New York

The gravitational pull of the NBA’s 2017-18 schedule has got me … under its spell. I’ve tried to snap out of it, believe me. But having news break in my face is something I don’t shrug off easily.

Especially considering Adrian Wojnarowski exclusively revealed the schedule minutes before Adam Silver’s announcement.

Relax, President Trump; the leak can not be traced to anyone in the White House.

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New York

As we all know — by nickname, brand of latest endorsement, uniform number and date of eagerly anticipated arrival on the free agent market —there are the players who accomplish all sorts of weird and wonderful deeds in glamorous, breathtaking fashion.

As we also know, there are the players who willingly do everything they’re “supposed’ to do, either to win glory for themselves, or to win games for their team. Sometimes problems arise, though, when they’re asked (perish the thought!) to perform duties they’re not programmed for or beneath their pay grade.

Then there are the players who go out of their nasty little way to do everything they’re not supposed to do. Since their names hog the headlines as much as one-dimensional, compulsive scorers, we can’t help but know them by heart, too.

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New York

Don’t feel like writing tonight. Not basketball anyway. Don’t really feel like doing anything. Other than darkening my office and squeezing between Camden, my Yorkie, and Flame Point Himalayan, Petera, whose sister died in my arms yesterday while I was gently cleaning her soiled body and matted hair.

Two weeks ago this Sunday, Panache was found to be beyond medical help. There was nothing to do but take her home where she’s lived since being rescued 15 years ago, with Petera and two Paint Ponies, from a hideous Honesdale, Pa., animal breeding operation.

For seven days or so, Panache didn’t eat or drink. Like all dying cats, she spent most of the time hiding, in this case, under the couch. But twice a day, I’d lift the couch and my wife would stick a steroid and a Chinese herb down the hatch. After a few minutes on the floor, in different locations, she’d wobble back to her sanctuary.

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New York

The University of Nebraska Press will be publishing Charley Rosen’s Sugar: Micheal Ray Richardson, Eighties Excess, and the NBA … April, 2018.

Asked by a marketing person via email if I’d be interested in reading the book before it came out, and providing a blurb for the back cover, I was not, in the least. He’s an untrustworthy dipshit!

I wouldn’t even be interested in reading other people’s blurbs.

Full column available at: patreon.com/petervecsey

New York

Column castigator Frank Drucker’s reaction to Doc Rivers’ rear end being removed from the Paper Clips’ front office: That new Trump Chief of Staff doesn’t screw around.

So much to dissect, so many to dismember. And so much time and space to do both, with a little dab of derision to keep the debriefing from dragging.

On July 20, 2016, I met with John Skipper, ESPN’s president at his midtown New York office. I had reached out to him weeks before by email concerning the possibility of helping in some capacity, on camera or as an in-studio or on-call consultant, in hopes of improving the network’s insipid NBA coverage.

Full column available at: patreon.com/petervecsey

New York

Back in the day, when I began bustin’ ass tryin’ to break stories by earning the trust of NBA and ABA players, I’d regularly show up in the summer where the best of ’em sweat their glands off, and hypnotized with unremitting spontaneous eruptions.

In the early ’70s, and later on the early ’80s, my pious place was Rucker Park, 155th Street and Eighth Avenue.

Back in the day, there was nowhere I’d rather be on a sweltering Saturday and Sunday with my blanket and picnic basket. An unschooled rookie reporter for the New York Daily News, I had a whole park of caged players to myself, exempting the representative from the Amsterdam News.

Full column available at: patreon.com/petervecsey

New York

In case you missed it, Kevin Durant’s in India. The man just can’t get away from Curry.

In June, Kevin Love was told by Dan Gilbert he would not be traded. In July, he would’ve been packaged to Denver in a 3-team deal had the Pacers not sent Paul George to OKC. Love is numb to his name appearing in reputed trade discussions, a confidant claims. “At this point, he doesn’t care if he’s traded.”

By the time Durant arrived in New Delhi, Chris Christie already had placed a ‘to-go’ order.

Full column available at: patreon.com/petervecsey

New York

From where I’ve sat, courtside or cloistered, the National Bizarre Association has never not been a copycat league … though replicating Bill Russell’s dominating defense 11 of 13 seasons proved somewhat impossible.

An NBA team that takes success to the limit more than once in a row is guaranteed to procreate a congregation of impersonators:

The Bad Boys reigned with ruthlessness, the Knicks and Pacers adopted comparable callousness.

Full column available at: patreon.com/petervecsey