Bethlehem Says

Once upon a time, ESPN mag asked me to debunk the rigged 1985 lottery myth. Here’s what I gave them; it didn’t make the cut, but maybe because I got it right … and the exercise was never supposed to succeed in the first place?

Heading into the 1985-86 season, the NBA instituted a very primitive form of draft lottery. Patrick Ewing went to the Knicks, the league’s biggest market and hometown of Commissioner David Stern. You may also be familar with a conspiracy theory arguing that Stern to fixed the results. It’s based on a Zapruder-esque close reading of that night’s lottery, which took place in plain sight, on live television. The crucial steps:

1. One Jack Wagner, a phantom who cannot be officially linked to the firm of Ernst and Whitney, dropped the envelopes into a clear plastic drum.

2. One envelope bounces off the side as it is dropped in, which would have dented the corner.

3. Stern reaches in, fumbles around with the pile, and then draws out one from the middle—which must be the Knicks envelope, identified by its dented corner.

It’s pretty heady stuff, and will keep you up for hours, giggling maniacally over a grainy YouTube video that should be most notable for the wide ties and huge-shouldered suits on display. But what if you go further, breaking through paranoia and the thrill of discovery and reaching … true enlightenment.

1. Corporations shred records all the time. Maybe Ernset and Whitney is covering up something that really matters, like proof of the cocaine they bought for a company party.

2. The “dented” envelope in fact slide smoothly down on its bottom edge, before flopping down lightly on top of the pile. The three before it are actually tossed in, roughly, and end up with their corners absorbing the impact (since it’s a spherical surface on the bottom). If anything, the “dented” envelope might be the only one without some superficial damage.

3. Ever cut cards? The instinctive first move is to go to the middle of the deck, since that presumably does the most to randomize the order. It is the great unknown. Stern’s not cutting cards, but this process is new to everyone. He’s figuring out as he goes along. And part of that is—clumsily, reflexively—treating the envelopes like he’s in the middle of a poker game.

It not be as juicy as a rigged lottery. But at the end of the day, would you rather believe that the first lottery was an excuse to make the league even more unfair? And, incidentally, have you taken a look at other outcomes from the envelope days? Something tells me Stern would rather the Clippers not get Danny Manning and Danny Ferry.

That terrifying fellow Mobutu Sese Seko (the blog one) visits GQ.com. Among other things, your Yankees/Heat analogy is torn to shreds and fed to fat pigeon-dogs: 

While the Yankees are accepted as a historical inevitability, like misunderstanding the founding fathers or making bad jokes about travel, the Patriots seem to get a pass because of football’s layers of personnel and structure—neither of which exist for the Heat. In football, signing one guy to a team can’t change the balance of a conference. Randy Moss might be a playmaker, but Darelle Revis can put him on an island. Both men serve under a pyramid of specialists and technocrats. Meanwhile, the Heat play under a coach who’s routinely reduced by fan commentary to a cipher, a poor beard for the fact that egos set the tone and ignore the sober official voices.

If you want to kill something today, read this post instead.