Let’s just settle the MVP debate right now…in my house, it’s my wife. When it comes to our team, I play sidekick. I talk a lot, put up some solid numbers and take over for a little while—but in the stretch run, I defer to my wife when it comes to our newborn daughter—our daily opponent, who right now has a record like the ’96 Bulls. In other words, in our house, I’m Shaquille O’Neal and my wife is Dwyane Wade.
That worries me, because with Shaq Daddy, you don’t know what you’re getting anymore.
As I watched a Rocky marathon last weekend, I realized that Shaq is in the Rocky V stage of his career.
Long ago, O’Neal reserved his spot as one of the best NBA centers ever—his career 26.3 points, 11.8 rebounds and 2.5 blocks per game are a lock for the Hall of Fame. Off the court, Diesel has always been a fan favorite. He gives us good quotes, has a sense of humor and has a love of life we don’t often see from professional athletes. After all, Shaq is the person who gave us Blue Chips, six rap albums and of course, the Reebok “Don’t Fake the Funk on a Nasty Dunk” campaign.
But on the court, the inevitable is here—Shaq lacks the hunger, the skills and the attack to be as dominate as he once was. Basically, he’s every Rocky Balboa before the cool “regaining the hunger/turning point/training hard” montage.
O’Neal doesn’t impose fear anymore—in opposing centers, in opposing teams, or the refs. As expected, this is hard for Shaq (and us) to rationalize. When he’s sent to the bench for early foul trouble, as he often has throughout the playoffs this year, he can only be thinking something like this:
“But I’ve been doing the same moves my entire career—what’s different now? They’re all just floppers and the refs have it out for me.”
He sees every opposing center as a new version of Vlade Divac--massive jokes as defensive players, who fall down and don’t move their feet; praying to draw the charge.
In reality, Shaq’s a big man who can’t move his feet very good—his reaction times have slowed with age, and he really is committing fouls. Case in point: In the past five seasons, his personal fouls per game have gone from 3.0 in 2001-2002 to 3.9 this year.
The refs aren’t calling Shaq differently. Shaq is playing differently.
It goes much deeper than that. O’Neal needs extra time to recuperate—it’s clearly obvious he’s much better on an extra day's rest. When the playoffs come around, he always steps it up a notch—but now, even that’s getting to be a challenge. If Jason Collins (who isn’t exactly Ivan Drago out there) is giving you problems, you know you’re in your twilight.
The last few years of his run with the Lakers, Shaq openly admitted to using the regular season as preparation for the playoffs. When you’re an athlete in your 20’s physical prime, that mindset works. When you’re in your 30’s…eh, not so much.
In fourteen NBA seasons, Shaq has only missed the playoffs once—his rookie year with Orlando. But he’s playing fewer and fewer regular season games—for the first time since an injury plagued 1996-1997 season (excluding the ’99 lockout), Shaq played less than 60 games. Allen Iverson used to ask about the importance of practice…Shaq seems to be asking about the importance of the regular season.
History and logic tells us that all great centers start a rapid decline around age 30-32. It’s a time-told truth—like the inevitable fall of boy bands. Like most of the greats, one season you have it, then Kazaam!—the next your fighting injuries, age and fatigue.
Like Brett Favre, Randy Johnson and so many before, Shaq shouldn’t be told to quit—that’s his decision (and despite how we like to remember the mega-stars who were nearly as large as the game, it will always be their decision). With that said, he is far removed from his days of dominance and the Shaq-Fu.
Another case in point: for ten seasons, he averaged over 26 points per game. In the past three seasons, his points per game dropped to 21.5, climbed back to 22.9, and then dropped again to 20.9 this year. O’Neal only scored 30 points in a game four times this season. His last 40-point game in the regular season was December of 2003 against Washington.
It doesn’t help when Shaq loses role players like Eddie Jones and Damon Jones—who hit timely shots and played solid defense. Good team defense could hide Shaq’s slower mobility (almost inability) now to block shots. And when O’Neal is forced to help out, he’s moved away from the basket and can’t recover fast enough to hit the boards. For the first time in his career, he’s averaging less than ten total rebounds per game.
I bet my wife is hoping my career doesn’t decline to the point she can only count on me once every three days. She’s putting up Wade-like numbers against the baby: 3 hours sleep, nursing and taking care of the 4 year old. If we’re going to win a championship, I’ve got to step it up—just like Shaq.
If we are to witness a “Shaqaissance”, then Carl Weathers needs to get down to South Beach and whisper into O’Neal’s ear: “There IS no tomorrow…got to get it back, man—the eye of the tiger!”
And if neither Shaq nor I start contributing more to our respective teams, we’ll both be out of jobs.
