Schrödinger's Gerbil
Well-Known Member
Oh, for crying out loud. Boo hoo. The entire NBA media ecosystem has gone from embracing tanking to full evangelical revival mode—hands raised, eyes closed, preaching the holy gospel of “tear it down” as if it’s divine revelation handed down from the basketball gods. And I mean everyone: every pundit, blog boy, podcaster, YouTube prophet, and talking-head rent-a-brain has not merely jumped on the tanking bandwagon, they’ve strapped themselves to the hood like it’s the last helicopter out of Saigon.
And yet somehow, amid this unanimous, full-throated sermonizing, I’ve never once heard a serious skeptic ask the most basic questions: Does structural tanking actually work? Is it a reliable path to a championship, or even sustained deep playoff runs? (Spoiler: the evidence says no.) What does a “successful tank” even mean? Three years? Five? A decade of aesthetic misery punctuated by ping-pong balls? And what about costs -- actual, measurable costs -- so we could talk like adults about return on investment instead of treating deliberate losing like it’s some kind of advanced analytics cheat code?
And don’t even get me started on the ethics. Tanking isn’t some abstract strategy on a whiteboard; it’s a business model built on exploiting fan loyalty. It’s intentionally selling a shiIty product for not one, not two, not three, and often not four or more years, while still charging premium prices for tickets, parking, and concessions, all while peddling “hope” they can’t guarantee in any way, shape, or form. It’s basically “trust the process,” etched by the finger of God onto tablets of stone and brought down from the mountain top.
The entire NBA landscape is now saturated with tanking, talking about it, praising it, promoting it, ridiculing teams that don’t tank hard enough, and absolutely savaging any franchise that decides, audaciously, to stop hemorrhaging losses and attempt the radical experiment of trying to win basketball games. You know, acquiring veterans, balancing out young players, building a roster that resembles an actual professional team rather than a G-League witness protection program.
And now, now, after years of nonstop cheerleading, suddenly the same media crowd is clutching its pearls: “Oh my heavens, the Jazz are tanking too much! Where is my fainting couch? Fetch the smelling salts!” Give me a f’n break. You helped create this monster. You fed it. You raised it. You tucked it in at night and whispered sweet nothings about draft odds and asset accumulation. For years, it’s been: more tanking, more tanking, there’s not enough tanking.
Well, apparently, there is enough tanking.
So instead of acting self-righteous about the grotesque creature you midwifed and nurtured so lovingly, maybe, just maybe, you could’ve engaged in a nuanced, informed, and critical discourse on tanking from the beginning. But no. That would’ve required thought, intellectual consistency, and a memory longer than a single NBA season.
In summary, to all the same NBA intelligentsia now suddenly reaching for their smelling salts over the Jazz, shut the F up.
And yet somehow, amid this unanimous, full-throated sermonizing, I’ve never once heard a serious skeptic ask the most basic questions: Does structural tanking actually work? Is it a reliable path to a championship, or even sustained deep playoff runs? (Spoiler: the evidence says no.) What does a “successful tank” even mean? Three years? Five? A decade of aesthetic misery punctuated by ping-pong balls? And what about costs -- actual, measurable costs -- so we could talk like adults about return on investment instead of treating deliberate losing like it’s some kind of advanced analytics cheat code?
And don’t even get me started on the ethics. Tanking isn’t some abstract strategy on a whiteboard; it’s a business model built on exploiting fan loyalty. It’s intentionally selling a shiIty product for not one, not two, not three, and often not four or more years, while still charging premium prices for tickets, parking, and concessions, all while peddling “hope” they can’t guarantee in any way, shape, or form. It’s basically “trust the process,” etched by the finger of God onto tablets of stone and brought down from the mountain top.
The entire NBA landscape is now saturated with tanking, talking about it, praising it, promoting it, ridiculing teams that don’t tank hard enough, and absolutely savaging any franchise that decides, audaciously, to stop hemorrhaging losses and attempt the radical experiment of trying to win basketball games. You know, acquiring veterans, balancing out young players, building a roster that resembles an actual professional team rather than a G-League witness protection program.
And now, now, after years of nonstop cheerleading, suddenly the same media crowd is clutching its pearls: “Oh my heavens, the Jazz are tanking too much! Where is my fainting couch? Fetch the smelling salts!” Give me a f’n break. You helped create this monster. You fed it. You raised it. You tucked it in at night and whispered sweet nothings about draft odds and asset accumulation. For years, it’s been: more tanking, more tanking, there’s not enough tanking.
Well, apparently, there is enough tanking.
So instead of acting self-righteous about the grotesque creature you midwifed and nurtured so lovingly, maybe, just maybe, you could’ve engaged in a nuanced, informed, and critical discourse on tanking from the beginning. But no. That would’ve required thought, intellectual consistency, and a memory longer than a single NBA season.
In summary, to all the same NBA intelligentsia now suddenly reaching for their smelling salts over the Jazz, shut the F up.