There will undoubtedly come a day in early March when we are all reminded that to win one must bow at the alter of defense and offer virgin sacrifice to avoid the wrath of vengeful injury gods, but in the dewy morning we can take time to soberly assert that Carmelo Anthony is our MVP and that the Phoenix Suns have out-maneuvered time and narrative.
What we (perhaps bitterly) learned over the last few seasons is that despite the reemergence of the NBA as a viable star-laden galaxy, superstars must sublimate themselves or endure a tempering process to reap both team success and individual accolades.
In the 2008, we saw grayscale versions of Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen make public admissions of their individual shortfalls and enthusiastically fill in for the deficits in the others’ games to win a championship. Despite overcoming their share of hurdles in the 07/08 campaign, The Big Three’s championship seemed almost anti-climactic, as the typically dramatic swings experienced by any one superstar on his quest for glory were always obscured by the mostly reliable performance of the unit. Was KG stricken with doubt at any point in 2008? Did Paul Pierce ever wonder about his legacy? Folks were too busy admiring the defense to ever notice.
Last year, we learned that superstars must subdue their scoring instincts and replace them with ravenous defensive effort should they aspire to be a true superstar, and not an unseemly leftover from the NBA’s dark ages. Over the course of the Olympics, LeBron and Dwayne Wade watched Kobe do lunges and squats at a time when they were used to selfishly dreaming about reverse dunks, and had their own come to Jesus/Larry Brown moments. LeBron earned his first MVP award - as Kobe had the year before, with the literati taken extra pains to note that, sure, these guys may sometimes demean themselves by putting the ball through a basketball hoop, but what really made them special was how they moved their feet around the perimeter and helped on the pick and roll.
And yet, despite the muted versions of past dynamos who have jogged their way to modest championships in the past two years, there’s no denying it was still star-power that won the day for both the Umbuntu Celtics and the post-Kobe Lakers. As much as we hate to admit it, stars still matter. The phrase “talent driven league” still resonates. Systems may soothe the savage breast of the scribe, but it’s players, great players, that makes move systems beyond pure theory.
Unless you’re the Houston Rockets. It’s no wonder that the team at the epicenter of the statistical revolution may also provide the first true referendum on the value of Stars in post-post-Jordan era. (Olympic era, maybe?)
The Rockets have gotten off to a better than expected start by running, crashing, defending and distributing labor on the offensive end. Chuck Hayes rebounds with his heart. Carl Landry and Louis Scola score on the pick and roll through sheer force of cartilage. It’s the kind of team that reminds you of families who, despite enduring tragedy and separation, still manage to sit down together at the super table every night and play board games by the fireplace. Yet, surely these Rockets are no contender? Right? Relying on the efficiency of each organism in an ecosystem can be just as dangerous as banking on the sun to rise every morning. The Rockets lineup consists of players floating in an ether somewhere between role player and star. Unlike the Big Three, who occasionally needed to be called on to mitigate each others’ deficiencies, the Rockets are a living puzzle that needs to be assembled each evening, with players determining where pieces go on the fly.
So, what about that T-Mac? He’s ready to come back and screw everything up - or perhaps provide this team with a key for their ever scrambling language. The reason that his wandering eye graces the banner of this blog is that I’ve for so long been enchanted by how little I understand him, his game and what he stands for. Despite leading the league in scoring twice, it often feels like McGrady doesn’t even play in the league. Even a weirdo like Gilbert Arenas has remained a part of the fabric during his extended vacation from the spotlight - yet T-MAC - despite having a game and frame that look like they were developed in an executive session between George Gervin, Charles Atlas and a panther, is so eagerly forgotten.
Could he mean something to these Rockets? He’s telling about his off-season devotion, the kind of stuff that usually makes the heart go all a-flutter and the mind believe that things might could be different. I mean, Tim Grover, y’all.
Or is he just the deadbeat dad looking to skeeve his way back into a functioning family unit that found their strength only by learning to let him go? Sure, he may sit down to play Monopoly with the family after meatloaf is served, but how long will it be before he starts filching from the bank or watching TV over his shoulder Seriously though, aren’t these where metaphors about playing with fire and stars swallowing themselves are born? The Rockets are a revelation, a pleasure to watch from a pure basketball standpoint, yet without a star, they are likely destined to be remembered as a feel good story, an ultimately sad fate.
Tracy McGrady has never had an opportunity to publicly come to grips with his own humanity - as he has been mostly sidelined with injuries in this era when fans have started to demand that stars do such things. Is now the time for his public trial? Will this forgotten star be afforded the same opportunity to walk the road of vindication as Kobe and Garnett? Or will he be shunned by the family that seems all too eager to move on without him.
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