I haven't seen Skinamarink yet, but my personal Skinamarink may well be a late-game highlight from the Hornets' 111-96 win over the Bulls last Thursday. On some level I suppose I'm happy that Charlotte center Mason Plumlee figured out how to shoot with his left hand while his right hand was too injured to grip the ball, and found moderate success at it; adaptation is admirable, especially this far into a career.
But I don't have to be happy to watch the fruits of his hard work. Often you can discern, in the body language of a hardworking NBA role player, a fleeting thought: "Let me cook." Most of the time I'm happy for them. By all means, go out there and self-actualize for five seconds. But when I see this in Plumlee, and select others, I tend to interpret it as a threat.
Set aside the shot itself, and listen to the sound it elicits in Charlotte's stupendously dire play-by-play guy. How are you, as an adult, making that sound as a result of anything Mason Plumlee does? This is the most cursed sports clip I've seen recently. What's yours?
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