That's Entertainment?

Tuesday's uninspired, but Rondo-thanking last-second victory over previously 6-5 Central Florida, a Conference USA newcomer whose marquee win this year to date is a 13-point triumph over Bethune-Cookman, sent the always jittery Kentucky faithful into convulsions once more, igniting what is one of the more ridiculous and persistent arguments the Big Blue Nation has with itself:

What role does entertainment value play in the Kentucky basketball experience?

While it's a fairly valid argument given that we're talking about something as ephemeral to the day-to-day realities that face most Kentucky fans -- not least of which are job loss, hair loss or spouse loss -- the all-or-nothing schools opposed therein certainly don't add much to the debate. Were a casual observer to stand amidst the din of a UK hoops message board universe, it would be hard to discern whether the correct answer is "It doesn't matter how we look ... just win, Baby." or the equally useless "I can't watch this team anymore, so wake me when it's over."


It could be argued (and it certainly is) that Tubby Smith's unabashed substance over style philosphy is a tough fit with a post-Pitino UK fanbase. Having become quite enamored of Rick's flash and pomp -- all of it consciously self-absorbed, mind you -- more than a few UK fans pine away, often openly, for the King's return. Despite Smith's impressive win total, and maybe at times in spite of it, some folks just aren't entertained anymore. It's not enough to win, like the Brazilian soccer fan, a particular UK fan has to win while looking good doing it.

Granted, this year's edition of the Cats has tested the resolve of those with a win-is-a-win mentality, be it missed layups, lackadaisacal second-half effort or an offense that too often resembles a glorified breakdance circle. The easy and overplayed rationale has something to do with talent, which conveniently ignores that there are two McDonald's All-Americans and an All-SEC performer in the Kentucky starting lineup. The more reasonable and unargued explanation is that in a visible absence of an inside game, there is simply no reason for the opposing team -- be it Louisville, Indiana or High Point -- to double down or play off the Cats' talented guards, more or less inviting forced shots and a load of standing around. This particular issue should be alleviated markedly in less than a week, when Randolph Morris returns to the fold. And while it will no doubt take some time for Morris & Co. to get reacquainted into game speed, the results of his return should be visible immediately.

However, Tubby's offensive schemes won't change, and that means the eternal argument will rage unabated. Some folks simply don't like Tubby Smith's coaching style, win or lose. Those people won't be pleased until the day Smith hangs up his UK blue Nike jacket. But even the most avid Tubby fans -- and I probably have earned that distinction over the past few years -- have to get frustrated watching talented offensive players like Rajon Rondo, Joe Crawford, Ramel Bradley and Rekalin Sims pushed into a system that, quite frankly, doesn't seem to maximize said talents. This isn't to say that Tubby's offensive philosophy (a) can't work or (b) can't adapt. As the UK radio team acknowledged during the Cats' one solid run in the first half Tuesday, the Cats looked to be running more than at any time during the year. A few missed shots and some questionably unselfish decisions (Bradley's pass to an already moved Rondo comes to mind) negated that speed advantage, reducing the Cats to a second half of sluggish, half court meandering.


One myth that needs to die is that recruits see the same game that those grumpiest fans see. More than a few top recruits, including some that choose other schools, praise the Wildcats' defense-to-offense style -- including some notable 07 big man targets. The best players enjoy defensive pressure, because they know it leads to open looks and dunks. And Tubby's teams do run off defensive stops as much as anyone. What they don't do is trade two shots for one, a la Pitino. Perhaps much to the surprise of those reamining Pitino-enamored Big Blue fans, neither does the Louisville version of King Rick anymore.

None of this is to deny the basic premise that basketball is a game, and that it should be entertaining precisely because that's what it is: entertainment. It's not saving lives, taking them or destroying them (hopefully). Winning is, however, a Kentucky hoops tradition, and as such is subject to the whims and quirks of the fanbase that makes the program capable of paying its head coach $2 million a year. Just as a CEO can and will hear complaints about the company he oversees, Tubby can't avoid his product.


However, there needs to be some serious perspective on what, exactly, that product is. The lack of a recent Final Four appearance is overplayed. The argument that UK's program is somehow "second tier" or "nearly midmajor" is absurd and unproductively subjective. Tubby Smith has a proven winner and a record that, with a second title and continued success, is rapidly approaching Hall of Fame status -- whether his critics like it or not.

Don't get me wrong, this team has been a heart-attack to watch thus far. But for those ready to trim the hedges rather than risk the cardiac damage, don't be confused about the truth: Tubby Smith's Kentucky teams improve as the year goes on...and this year will be no different.

There is talent galore on this team, including the much-maligned Sherays and Carters of the group. Tubby's job may be harder this year, it may involve more glares, stomps and claps than some teams have; it may even involve a few more frustrating losses; it may require more faith from the Big Blue Faithful than it does blind adulation.

But jump off this bandwagon at your own peril. And don't even begin to whine when -- not if -- you get called out by the win-is-a-win crew come March. Ask the Florida fans about entertainment value. Better yet, ask Hoosier fans. And remember that the season is six months long, not three.

And for God's sake, Bobby Perry ... hit a dang layup!