Brandon Jennings, potentially filled with snakes

Hey, look, November is more than half over and Brandon Jennings – if numbers are to be trusted – is a legitimate force in the NBA. Other words: It’s ten games into the 2009-10 campgain and the Milwaukee Bucks are third in the Eastern Conference at 8-3. Does this not strike anybody else as odd?

Kid spends one year playing basketball in Rome, insulting just about anybody he’s ever been or will be associated with, and suddenly he’s included in talks of the best guards in the league. Creeped out yet?

I want to like Brandon Jennings. I’ve literally tried, but there’s just something scary about the entire idea. This is not to say that I have anything against him as a player, just as a concept in general. There’s something that screams “Wait, not yet, this isn’t right”. No matter the fact that his debut was for the ages, or that he’d scored 55 points before Blake Griffin even dressed for his first regular season game, I still, for some unexplainable reason view this as a precautionary tale that will end with heartbrake and a box of Kleenex.

Just when you thought the cocky kid with the wacky hair was sentenced to life in drama queen purgatory (really, is there anything to Milwaukee? Go Brewers), he turns everything on its head. Meanwhile, he’s outperforming many of last year’s All-Stars and turning Ersan Ilyasova into a household name (okay, maybe not quite).

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I’m sure there are some religious passages that refer to the dangers of temptation, and Brandon Jennings could just as easily play the part. If too many people jump on the bandwagon, he might just reveal himself to be a snake-headed woman with a penchant for carnage. Trust me. The bandwagon’s not safe.

Recall Jamaal Tinsley and his impressive debut. Or the fact that Gordon Giricek at one time in the not-so-distant past broke Allen Iverson’s record for points in a debut. Things happen in rookie seasons that never quite work out. So cool your jets. I’m not saying Jennings is on that level, he’s clearly in a world of his own – but that world is cold, twisted and bizarre.

Falling in love with Brandon Jennings is like trying to predict prom queen in freshman year – it’s impossible to make a safe assessment. As much as I would love to get in on the whole “He’s a rookie and he’s outplaying Player X, wahoo, let’s dance”, you know that come 2011 or 2012 he may just as well be overweight and skin-damaged from too many cigarettes between home economics and gym.

If Jennings can prove me wrong for the remainder of the season I will happily tout him as one of the best young stars we’ve seen in ages (numbers, apparently, never lie), but if he doesn’t then I don’t want to be the one rubbing your back while you cry over your excessively-long commitment to the latest edition of Stephon Marbury.

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