Undersized 2 guard who is streaky, can’t spread the floor, and north of 30. Teams have no money too. Better join Ty in China
Lawson in China?!
I wish more players would go to Japan & play instead of China. They could feast over there.
Undersized 2 guard who is streaky, can’t spread the floor, and north of 30. Teams have no money too. Better join Ty in China

He cant get 20 a game anymore but someone will pick him up for sure if he is in shape.Dude is bonafide 20 ppg scorer. Surely, some team can use that on their bench
He cant get 20 a game anymore but someone will pick him up for sure if he is in shape.


I been trying to find her man with no luck.Speaking of in shape, your avi...
Gonna need you to drop that Insta![]()

I been trying to find her man with no luck.
Brittany Renner
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Curry stole his spot quick as fukk thouOne of the quickest dudes I've ever seen on the court![]()

I read this the other day. The game has just passed him. No one wants a chucker with no 3 point range.The first time the general public took note of the scrawny, blank-faced Monta was almost certainly during the midst of the short lived but nostalgia soaked We Believe Era in Golden State. This was a team that could accurately be described as barbarians at the gates. Barbarians who came to slay giants. Their incendiary fury wasn’t sustainable. Too many ins and outs and what have yous. The We Believe style evoked a righteous tantrum, and to the naked eye the organizing principle was chaos, small-ball, suffocating long-armed defense, point-forwards, eager three-point artillery, all deployed in a relatively conservative atmosphere, long before it became fashionable. If they happened to be on, they cut through you like a guillotine, but alas, the dictatorship of the proletariat can’t last forever. The team scattered, leaving Monta, the least flammable of the major personalities, to shoulder the wreckage of an abruptly cancelled mythology.
And he did. As best as he was able. Again, Monta is an incredible talent, but not what you’d call a transcendent one. A supremely competent novelist plying his wares against Faulkner and Joyce. At his best, his squads inched towards the upper echelons of mediocrity. Before and after that pivotal moped accident, he charted a blueprint of intoxicating but limited success. 36 wins, buzzer beaters, delicious finger-rolls. There was sincere enchantment there. His 18-foot jumper was money. He was quick, like some sort of coked up lizard or a hyena who smelled blood. His spin moves in traffic were not borne of brute force, nor even craftiness per se, but a natural languid sixth sense and awareness of what his body was capable of when pushed. He was electric. He was the real deal. One of the best. There was no artifice or relentless brand testing with him. He was all mumbles and slothful bellicosity. He wasn’t relatable exactly, but he made sense. He liked basketball, fishing, and riding mopeds. And he played hard, albeit imperfectly. He was a cut-rate superstar, the biggest thing the Bay Area had going for it until the Giants somehow won like four hundred even-year championships in a row. He was the John the Baptist to Steph Curry’s Jesus Christ. He was important...but not crucial. We knew that, even if he didn’t.
The Extinction Of Monta Ellis - RealGM Analysis
Very relevant article.