Everywhere I went Wednesday night at Target Center, people kept calling the Timberwolves' latest embarrassment one of their "worst ever," in the way that Charlie Sheen might grade hangovers.
In the enervating annals of Wolvesdom, we have suffered the Ebis and Averys of outrageous fortune, we have gagged on East Bay Funk and choked on that bitter candy known as Starbury, and yet today, your Minnesota Timberwolves might be the worst they've ever been.
They're 13-43 in what was supposed to be a year of improvement. They own the second-worst record in the league, ahead of only the Cleveland Cavaliers, who have the excuse of losing LeBron James and who set a record for most consecutive losses.
Wednesday night, the Wolves lost to a Los Angeles Clippers team at the end of an extended, Grammy-forced road trip, a Clippers team that had just lost to Cleveland, Toronto and Milwaukee. And then your Wolves reached a nadir unimaginable even for those of us who watched Mark Madsen shoot three-pointers.
Darko Milicic, after the game, described his team as too soft. This is the pot calling the kettle a wimp.
When Darko calls you soft, it is time to take your Snuggie and your Krispy Kremes and curl up in your bean-bag chair and watch "Steel Magnolias" while listening to Kenny G. If Darko calls you soft, you are some combination of man and marshmallow. You are a manmallow.
It is one thing to be lousy with a purpose. It is another to be this lousy for this long with no end in sight. So I have provided a simple three-step program to save the Wolves:
1. Fire the owner.