Two of the league’s youngest, shiniest, brightest and most volatile stars are residing in the same Sunshine State and we all get the luxury of watching these mountains of agility, power and skill square off four times this season. I’m not talking about Dwight Howard (not that bright), Pau Gasol (not that young), Andrew Bogut (not that volatile) or DeAndre Jordan (just not enough). Blake Griffin and DeMarcus Cousins are captivating for what they’ve done in two short years and maybe even more for what they haven’t done; which is reach their stratospheric potentials.
Last night, Monday night, these two giants competed; not against each other, but for my attention. Big Cuz did his thing in Sacramento and went bananas during a third quarter stretch where he seemed to galvanize himself, his team and fans. His emotion rises in pitches and can be tracked by events: A blocked shot on the defensive end leads to Cousins making a face, a scowl that takes place while the 22-year-old barrels down the court, sprinting to get to the offensive end where his excitement almost results in turnovers, but instead it’s a hustle play, a jumper that extends the Kings’ lead and it’s followed by more sprinting and obvious satisfaction. There are sequences like this throughout the game: Cousins makes a layup, gets a steal on the other end and never missing a play, he gets a dunk going back the other way. He’s uplifted, raised to the rafters by a combination of his own energy (barely harnessed) and the sounds of the crowd urging him on, lifting him higher.
Down I-5 in Los Angeles, I focused of my attention on the Cavs-Clips game, Chris Paul vs. Kyrie Irving; which somehow turned into the Dion Waiters show. Point guard and ball handling clinics aside, I kept an eye on Blake Griffin; one of the league’s most recent poster boys. His face is more recognizable than Arian Foster’s, maybe better known than Mitt Romney among the 25-and-under set. And tonight he’s just OK. He catches lobs from CP3 that have a similar impact on the crowd as Cousins’ antics. The big difference is where Cousins wears his heart on his sleeve, unable to contain even the faintest emotion; wearing the worst poker face in the NBA, Blake is cool, expectant, nonchalant. In a deadpan tone, “I ferociously dunked on that man’s face, put him on a poster, got seven million views on YouTube, so what? It’s what I do.” And the crowd reveres him for it—it’s LA, it’s Hollywood, it’s cold, emotionless, unfeeling, sunglasses at midnight—swaggalicious! But it’s not enough tonight, the 20 points, the dunks, the improved post game, the passes, the increased defensive activity; it’s not enough and he ends the game with the poorest plus/minus of any Clippers player. The stat’s not all-indicative or all-encompassing, but it does tell us that the Clips were outscored when Blake was on the court tonight. The above isn’t to say that Griffin is emotionless. Rather, his furies are selective; taken out on rims and refs. A man can’t dunk with the aggression of Griffin without having something built up, pent up, bottled up…waiting to explode.
Griffin’s an embraceable face, a marketable style, a chiseled athlete that Subway and Kia throw wads of cash at in attempts to lure him into promoting their products. He’s rugged and competitive; he’s the perfect athlete to place on a pedestal. But DeMarcus? Last season he demanded a trade and (in a roundabout way) got his coach fired. To casual fans, he’s known as much for his outbursts and tantrums as he is for his dominant play and potential. To the unknowing, he’s the enfant terrible. How much of is this fueled by anger compared to immature indiscretion is impossible to know, but it’s fair to assume both parts sources drive Cousins’ madness.
And of course these two young innocents have exchanged words and occasional elbows on the court. After a physical game last season, Cousins called Griffin an “actor” and said the NBA “babies” him. Griffin responded with some jokes and questioned Cousins’ reputation. It was a nice tit for tat that can link players together through the media while driving them apart as people and potential teammates (all-star games, Olympics).
Despite Griffin developing somewhat of a reputation as being one of the league’s golden children (especially from a marketing and advertising perspective), he’s simultaneously becoming known for his flopping and posturing. He’s prone to the extended stare after a big play, the glare after a hard foul; he can be seen as a tough guy who doesn’t back it up. If you’re a Clippers or Griffin fan, you see him getting under the skin of his opponents, helping his team win while maintaining his cool. His cool is part of his being, part of his on-court persona and skill set. Given his effort and physicality, it’s hard to make a case that his cool results in any on-court detachment. This is where the primary break with DeMarcus occurs. Where Griffin’s immaturity and petulance are merely annoying for fans and opponents, Demarcus’s antics and eruptions are distracting for him and his teammates. He’s battling the refs, battling opponents, battling coaches and worst of all, fighting himself.
At risk of delving into a wormhole of sociological speculation, I’ll only briefly touch on the drastic life differences these two young men endured growing up. Griffin was raised in a two-parent home in Oklahoma; one where he was homeschooled until eighth grade and played for his father in high school. Alternately, Cousins grew up in a single-family household, attended multiple high schools in Alabama and steadfastly refused to take any responsibility for his behavior. A fully fleshed-out essay could easily be built around the differences in their childhoods and the challenges they face today as a result, but other than this brief review, I’d rather stick to the men we’re dealing with today, not yesterday.
Literally speaking of yesterday, I watched Griffin and questioned whether or not he’d actually developed over his first couple seasons. While Cousins’ statistical arrow is pointed straight up, Griffin’s stats have been slightly, but steadily, dipping down. Looking at it from a purely statistical standpoint or even watching the games, you can see Griffin’s impact isn’t what it was when he was a rookie. Meanwhile, Cousins has become the heart, soul, tears and pulse of this Kings team. Instead of looking at this as Griffin already reaching his ceiling, it’s not as simple as that. Both players are filling a void on their respective teams. In Los Angeles, Chris Paul has revised the climate from the Blake Show to a CP3-led, guard-initiated attack. It begins and ends with Paul; an on-the-court general; one of the league’s most intense competitors who’s willing do whatever (ask Julius Hodge) it takes to win. The team (Blake included) has followed his lead. Griffin’s learned to play off of his PG, drifting towards the basket on CP’s defense-collapsing drives, hitting the offensive boards on CP misses or kick out misses, he takes advantage of slower fours by hitting what’s become an improved mid-range jumper. In Sacramento, as Tyreke Evans has either plateaued or regressed, Cousins has taken on the role of catalyst. When Paul Westphal was fired last season, it was evident there was a Westphal-Cousins conflict and new coach Keith Smart was wise to tap into the mercurial big man’s psyche and give him the confidence and latitude to succeed—which he clearly did last year: 4th overall in rebounds/game, only center to finish in the top-20 in steals/game, 3rd in TRB%, led all centers in usage rate. Cousins arrived with heavy footsteps and swinging limbs, announcing his arrival to anyone in earshot or sight.
None of this is to say one player is better than the other, but rather each player’s giving his team exactly what they need. CP3 might be the Clips’ version of Jean-Luc Picard, but Blake is the swag, the electricity, the vitality. And Cousins fulfills both of those roles in Sacramento…because that’s what he has to be for them to have any chance of success. These kids leave everything on the court every time they play. They play, they care, they’re upsettable, excitable, irritable, irrationally talented. And for all their differences (vertical vs. horizontal, NoCal vs. SoCal, one-parent vs. two-parent, stability vs. volatility), they have just as much in common, although both would probably puke if they had to admit it.
The saga, the nightmare, the Dwightmare, the annoying story that mercilessly dominated NBA headlines for over a year, the Jason Voorhees of NBA rumors … it’s finally over; for now at least. The deal was consummated a week ago. Dwight Howard ends up in Los Angeles, Andre Iguodala in Denver, Andrew Bynum in Philly and Orlando gets a whole lot of spokes, but no axels. Us? We get much-deserved respite.
But all this hype and distraction got me wondering: How did we get here? And to answer that question, I went back to Wednesday, June 26th, 1996. I was nothing but 15-years-old, likely surviving a hot Midwest summer in Des Moines. Impossible-to-predict twists and decisions led me from that summer day to a couch in Seattle where I sit writing this now. Equally strange turns have led to the Lakers building a squad that on June 26th, 1996 was impossible to imagine:
Kobe Bryant: After witnessing Kobe chew up Laker vets Michael Cooper and Larry Drew, Lakers GM Jerry West went all in (by “all in,” I’m referring to his effort not Vlade Divac; who he traded to get Kobe’s rights) to get the young Jedi master. The rest is basketball history. Like any 16-year relationship, there have been bumps along the road and breakup talk (do you even love me anymore?), but even if the spark burned out long ago, the marriage still makes too much sense. And so it is that Kobe has spent the duration of his 16 years with the same team and the majority of that time as the face of franchise. His journey to the current incarnation of the Lakers is less interesting than the rest of his teammates. The most interesting aspect of Kobe-to-the-Lakers is how agent Arn Tellem and Jerry West strong-armed the rest of the league out of drafting him—looking at you John Calipari.
Steve Nash: Two picks after Charlotte scooped up Kobe for Los Angeles, the Suns drafted a Canadian point guard who developed a knack for clutch play at Santa Clara University. The rookie Nash was not the swashbuckling, age-defying Canadian icon we know him as today. It took him several years, a visionary coach and a return to his second home in Phoenix to become the Nash so many people have fallen in love with: shaggy-haired, fearless competitor, ultimate giver and sympathetic superstar. Whether it’s the media, his opponents or fans, it seems like we all love Steve Nash. His resistance to bailing from a fading Suns franchise did nothing but endear him to us: “He’s so loyal!” Nash is no Jesus, but if he turned water to wine, I think people would just look at each other and say things like, “Well, it is Steve Nash,” then nod and move on to Anderson Cooper and dinner plans. Religious comparisons aside; after the Lakers-Suns battles of yore, the Lakers seem like the last team Nash would want anything to do with. But then, like thieves in the night, the Lakers, Suns owner Robert Sarver and Nash himself came to an agreement that had something to do with family and the pursuit of immortality. I don’t know if oaths were made or signatures signed in blood, but all of a sudden the two most-decorated members from the decorated class of ’96 were teaming up for what appears to be a final run at glory (potential book title there).
Dwight Howard: This guy. I’ve always had personal issues with how Dwight handles himself and it’s obvious that it’s my issue and not his. But this giant goofball, this part-time impersonator, this wannabe Shaq, this bane of Twitter’s existence somehow ended up on the Lakers last week. Dwight was just ten-years-old when Kobe joined the Lakers; a burgeoning athlete, he was just starting out on a path that would lead to him joining forces with Kobe and Steve Nash 16 years later. In the interim, he’s grown from that little boy with hoop dreams to a massive physical specimen; capable of lifting cars, dunking on 12-foot-hoops and a potpourri of other feats of athleticism and strength. When he finally became the Dwight we know today (this occurred at some point during his stay in Orlando), he revealed himself to be a playful joker who craves attention and pleasing people around him. This might be speculation, but over the past year where’s continually elbowed and sound-bit his way into the spotlight, we’ve learned a lot about the NBA’s best big man and it’s not all good. He made it clear he didn’t want to be in Orlando, then rescinded and professed loyalty, then demanded departure again. His love-affair with Brooklyn bordered on juvenile (“It’s my Brooklyn and I want it now!”) and exposed Dwight’s inability to understand NBA salary cap rules. It was always Brooklyn or bust for the big man and now that he’s landed on bust, it’ll be interesting to see how he settles in to his new town with his new friends. Kobe and Nash are a long way from Jameer Nelson and Jason Richardson.
Antawn Jamison: Oh sweet Antawn. When I think about Antawn Jamison, I picture those thick eyebrows lying above dark focused eyes, a head that was made to be cleanly shaven and game that consists of equal parts talent and equal parts hard hat mentality. I recall his Tar Heel partnership with the young Vince Carter and how he came out of nowhere (although this is mostly impossible given that he was on UNC’s squad) and dominated the ACC when it was the best college basketball conference in the world. As a productive non-superstar, he’s enjoyed (hopefully) being a sought-after commodity—the last piece on teams looking to get over the hump. And now he’s settling into what could be the final act of his oak solid career as the 6th Man on the Los Angeles Lakers. Back in ’96 when Kobe and Nash were being drafted, it was obvious he would end up in the league one day; it’s just tough to have envisioned him in this role at this time with these guys.
Metta World Peace, aka Ron Artest: Ron Ron was just 16-years-old when Kobe arrived in Lakerland. Based on the interviews he’s given and the backstory we know, he was conceivably roaming around Queensbridge ducking and dodging the scenes straight out of Mobb Deep and Nas. He made it out though and has had the most colorful voyage of all the current Lakers: Name changes, suspensions, therapists, elbows, brawls, rap albums and so much more shit that most of us probably can’t digest. That MWP made it to the Lakers actually seems more like a foot note than its own chapter in what’s just another pit stop on the unorthodox road of his biography.
Pau Gasol: Kobe’s longest-standing sidekick (unless you consider Mitch Kupchak as a Kobe-sidekick); Pau has been something of a whipping boy since he arrived in Los Angeles back in 2008. Whether it was KG and Perkins in the Finals or Kobe’s overused ice cold stares of disgust after Gasol failed (yet again!) to read Kobe’s mind; someone’s always got beef with Gasol’s heart and soul. It doesn’t matter that he was traded for his brother and a future murderer (allegedly). What matters is that Gasol is, and always has been, underappreciated. His name was kicked around in trade rumors like a deflated soccer ball and he was even traded to Houston in that bizarre Chris Paul deal (we still remember, Stern). But now that Bynum’s gone, it looks like Gasol can finally get the restful sleep and peaceful life he deserves.
I’ve always thought it begins and ends with Kobe, but Dwight changes all that. The future only ends darkly and you have to wonder how smoothly any Dwight Howard ascendance happens. Will Kobe pass the torch along with a smile and a sixth ring or will a triumvirate of Jim Buss, Mike Brown and Dwight pry it out of his arthritic fingers while simultaneously kicking him to foreign shores to wrap up his basketballing career? Or will the misery of all miseries come crashing down around us in waves of Dwight Howard free agent rumors? Pray for us all …
Alright, today’s post is a consolidation of madnesses from Sunday and Monday; and make no mistake it has been mad; at least someone’s mad. We’ve witnessed referee’s being loosely assaulted, Caron Butler breaking his hand, an impossible 27-point comeback and Amar’s Stoudemire punching out a pane of glass and in the process shredding his hand. If you’re not getting kicked out of games or getting hurt, you’re not doing your part.
Utah at San Antonio, game one, Spurs won 106-91, lead 1-0: Tony Parker did that Tony Parker thing he does where he uses speed and timing to invade the opposition’s defense at will. That the Spurs now play to his strengths instead of Duncan’s is impressive and a credit to all parties involved. The Jazz took one of four games against the Spurs in the regular season and will be fortunate to do better in the playoffs.
Random fact: Gordon Hayward attempted a career-high twelve free throws in game one and hit all twelve.
Denver at Lakers, game one, Lakers won 103-88, lead 1-0: Andrew Bynum is big, tall, long, talented, occasionally immature and more. To the Nuggets, he was the boogeyman in the paint, a giant protecting his lair. Ten blocks in the playoffs? Tied Hakeem Olajuwon and Mark Eaton for most blocks in playoff game history? Yep, that’s Andy. While Dwight’s temporarily crippled by a herniated disc, Bynum looks like an invincible force doing battle with children.
Boston at Atlanta, game one, Hawks won 83-74, lead 1-0: It was yet another battle in years’ worth of battles for these two franchises. The Hawks overcame a historically dismal shooting performance from Joe Johnson (see random fact below) to control this game and hang on for the win. The story that ruled the day was Rajon Rondo’s little chest bump into the ref. The timing and reaction were both overboard and could result in Boston dropping into a 0-2 hole. With Ray Allen’s health in question, the momentum Boston had built in March and April is vanishing in acts of immaturity and inevitability.
Random fact: Joe Johnson joined three other players in playoff history in three-point shooting ignominy with his 0-9 performance. His fellow culprits: John Starks, Rashard Lewis and Derrick Rose.
Clippers at Memphis, game one, Clippers won 99-98, lead 1-0: Watching this game was like watching a movie where you expect one thing to happen, but then the director/writer throws a knuckleball that leaves you disoriented and questioning the events of the previous two hours. Did it add up? Was it believable? Did I enjoy being befuddled or did the director just play a joke on me? There wasn’t a script to Sunday night’s game unless the big director in the sky is a Nick Young fan. What happens from here is anyone’s guess, but I can confidently say the Memphis Collective (players, coaches, fans, employees) looked helplessly nauseous in that fourth quarter.
Random fact(s): Reggie Evans’s 13 rebounds in 21 minutes put him in rare company with five other prolific playoff rebounders who’ve grabbed at least 13 boards in 21 minutes or less: Danny Schayes (14 in 21), Kurt Rambis (14 in 21), Scot Pollard (14 in 21), Jeff Foster (13 in 21), Maurice Lucas (14 in 19).
New York at Miami, game two, Heat won 104-94, lead 2-0: Once again, anger steals the headlines. Amar’e Stoudemire didn’t take too well to the Knicks’ second straight loss in Miami and took it out on a pane of glass covering a fire extinguisher. David Aldridge proceeded to take the event far too seriously, treating it more like Stoudemire had severed his femoral artery and was at risk of bleeding out instead of addressing it for the loss of control that it was. All this really does it take away the focus from what was another strong Miami performance and further reinforced the fact that the Knicks are simply overmatched the way blind Chinese dissidents are powerless against their government … oh, wait.
Random fact: Miami Heat nicknames: Mike Miller is “Slim,” Juwan Howard is “Nooky,” James Jones is “Jhoops” (which is actually pronounced “Joops” as the “h” is silent)
Orlando at Indiana, game two, Pacers won 93-78, tied 1-1: This game is being relegated to the NBA TV slot which essentially makes it the least interesting series in the playoffs. Ratings considerations aside, Monday night’s game was the familiar storyline of a tale of two halves. After falling behind by two at the half and being firmly bullied, the Pacers responded appropriately with a 30-13 third quarter. I wish things were different, but I struggle to find intrigue in this series.
Random fact: The Pacers are 33-2 on the season when leading after three quarters.
Dallas at OKC, game two, OKC won 102-99, up 2-0: Combined score after two games 201 – 197. The Mavs have had their chances, but unlike last season when they couldn’t miss in crunch time, Dirk and Jason Terry have come up short two games in a row and are dangerously close to seeing their title defense end early. Being pushed to the brink is nothing new for this Dallas crew, but in small spaces of their group consciousness, questions are being asked. Notable observations:
I’m not a Brendan Haywood fan, but the more I see him, the more I feel Shaq was justified in referring to him as “Brenda.”
Does Billy Hunter watch NBA games and if so, does he openly cheer against Derek Fisher? If the answer to either of those questions is yes, last night had to be particularly bitter for him.
Random fact: Miniscule sample size for sure, but through two playoff games, Kevin Durant is shooting 34% from the field compared to 52% for Russell Westbrook.
And that concludes three days of playoff basketball. We’ve had anger, controversy, pain and loss. Negativity is the overwhelming theme and I look forward to exploring the more affirmative aspects of these games in the coming days.
Blake Griffin‘s dunk last night brought up a spirited exchange about dunkers on an email thread at work, so I figured I’d share not just one of my favorite dunks, but my favorite post-dunk taunt/celebration/expression of all time:
We’ve got some great dunkers in the game these days, but either David Stern’s stamped out spontaneous expression or players are too hooked on scowling and staring to drop low and give a double point a’la SHAWN KEMP:
I kicked around the idea and got excited about it like it was some kind of realization unique to me, but I have my doubts. I mean, if Greg Anthony and those cats are talking about it, I’m far from original, but I figured since I thought of it independent of Greg Anthony, but possibly in dependence (would agreement be more appropriate, cahoots?) with Jim Buss (oh, the skin crawls just thinking I might agree with this Buss), it was worthy of a developed post here. And so I bring you the question: Is Andrew Bynum on par with Dwight Howard?
Before anyone goes all Stephen A. Smith on me and covers their keyboard with spittle or coffee or whatever’s in your mouth, I request the opportunity to define the terms of the question and answer.
I arrived at this question way back last week and would’ve asked it on the spot, but DeMarcus Cousins got the best of my limited attention span, so I had to wait until now. After serving his four-game suspension for flattening the smallest man in a Mavs uniform in last year’s playoffs (wrong place, wrong time, JJ), Andy B. returned to the court for the Lakers on New Year’s Eve and imposed his knees and arms all over the faces of the Denver Nuggets. Bynum is listed as a mere 7’0” tall, but I can’t help but second guess this listing as my TV projects the man to be mammothly large and possessed of limbs that stretch and stretch up beyond the heights of your everyday, average NBA seven-footer. It’s these same limbs that make anyone who watches Laker games cringe when he jumps or stretches for a loose ball for a couple reasons: First: His injury history precedes him (over his six-year career, he’s averaged 55 games/season … he misses, on average a third of his team’s games every season) and second: Those legs, as much as they’ve developed in terms of strength and balance, still conjure up images of Bambi or some other four-legged creature with legs that are far too structurally weak for the physique that sits atop. This haunting fear that Andy’s legs aren’t ready for his body may be a thing of the past, but old fears die slow … or they get medicated. Back to New Year’s Eve, the new introduction for Andrew Bynum, his first game being coached by new Laker Coach, Mike Brown. His first night out he shot 13-18 from the field, grabbed 13 rebounds and finished the game with 29 points. Welcome aboard, why yes, the Lakers have plenty of minutes available for a man who can do these things on a regular basis, but therein lies the variation between Dwight and Andy: Can Andy do it every night? Will he stop parking in handicapped spots and cramming his still-growing frame in Porsche 911s and just focus on his core—in the Billy Blanks sense, not the Jabbar sense.
Whatever Andy does off the court is just an expression of sorts, but it’s in part who he thinks he is, who he thinks people want him to be and who he thinks he should be. It’s all a juggling act and sometimes the groceries fall down and big, tall Andy Bynum, a world champion has to reach down in the grocery store and pick up his own vegetables when really, we’d all like to see him focused on the task at hand which is health and consistency as a Los Angeles Laker. So the first game was nice, but let’s see what followed and what we can see ahead, maybe to the future if they’ll even accept our probing inquisitions.
We don’t need the Hubbell telescope to see these stars, we have basketball -reference.com instead, an aggregator of all things black, white and numerical that have occurred in the NBA. Just know how to ask. Well, I asked and it turns out Andy’s first game against those Nuggets of Denver wasn’t no fluke (not no fluke I said). His performances on the young season:
18.8ppg
1.7bpg
3.3 TO/g
15.7rpg – that’s where it’s at
And over 50% from the field.
He’s less efficient than he has been in the past, but increased opportunities are going to lead to declines in efficiency.
Among the nights that made up the averages you see above was a masterful, fan-fueled evening at the Statples Center where Mr. B achieved his career-first 20-20 game. It was done against Houston on Wednesday night and it has to be noted that the Rockets’ front court isn’t quite mediocre. It’s not from a lack of effort. They tried for trades, but ran into David Stern’s heavy handed gavel. Don’t you think Pau Gasol for Houston would’ve made it more difficult for Andy to achieve 20-20 than Pau Gasol for Los Angeles? Houston couldn’t hold down the 7’2” Bynum and so it was on NBA TV, I believe, I began chewing the fat that not only are the Lakers maybe better with Bynum than Howard, but maybe Bynum’s just better than Dwight.
Better and different are words that walk a fine line and when they’re used together like that it’s usually to dispel a given notion or just to engage in a deeper dissection about Dwight Howard and Andrew Bynum.
On that same night when NBA TV was flashing graphics and stats like they’re tuned into the mainframe of NBA statistical databases and can present these informations with just a glance at huge HD screens, that’s when the topic came to Greg Anthony and his partners (Kenny? Webber? Both?). Anyhow, they big upped Andy’s accomplishment and then showed how many 20-20 games Dwight has had in his career (playoffs included): 39. Damn.
This disparity between 20-20 games really got me thinking and slicing the argument in different ways because as great as 20-20 is, you can hide a basket of fundamental flaws beneath the weight of those robust numbers that have the power to shape the ideas and contracts of American sports team owners which clearly isn’t our intent here because we’re just asking a few innocent questions.
Since I like boxing, I felt necessary to introduce the Tail of the Tape to this strange conversation that lost its way a while ago and continues to falter as we take our little steps forward.
Andy B
Dwight
Age
24
26
Height
7’2″
6’11”
Weight
285
240
Games
337
575
Playoffs
62
57
Minutes
over 9500
over 23k
Seasons
in 7th
in 8th
20-20 Games
1
39
Awards
2 Championships
Only family members and people who are paid by Dwight or the Orlando Magic should be forced to count his awards. The lists are redundant and bleed into the same award after 15 seconds.
If this were boxing, we’d all be enamored with the physical advantages held by the younger man. We’ be applauding lesser usage and predicting years of Dwight jumping up and down on pogo stick legs would eventually give out in a way that not even WD40 can resolve, but instead we’re looking at two very different basketball players who play the same position but do it so differently and do so for so many reasons.
Beyond the futuristic athleticism that was bestowed on Dwight by a combination of the Gods up on basketball Olympus and the genetic engineers over at Georgia Tech, the man has the Russellian/Rodmandian ability to dominate a game without having to shoot the ball. Whether he realizes it or not, this is a gift. He’s athletic enough to divert oppositions from painted areas out of fear that he’ll take their precious ball and give it to one of his own teammates if he so chooses. Or perhaps he’ll swat it away, into the hands of a paying customer, excited to be part of the game, amazed at the freakish shoulders of the man in front of him.
But beyond this rare gift is a counter-balance that seems contrived which makes it even worse. Dwight wants the ball. He wants to score it, dunk it, make passes to his friends so they too can feel what it’s like to be part of the big moment. It’s odd that this selfish part of his personality (however real it is) demands the ball for points. It’s really just an extension of his desire to be the center of attention and we all know scorers get the most attention. Dwight’s not a natural scorer though. Does he score and score efficiently? Yes, but for all his private workouts with Hakeem, his offense is still in development stages eight years into the league. And to make matters worse, I don’t think Dwight would give two spits about points if it didn’t mean more attention or if it didn’t mean he’d be more accepted by his peers. Dwight gets his fair share of plays drawn up these days, but he’s still at his best when he’s catching lobs or cleaning up the offensive glass. He uses his indomitable physical strength to outwork or outmaneuver the opposition, his presence alone opening up driving lanes and looks from beyond the arc for a supporting cast that’s been built to complement his skills—occupying the paint. Dwight shouldn’t be the focal point of an offense because it’s not best-suited for his game. If he were ever to come to this conclusion, he’d realize that imposing his will in the Russell fashion allows him to shape the outcome of games in ways that he only occasionally realizes. To be completely fair, Dwight’s only led his team in FGAs/game once his career—last season. His willingness to (mostly) accept the role Stan Van Gundy has carved out for him is commendable, but acceptance and embracing are different things altogether.
Then there’s big Andy who fits the traditional center character-type. He’s comfortable with his back to the basket, posting up and creating his own shots out of the post. His high shoulders and aforementioned long limbs allow him to get his shots off with ease and he’s developed a touch that the more-experienced Howard is still fine tuning. He’s able to reach over the opposition for rebounds without actually going over the back; a bizarre skill that few players possess. Removing injuries from the discussion, there’s an unknown that’s accompanied Bynum his entire career: Kobe Bryant. Bynum is paid like the superstar Jim Buss has always seen him as ($31million over next two seasons), but he’s never had the opportunity to explore the ceilings of his talents because he can’t stay on the court and even when he’s there, he’s the second or third option to Kobe and Gasol. This young season is the first time we’ve seen Bynum on the court for extended periods (34mpg is 4 more than his previous career high and his usage rate is 27% compared to his previous career-best of 20.8%) and the early returns are staggeringly better than anything we’ve ever seen from him. Plateaus aren’t part of the Bynum vocabulary today and until he levels off, the statistical possibilities and in-game impacts will be nothing but speculation.
In Andy’s 330+ game career, we’ve seen snippets of his 2011-12 performance, but it’s never been sustainable. Whether Gasol, Kobe or Phil Jackson impeded his progress, injuries got in the way or he just wasn’t ready for the increased role, he’s never been capable of persistent dominance. And it’d be an act of blind faith to believe the injuries are a thing of the past, but for the first time, it’s not a stretch to give Jim Buss the benefit of the doubt and acknowledge he may be onto something with this big kid. Does that mean Andrew Bynum is better than Dwight Howard? Absolutely not. I’m excited about Bynum going for 18 and 15 over a six-game stretch. Dwight’s been doing this regularly for well over 400 straight games and has the individual honors to prove it. Add in Howard’s commitment to fitness and reliability (he’s missed seven of a possible 583 games) and he’s one of the most consistent and productive players in the past 20 years whereas we’re still praying for an injury-free season from Andy.
Given Bynum’s age and the waves of potential flowing from his massive frame, we can at least hit the pause button on the “big man is dead” statements that have been so popular over the past few years. Andrew Bynum is giving hope to the great Pete Newell and seven footers around the world: You too can play with your back to the basket. He’s not on Dwight’s level yet and may never find that regularity, but in the infant stages of a new season, Bynum is injecting his name into conversations reserved for all-stars and future of famers. The immense ability coupled with the always-present questions about durability make Bynum’s career nerve racking. If I have anxieties and worry about Bynum’s injuries as a basketball fan, I can’t imagine the fears lying in the depths of the minds of Jim Buss or Mitch Kupchak. Bynum’s own feelings about his injuries remain a mystery.
In the midst of the late summer league circuit, I wrote a post about the passage of myths and legends; about how Youtube, camera phones and Twitter had cannibalized the “I saw Kevin Durant go for 50, no 60, wait wait it was definitely 66 points…” stories. There’s a light lament that gives way to honesty with the erosion of legend. But there’s another unknown that still lives on no matter how technologically advanced we become (unless we end up developing some kind of AI to assess a human’s capability and just play the game through simulations—don’t doubt it) and that’s unrealized potential. Injuries, drugs, alcohol, attitude … tragedy. All temptations and we’re all human so we’re all susceptible. Depending on who you are and what genes your parents passed onto you and where you grew up and when you grew up there; the likelihood of you meandering down one of the dark paths above changes accordingly. Most of us find a way to walk, stumble or crawl straight enough or just make sure our wanderings don’t get too far off the path to become trapped and scrape by for survival.
But… we all know someone or many someones who have gotten stuck and maybe you fucked up too and maybe it wasn’t your fault. Someone close to me struggles to stay straight every day and even though I know his chronology and I know what he’s been through, I’ll never know what his struggle feels like. He’s talented, intelligent, exuberant, equipped with talent to create beauty out of thin air and yet … he’s his own worst enemy.
So we’re almost 300 words in and you’re like, “My man, where’s the basketball?” It’s here, it’s relatable. It’s DeMarcus Cousins. It’s every scouting report dating back to him being a sophomore in high school questioning his consistency, commitment to conditioning, emotional maturity (by 2007, I think the high school basketball scouting industry issued a mandate that all Cousins scouting reports include a reference to emotional maturity), mentioning loafing, asking about his effort and on and on. For every negative or weakness that came attached to a Cousins scouting report, there were five more positives/strengths that usually amounted to “sky’s the limit if he can figure it out.” The question marks above leeched onto Cousins’ reputation and whatever they sucked out, they spewed into the basketball world to be inhaled by people who want to make money off Cousins and are willing to give him things in return. Some probably believe the Cousins question marks were validated this past Sunday when the Kings reported that the 21-year-old had requested a trade or they just see it as one more validation in a half-decade full of validations.
In true DeMarcus Cousins fashion, he denied having demanded a trade. And if you look back through the interviews and clippings that cover his basketball-playing career, Cousins has done a remarkably consistent job of deflecting blame and refusing to take accountability for his actions. Even small concessions have been tough to come by. After his sophomore season in 2007 he transferred from Erwin High School in Birmingham because he got into an altercation with a faculty member (Cousins is insistent it was self-defense and witness reports agree). From there, it was on to Clay-Chalkville High School, but he was deemed ineligible for some recruiting shenanigans and never played a game there. Next it was onto his final high school destination, LeFlore in Mobile. Along the way, from the suspension at Erwin to the ineligibility at Clay-Chalkville to the developing reputation for becoming easily frustrated if an opponent challenged him, Cousins and his mother, Monique, painted a picture of being the victim, referring to DeMarcus as being a “target” and “piece of meat” and insisting that his reputation for being a malcontent was completely out of context and unfair.
I’m not naïve enough to dispute that Cousins was a target for some people or he was treated like a piece of meat. And I can’t fault Monique for protecting her son any way she could—even if it meant three schools in three years and vehemently defending her son against portrayals inconsistent with her idea of the young man she raised. His coach at LeFlore, Otis Hughley, sided with mom and said, “On the court he may be tough, but off the court he’s scared of the dog. He’s not a wussy kid, but he’s a sweet kid. I don’t know anyone that’s met him that doesn’t like him.”
Unfortunately, there’s no guide to raising a basketball prodigy which is exactly what Cousins was. Since the internet has claimed and archived so many moments of his teenage life that should’ve remained private, we can look at his development through the lens of time and realize that Cousins’ questionable behavior—whether you call it outbursts, tantrums, passion, emotion, motor—was allowed to grow, develop and settle in as part of his personality. More than likely, this was done to protect the young man. From the few quotes out there, Cousins has mentioned that he was bullied in junior high school. His biological father wasn’t present either. He had a strong relationship with Hughley and when John Calipari coached him at Kentucky, he had this to say in June of 2010, just after Cousins was drafted by Sacramento, “I coached him like he was my son, and he needs that. In fact, he and my (13-year-old) son (Brad) would play video games and I’d say (to Cousins), ‘You guys are the same age.’ He’s one of those kids that needs to be hugged, loved. Don’t act like he’s a grown man. He’s a growing man.”
Filling in the portrait of DeMarcus as a young man, I kept making connections between the youth of Cousins and Shaquille O’Neal. Shaq’s step-father, “Sarge” (Philip Harrison) is likely the most-referenced person in his auto-biography (or maybe it just seems that way because of the repeated references to physical and mental abuse—another post, another day) and while I can’t even get close to condoning Sarge’s method, the more I read about Cousins, the more I felt he needed (and maybe still needs) someone to hold him accountable, someone who wouldn’t let him hold his head down when classmates called him a “waste of space,” someone to get in his ass when the shoulders slumped and the nostrils flared, someone who wouldn’t let him run away when the shit hit the fan—three high schools in three years, one year in college and just four games into his second NBA season when he was ready to run away again.
But he didn’t have that and nothing can be done to change the past. His time at Kentucky sounded like a positive, stable experience and even after he was drafted by the Kings, Cousins was saying he wished he would’ve stayed in school. Even in that structured environment, he was involved in a couple of on-court incidents against Louisville, Vanderbilt and rumors had him fighting fans in South Carolina. And in his first season with the Kings, a franchise that went out of its way to provide stability for Cousins by hiring his former high school coach, Otis Hughley, Cousins got in a postgame locker room fight with teammate Donte Greene. Elbows, forearms, heated exchange with teammates … these things happen in competitive environments, but what separates Cousins from the majority of pro and college athletes is that reputation, that “dark cloud” as Cousins refers to it, that he’s unable or unwilling to take any responsibility for. It’s beneficial for pro franchises to keep these incidents behind closed doors and it sounds like the Kings organization has kept a lot of DeMarcus’s issues on the hush hush. Coach Paul Westphal explained it like this: “Everything that happens on a team does not become known to the public. This is how it should be. However, when a player continually, aggressively, lets it be known that he is unwilling/unable to embrace traveling in the same direction as his team, it cannot be ignored indefinitely,” and told Cousins there would be “less protection” from the team in disclosing future issues.
The people who care about DeMarcus Cousins can see the fighting, arguments, pouting, knee-jerk denials (“I have not demanded or requested a trade.” – Bullshit.) and see beyond the punk or the brat. Just like we can all see people in our lives (friends, family, co-workers, the dude in the mirror) who are doing too little with too much talent, who struggle to buy into their own ability and create their own personal obstacle courses which they clumsily navigate. And when you see these people and especially if you find it happening to yourself, you want to reach out with the utmost urgency and shake this man or woman out of whatever funk that lies so deeply in their soul, but it’s not that easy. You talk it over with them and have the same conversations and the same solutions come up and they nod because they get it just like you do. Then the same behaviors crop back up, bad habits creep around the corner like the bad humor man delivering another sick joke. You sympathize and feel the pain and cut them a bit of slack because you love and care about this person, but at some point, maybe today, tomorrow or yesterday, you deliver your message with a little less meaning and it doesn’t mean you give up; it just means it’s on them to figure it out. For DeMarcus Cousins, there’s a world of basketball fans and media out there, sympathetic and unsympathetic (does it even matter?), watching closely, I mean up in his face, breath hot on the side of his 21-year-old stubble-covered cheek, watching and waiting. DeMarcus has already proven the ride’s going to be entertaining; regardless of the ending.
“Why does shit like this always happen to my rotten ass?” – R.L.H.
The man who said the words above probably didn’t realize he was speaking for the downtrodden and hard luck of the world when he spoke those words of frustration and exasperation. Nor did he realize I’d be using his words to describe a sentiment shared by Portland Trail Blazers fans from sea to shining sea, but here we are…
The Blazers’ injury and draft-related woes have been re-told as a cautionary tale to would-be GMs for years like some kind of pro basketball boogeyman creeping in the knees and joints of promising Portland players, just waiting to strike when the time is worst. Brandon Roy and Greg Oden are the latest victims of said boogeyman, but Darius Miles, Sam Bowie (different circumstance) and Bill Walton find themselves associated with some variety of Rose City fever. To be fair, Bowie and Oden had the misfortune of preceding Michael Jordan and Kevin Durant in the draft; a sin so egregious that both men’s names will be forever intertwined with the Hall of Famers who came after them.
As much as I fantasize about an encyclopedic-length Choose Your Own Adventure novel based on NBA scenarios that could’ve, but didn’t happen (guarantee I’ll revisit this idea multiple times in the future), reality still looms with its cold hands and dark mornings. Despite the Roy/Oden apocalypse, the Blazers’ 2011-12 reality is much more comfortable than the unforgiving steel of a coroner’s cold table—which is where Roy’s career sadly resides. Mourning is a necessary part of the grieving process, but let’s not lose sight of the potentially exciting group Portland’s pieced together beginning with a man who’s blossomed over his five-year career: Mr. LaMarcus Aldridge. Prior to last season, I never liked his game and considered him soft by NBA standards. At 6’11” with broad shoulders, athleticism, balance and coordination, he was far too talented to get seven boards a night over his first three seasons. In Roy’s absence last season, Aldridge matured and seemed to become tougher, smarter and more polished at the same time. If I’m holding him to the All-NBA standards he’s achieved, the only thing I can ask is for him to continue improving his rebounding. 8.8 boards per game still seems like an underachievement. The other area of concern is that Aldridge just had the second heart surgery of his career for a condition called Wolff-Parkinson-White Syndrome. From all reports and internets, it’s not a life or career-threatening issue, but damn … can a Blazer fan go through an anxiety-free season?
It’s a fun cast of characters with Aldridge. Raymond Felton’s back it with the weight issues and while it’s easy to make jokes about fat NBA players, Felton’s Ricky Hatton-esque off-season weight gain habit hasn’t prevented him from steadily improving as a pro point guard. He’ll be spelled by recent signing, the 50-point mercenary, Jamal Crawford who returns to the Northwest in a homecoming of sorts (he’s a Seattle product). Crawford has always been a mesmerizing player on the offensive side of the ball based on his lean, lanky physique and heat check-ability. His limbs are made of rubber which allows him to make cuts and do things with the ball that other humans are physically unable to do (except for Rajon Rondo, who seems to be from a similar planet). In another era (like the 70s), I feel like the Big JC would’ve been adored for the effectiveness of his on-the-court trickery and competed with Earl Monroe or George Gervin for icon status. Yep, I like me some Jamal Crawford and hope to someday write an e-book about him that uses Youtube clips for footnotes and celebrates his underrated contributions to physical creativity, artistry and inventiveness.
The Gerald Wallace/Nicolas Batum tag team isn’t quite as fresh as Jamal, but Crash and Batum should provide ample highlights. Batum’s one of those players who’s always overrated by video game developers and thus gets overrated by some percentage of video game-playing NBA fans simply because he’s good on a video game. The reason the pixelated version of Batum is nice is because two of his best skills translate perfectly to the gaming realm: Dunking and shooting threes. Is this the year the real-life version (just turned 23 and already has three years of experience in the NBA) lives up to the promise foretold by NBA 2K11? Or will he have to play second fiddle to Wallace’s maniacal efforts?
There are other Blazers of intrigue like Wes Matthews, Marcus Camby and the Rhino, Curt Smith and owner Paul Allen, who happens to be a bit stranger than I realized. Unfortunately, it’s the absences of Brandon Roy and a hobbling Greg Oden that continue to attract the headlines. Even if this group of players is able to make the playoffs and advance out of the first round for the first time since 2000, we’ll all witness it under the burning question … what if they had a healthy B. Roy and Oden? And what that happens, just look back to the quote at the beginning of this post.
Milton pitching in to cover the Warriors and the crew Don Nelson left them with.
For the roughly 20 years I’ve been a basketball fan with any level of cognitive awareness, the Golden State Warriors have been an intriguing franchise. From Run TMC, to the infancy of Chris Webber’s career to Sprewell vs. Carlisemo there has been no shortage of topics to dissect and debate. For 11 of the last 23 years Don Nelson coached this franchise. Those 11 years were not in succession – Nelson’s tours with GSW were from 88-95 and 06-10 – but the influence of his alchemy appears to have been so prevalent that no other coach could find success. As if Nellie poisoned the East Bay waters, the 12 other seasons GSW was coached by another man were all sub .500 finishes. Nellie wasn’t without his own poor seasons (34-48 in 93, 26-56 in 2010) but he led GSW to .500 or better in 6 of 11 years at the helm.
In 2007 the 8th seeded Warriors pulled off the improbable by knocking off MVP Dirk Nowitzki and his vaunted, 67-15 Mavericks. That GSW group was full of perimeter players who created mismatches on offense and utilized toughness to bang with bigger guys defensively. The outcome was viewed by some as affirmation that Nellie’s mad scientist approach can bring to life a contender. The reality is they got hot at the right time and Stephen Jackson scared the crap out of Dirk.
Since then GSW has tried desperately to get that swagger back. Cap’n Jack, Jason Richardson and Baron Davis are long gone. In their place, Nellie acquired the likes of Matt Barnes, Al Harrington and Corey Maggette and things haven’t been the same since. Monta Ellis might be the fastest player in the NBA but he gives up so much defensively that the overall impact of his speed is negligible. Stephen Curry’s playmaking and defensive abilities have surprised me; however he appears better suited to play the two. His best skill is his jumper and his instinct tells him to shoot first and ask questions later. Andris Biedrins had one solid year and has since been injured or disengaged. How can you blame him for losing focus when Nellie didn’t even suit the same players up on a nightly basis from 08-10?
Near the end of Nellie’s second tenure with GSW, stories began to emerge about his affinity for liquor. Whether true or not, things had gone so awry in GSW that I often pictured Nellie wobbling drunkenly into the locker room on game nights like Jimmy Dugan in A League of Their Own. The end was near and everyone knew it. But after a long night of drinking comes the inevitable hangover.
Keith Smart coached the Warriors last year and the results were mixed, but mostly disappointing. The final tally was 36 wins and 46 losses but what do we really know about Smart as a coach? Not much. How can we judge him? He tried to play a more conventional style with a team of Nellie ballers.
Two key additions to last year’s squad who didn’t endure the bizarre Nellie experience, David Lee and Dorell Wright, provided solid production. Wright contended for Most Improved Player and Lee bounced back from a freakish tooth-in-the-elbow injury to average nearly a double-double (16.8, 9.8 reb). Lee and Wright are above average players but it’s hard to fit in with a Nellie roster if you’re not a Nellie player. Klay Thompson was selected with a lottery pick and is expected to contribute immediately. He’s got the pedigree (former Laker Mychal Thompson is his father) and can shoot the ball. Ekpe Udohis long and has potential but looks more like Thabeet than Mutombo.
Smart didn’t make it to a second year. An ownership change may have necessitated a move at head coach but the hire is still perplexing. Mark Jacksonhas never coached in the NBA as an assistant or a head coach. He was one of the finer players at his position in his era (and a mediocre announcer). The challenge for Jackson will be to combine the Nellie players (Monta, Biedrins, Udoh and to a lesser extent Steph Curry) with non-Nellie players (Lee, Wright, Thompson, Brandon Rush) to find a suitable team identity. It won’t be easy … certainly not for a coach with no experience. And word is he wants this team to focus on defense.
Nellie hosted an enjoyable party with booze aplenty, but for Golden State’s loyal and basketball wise fans, the hangover still lingers. The challenge for this great fan base is to keep downing the Advil and Gatorade and hope the headache slowly goes away. Another trip to the lottery is likely in the works.
I never intended to write about the league’s two worst teams over the past five years in back-to-back posts, it just came together this way and now we’re taking a trip down I-5 to the capital of Cali and home to one of its four NBA teams: Sacramento. Since the breakup of the Chris Webber Kings, a pall has been cast over the Kings-crazy fans of Sacto. Webber was traded on February 3rd, 2005 and while the Kings managed to remain afloat in the Western Conference for a couple years after, things officially bottomed out in the 2008-09 season when they won a franchise low 17 games. It’s been off ever since with the franchise building a young team around strong draft picks who, while entertaining, have proven to be success-challenged—this of course depends on your definition of success.
The reams of losing over the past three seasons haven’t stopped Sacramento fans from showing up and supporting their team in what almost feels like an endearing manner. How else could you love this motley crew that doesn’t get more motley than their 21-year-old center, DeMarcus Cousins; a headband-wearing giant ball of emotion and talent. Watching the young Cousins, it doesn’t take long to see he has a feel for the game that far exceeds his level of experience. It’s one thing when we see a young point guard like Omar Cook whip passes into spaces that only a fraction of the basketball-playing population could recognize, it’s something altogether different and refreshing to see the rare rookie center make passes and plays that defy the unoriginal standards and expectations we place on positions and ages. Then there’s the dark side to DeMarcus, an internal fury that feels Vesuvianly intense and is indiscriminate in choosing targets—the opposition, teammates, refs, coaches, me, you?
The Kings are more than their moody big man. They’re a collection of redundancy which is also referred to as depth. Francisco Garcia, John Salmons (picked up in the off-season) and Donte Greene seem as interchangeable as different brands of socks. Garcia adds more defensively, Salmons possesses a greater scorer’s mentality, but may have an inflated sense of his skills and Greene’s the youngest which means someone, somewhere is still waiting for him. In the backcourt, Tyreke Evans, Marcus Thornton and now Jimmer Fredette and even the last pick in the draft, Isaiah Thomas, each brings a shoot-first mentality—they clearly bring more dimensions than shooting, but none of these guards are renowned for their passing. Being on the west coast, I’ve seen quite a few Kings’ games over the past two years and have seen in Evans a talented player who makes awful decisions; particularly in crunch time. When you’re the best and most talented player on your team at 20-22-years-old, there are going to be growing pains, but Evans, and the Kings by extension, could benefit from a true point guard. The data at 82games.com indicates the Kings’ best lineups last year consistently included Beno Udrih who functioned primarily at the point. This truth makes me scratch my head at Sacramento re-signing Thornton and trading for Fredette. By another token, last year’s squad (24 wins) wasn’t exactly making people forget about Webber’s Kings.
JJ Hickson (acquired in a summer trade for Omri Casspi), Chuck Hayes (just signed) and Jason Thompson join Cousins on the front lines for Sacramento. It’s a serviceable, workmanlike crew that isn’t likely win any beauty contests, but collectively knows its role. In terms of intrigue, I rank these guys Cousins, then Hickson.
In what could be the final season for the Kings in Sacramento, the small similarities between the Kings and Sonics situations are just enough to revisit old scars: Ailing franchise coming up on the shoulders of future stars, franchise one foot out the door over some antiquated arena bullshit and a group fans who will suffer the most. The Kings belong in Sacramento and hopefully Kevin Johnson and crew can figure out a way to keep them there.
I know we’re all angry and upset by the league’s despicable handling of the Chris Paul trade today, but like AC Green taught us on his way to setting the NBA’s record for consecutive games played streak (1,192 straight), sometimes we have to swallow our salty tears, put a little activator in our hair and play the damn game. So tonight, in honor a man who never took a game off (except those three games he missed in his second season), I’m going to write about the Phoenix Suns; AC’s team when he broke the record.
The Phoenix Suns have had books written about them, been adored by media and fans, introduced fast break basketball to a generation who grew up with the 90s Knicks and Heat and thought bullying and intimidation was a part of the winning process; their doctors prolonged careers and their cast of characters and fan-friendly style developed something that started as a cult following but grew into full-fledged fandom. We’re all familiar with their legend and the hopes that accompanied their title runs from 2005-07. It was exciting and refreshing, beautiful and fantastic to watch Steve Nash speeding up (not down, he was and still is a one-way player) the court and shattering defensive schemes that had been designed to neutralize him … yet consistently failed. We loved it and witnessed its descent into harsh reality, wilting under the weight of time, strategic ingenuity and bad stinking luck.
But all that’s in the past and we’ve got to talk about where we are now and what the hell we’re doing here. The Suns will likely wave good-bye to a couple of aging wings in Grant Hill (New York-bound?) and Vince Carter (free agency), and probably add Shannon Brown. Barring (league approved) trades, the Suns will keep the majority of last year’s 40-42 team intact. It can’t be a time for optimism in Phoenix. Steve Nash turns 38 in February and despite the sorcery of the Suns physicians, no matter how far and fast Nash can run, time will hunt him down the way it does all of us. Nash is a free agent and at this point, he’s probably worth more to the Suns if he’s wearing a different uniform. It’s time for both parties to embrace or give a stern handshake (I get the feeling Nash is more of a hug guy though) and part ways.
Carter and Hill combined to account for just under 25% of Phoenix’s scoring last year. With Nash acting as a dribbling bodhisattva, life is easier for everyone. If Nash wills you to have points, you will have them, so I don’t anticipate scoring being a huge issue for this team. But again, here I am writing about the Suns and I’m continually drawn back to Nash. His presence as a Phoenix Sun is all encompassing.
OK, I’ll escape the Nash-vortex and acknowledge that the Suns do have a full roster. Marcin Gortat may have been the best value in the mega-player trade last December that sent Turkoglu, Jason Richardson, and Earl Clark to Orlando for Carter, Mickael Pietrus and Gortat. He gives the Suns someone sturdy and rugged to man the paint and he can hold down the fort while Robin Lopez continues to develop. I don’t have any complaints about Pietrus or Jared Dudley. They’re both nice players in the Shane Battier mode in that they can knock down the three, both play strong defense and possess a value structure that’s appropriate for team sports as evidenced by their acceptance of roles outside the spotlight.
And then there’s Channing Frye whose career has refused to follow a predictable path: from All-NBA rookie team in 2006 to an invisible player in Portland in 2009 to potential harnessed in 2011 with Phoenix. I find this interesting mostly because of its implications for all of our lives. Maybe Frye was written off by Portland or maybe it was just a bad fit for everyone (even though Channing loved the city itself). Regardless of the cause of his departure, he joined Phoenix in the summer of 2009 and has experienced his best two seasons as a three-point shooting big man who creates matchup problems. Channing Frye’s Phoenix resurgence (Steve Nash fueled or not) reminds me to keep being inquisitive and continue to try and find congruence between ability and opportunity.
Those are all nice pieces, but they’re all complementary stylists. None of the non-Nash players I just mentioned are capable of elevating this team to anything better than the middle of the pack. Yet somehow the Suns still have nearly $50million on their payroll. Unlike the Hawks who give off a vibe of contentment, I get the feeling that people in Phoenix desperately want to be successful, they’re just not sure if they want to spend the money to do it.
That’s the Suns; still living in the inescapable shadow of a radiant past. And they’ll continue to do so until there’s a willingness from the Suns and Nash to just let go.
Dancing With Noah 