Wolves with sheep's clothing

Well, we've left behind almost twenty games.

It seems a fair amount of games to draw some picked thoughts here and there that are fairly backed up by that tiny amount of data.

We have arguably discovered trough our roster two players who any proud grandmother would like to see grabbing his granddaughter: Ricky Rubio and Nikola Pekovic.

Ricky is one of those men with a teenager face whose wide and joyful smile conjure up the same clean smile in you only by watching him. He is always encouraging his teammates, palming his chest assuming errors without hesitation and congratulating anyone who make a good shot or drive.



Nikola Pekovic is well-mannered and well-spoken. He awakes in you that kind of tenderness of those whose face looks like cut with a hatchet but show his bright inner self whenever he is asked for an autograph or cheered by the fans. Every time he receives a call against raises timidly his right hand showing his acceptance, was the call arguable or not, and glancing down trot calmly back to his defensive spot.



Maybe some uninformed fans who can't watch the Minnesota games more than once every three years in national TV may think that they are the usual american-crafted archetype of the "soft euro", players who avoid the physical contact and barely survive in the professional basketball due to a polished set of skills suited to a hardly winning basketball. a la Bargnani.

Meeec! Mistake.

Gross, painful and costly mistake. Those two guys make you pay an expensive toll every game. In sweat and blood, if it's possible.

Rubio is an defensive nightmare for his rivals. He spots your weaknesses and punish you relentlessly.

If your ballhandling is not solid, he will turn around your waste trying to pick your pockets, in an embarrassing way if he can. He is the only one player I have seen in my life who tries not to deflect the ball from behind you, but grab it with two hands. Crushing.

If you are somewhat slow driving to the rim he will try to draw a charge from you every time. EVERY TIME. He'll outrun you, will square his feet in front of you, take the punishment without hesitation and, after let his slight frame slid four feet away, he'll stare at the ref with two imploring and bright enormous eyes in a confused way as asking.. Why is he hurting me? I only wanted to play basketball with him...

Instant call. Charge.

He breaks through the screens pushing, clashing, charging with his shoulder, forcing the rivals to adjust the screen, to move, to twist their body in weird ways only to avoid being called for an offensive foul which is ineluctable. Maybe not the first time nor the second. But it will come.



And what about the offensive end? He pass the ball between your legs, between your open arms, setting hammering alley-oops from the hip, bouncing no look passes trough a sea of legs who make their rivals look like arthritic tortoises chasing butterflies, frozen at the end with their mouth opened in every close up included in the highlights reel showed every half an hour in TV.

Pekovic deals another class of punishment. Direct punishment. Physical punishment. You doesn't score easily against Pekovic. You must know that you are gonna be fouled. In a hard, crude and painful way.

If you want to get close to the rim you must get trough Pekovic. More specifically, Pek's elbows.



And forget about getting some cheap offensive rebounds. Nikola doesn't care about individual stats. You can bet that he is not going to grab the ball, but he is going to box the ass out of everyone around HIS basket. And I remark the possessive, his, because in the other end you are going to feel all the unbridled balkan power in an avid hunt for the offensive glass.

This is the material from which the new warrios are made. The true skin of the wolves, once the sheep's clothing laid ripped apart right along his enemies' remains.

My first post. Don't be too rude. English is not my native language. Hope you have enjoyed the reading

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