Ah, a win. A rare commodity for the Phoenix Suns this month, and one they had to fight for against a Bulls team actively hitting the reset button. Chicago, a franchise allergic to midseason moves, finally embraced the tank by moving Zach LaVine. The Suns? Fully healthy at last. And yet, they still had to scratch and claw for it.
The biggest takeaway? Mike Budenholzer finally caved. He finally listened. He finally made the right decision. Tyus Jones came off the bench for the first time this season.
The result? The Big Three erupted for 81 points, and Bradley Beal looked like, well, the version of Bradley Beal we’ve seen all season when he plays. Steady, effective, impactful. Turnovers? Sure, Beal coughed them up early, Booker did his part late. But their combined offensive punch vastly outweighed anything Jones could provide.
This wasn’t a statement win, but it was a step in the right direction. Now, the question is: Was it a one-time adjustment, or the beginning of a much-needed shift?
This one felt…weird. A win, sure. But even in victory, there’s no real sense of satisfaction. Nothing truly changed, outside of the long-overdue lineup adjustment. And for that, I’m grateful. That’s the path forward—if there even is one.
Maybe this is just who I am now. A broken Suns fan, counting down the days until this season mercifully ends. Even when they win, I don’t feel joy. I see the cracks. The lack of chemistry. The defensive disconnect. A team that still doesn’t feel like a team. Or maybe it was the 3:00pm start.
But hey, they won. So let’s enjoy that. At least for a few hours. Who knows what fresh chaos awaits tonight in Toronto?
Royce O’Neale led all scorers in Austin against the Spurs, and while I graciously gave you the option of dismissing mayonnaise, Royce ran away with the Bright Side Baller for that game. No contest.
But let’s circle back to the real issue here: mayonnaise.
It’s disgusting. Gelatinous. Spongy. It makes perfectly good food soggy and unholy. Sure, I’ll dabble in a good aïoli, but I will never, under any circumstances, embrace mayo. It drips, it clings to your mustache like a bad decision, and worst of all, it invites ridicule. I stand firm in my anti-mayo stance.
But you know what I can get behind? Royce O’Neale securing his third Bright Side Baller of the season. That, my friends, is worth celebrating. Unlike mayonnaise.