I’ve always liked Allen Crabbe. Always. Don’t believe me? Unluckily for you, I have an immaculately-preserved archive of all the stuff I’ve ever written about him, from which I will now give you some choice quotes:
“While everyone else is falling all over themselves trying to get a nibble of one of James Harden’s pubes, I’ll be over here enjoying all these delicious Crabbey Patties in solitude.”
“Like a Khris Middleton-lite without the ball-handling skills.”
“One could even go so far as to say that paying him 19 million buckeroos per year is not the most egregious overpay on the Blazers.”
“How thoroughly did Allen ‘Crabbey Patty’ Crabbe turn Kyle ‘Athletic Decline’ Korver into his personal bitchboy and buttslave for life?”
“…when I saw that he hit 6 threes and scored 24, my only reaction was to scratch my left pit. For those who have forgotten: Left pit = pit of goodness. Right pit = pit of badness.”
And that’s just a taste. My back-catalog of descriptions is brimming with praise for this dude. I love him. I think it’s the shooting form, which is really nice even if the shots haven’t been going in for him this year. He’s been so marginalized (despite or perhaps because of his 19-million dollar contract which finally ends this season) on the Hawks that I don’t feel like a lot of people even realize he’s on the team, or on any team, for that matter. Well, here he is! 20 points! I still think he can be good!