5 unrealistic dreams for the 2015 NBA Finals

3. J.R. Smith Wins MVP

Thanks to the ceaseless cycle of takes and think-pieces and #content, it’s hard to talk about Cleveland Cavaliers guard (and social media genius) J.R. Smith without falling into some sort of What We Talk About When We Talk About J.R. Smith trap, like a blog-y Saw-style device designed by a half-literate Chuck Klosterman, in which the only way to escape is via mangling your own intellect. To some people, Smith — an unapologetic chucker who can either shoot your team to victory or shoot them right into the loss column — is emblematic of everything the mainstream basketball media loathe, and thus is worthy of fawning praise. And to other people, Smith — an unapologetic chucker who can either shoot your team to victory or shoot them right into the loss column — is emblematic of the sort of contrarian over-reaction that plagues basketbloggers everywhere, and is thus worthy of wet-blanket, #actually dismissal.

Personally, I side with Team Smith: His social media skills are peerless, his cockiness is a defiant breath of fresh air in an environment that relishes in punishing anything resembling self-expression, and, dammit, watching anyone launch ill-advised threes from thirty feet is delightful in my book. But that’s not why I dream of him winning MVP.

No, I dream of him winning MVP because Smith was recently a member of the New York Knicks, and watching New York fans cry in frustration pleases me to no end.

Look, the Knicks have been a long-suffering franchise, steered into shambles by one of the most inept owners in sports, and while a small, empathetic part of me feels bad for the legions of loyal fans who have been forced to watch the team’s painful spiral into mediocrity, there is an obnoxious, dominant part of me that breaks out in hives at anything NYC-centric — whether that be sports coverage or food trends or piss-poor Joan Didion impersonations — and the hives are even worse when that centricity takes the form of accomplishment and happiness. Is that petty? You bet your ass it is. But still: In a world where the influence and importance of New York City — You can just call it New Yor *gets punched in the mouth* — is here to stay, I’d rather all that spotlight-hogging come with tears than with smiles, and a J.R. Smith MVP trophy would cause howls of disappointment directed at James Dolan to echo all across the “Large Apple.”

(Also acceptable: an Iman Shumpert MVP. Basically, if the NBA Finals end with Knicks fans wallowing in more self-loathing than they already do, I’ll count it as a win.)

Next: 2. No Hack-a-Player