When some drone in a mailroom loses his gourd and guns down six of his coworkers, the response is frequently: "We never saw it coming." That's how Jose Calderon felt here. There was just a tip-off at midcourt, he was settling in to play some moderately effective defense, and all of the sudden he's sitting on the seat of his pants and Nate Robinson is darting towards the basketball like a malevolent dwarf wearing Boots of Escaping.