Chris Grant. Ernie Grunfeld. These men are responsible. The former is young, with a mind of fresh ideas and bold, fearless perspective. The latter latter is old, his mind incapable of conjuring any ideas that are not recycled ones intended to give the appearance of progress.

In the weeks leading up to the 2011 NBA draft, Grant, tasked with rebuilding a team (and city) that had just lost a generational talent, was being prodding by know-nothing media, local and national, and know-nothing fans to take spend the #1 and #4 picks on a tweener named Derrick Williams, who sported a boxer's nose and an offensive lineman's basketball IQ, and Brandon Knight, a generic guard with a disgusting half-circle hairline and crippling inferiority complex.

However, Grant, blessed with the unique combination of the strong will of his mother, a political consultant, and a heightened imagination from his father, a NASA engineer, would not be swayed. He knew which two young men he wanted and he was going to take them.

When Grant watched the practices for the 2010 McDonald's All-American, he, like all of the scouts and GMs in attendance, were mesmerized by the skills of a young guard from New Jersey named Kyrie Irving. Irving dazzled observers with a rare mix of elite balance, agility, dexterity and creativity, ancillary abilities that only keen observers of basketball prospects bother noting. And he could shoot. Like, he could really, really, really shoot. A point guard at that age with shot mechanics that clean are normally specialists. In The history of basketball, that is the case 99.9% of the time. Grant knew this. And if the Cavs landed the first pick, he knew he had a new franchise player. Grant wanted Irving so badly that a year later he threw a Hail Mary pass in the direction of the Clippers, offering a healthy Mo Williams and Jamario Moon for the rapidly declining Baron Davis and his terrible contract. They bought it. The Cavs would now have two first-rounders.

While Irving was locked in at #1, Grant would have a much tougher time finding his running mate. He liked Klay Thompson, a piss-colored gun-slinger who he envisioned as the ideal running mate for Irving. He'd also given thought to The Euro Cyse of Draft, Jan Vesely, the popular pick among the know-nothings. But, Grant, always awar of chemistry was worried about that Cavs being too glamorous in a city and division that prides itself on hard-working, middle-american values. He needed someone to counterbalance Irving's flair.

Chris Grant needed a GOTDAMN BAMMA.

Enter Tristan Thompson. A bamma.

Tristan Thompson has the resting countenance of a man who could end prison-yard fights with a glare. He's a hard man, with the kind of soft smile that nature finds fit to give hard men, as to embolden unlucky aggressors and invite conflict. Nature is cruel that way. Grant, his mother's child, armed with her acute sense for BS, could see through this smile when he interviewed Thompson. Midway through the exercise, Grant cut to the point, asking Thompson: "What would you do if someone hit your star PG, who will be Kyrie Irving, like Karl Malone hit Isiah Thomas." Before Grant could complete Isiah's name, Thompson angrily offered, "I'd kill them." The words, accompanied by the twitching muscles in Thompson's face, gave Grant an erection. He knew immediately that Thompson was not speaking figuratively. He knew he needed Thompson.

The Cavs were set.

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Steph: I was just fooling about

Kyrie: I wasn't.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R8OWNspU_yE