Comparing your favorite NBA players to Game of Thrones characters, Volume 2

        As book-readers and show-watchers alike well know, the world of Game of Thrones continuously expands, adding more places and people every time you blink your eyes, all while constantly developing its previously established characters. The NBA is the very same, and while the Comparing Your Favorite NBA Players to Game of Thrones Characters article from last year around this time was meant to be a one-off, so much has happened in both universes that we're back for round two. In honor of tonight's Game 1 of the NBA finals, here's the second chapter in perhaps the most wildly asinine article in the history of this blog... Don't rule out a third. A link to the first volume can be found below.

Comparing your favorite NBA Players to Game of Thrones characters, Volume 1

***Warning: this article contains more Game of Thrones spoilers than there are scales on Drogon's back. You've been warned***

Klay Thompson is Jorah Mormont
        These two badasses might be regularly out-shined by the messiah figure they spend most of their time with, but make no mistake, both would be running the show in any other situation. Mormont has been one of the realm's most feared swordsmen for decades now, and Thompson morphs into one of the best all-around players in the whole league whenever the moment arrises. What's more, both are loyal and committed to their leaders, Jorah because he loves Daenerys, and Klay because he loves winning.

Manu Ginobili is Littlefinger
        No one would argue that either Ginobili or Littlefinger don't know how to play the game, the latter coming up from modest means to become the acting Lord of the Vale, while Manu emerged from Argentina to win four titles and a olympic gold medal. But boy, are they both shifty! There's no telling when Littlefinger has conducted a deal behind your back that could lead to your demise, just like there's no telling when Ginobili will flail about wildly and earn three fraudulent foul shots with the clock winding down. You have to respect the hustle, but this might be that rarest of instances in which you're allowed to hate the player but love the game.

Isaiah Thomas is Bronn
        You need me to pour in 20 a night in Sacramento? Done. Same deal in Phoenix? I don't see why not. How about in Boston? Let's go get it! It's hard to imagine either Thomas or Bronn playing a particularly large role in the ultimate battle for all seven kingdoms/the NBA title, but if you need somebody to just get out there and make it happen, they're both ready anytime, anywhere... assuming you can pay handsomely enough. Though neither wields one, these two are guns for hire.

Kristaps Porzingis is Bran
        Much like the Anthony Davis is Melisandre claim that I made last time around, these two are bound together by their seemingly limitless potential. The Stark boy can inhabit the minds of other living creatures and has unspecified time-traveling abilities. The rail-thin Latvian can run the court, protect the rim, and drill a corner three. So why is it so hard to see either of them turning into a conquerer? Poor Bran is paralyzed from the waist down, and Porzingis is 7'2'', a height that virtually guarantees his whole body breaks down within the next few years. Powerful as they may be, those are some pretty concerning footnotes.

Draymond Green is The Hound
        Look at these two, mugging as always. Sturdily built men who are not to be trifled with, both Green and the Hound carry themselves with absolutely outrageous amounts of bravado and confidence, and actually have the skills and killer instincts to back them up. Both possess legendarily foul mouths, and there's little doubt in my mind that a chicken eating contest between the two would prove hard fought. They also have softer sides as well, devoting much of their time to caring for someone smaller, sweeter, and more important than themselves... but they'll still kick you in the crotch if you get in their way.

Jimmy Butler is Davos Seaworth
        The dictionary definition of a great guy to have in your corner, both Butler and Seaworth are hard-working, nose-to-the-grindstone pragmatists who value honor, valor, and stalwart devotion to their cause. They also both picked the wrong cause. Poor Davos put his faith in a man who cut off the tips of his fingers and burned people alive for sport, which is basically what Tom Thibodeau did to all the Bulls players over his multi-year reign of terror/success. Neither Stannis Baratheon nor Derrick Rose turned out to be the Prince Who Was Promised, and yet their right-hand men continue to soldier on. Here's hoping they both find a cause worth fighting for.

D'Angelo Russell is Shae
        Don't trust these two. Not now. Not ever.

Kyrie Irving is Loras Tyrell
        It doesn't get much sexier than Kyrie and Loras, two living, breathing embodiments of swagger. The way Irving slices through the lane to hit a teardrop over the fingertips of men literally a foot taller than him is not so dissimilar to Tyrell's out-jousting The Mountain, and even doling out roses before doing so. Another commonality? They both might be more style than substance, and good god, no defense is played by either party. How else do you explain the Knight of Flowers being imprisoned in a crappy dungeon by religious lunatics, or Kyrie getting his ankles broken by the lunatic Russell Westbrook? They've both got a good thing going, but a little more time spent honing their craft probably wouldn't hurt either party.

Steven Adams is Tormund Giantsbane
        The two toughest dudes you will ever lay eyes upon, both Adams and Giantsbane relish getting into the nitty-gritty of things, and are both capable of taking an L without completely losing their cool. Would you be as patient as Tormund was when Jon Snow's men killed half of his Wildling compatriots, and took him captive just for good measure? How about Adams' resolve when being kicked in the junk, and having guys intentionally land on the small of his back with the entirety of their body weight? I for one would take umbrage with such foul treatment, but not these warriors. Their goals are simple: fight on, grow absurd facial hair, and make eyes at the women they might someday love. 

Kyle Lowry is Grey Worm
         Seriously you two, don't talk the talk if you can't walk the walk. Despite their rigorous training and seemingly battle-ready mindsets, both Lowry and Grey Worm stay losing. Having the entire Unsullied behind you is not unlike having all of Canada support your cause, but when it comes to taking down the Sons of the LeBron, they never fail to come up short. Yes, they're tough, and yes, both are capable of emerging victoriously, but is there anyone in all the seven kingdoms and six divisions whom you'd more readily bet against in a pressure situation? That's what I thought.

Kevin Love is Olly
        How soon they forget. Did it just sort of slip Olly's mind that he would have been murdered and likely devoured by the Thenns were it not for Jon Snow? Kevin Love knows that LeBron is the only reason he's not still going 40-42 in Minnesota every year, right? Why are these two so petulant? Sure, the former Lord Commander might have formed a treaty with the savages that ate Olly's parents right in front of him, and King James' passive aggressiveness toward Love via social media can't feel too good either, but we're capable of compromise here, right? No? Ok, I guess just keep whining then (Side Note for Olly: you killed the woman Jon loved right in front of him! Can't we call this even?).

Blake Griffin is Jaqen H'ghar
        Are we sure these guys are cool anymore? They certainly were, H'ghar changing identities and slaying some unsuspecting sap at the same frequency with which Griffin posterized Pau Gasol and starred in decent Kia commercials. All that awesomeness feels like a long time ago at this point, and while both remain undeniably powerful, all of that Yoda-speak and mean mugging at the refs has grown a little stale. You never really know which Griffin will show up for a given game, a concept that Jaqen takes to the next level by swapping out faces like they're dirty laundry. Are you proud of me for holding out this long before making a joke about how they both like to hit unarmed people who are much smaller than them? Because I am.

The Atlanta Hawks are the Sand Snakes
        The Hawks are powerful. They finished last season with the best record in the Eastern Conference, and ran it back this year to the sound of a solid regular season, and an appearance in the second round. The Sand Snakes are equally formidable, having now employed their lethal abilities to overthrow the entire Dornish government (which consists of two or three people, depending on the day). I also never want to see either of them ever again. Seriously, there are White Walkers coming from the north and contenders coming from the west; why are we watching these teams merely annoy the Cavs and commit to the worst accents ever captured on film? We get it, you guys are good at what you do, but you're also boring and inconsequential. Can we just... you know... not?

Sam Henke is Craster
        Outside of Cleveland and occasionally Miami, true hoops fans have made a habit of largely ignoring the Eastern Conference. Same goes for the Westerosi and all territory located north of the wall, but Craster and Henke have managed to capture our attention none the less. The former was a shame to every living thing while the latter served as an affront to anyone who's ever cared entirely too much about team sports. We took our eyes off of them, and they each created an ungodly abomination while no one was looking. The only real difference is in Craster's determination to keep everything 'in house,' while Henke exports every valuable asset in his arsenal as soon as the asking price is right. They both met untimely ends, and I believe I speak for the masses when I say 'good riddance.'

Karl-Anthony Towns is Euron Greyjoy
        Well that was fast. Just when you thought Yara Greyjoy and Andrew Wiggins were set to lead their countrymen into the future, in stepped Towns and Euron, snatching the crown away as if it was their's to begin with. Karl-Anthony does seem a bit more civil, but if anyone had gotten in the way of his march to this year's Rookie of the Year trophy, you best believe he would have no problems throwing that chump off the nearest bridge. Perhaps these two were always meant to ascend to the throne, but who could have seen it happening this fast?

Ready to Rumble-The Return of Physicality to the Action Blockbuster

        As Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation draws to a close, espionage extraordinaire Ilsa Faust (Rebecca Ferguson) finds herself not on the top of a falling high-rise, nor on the bow of an enormous spacecraft, but in a dark, dingy basement. Janik Vinter, an eastern European psychopath aptly nicknamed ‘The Bone Doctor,’ is waiting for her down in the dungeon-like setting, a handgun in tow. Faust, who’s just spent the last two hours proving that gymnastics can be just as lethal as literal firepower, makes quick work of disarming her assailant, prompting The Doc to produce a knife. The importance of this moment cannot be over-stated: not only is Vinter perhaps the first character in the history of cinema to be rewarded for bringing a knife to a gun fight, but the sequence essentially works as a statement of intent for the Mission: Impossible franchise, as well as any number of filmmakers who’ve tired of watching the world almost end at the climax of our biggest blockbusters. While many tent pole directors would still argue that bigger is always better, a growing number of helmers are making a case for the pairing down of the action/adventure flick. Summer 2015 has born witness to the burgeoning disagreement between two different camps of effects enthusiasts and mayhem makers: those who would rather zoom out, and those who would rather zoom in.

        The divide wasn't nearly so clear as recently as a decade ago, when the likes of the Lord of the Rings, Sam Raimi's Spider-Man films, the Harry Potter series ruled the day at the box office. Each franchise utilized innumerable computer generated effects, and favored moments of wide-shot grandeur as a means of conveying both scope and scale. But each also possessed action that took place in close quarters, with real actors wielding tangible props at one another with dangerous intent. The first Spider-Man film culminates in an abandoned building, Tobey Maguire and Willem Defoe staring each other down, the latter's tactile glider eventually causing physical, intimate damage. For all its prologued instances of wand-waving chaos, the Harry Potter flicks always sold themselves on their character moments, a scene set in a classroom often over-shadowing what happens in the Chamber of Secrets or Gringotts Bank. The Two Towers' Battle of Helms Deep, an elongated sequence whose formal stylings remain relevant and influential to this day, gains much of its might from using keyboard creations to emphasize the severity of the situation, while utilizing actual performers to bring it home viscerally. In each example listed above, there's a push-pull: the filmmakers benefit from the eternally-exponential advances in computer generated imagery, and yet manage, with a few exceptions, to not use them as a crutch. They saved that distinction for Michael Bay.

        Transformers, a mega-budget big screen adaptation of an 80's children's toy line and accompanying TV show, was an absurd risk on the part of Paramount Studios. Unless you're counting an actor known primarily at the time as 'that guy from Even Stevens,' the picture's biggest stars were Steven Spielberg (comfortably seated in his producer's chair), and Bay, already a punchline to many an avid film fan. The movie defied expectations and became the third biggest hit of the year, and it did so by pushing the pervasiveness of CGI further than we'd ever seen before in a live-action film. Now that Transformers has spawned two sequels, grossed billions of dollars, and forced most every critic and snob to throw their hands up in exasperation, it's easy to forget how revelatory that first entry really was. Hollywood had spent the first several years of the CGI boom practicing restraint and judiciousness. Bay had no time for either, and the repercussions of his wholesale commitments to digital wonderment can be witnessed on at least one screen of just about every multiplex in America. But the tide might be turning.

        If you'd have told me sometime near the end of April that The Avengers: Age of Ultron would fail to capture this summer's box office crown, I would have laughed in your face. The sequel to 2012's runaway success The Avengers, Ultron seemed poised to break all of its forbearer's records with even more city-leveling destruction, and artificial apocalypse-baiting. Instead, it was bested at every turn by June's Jurassic World, and while the reasons for the upset range from nostalgia, to scheduling, to the now-undeniable star power of Chris Pratt, I personally can't help but assign some blame to the physical disconnect that's coming to define the Marvel Cinematic Universe. When Ultron's titular baddie lifts the entire fictitious city of Sokovia into the air, you feel like you could too; the metropolis appears to weigh about as much as a marshmallow. And while Earth's Mightiest Hero's are witnessed saving the lives of several individual citizens, the film's necessity to keep zooming out in order to make sense of the action robs the sequence of any real tension. There's no argument to be made that Jurassic World leans less heavily of CGI than the latest Avengers joint, but it makes a point of keeping the danger in close proximity. With the exception of a maniacal scene in which a pack of loosed pterodactyls wreak havoc on the park's helpless customers, peril is only experienced by a handful of people at a time, with the hungry animals always a little too close for comfort. Ultron wanted to end humanity through an onslaught of earth-quakes and tidal waves; the Indominous Rex was just kind of hungry, and might accidentally do some damage to the exterior of the nearby Starbucks.

        People responded to comparative simplicity of Jurassic World's conclusion, as well as the vicinity of the danger. Ultron opened to $191 million over the course of its first three days of release, a figure that now represents 41.9% of its current total gross. World made more money out of the gate (a record $208 million), and yet that staggering number is only responsible for 33% of the movie's cumulative take, a number that will undoubtably shrink even further when the film finally stops making money. This would seem like an outlier if it weren't for all the other Summer 2015 offerings that reiterate the theory. Dwayne Johnson's end-times adventure San Andreas opened a whole tier above Mad Max: Fury Road ($54 and $45, respectively), but now they're virtually tied, owing to the fact that Andreas' opening salvo amounts to 36% of its haul, while Mad Max's makes up less than 30%. Despite all the digital wizardry on display in its ads, Terminator: Genisys was a dud on arrival, making it the exact opposite of the white-knuckled Rogue Nation, which sold itself on the merit of its practical effects, and managed to rake in a whopping $55 at the tail end of July. Word is spreading that Hollywood has finally returned to financing blockbusters that are made with more than the pressing of buttons and the clicking of mouses, and audiences are responding by opening their wallets.

        Tinseltown is a reactionary place, and the success of Mad Max: Fury Road, Mission: Impossible - Rogue Nation, and (to a lesser extent) Jurassic World bode well for those who'd prefer to have their action scaled back a bit, but it's not as though the aforementioned films came out of nowhere. They were each lavishly budgeted, and studio heads don't exactly go around pulling out their check books for every movie they think would be kind of cool to see. Thank the movie gods, then, for the resurgence of the Fast & Furious movies, at once both the least likely and most important billion-dollar saga of the moment. The original, titled The Fast & the Furious, was a success upon its 2001 release, spawning a pair of sequels that each possessed less of the initial cast than the previous entry. They brought the whole gang back together for 2009's Fast and Furious, which opened to a then-staggering $71 million on its way to becoming the highest grossing entry in the franchise. At the time, it seemed like the return of stars Vin Diesel and Paul Walker was the primary reason for the monetary spike, but hindsight offers an interesting alternate explanation. Having recently borne witness to Transformers, Iron Man, The Incredible Hulk, the Pirates of the Caribbean series, and the putrid, fake-looking Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, audiences were eager to watch real cars crash, and not be force-fed yet another skyscraper crumbling to the ground. The fact that each subsequent entry since Fast and Furious has made more than its predecessor only solidifies the point.

       Those anticipating the whole-sale death of the massively-scaled action blockbuster would be wise to not hold their breath. The comic-book adaptation phase, now over a decade into its run of global domination, doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon, and even if American audiences are tiring of the Transformers series, the rest of the planet is just getting started (the fourth film, Age of Extinction, is the second highest grossing film in the history of China). Rampant CGI and cataclysmic destruction are here to stay, but after nearly a decade of monopolizing the months of May, June, July, and August, they finally have competition in the marketplace. Our alternative option is still just trickling in, only a handful available in any given year, but their numbers are seeing a steady annual increase, as are their grosses. Physicality is returning to blockbuster season, so put down your doomsday devices and glowing blue macguffins, and be sure to pack a knife. Who knows; it might just come in handy.

Hip Hop Flip Flop: How Kendrick Lamar and A$AP Rocky Switched Coasts

        Nearly two years ago, Big Sean dropped a song entitled Control, a three-verse banger that set the internet ablaze literally over-night for reasons that had nothing to do with the track’s credited author. The MC’s bars are nice and all, but it was Kendrick Lamar’s explosive lyrics and fire-breathing cadence that brought the crowd. Not only did the up-and-comer name-check a bundle of 12 well-known rappers whom he sought to lord over, the Compton product referred to himself as, “the king of New York,” perhaps the single greatest form of hip-hop blasphemy a West Coast native could commit. The drawing of regional lines has always been integral to the rap game’s identity, from KRS-One declaring the Bronx’s supremacy over the other NYC borrows on The Bridge is Over, on down to the famously tragic spat between Tupac Shakur and The Notorious B.I.G. There’s virtually no chance that Lamar didn’t know he was picking at a scab when he lyrically laid the East Coast crown upon his head, his words provoking responses from innumerable rhyme-smiths who all had an opinion on the matter, proving that, even in the year 2013, people still cared about the birthplace of a rap song. Regional styles are still being waved like flags, but while fans of the genre’s 90’s heyday still associate G-Funk with the City of Angels, and Boom Bap with the Big Apple, the coasts are switching sides right beneath them. Kendrick might as well be the king of New York; the city’s would-be champion, A$AP Rocky, is too busy kicking it on the golden coast.

        Even in the early 80’s, a time when nearly all hip hop came straight from The City that Never Sleeps, your zip code was important. After all, New York isn’t exactly what one would describe as ‘small,’ and the multitude of attitudes contained within its vast city limits could never congeal into one singular identity. Less than a decade into the genre’s existence, songs were already being written about one providence’s superiority over another. The aforementioned The Bridge is Over represents only a single chapter in a squabble between KRS-One and The Juice Crew over the true birthplace of hip hop, the MC’s representing The Bronx and Queensbridge, respectively. While these pioneers were engaging in close-quarter turf wars, a slew of artists from the Pacific Time Zone were on the come-up, the Los Angeles rap scene finally taking over the spotlight with the 1988 release of N.W.A.’s Straight Outta Compton. The likes of Snoop Dogg and Tupac were quick to follow, and all of a sudden, California had wrestled control of the genre away from its place of origin. The last thing a think-piece about Kendrick Lamar and A$AP Rocky needs is a full-force digression into the ins-and-outs of mid-90’s hip hop, but any discussion of the difference between the two coasts would be wise to include the history listed above; West Coast is essentially New Money, having risen to the top on the wings of vastly different approach, while the East’s Old Money paradigm invites a sense of resentment at having been first to the table, only to find their meal being eaten right in front of them.

        If there’s one thing that A$AP isn’t, it’s old money. His debut studio LP, 2013’s Long.Live.A$AP, was defined by its overwhelming willingness to outsource. It featured countless rappers from all over the Northern America, was produced by innumerable names deriving from similarly diverse backgrounds, and received additional assists from such outside-the-box choices as M.I.A., Skrillex, and Florence and The Machine’s Florence Welch. The plethora of cooks in the kitchen helped make the disc a raging success, but also robbed it of any singular identity. Not only did it render any attempts at coastal distinction superfluous, its ceaselessly eclectic tracklist essentially argued that A$AP Rocky was a pop star first, and a rapper second.

        At.Long.Last.A$AP is much more cohesive, but the drug-addled wooziness that embodies the disc is lightyears removed from hard-hitting sound that defines the East Coast. The Pacific Ocean sparkle isn’t limited to the sonics; it boils over into the album’s guest spots, references, and cadence. While artists like Future, Kanye West, and the returning M.I.A. stand outside of the argument due to their global positioning, the first non-A$AP bars are delivered by Schoolboy Q, about as West Coast an MC as you’re likely to find. His naughty, nasally flow calls to mind a young Eazy-E, the Compton-born ‘Godfather of Gangsta Rap,’ while UGK’s late album feature plays as yet-another reference to California’s Pimp C. Bare in mind, Rocky is the figure-head of the New York-based rap collective A$AP Mob, yet none of his cronies show up on the entire hour-plus LP. If you think this a mistake, or that he simply lost every number in his phone for half a year, I’ve got some ocean-side property in Montana to sell you at an impossibly low price!

        A$AP Rocky’s birth name is Rakim Mayers, his mother titling him after legendary Long Island MC Rakim, an artist cut from an unthinkably different cloth. While the elder-statesman employes a silky smooth pace and intonation, Rocky’s flow is full of peaks and valleys, is if he recorded while going over an endless string of speed bumps. He seems eager to shed this association at every waking moment, preferring Snoop Dogg’s ‘G’s Up, Hoes Down,’ manifesto to wordy, lovelorn cuts like Rakim’s What’s On Your Mind. The song L$D even calls specific attention to this juxtaposition, the rapper admitting “I wanna tell you that I love you, but I ain’t into making love songs.” It’s clear that Mr. Mayers would much rather be associated with 2Pac, as evidenced by his citations of both Fuck the World and Hit ‘Em Up, the latter being a song that directly and belligerently attacks both The Notorious B.I.G. and the East Coast as a whole. As recently as a decade ago, this would have played as hip-hop sacrilege of the most dubious sort.

        Lamar also can’t contain his fondness for Mr. Shakur, even blocking out the last 6 minutes of his 2015 effort To Pimp a Butterfly to resurrect the Death Row Records signee for a plainspoken conversation about race, violence, and wealth disparity. This is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to Butterfly’s incessant inclusion of West Coast legends, Wesley’s Theory containing a phone call from Dr. Dre, while Snoop Dogg makes a brief cameo on Institutionalized. While the presence of the icons listed above shows a healthy reverence to the past, it’s worth noting that only one of them actually raps on the MC’s new record, and even he’s shown the door with the greatest of haste. It’s not without reason; their voices would be entirely ill-suited to the album, largely because Lamar is simply nothing like them. In terms of worldview, imagination, flow, production, and cultural impact, Kendrick derives from the very same mold as Nas, their debut studio albums (Good Kid M.A.A.D City and Illmatic, respectively) still actively compared to each other on a regular basis.

        Nasir Jones is something of an outsider, his linguistically deft flow often describing violence and corruption from an outsider’s prospective. Mr. Lamar takes this thesis one step further, narrating from a myriad of different perspectives including family friends, a metaphorical Uncle Sam, and even his grandmother. Intellect and grandeur are perhaps his most defining features, both of his studio albums playing like novellas or one-man stage plays (Good Kid even sports the subtitle A Short Film By Kendrick Lamar). While many rappers, West Coast especially, model their epic pseudo-lives after Tony Montana, Kendrick and Nas are on their James Joyce. If you require proof, look no further than Matt Daniels’ brilliant distillation of Hip Hop’s vocabulary, wherein he measures the number of unique words utilized within a long list of rappers’ first 35,000 lyrics. Nas falls just a hair short of the collective wording featured in Shakespeare's Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Othello, Macbeth, As You Like It, Winter's Tale, and Troilus and Cressida. Give Lamar a couple more albums, and he’ll be right there. He’s already named his sophomore effort after To Kill a Mockingbird, for Christ’s sake...

        As stated in the documentary Time is Illmatic, Jones’ father was a jazz musician, and the inspiration for the beat behind Life’s a Bitch. In fact, jazz music is a defining feature behind much of 90’s East Coast Hip Hop, from RZA morphing billowy sounds into The Wu-Tang Clan’s banging, clanging backdrops, to A Tribe Called Quest’s revolutionary sampling styles. This would all stand as an aside if it weren’t for Butterfly’s omnipresent utilization of the genre, undoubtably the jazziest mainstream rap record of the entirety of the 2000’s. Producer Terrence Martin’s free-flowing background on For Free (Interlude)? would almost be enough to earn that distinction all by itself, but it’s paired with Flying Lotus’ madcap production, as well as an assist from the legendary George Clinton. Everywhere you turn a live horn is blaring, or a tactical drum is rolling; Lamar himself might idolize Tupac Shakur, but his music sure as hell doesn’t.

        In case you are concerned by this point, I am aware that it is the year 2015, and have access to both clean water and the internet. Yes, The Coast War is over, but that doesn’t render the act of declaring your allegiance completely obsolete. Earlier this year, Joey Bada$$ cited Mobb Deep, Biggie, and Wu-Tang within the first 10 minutes of his album, B4.DA.$$, while Heems went as far as to claim “I’m so New York, I still don’t bump 2Pac.” Territorial lines, though largely faded, still exist in the rap game, which is why it’s so jarring to have our most commercial up-and-comers liberally pillage the stylings of their assumed rivals. Rhyme-smiths should be free to say what they want to say, and conceive their sounds in a way that feels natural to them. There’s just no avoiding the fact that the two most prominent young genre figures of the last several years want next to nothing of their home turf. And maybe both are better for it; I just can’t believe we all haven’t noticed.

Comparing your favorite NBA players to Game of Thrones characters, Volume 1

        If you play the game of basketball thrones, you either win, or you wait four months to play basketball again die.

Warning: this article contains spoilers for all who haven't seen Game of Thrones through Season 4, as well as those who've ignored the Professional Basketball Association during the 2014-2015 regular season.

Warning II: Like, Seriously! There are links here that obliterate the very mystery that makes GoT so special... Actually, almost all of them do that very thing (along with being quite grisly; this article is NSFW). Please, if you're not caught up on Thrones, turn back now!

LeBron James is Tyrion Lannister
        You can't really write this article without including the world's biggest player and Westeros' smallest Lannister, but nothing truly fits for either of them. That's why they get each other; both are the main characters of their stories whose personal narratives have shifted enough times to make your head spin. I suppose I could pull together some likening between LeBron's initial Cleveland departure and Tyrion's mad-dash out of King's Landing, but at the end of the day, I mostly just wanted a picture comparing LBJ to Peter Dinklage.

Steph Curry is Daenerys Targaryen
         What if I told you that a level-headed individual could rule the world? Possessing an important bloodline (Daenerys' father serving as king, Curry's pop as a functional NBA rotation player), both saw their seemingly untouchable trajectories toward power grind to a debilitating halt, the Targaryen clan murdered in their near entirety, while Steph was forced to attend Davidson University (which is the worse fate? We may never know...). Curry is a near-lock to win this season's MVP award, just like Daenerys was likely afforded a similar prize for freeing the slaves of Mareen. All this to say, these hard-laboring conquerors have attracted the attention and affection of millions, but winter/the playoffs are coming, and while they've both been successful in the minor leagues, it's time to see just how far they can push their emperorship.

Kevin Durant is Arya Stark
        What once seemed like the brightest of futures has turned dark as night. Both KD and Arya are young talents who came from illustrious backgrounds, the latter as a member of a noble family and offspring of the North's former warden, while Durant was the second overall pick in the draft, and has won multiple scoring titles. Then it all went into the toilet, the Thunder watching many of their troops fall victim to an endless string of maladies, while anyone within arm's reach of Arya has essentially received a death sentence. But watching one of his best teammates be traded for cents on the dollar has had a similar effect on Durant as (not) watching her father's decapitation has had on Arya; these two have nothing to lose, and have allowed their mean streaks to take over. I feel sorry for both, but am admittedly tantalized to discover what each does with hardly anything to latch on to. For both of these fan favorites, the future is a blank check.

Chris Paul is Tywin Lannister
        Moreso then anyone else living in their respective realms, both Paul and Tywin are obsessively concerned with what's best for the family/team. They also tend to alienate people with their complete and utter inability to play nice, Lannister glowering down at those for whom he lacks true respect (see: everyone), while Paul prefers to shout right in their faces. Cerebral as they may be, the end result for both has been disappointing thus far, but at least CP3 was allowed to stand up before the bad news was delivered.

Anthony Davis is Melisandre
        Immensely powerful in ways we don't truly understand, both Davis and Melisandre are about as alien to their respective worlds as you can really get. Is The Brow really that tall, that agile, and equally as capable of swatting your shot into the stratosphere as catching fire on the other end of the court? Why, yes he is! Can the Red Woman manipulate kings, give birth to demonic smoke babies, and start a fire or two of her own? You betchya! And they're both gaining more and more power at an alarming rate. We've ignored Melisandre Davis to the point that it's become dangerous; can anything stop the upward trajectories of these sorcerers?

Damien Lillard is Jon Snow
        Can you say "heartthrob?" Yes, I am a Portland native, and yes, that horribly skews my understanding of Dame in the league at large, but give me a chance. Both display their immense talents in a region largely ignored by the general populous (Oregon=the Wall and beyond), while maintaining a flashy style that creates converts on the regular. Both are at their best when their backs are against the wall, and the point guard's defensive deficiencies mirror Snow's complete inability to protect his family, and utter weakness for redheads. Finally, and perhaps most importantly: Doesn't Dame face look at least a little like Jon Snow face?

Carmelo Anthony is Cersei Lannister
        Will anything on god's green earth please you, Carmelo Lannister? Sure, show Allen Iverson the door/Bran Stark the window. Go ahead, force your way out of Denver/demand freedom from betrothal to a gay man. And while you're at it, why not muse over paths you were too short-sighted to take/blame your own blood for crimes they obviously didn't commit? And now you're gonna blame your brother/organization for your endlessly unsatisfying existence? Jesus, pour yourself another glass of wine already. This is getting ridiculous.

Russell Westbrook is Ramsey Bolton
        Simply put, there is no one on this earth as crazy as Ramsey Westbrook. Seriously, just look in those eyes; there's nothing in there besides madness and rage. Both employ tactics that might readily be described as grisly, Rascally Russ completely forgetting that he has four other teammates on a semi-regular basis, while Bastard Bolton gets his willies from doing stuff like this. Both have seen their power bolstered recently, Ramsey taking his father's name while Westbrook takes Kevin Durant's team. For Ramsey Westbrook, the most extreme actions are the only one's worth taking, wether it be leveling Winterfell, or the 76er's transition defense. The results aren't always the best.

Tim Duncan is Maester Aemon
        These guys have seen rivers. The most obvious link between the two is age, Duncan presently serving as the NBA's second oldest player (sorry buddy; Andre Miller's got you by 37 days!), while the actor who plays Aemon might actually be the oldest living human. More importantly, they're both royals who would rather serve the good of the people than lord over them, Aemon Targaryen concealing his status as one of the last living Dragons, while the five-time champ has never minded yielding the reigns to the likes of Tony Parker or Kwahi Leonard. They're a noble pair, and we could all stand to learn a little something from them before they're gone. Which they will be, because wow, they're old!

Paul George is Jamie Lannister
        This one just writes itself. Both George and Jamie had the fortune of being reared under the tutelage of a living legend (Tywin and Larry Bird), and watched their careers flourish as a result. Then, suddenly, everything went to shit: they were both involved in weird sex scandals, endured a pretty rough season or two because of it, and ultimately had one of their most important body parts lopped right off (not gonna link to the Paul George one. Sorry, but even this post has limits). Having walked through the fires of hell, both George and Jamie once again find themselves fan favorites despite misdeeds ranging from bribing women to have abortions to crippling precocious children. Apparently we just like these guys too much to hold them to anything.

Dwyane Wade is Stannis Baratheon
        Raise your hand if you think Stannis Baratheon will ever sit on the Iron Throne... That's what I thought. He certainly had his chance, which is perhaps the greatest dividing factor between Wade and Stannis; the former has experienced real-world success, while the other still toils in waiting. Otherwise, they're not so dissimilar, a pair of aging leaders who have far more faith in their own chances at glory than anyone else does, and will continue to chase it until their death/retirement. Keep plugging away, you guys; you'll need more than a loan from the Iron Bank to ever make it all the way to the top.

James Harden is Roose Bolton
        Harden wasn't satisfied playing under-paid third-banana to Westbrook and KD in Oklahoma City, so what did he do? He made a deal in the shadows and swapped allegiances, forever maiming his previous teammates in the name of gaining lordship in a nearby realm. Is that really so different from what the dastardly Roose Bolton pulled on the Starks? Both employ trickery whenever it advances their cause (Bolton's Red Wedding, Harden's flopping), and bore the living bejesus out of everyone who just wanted to watch a good game/episode. Screw you, Roose Harden!

Kyle Korver is Ygritte
        They're both legendary snipers, though neither uses a snipper. What's more? Both constantly look prettier than they have any right to appear given their professions. The Wildling lives in impossible conditions and yet sports a face as fair as a lily, while Korver maintains GQ-level hair despite busting his ass running around screens all day. They both must have amazing make-up artists.

DeAndre Jordan is Hodor
       Jordan is not a particularly savvy basketball player, but his strengths (see: strength) are undeniable, and made all that much better when coach Doc Rivers goes into full-on Bran Stark/Warg mode. As though inhabiting the brain space of a lesser being, Coach Glen continues to assert that Jordan is one of the best defenders in the game, sort of like when the crippled heir of Winterfell brought Hodor's combat abilities to a whole new level.

Kwahi Lenard is Varys
        Is being the Master of Whisperers really so different from being the NBA's best on-ball defender? Both are constantly reading the tea leaves and acting accordingly, everyone's favorite eunuch prowling every square inch of King's Landing for answers, while Lenard never fails to sniff out even the trickiest pick and rolls. Conniving in the shadows isn't exactly as sexy as sitting on the Iron Throne, just as leading the league in steals isn't as exciting as leading it in points, which makes the work that these two do just that much more impressive. While everyone is worried about tyrannical kings and aging 7-footers, these two are running the show. We're just not noticing.

Derrick Rose is Oberyn Martell
        They captured our hearts in a hurry, and promptly broke them soon afterward. Born and raised in Chicago, Rose became the NBA's youngest-ever MVP winner back in 2011, was beloved for his breathtaking style of play, and seemed destined to lead his hometown to glory. Martell, the galavanting prince of Dorne, became a fan favorite the second he brought his swagger and voracious sexual appetite to Game of Thrones' fourth season. And then, with the sound of a simple 'pop,' it was all over. Yes, Rose is still a player in the league, but his chances of regaining all of his vaunted explosiveness are only slightly better than the odds the Red Viper avenges his sister's death.

Giannas Antetokounmpo is Gendry Baratheon
        With all due respect to the rest of the NBA's bright young stars, Giannas 'The Greek Freak' Antetokounmpo is by far the player with the league's most unknowable ceiling... just like my man Gendry. The bastard son of Robert Baratheon hasn't been seen since the Onion Knight sent him to sea in the smallest, lousiest ship he could find, but who would be surprised if the boy with king's blood turned out to be the key to George R.R. Martin's entire sprawling narrative? Similarly, Greek Freak might become one of the best ball players in the world, but playing in Milwaukee is akin to working as a blacksmith in Flea Bottom; no one will ever, ever notice you. But I'm here for you, Giannis Baratheon, and as long as you keep doing stuff like this, the sky's the limit (Seriously though, click on that link).

Dirk Nowinski is Brienne of Tarth
        Dirk's loyalty is one of his most pronounced attributes, having spent his entire career in a Mavs uniform, even taking a recent pay cut to allow owner/BFF Mark Cuban to go nightclubbing with mid-20's fashion models shopping for free agents. Brienne operates from a similar if-I'm-with-you-I'm-with-you vantage point, and the same problem has befallen both of these pure-hearted warriors; they might stick around, but the cause for which they're fighting won't stop changing. When the Tower of Tarth was serving Renly Baratheon, the pride of Germany was kicking it with Steve Nash. By the time Dirk moved on to Josh Howard and Jasons Terry and Kidd, Brie was trying to make it work with Catelyn Stark. Then she just started grasping at straws, pledging loyalty to Jamie Lannister while Nowinski hitched his wagon to the impossible backcourt of Monta Ellis and Rajon Rondo. These poor saps only want rulers/roll players worth fighting for, perpetually offering up their unconditional services to characters who just aren't really in it for the long.

Rudy Gobert is Tommin Baratheon
        Just when you thought all hope was lost, an entirely unexpected ray of sunshine breaks through the clouds, bringing joy to the hearts of the realm/Utah. Screw the Red Wedding; Joffrey's younger brother turning out to be a gentle, kind-hearted young lad has to be Game of Thrones biggest shocker so far. Being the third child of royalty is kind of like being a late first round draft pick in the NBA; obviously you've got it made, but the expectations are quite a bit lower than those who came before you. Apparently no one told Gobert about this, because the French 7-footer has been a revelation over the last few months, leading a hapless Jazz team to one of the best post-All Star game records in the league with his soul-crushing defense. Perhaps Tommin can do the same for Westeros. Just look at those fresh young faces; don't you want to pinch their cheeks?

Roy Hibbert is The Mountain
        Roy Hibbert is an NBA all-star who's not actually that good at basketball (dear everyone who just took umbrage with that statement: homie's 7'2'', shoots 44.5% from the field, and averages 7 rebounds...). The Mountain is a legendary warrior who's not actually that good at fighting (again, things are going pretty poorly for The Mountain until the dreaded 4:48 mark). Both are cumbersome, and lack a true feel for their respective crafts. You know what else they are? Freaking Huge, and unless that changes, we should expect to have both around for a while.

Zach Randolph is Khal Drogo
        Remember when Drogo and the Dothraki were doing their thing on Thrones? That eerie feeling that, if you were even vaguely in the vicinity of the nomadic clan of horsemen, a grisly fate might suddenly befall you? That's how every NBA player feels whenever Z-Bo rumbles onto the court. Seriously, a google search for 'Zach Randolph tackle' yields multiple results, and you best believe that if he could give Blake Griffin a Crown for a King, he'd jump at the opportunity (sadly, this is as close as he'll ever get... or is it this... or this?). Word to the wise; stay the hell away from Z-Bo Drogo. They're barbarians.

Pau Gasol is Sansa Stark
        I'm sure that when Gasol heard he was ditching Memphis for the Los Angeles Lakers, he was just as happy as Sansa was at the prospect of leaving life at Winterfell for the glamour of King's Landing. The lesson here: don't take what you have for granted. While Sansa turned into the tortured plaything of the sadistic Joffery Baratheon, Pau suffered a similar fate at the hands of one Kobe Bryant, who found a new pair of shoulders to carefully place all the blame upon. It took both of them a while, but eventually Sansa Gasol became disillusioned, and decided to just up and leave. Good for you, Sansa Gasol: the world is a sprawling place filled with endless possibilities, wherein most people won't be so giddy to show you your father's severed head/tell you to put your 'big boy pants' on.

Dwight Howard is Joffery Baratheon
        What does an enormous greek god of a man have to do with a scrawny trust-fund king going through the worst puberty in the history of man? Everyone. Hates. Them. I suppose Dwight did treat his former teammates and the good people of Orlando as though they were Sansa Stark or a drunken court jester, but the nature of this comparison is much simpler than all that: Joffery is the one GoT's character no one likes, and Howard fulfills a similar roll in the Association (granted, I still like him because he embodies the last few years of Laker ineptitude, but that's neither here nor there).

Kobe Bryant is Robb Stark
        Is there anything more obnoxious than a leader hard-set on assigning the blame to everyone other than themselves? Unless I'm mistaken (being the Blazer homer that I am), Kobe has run every trust-worthy ally out of town as soon as he's had the chance, a move straight out of Robb Stark's book. Theon was his Pau, a punching bag who eventually grew tired of all the punches. Dwight Howard became his Rickard Karstark, a valuable asset whom inspired enough bile to receive an unfortunate fate. And Shaq was his Walder Fray, an individual with whom he struck an early deal that could have earned him the whole damn kingdom had he not strayed from his word. Since then, Bryant has been victim to a variety of health concerns, while Robb's one true injury was plenty. Metaphorically speaking, I expect Kobe's career to conclude in a similar manner.

DeMarcus Cousins is Theon Greyjoy
        How much sympathy can you give to a guy who dug his own grave? In the case of both Theon and Boggie Cousins, my answer is 'a lot.' DeMarcus was selected with a high lottery pick in much the same fashion as Theon, who was taken under the wing of the Stark family. Both toiled away until acting out in a fashion that has turned many fans against them. but their subsequent punishments have more than befit their crimes. Boogie may be a maniac, but did he really deserve to be subject to a revolving door of coaches, point guards, and owners? Theon may have cooked some kids, which is... yeah... pretty unforgivable, but holy god, did he pay the price. It's past the point of wondering wether these two deserve mercy; now we just want the world to take it easy on them for our own sakes. How much torture is enough torture?

LaMarcus Aldridge is Eddard Stark
        True noblemen of the North, LaMarcus Stark is a relic of older times, and suffers accordingly. While Eddard teaches his children about both justice on honor, the warden of Portland leads by example with his confident, gritty play. A torn ligament in your left hand? No problem! A spear through the leg? No biggie. Both play on despite their pains, fighting in the name of 'the old ways' (see: long 2-point shots, mortal justice). That type of paradigm didn't suit Ned Stark well in the long run; we'll see how it works out for Aldridge against the Lannisters Grizzlies.