On a side note, never watch a spurs game, then watch a warriors game, you'll just be that much more depressed with the defensive rotations, defensive rebounding, and offensive execution that the warriors need to desperately improve on. In that first quarter, i don't know how many wide open jumpers the blazers got? they must've had like 3-4 in a row at one point in the quarter. it got me really depressed, but im happy with the team win they ended up putting together.

I expect the Warriors to lose tonight but curious how they will match-up and if they can run against Utah.  This game could be a blow out becuase they have all the excuse slined up: they just won and so this game is a natural let down.  It's aq back-to-back game road game.  utah is an top playoff team....... They need to stay competitive in this back-to-back road game.

Derek Fisher averaged 13.3 points for us and played in all 82 games last year.  Who will guard him?

Forward Andrei Kirilenko is multi-purpose and wil be hard to stop - will MP2 be assigned to him?

Forward Carlos Boozer has had 2 monster games.  Will he own the GSW?  Magic-Ball says "Definitely" becasue he'll have
Center Mehmet Okur at his side. Will Foyle, Andris or Ike be guarding him and if so then then who covers Boozer?  A: Murphy.

The GSW were victorious.  Their chances of making the playoffs have improved.  When GSW scored 102 points and the Portland club of suits and blazers only scored 89 points I was sure the Warriors were going to win.  I waited in anticipation for the official points tallying to take place.  
The judges all voted in favor of the GSW.  I was a little worried that some judges might not value the points as strongly as others and award the victory to Portland, but my worries were childish.
When I was a child in the backyard of the yard where hoops took place I would watch my brother and his friends play basketball.  Sometimes I would run on the court and try to steal the ball, but when I would try and dribble the ball away I'd always travel or double dribble and have to turn the ball back over.  My brother would pretend not to know me.  Sometimes he would say, "Look kid, I don't know what you're doing here or why you keep cheering for me by saying, `Yah! Brother! Score Another!" but you're going to have to go home if you continue trying to steal the ball.  
Just then Dad pulled into the yard and got out of the car.
"Hello Son," said Dad.
"Hello Dad," said my brother.
"Hello Father," I said.
Dad just looked at me as he stood l up out of the car.  Dad just stood there looking at me as he held onto the top of the open door.  I just kept smiling, waiting for Dad to return my `Hello'.  He never did.
"So, how many points have you scored, son?" asked my father of my brother.
"I'm not keeping track really."
"Let's finish up the game," said one of my brother's friends.  I think his name was Andy and he had orange hair.  He also had a nose.  That's all I can really remember about him.  I just picture the orange hair and the nose.  I can't even envision what his arms look like.  His nose wasn't even memorable or big.
"Okay," said my brother.  His voice was fading in the distance.  I was on my way.
"That little shit stole the ball again," yelled someone.
I had.  Now I was running away, dribbling as well as I ever had.  I think I'm going to make it.  Just me and the ball.  Bounce, bounce, bounce.  I can't take my eyes of this beautiful new friend.  I was going to make it.  My first career steal.  On the back of my rookie card it'll say, "Mark had his first career steal at age seven when he stole the basketball from a game between his brother and friends."  This line will be followed by, "Though we've found no record of Mark having a brother we find it hard to believe that a person would make up such a scenario or a person."
As my brother, or as I'm finding out from reading the back of my rookie card the person who I thought was my brother, chased me down I could see my dreams of the great steal wavering.  Wind began to rattle this vision as it hung from the laundry line out back.  The more time that slipped away, the stronger the hurricane brewed.  The wind picked up violently; I could feel my ex-brother steps behind me.  The laundry sheet of my dream was now holding onto the line with the help of only one clothespin.  I looked back to see hands reaching.  My only hope was to make it to the ditch.  I would be able to swim for safety.  I leaped.  A strong gust knocked off the last clothespin.  A hand swiped at my ankle.  I flew through the air hoping to land with a splash into the muddy sewage river along the road.  Sheer determination held the dream sheet to the line as it flapped with no clothespins.
When I crashed into the trashcans my world changed.  My dream of completing the steal blew away in the hurricane and wouldn't be found again until a month later when I was looking in my desk at school for the red crayon and found the sheet stuffed in the very back.  It was completely shredded and torn.  Most would view this dream as a lost cause.  I had hope.  I took up knitting.
As I lay in the pile of trash instead of the mucky swash of the ditch I finally saw the light.  It was finally apparent why my brother couldn't have been my brother.  The crash must have knocked something loose in my head, but now I could see my pale shivering skin for what it was worth.  I was white.  My ex-brother was black.  It was from this point on that I would finally see the world for what it was: two sides opposed.  A world of darkness and great feats versus a world of supposed pureness that represented all the ways in which you could swindle a young athletic Blackman into dribbling money straight to your bank account.  
Andy wasn't even the redhead that I remember with the nose.  He had no hair.  His scalp was scalped, but in a willingly way.  He wore a red bandana.  His nose stood centered between two eyes.  This new Andy was more than the old one had ever been.  He had eyes.
My new ex-black brother stood above me.  I slowly picked myself up.  Memories of my rookie card and blurb of seven-year-old thievery faded.
Times were better when I had a black brother.  After losing him I struggled through school and often found myself on the wrong side of chants that went something like this, "Mark doesn't have a brother and his mom is a one eyed mother."  My mom has two eyes, but the chants still hurt especially when I was trying to add 3 +5 up at the blackboard.  This may be a reason why I can't count past seven.  Doctors tell me it's a psychological thing.  
Anyway, the reason I tell you this story is because Baron Davis reminds me a lot of my black ex-brother.  Baron Davis is a Warrior, maybe not literally, but he plays on the GSW.  It's nice to meet you Baron.  I'm Mark.  Please excuse me if I ever try and steal the ball from you in a backyard game of hoops.  Oh yeah, next time you see me, we won't be strangers.