The Lakers could turn things around. They could reasonably string together a 15-3 stretch and be right back in the thick of the playoff race and perhaps the "championship contender" conversation that they were featured heavily in during the offseason.
That very well could happen.
But the reality is, with each additional loss, the absolute certainty of the playoffs evaporates into the ether. Let’s not even talk about a championship this year.
The Lakers stink—and moral victories, while offering a glimmer of hope, are irrelevant to this particular squad. This isn’t the Bobcats. This isn’t the Orlando Magic.
Only a month ago, I wrote how Mike D’Antoni was the right man for the job because he was hungrier than Phil Jackson and because Jim Buss wanted him.
Can I recant that proclamation? Because D’Antoni thus far, has not been hungry, has not been a winner, has not even played his role as prophet of the Seven Seconds or Less religion that he brought to the NBA—a religion he blindly follows no matter how dark and desolate his situation becomes.