Collect Them All!

It’s hard work being a Portland Trail Blazers fan. It’s even harder
when you know absolutely nothing about the team. Aren’t they supposed
to be a bunch of thugs with joints dangling from their agape maws? They
lose every game, correct? And that Greg Oden guy—he’s like Sam
Bowie, if Bowie had been run over by a produce truck, right? Wrong,
wrong, and wrong again.

The current crop of Blazers are better than all that. Currently at
the mid-season mark and flirting with first place, this team is most
likely playoff bound, so you better climb back onboard that Rip City
bandwagon while there’s still room. We won’t judge you for your fair
weather fandom, in fact, we’re here to help. Let this be your primer in
better understanding this team; a handy guide to who’s who, who does
what, and who the hell is Ike Diogu.

Barring freakish injury, diabolic maneuvering by the team’s
kazillionaire owner (Paul Allen), or the evil hauntings of Kevin
Duckworth’s ghost, everyone knows the Portland Trail Blazers are
barreling toward the playoffs this year. And while it’s still too early
to be sizing yourself for a championship ring, it’s still our
journalistic duty to assist you—uninformed sports fan eager to
hop aboard the Blazers bandwagon to Kickass Championshipville
(Population: You!)—in deciphering the complicated workings of the
’08-’09 Blazers, player by player:

Greg Oden

More ink has been spilled on Oden—the former number one pick
who missed his initial season with a bum knee—than any other
player wearing red and black. As unstable on his feet as he is
emotional, Oden has the rare ability to appear both absolutely
dominating and completely inept at the same exact moment. At his best,
Oden lumbers about, leaving a violent pile of opposing players
scattered in his messy wake. At his worst, he’s like a drunken toddler,
unsure of his footing and completely foreign to the very concept of
putting a round ball through a netted hoop. He might be the worst
player right now, and the best player come tomorrow. Lord only
knows.

Joel Przybilla 

With a plaintive blue-collar work ethic, Przybilla’s rigid
height—in a game of giants, he looms larger and moodier than his
peers—meshes perfectly with his limited range of emotions: anger,
disapproval, or quiet gratification. Never varying from the three, the
Vanilla Gorilla (or Albino Godzilla, or Ashen Chinchilla, or just make
up your own) is the bruiser imprisoned underneath the basket, unafraid
to angrily introduce his elbow to someone else’s grill with a boring,
workmanlike delivery. The disapproval setting on Przybilla’s emotional
pendulum is reserved for young teammates who slip up on court, and it’s
delivered via a condemning glare akin to a dissatisfied father
mercilessly grilling his daughter’s potential suitor. Your best
intentions be damned; you anger Przybilla and the man will kill you
with his eyes. His final mood—if you can call it that—is
his muted gratification. A soft smile when all goes well, Przybilla
displays a downright indifference to the politics of the game and all
the baggage towed along with it. He just wants to win; on the court, on
the bench, or with his elbows buried in the soft skeletal tissue of
another man’s face—it doesn’t matter.

Rudy Fernández

Spanish sensation that the Blazers acquired on draft night two years
ago, Rudy Fernández has developed into a crowd favorite despite
a shot selection that ranges from wild to batshitfuckingcrazy. While
his methods will trigger coronaries in traditional NBA followers, Rudy
manages to produce on the court at will. Also, he’s the only Blazers
player you secretly want to date your sister. Or yourself.

Channing Frye

Hands down the greatest Blazer ever—just not at the sport of
basketball. In fact, behind his rah-rah attitude about Portland,
blogging skills, and media presence, the game of hoops might be Frye’s
worst asset. He currently sits so far off the team’s depth
charts that he is behind journeyman Ike Diogu, cripple Raef LaFrentz,
banished malcontent Darius Miles, former oaf Ruben Boumtje-Boumtje, and
furry mascot Blaze the Trail Cat. All of those humans—and
mascots—are more likely to see court time than Frye.

Steve Blake

Resembling that kid from Gummo, Blake carries the burden of
constantly being on the cusp of unemployment—yet he never
actually does anything wrong. Since his initial run with Portland in
2005, Blake has repeatedly battled inferior players for the starting
point guard role. And as Sebastian Telfair, Juan Dixon, Jarrett Jack,
and Sergio Rodríguez have all come to realize, Blake has no
intention of being handed a pink slip.

Jerryd Bayless

The jury is still out on Bayless. While his tenacious pit bull
demeanor is commendable, he’s still an awkward puppy trying to harness
his skill set. But when he’s ready, the Blazers’ most recent first
round pick will, without a doubt, gnaw his way onto the Blazers’
starting lineup. Unless he gets ringworm and Mom has to put him to
sleep. (Although she’ll tell you he ran away to a nice family two towns
over. God, I hate Mom so much right now.)

Brandon Roy

The face of the franchise, Roy is the team’s anchor. If he plays,
more than likely Portland wins. If he doesn’t, they should probably
just not bothering showing up. Spends more time falling to the floor
than my grandma with her bad hip—but don’t let his boring
façade and deliberate methods fool you: Roy is a beast on court
and can do absolutely no wrong. Up close, he smells like cinnamon and
little cartoon birds perch on his shoulder and whistle him a tune. He’s
that good.

Travis Outlaw

If Forrest Gump or Benjamin Button have taught us
anything, it’s that slow-talking Southerners can change lives and teach
us valuable life lessons. A product of Starkville, Mississippi, Travis
Outlaw has taught Portland that points can come off the bench and his
unorthodox jumpshots are knocked back smoother than the tallest glass
of sweet tea. Bonus: Outlaw drives a ridiculous custom car that can
best be described as somewhere between a ’70s blaxploitation pimp
mobile and the type of brash vehicle a rental clown might drive to a
child’s birthday party. Pimps and clowns.

Martell Webster

With a starting job awaiting him, Webster shaved his dome and bulked
up before the season, primed to have a breakout year. Instead, because
of a foot injury (it was mauled in a bear trap or something) Webster
has played all of five minutes this year. Plus, those five minutes took
place during a road game in Toronto, Canada—so technically they
aren’t American minutes, and thus not really worth counting.

LaMarcus Aldridge

Big and Texan, Aldridge has shed the tag of “soft” (a basketball
label for weak players not named Joel Przybilla) and assumed the role
of a modern-day Rasheed Wallace—sans the whole “technical fouls
and berating the officials” thing.

Sergio Rodríguez

If turnovers could talk, they’d speak Spanish and play like
Rodríguez. It’s hard to tell if Sergio is the future of the
franchise, trade bait, or… I’m sorry. I got distracted when
Rodríguez turned the ball over again. What was I saying?

Nicolas Batum

A French teenager acquired deep in the dregs of the draft, Batum was
supposed to be the fourth best rookie of the Blazers, but
instead his lanky frame and outside jumper have earned him a starting
job. Little known fact: Every night he jams a needle into the foot of a
Martell Webster voodoo doll, then laughs maniacally.

Ike Diogu

Seldom-used muscle off the bench, Diogu hasn’t played enough minutes
to rightfully garner his very own “I Like Ike” promotional campaign.
“I’m Indifferent to Ike,” perhaps? Because, after all, “like” is such a
strong word.

Shavlik Randolph

Other than an excuse for you not to toss your Zach Randolph replica
jerseys, Shavlik Randolph’s main role is to keep the Blazers’ bench
nice and warm. But not too warm, since Shavlik will never live
down a comment from his pre-Blazers days regarding his open-minded
attitude toward gay athletes: “As long as you don’t bring your gayness
on me.”