The Hater's Guide to the Haters Guide to the NBA Playoffs

This article is part of VICE Sports' 2016 NBA Playoffs coverage.

It happens whenever something big is about to go down, be it the start of a postseason, the eclipse of a record, or the end of a beloved sociopathic scorer's career: while the entire sports media hymns and cheers, a snarky (and often amusing!) Hater's Guide of [the Thing Everyone Loves] stands up and starts blowing wet, contrarian fart sounds at all the hype.

There's a reason for this. Hater's Guides are recession-proof clickbait, and useful insofar as hating on things is dope, whether those things are truly evil or just supremely stupid. The NBA has its detractors, and the NBA Playoffs have their own niche enemies; this is especially true during the comparatively mundane first round. There is definitely stuff to hate on here.

To that I say this: life as we know it may be but a B-story in some gaseous alien's nocturnal emission. There's too much precious shit on the verge of being lost. Thus, the Hater's Guide to the Haters Guide to the NBA Playoffs—a rundown of what the haters are going to be hating on in the particular match-ups of this postseason.

The Hate: The Warriors being so good it's boring, the Rockets being revolting to watch

People, many smart and admirable people among them, hate the Warriors because of their happy preeminence and their retrospectively predictable march to history, and because of all the fans genuflecting before them. For folks feeling the hate-hard urge, this series promises punishment on multiple fronts. The Warriors are the favorites, and the Rockets are a garbage confederation of spreadsheet mythology and deep bitterness—a bunch of dudes who honestly might not know each other's first names, and definitely play like they don't. If there are no heroes, then let the villains whup on one another. That's what Mortal Kombat is about, and Mortal Kombat is a fun game.

Hate Take: The first round is perfunctory. Your entire life up to this point has been perfunctory. Get over yourself.

The Hate: Formalities, the unseemly slaughter of a broken team

Whatever it is these gritty and grindy Grizzlies came to represent in the annals of NBA lore, their championship window seems to have not only been shut but bricked up. Still, there is history here. It was not so long ago that the Grizz, as a lowly eighth seed, upended the top-seeded Spurs to signal their arrival as dark-horse contenders. That team is almost entirely absent now—injured, traded, what have you—so mostly it's just Zach Randolph doing his thing and noted jag-offs Lance Stephenson and Matt Barnes being stubborn. Folk heroes Mike Conley and Marc Gasol are sidelined. These aren't the Grizzlies you love. These are scabs. Enjoy the peel!

Hate Take: Luddite gripes from old-school NBA players. Yeah, it's great that you love hand-checking and despise beauty, but the NBA doesn't legally have to resemble the 30 Years War.

The Hate: The Mavericks are going to foul the nest, the Thunder are depressing, nothing matters

Classic who-fucking-cares scenario here. The Mavericks are almost certainly going to be trounced, quite probably in an ungentlemanly manner. Yes, the Thunder are a low-key mess and Dion Waiters is going to take many, many hilarious playoff shots. And yes, a minor first-round prophecy dictates that the more talented teams wins. And yet: Rick Carlisle is the consensus Runner-Up Best Coach in the League, and Dirk is Dirk, a stately Teutonic workhorse. After all these onerous years, he is still a straight-up joy—as in actual, for-real joy—to behold, all lumbering trickery and circumspect bloodlust. If you aren't interested in what may be the swan song of one of the greatest who has ever played, then you can hit the Candy Crush and go to hell.

Hate Take: The players care more in college. OK. But on the other hand, maybe shut up?

The Hate: Man, just FUCK the Clippers, those dumb assholes

Yes, obviously, fuck the Clippers. The Clips are a bad vibe on a neutral day, and especially a bummer when considered against such an inspiring Dame Lillard-led insurgency. Despite being a franchise that should have earned your sympathy a thousand times over by being a decades-long manifestation of a Lars von Trier film, the Clippers have still managed, in their time in the spotlight, to be annoying, haughty, tetchy, douchey, and consistently disappointing. May they suffer forever, sure. But on the other hand, Chris Paul and Blake Griffin exist at the exact crossroads of beauty and petulance, the apex of human skill and will ramming into unkind fate. That is fun to watch, and you should enjoy it.

Hate Take: No Greek Freak, KAT, Brow, Chicago Bulls, Kobe, John Wall, DeMarcus Cousins in the Playoffs? Lame. Yeah. That absolutely sucks. Whatever, it sucked when you had chickenpox. You are fine now.

The Hate: The Cavs are going to hatefuck the Pistons into oblivion so why should I care

True, this battle of acid-rain rustbelt towns is probably going to be a lopsided bummer, but the Pistons are a frisky bunch, led by an equally frisky if pleasingly rotund coach. There is history here. The Pistons have always been gatekeepers of greatness, in a certain respect. They kept Michael Jordan at bay for several years and had a stranglehold on the Eastern Conference until LeBron broke through. Now they're the sacrificial kids running against the boring establishment candidate. That this establishment candidate inspires vitriol from some of the dumbest people on earth—Skip Bayless, Michael Jordan fanatics, drunk college-basketball absolutists—lends them a sort of backhanded appeal, too. Anyway, Andre Drummond in the playoffs is what matters. Andre Drummond posterizing Tristan Thompson will be one of those moments you tell your weird grandkids about.

Hate Take: The hot takes will be insufferable. That's the nature of the beast. Did you stop enjoying life because occasionally you had to do homework? You endured.

The Hate: Toronto is a paper tiger, Indiana is a boring rebuild in search of an identity

Yes, it's been a mere 15 years since Toronto made it past the first round. Yes, they are a flawed team that plays its home games in a weird cold wasteland of snow and poutine. They've got a lot to prove and a bout against the Paul George/Monta Ellis Pacers is pretty much the stuff that NBATV or CSPAN2 was made for. And yet, fuck that. I don't want to live a single day without watching Monta Ellis unleash a myopic fury on literally every play. If you hate that, then you hate life.

Hate Take: The last two minutes of a NBA Finals Game are more exciting. Didn't anyone teach you that it is about the journey, not agonizing over the decision to foul when up by three?

The Hate: The Miami Heat are playing the Charlotte Hornets

OK, fair enough. There's nothing to defend here. The long-con Heat may reach the second round but even that isn't going to stop Spencer Hawes from voting for Donald Trump and making a big deal about it. We're on the verge of a fascist takeover in this country so you owe it to yourself to enjoy Jeremy Lin's haircut.

Hate Take: The postseason is toooooo long. Exile yourself from the village for this putrid and predictable take. So sorry that this isn't the thirty-seconds-of-fury gratification of March Madness. Respect the beautiful slog, use the communal spirit inherent in Dr. Naismith's game, and go outside and connect with your fellow humans. Then go inside where there is a TV and watch it for, like, two months.

The Hate: The Hawks are good but being just good is lame, the Celtics are untested, and in the end both will fall so who cares

How could anyone hate this series? This is the series that every NBA aesthete has been waiting for. The Celtics are basically a bunch of overweight nerds who, through good parenting and a rousing "NEVER SAY DIE, BRO" attitude, took control of their destiny the way you've probably never been able to. So there's the envy factor. The Hawks represent the last best hope for a team without a transcendent talent to go all the way, or at least all the way to a six-game series in the Conference Finals. Rowdy defenses, no distrust of pushing the pace. Enjoy the Isiah Thomas dervish routine and the technocrat tranquility of Al Horford and Paul Millsap as they exploit angles and elbows. Enjoy the basketball.