The game between the Miami Heat and the Minnesota Timberwolves last night turned out to be a disaster on the court. We know the drill. Kevin Love missed the game due to the death of his grandmother (our thoughts are with the Love family during this time) and the Wolves tried to piece together an attack against the back-to-back champions that just happen to employ the best player in the world. James did his usual absurdity on the court with 21 points, 14 rebounds, eight assists and 9-of-12 shooting from the field in just 31 minutes. He did have seven turnovers but he was probably just experimenting with certain passing plays during the game, knowing the outcome was already decided.
I didn’t have much to do after the game. The Heat locker room was packed. I watched them eat some kind of pasta dinner, saw Greg Oden try to squeeze through a small locker room, and found out that Chris Andersen allegedly has never paid a cent for his copious amounts of tattoos. I saw Lee Jenkins from Sports Illustrated talking to Shane Battier and got excited about whatever story he’s working on. I wasn’t going to go into the Wolves’ locker room. There’s no point after a game like that when they’re missing their best player.
At a certain point, I hightailed it to The Depot to grab a drink and a bite to eat with Myles Brown, our old friend. When I went home, The Crow was on TV and I started watching the final hour of the movie. In the big shootout scene towards the end, I noticed something ridiculous (you know… outside of the premise that a guitar player was murdered with his fiancé before a crow brings him back to life to avenge the wrong doings).
Check out the shootout scene and let me know if you notice anything strange:
Now, it’s a little hard to tell because of the cutaways but I’m fairly certain that The Crow fellow fires about 28 shots with those two guns. Your standard handgun will hold roughly 16 bullets. Some handguns can hold 20 shots but I’m guessing these lower level villains sitting at the table that don’t have credited character names are rolling with your run of the mill 9mm guns. Your standard six-shooter holds six bullets; that’s why they don’t call them eight-shooters or octo-guns.
When I watched that scene last night, I couldn’t believe how many shots this birdman fired with these two guns. Watching it happen, it just seemed to defy all logic and yet at the same time it made perfect sense. A murdered musician was back for blood and not even getting shot would stop him from getting his revenge. Neither would a seemingly finite amount of bullets in the two firearms he was unloading.
This movie is so weird to watch on a lot of levels. It’s a B-movie quality production in terms of the cast and execution of the acting. It’s really poorly done while the quality of the look and execution of the aesthetics is incredible. Knowing that Brandon Lee was accidentally killed in the process of filming this movie adds another eerie quality to the experience, even nearly 20 years after it came out. It’s odd thinking of the shoddiness of the movie knowing that in one of the flashback scenes filmed near the end of the production, Lee was accidentally killed on set by a gunshot wound.
Watching this movie after Saturday night’s loss, I kept thinking about how weird it is that movies like this just suspend certain levels of reality. I can buy into a guy being brought back to life by a crow. I’ve seen Dr. Doolittle before (that’s what happens, right?). I know it can happen. But watching/hearing the number of shots firing from those two pistols seemed both unnecessary and yet made sense at the exact same time. It made me feel a lot like what I had just seen in the Wolves’ loss to the Heat.
They shot 29.3% in that game. It’s unlikely you’ll beat a team when you shoot under 30% in a game. It’s happened four times since 1985-86, according to basketball-reference. Although one of those did come against the defending champion San Antonio Spurs in 2003. The Wolves just started firing up shots. A lot of shots. Shots that didn’t really make any sense. Shots that seemed like they should be out of ammo and yet they kept slinging them. And when you’re without your best player against the best team in the world (I don’t care what the records are right now), maybe that’s what you have to do. You settle for chaos and home to come out of the rubble with your hand raised high.
It’s not a good strategy. And it’s certainly not the strategy the Wolves tried to employ. However, they took shots and missed them. Just keep firing; eventually you’ll take out the creepy mob guy and avenge your own demise.