes ago but still were out. They also did not have any beers on tap — only plastic bottles and your choice of Miller Lite, Bud, or Mich Golden Light. It’s been a while since I had to pick what flavor of pee I liked best but I settled on Miller Lite.

Maybe they’ll at least have some beer vendors walking the stands, I thought. False. The only guy I saw was the snow cone guy and he came by about 3 different times in the first half. It was 30 degrees outside but apparently the concessions brain trust determined that what crowds really wanted was sugar-flavored ice. So besides the fact that the team itself isn’t much of a draw, the food and beer choices are terrible (but thankfully they are out, anyways).

One more complaint, while I’m at it. The music was all over the place. And nothing remotely motivating during the final minutes when the Wolves were trying to close the gap. Not that it mattered since most of the crowd had already left. Go Wolves!

A few other notes:

* We noticed Mike Miller rubbing under his jersey too. Our theory is he’s doing a little tweaking to help him focus.
* McCants is like A-Rod. He hits big shots when it doesn’t matter. He had 5 turnovers and 0 assists.
* My SELF things that maybe since she was cheering for Steve Nash and his lovely locks her streak is still intact. Next time she promises to only cheer for the Wolves.
* Robin Lopez really does look like Sideshow Bob

We presume there will be another of these later from Brandon, or his proxy, as he had the ducats for Saturday’s game against Denver.

What do Michael Olowokandi, David Carr and Friday’s Wolves/Celtics game have in common (you know, aside from all being amphibians)? They were all No. 1 picks, and they all fell extremely flat. Yes, in the ticket hogpile we engage in with Brandon and Roughkat, the Celtics game was our top pick. Six bucks got us into the game with the RandBall Better Half, which is about the collective value of money earned by Wolves players in the third quarter. Anyway, you all know what happened. Here are some of the “inside the game” highlights:

*The Bucket Boys were the halftime show. Solid.

*The RBBH noticed that Mike Miller has a peculiar habit when shooting free throws. Between the first and second, he takes his right hand and rubs it inside his jersey, basically between the armpit and the pectoral. He did this at least three consecutive times. What is he doing?

*The deconstruction of the performance team continued from the female contingent. It’s “sad” that they make them wear heels, which “reduces” them from talented performers to mere pieces of eye candy. “Oh good” (note sarcasm) they’ve changed outfits. Show me something a good looking woman hates more than another good looking woman.

*False advertising: The posted sign says “souvenir soda,” but the woman working at the counter knows that it’s just a larger version of the same disposable cup. We’re onto you, Target Center. You’ll be hearing from our attorney. And don’t try to tell us that a giant paper cup is a souvenir. Might as well be telling us you might try Rashad McCants at the point.

*The RBBH, who understands soccer more than basketball, wonders why it’s such a bad thing to knock rebounds out of bounds instead of merely possessing them. Jason Collins agrees with her brand of basketball.

*Is it bad when, after a rugged and stingy first half of basketball that produces a narrow 39-36 halftime lead for the home team, a fan in the very last row can tell after two lackluster possessions that none of that energy has carried over to the third quarter? It’s almost as if Randy Wittman came into the locker room and said, “Great job guys! Good hustle! Now … knock it off!”

*Brian Cardinal, Mark Madsen and Kevin Love all finished the game. Not being there for garbage points will likely be one of Ricky Davis’ all-time regrets.

*Also, KG played.

We continue to enjoy the adventures of Brandon, though we find some elements of this post disturbing. Remember, there will be 41 of these this year, either from us, Roughkat or Brandon. Please do enjoy. Brandon?

Scene: Brandon’s bedroom, lined with posters of Billy Beane and Bill James. Michael Rand enters, wearing a wide-collared shirt under a sweater and holding a basketball in his outstretched arms. He approaches Brandon, snoring loudly in his bed and wearing his “Redacted” t-shirt.

Rand: “Brandon, wake up!”

Brandon: “Wha? Huh? What time is it?

Rand: “It’s mid-morning, sir! Where is your Timberwolves recap? It was due a couple hours ago. I am upset with this unexpected delay.”

[Rand looks away disgustedly as Brandon scratches himself while yawning.]

Brandon: Oh, Mike, I just had the most glorious dream! I can’t wait to tell you all about it. We were at a bar, me and you, and Roughkat was there, and oh what a time we had! We laughed and argued and watched sports and I was being like totally awesome, and it was just the tops. But that’s just the beginning. After the bar, my roommate and I went to the Wolves game. Here is where is gets kind of weird, but just stick with me because I want to tell you all about it and plus you are a super-famous blogger and you’re in my room which is totes awesome and I don’t want this to end and actually maybe I can get you to pose for a shot which I’ll hang on my wall just think about it OK, but hold on where was I again? Oh, right: the game. The roomie and I grabbed a couple barley pops, and instead of going to our regular seats, we bravely snuck down to the lower level and grabbed us some sick seats about 20 rows up from the Wolves bench.

“And you should’ve seen the Wolves play! They were excellent. Craig Smith simply refused to be contained, Mikey, he did. The guy was hitting mid-rangers, taking it to the hole, all that. He ended up with like 21 points in 25 minutes. Jefferson was Jefferson, Gomes looked good and Bassy dished eight assists in just a handful of minutes. Now, granted, in my dream we were playing an awful team of stiffs who appeared to hate playing with each other. So, like, it wasn’t that difficult, but still. And during the second half, the crowd loosened up and there was this patch of smart, young fans who knew the game and threw some hilarious quips in Wittman’s vicinity, who is still a worthless coach even in dreams, but all in all the atmosphere was quality. And the game went on, and the Wolves were up by like 10 with a few minutes to play, and my roommate – who at this point had awesomely morphed into Keeley Hazell – and I just stared at each other and went “hey, we’ve seen this movie before. We know how this one’s gonna end!” Then we held hands and watched as the Wolves collectively pooped the bed once again, eventually giving up the lead with about 90 seconds to play. This is where the dream basically turned into a recurring nightmare, where it’s scary and painful even though you’ve had the same nightmare about six times this month.

“But then! With a minute left and our team up by one, ol’ Mikey Miller was left open at the top of the key and drained a huge three-pointer that effectively sealed it. Victory. Oh, did we celebrate! You were there, Mike, and so was Roughkat and Dave MN and jama and Joker – who was for some reason dressed in old-timey prison garb – and Jon and Clarence and Hootie and latte and AZ Gopher Girl and I think even Sooze and Lizzy at some point? Then we all rushed the court, all us Randballers, running around like blissful idiots and screaming and cutting down the nets and Keeley and I were now spinning around at center court with clasped hands and we all celebrated deep into the night and oh man I wish that had happened because it was just about the greatest thing ever.”

Rand: “But, B, that actually did happen!”

[Brandon comically rubs eyes and shakes head in wonderment.]

Brandon: “So, has Keeley already left for work or something?”

Rand: “Well, not everything you just said happened. Especially not the Keeley thing. Brandon, you are aware that you’re a…loser, right?”

Brandon: “Ah yes. But, Mike, this can’t be possible. There is no way any of that actually happened. Cripes Mikey, do I have to repeat it: the Wolves won! Can’t be possible. I’m not ready to live in a world that wonderful.”

Rand: “Time to start believing, friend. Now let’s get you dressed and go face this brave new world.”

[Freeze frame on Brandon and Rand high-fiving with huge grins on their faces. Cue “What a Wonderful World.” Credits roll. Fade out.]