Hair-Errant: Brad Miller's New 'Do

 
Just when you think you know a guy...

Brad Miller, a decent center on a guard-oriented team. (Good thing he's got a B- jump shot.) A steady, if plodding, presence on a Kings team desperate for leadership from somebody other than overwhelmed PG Mike Bibby and certifiable nutjob Ron Artest.

And then, as the NBA kicks off its preseason, Miller goes all Scot Pollard on us. (Though Sac teammate Kevin Martin said Miller's hoo-'do reminded him of Kevin Federline....)

Whether Miller wants to pass himself off as either a brother or Travis Bickle, someone must tell him to stop. STOP. RIGHT. NOW.

Cornrows may have been thug-chic 10 years ago, when Allen Iverson and Latrell Sprewell defied Michael Jordan's slick baldness. Cornrows then were the sort of corrective to Air-brushed commercialism in sports that punk rock was to the excesses of 1970's disco.

But like all appearance-dependent social statements, the mood and the need pass. Five years after the Sex Pistols burst onto the scene, scaring old ladies and pissing off police, the group had disbanded and punk was d-e-a-d, dead.

Cornrows, too, are past their spoilage date. (Spree who?)

And for white dudes like Miller, always fashion suicide.

Think I'm wrong? Then consider this: In culture and shape, cornrows are equivalent to a certain white-guy haircut that's now the very symbol of out-of-date-ness: the mullet.