The various reports out of the media at the time was that Roy was pushing for Blake to start and he didn't like Oden being the focus of the offense.... but who knows.
If Cronin can flip Ayton and Grant for Bam or Zion he should get executive of the year for the next decade lol.
I will say this on Zion -- this is just my guess ... Zion will get one more year and if things work out and he can stay healthy then he will be the cornerstone moving forward but now let me translate what I think is really happening ... They explored moving him and while they might have got a solid offer or two it was not what they thought he was worth ( guess -- high lotto pick top 8 to 10 plus a couple solid pieces and prolly another future 1st )
I will defend that Batum punch until I die. Navarro used to make SGA look like an amateur. When asked why he did it, Batum just said - if they're going to call foul no matter what I do, he might as well feel it.
That was like 7 years after CP3. I remember. CP3 remembers. I know Julius Hodge remembers. Fuck CP3 and his dick punching
Chris Paul is a Hall of Fame irritant. A wizard of the well-placed elbow, a conductor of crotch carnage. This man has been quietly—and sometimes not so quietly—attacking the groin area of his opponents since Wake Forest. Who can forget 2005, when young Chris introduced Julius Hodge’s family jewels to an ACC moment of silence? We’re not talking reckless violence. We’re talking calculated anatomy manipulation. Surgical. Efficient. Respectfully disrespectful. And that’s exactly what Scoot Henderson needs. Chris Paul could teach Scoot how to fight through a screen and make the screener question whether children are in his future, how to take a “charge” that also somehow ends with your knee inside the other guy’s soul, and how to say “my bad” while casually stepping on your opponent’s hand. But to complete the Low Blow Legion, Portland needs more than CP3. We also need some new assistant coaches. I nominate Corky Calhoun. Drafted in 1972. Played for the Sixers, the Suns, the Lakers, and yes—your Portland Trail Blazers, in the hallowed 1976–77 season. While Bill Walton was winning Finals MVP, Corky was on the bench, studying knees, groins, and angles like an old kung fu master in a Shaolin temple. Corky averaged 4.2 points a game for his career, but you don’t measure men like Corky in points. You measure them in vibes. In discomfort created. In screens set at just the wrong moment for your pelvis. If you’re building a team around tactical mischief, Corky is your Yoda. He knows how to disrupt a possession without drawing a whistle. He knows how to foul someone just enough that they don’t even want to retaliate—they just want to go home.
