In the NBA’s post-Jordan hangover, the collective argument has been that the NBA is lost and missing the special qualities it once had. Well, it isn’t true.
The NBA’s not missing anything. The league is merely traveling through its Space-Time Continuum. Yes, the same theory brought to you by Doc Brown in the 80’s classic Back to the Future is alive and well in the NBA.
As Doc Brown explains during the film, key events balance the universe and without each one the course of history is altered. The reason Doc and Marty had to get each event perfect is because if they didn’t, the universe would have ceased to exist as they knew it.
Just as we experience things in life that impact our future, without four key events, the NBA would be completely different than the league we know today. And it is because of the league’s Space-Time Continuum that we can pinpoint the “Best Things to Happen to the NBA.” Take away an event, the league as we know it would begin to disappear like Marty’s hand at the ‘Enchantment under the Sea’ dance.
David Stern
According to Ask Men.com, when Stern became Commissioner of the NBA in 1984, nearly 80% of its teams were losing money and fan interest was at an all-time low. Hard to believe, but the classic 42-point performance in the 1980 Finals by Magic Johnson, as he filled in for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar to lead the Lakers to the NBA title, was shown on tape delay at 11:30 p.m.
It was Stern’s implementation of a revolutionary salary cap—which altered the economic structure of the NBA, along with changing the relationship between teams and players—that gave the league the financial flexibility it needed to become a global force.
Perhaps the NBA and its premier players would have been successful without Stern, but his marketing prowess of the league and its superstars allows us to enjoy NBA Live video games, custom made jerseys and the famous player-caricature championship t-shirt. If there were no David Stern, we might have an NBA ran by Biff Tannen.
The 3-point shot
While it began as a gimmick to create interest in the league, the 3-point shot has become the most dynamic part of the game. From revolutionizing the modern player prototype to giving new meaning to the phrase “from downtown”, the 3-point shot forever changed the face of the NBA. Who would have thought a 7-footer would be draining a 25-foot shot on one possession, then posting up on the next?
Imagine where the NBA would be without it; how drastically altered our historical perspective of the league would be: no Robert Horry prayer against the Kings in the 2002 Western Conference Finals. Reggie Miller would have never been able to single-handedly bring back the Pacers against the Knicks in the ’95 Playoffs. And we never would have seen Jordan’s famous shrug of the shoulders against Portland in the ’92 Finals without the 3-point shot.
Magic, Larry & Michael
Separately, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird and Michael Jordan all became the face of the NBA—Magic as the personality of the league, Larry as it’s hard-working core and Michael as its most talented player ever.
Together they gave us three of the most memorable teams in the history of sports. Without Magic’s Lakers, Bird’s Celtics, and Jordan’s Bulls, we would have missed one of the most compelling rivalries in the history of sports. By combining for 14 NBA Championships in 19 seasons, they ushered in a new era of basketball and reintroduced us to the term “dynasty”.
Michael Jordan was the ultimate “event” or “experience” for the league and the fans. Where would we be without Air Jordan’s, “Like Mike” commercials, Hanes, the Bulls, the clutch shots, the championships, the tongue-wagging and Space Jam? Well, all but the last one, anyway.
Portland, Phoenix and Utah may have won NBA Championships had there been no Jordan. He became the standard for which all NBA superstars are measured.
Phil Jackson and the Triangle
Jackson may not have won his record tying 9 NBA Championships if it were not for Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Shaquille O’Neal and Kobe Bryant, but at last check, none of them have ever won a title without him either.
While tough, no non-sense coaches like Pat Riley and Chuck Daly had always thrived in the NBA, Jackson used philosophy to motivate and relate to his players.
His attached-at-the-hip assistant, Tex Winter, developed an offense called the Triangle that relied on passing and movement to create easy scoring opportunities. The Triangle brought balance to a league run amuck by one-on-one and without it we’d be watching games made up of ‘And 1’ mixtapes.
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Every event, while independent of each other, is interconnected in the NBA’s Space-Time Continuum. The NBA’s success didn’t just occur; it materialized as a byproduct of these events happening the way they did. It’s hard to imagine the league without David Stern, the 3-point shot, its biggest superstars and its most famous coach.
Be glad that we had each of these four things, or we might be in need of a time-traveling DeLorean, Doc Brown and 1.21 gigawatts of electricity.
Remember the old SNL skit, “Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey”? Well, this is something like that. Only worse.
Eastern Conference Finals:
—The Pistons, as I’ve said before, could be finished. The theory isn’t exactly groundbreaking, but when you get a group of players who have played three full seasons without injuries AND have made a deep run into the playoffs each year, eventually they will run out of steam and out of luck. That’s just how it is, that’s how it’s always been. Think ‘89 Lakers or ’87 Celtics. Things just catch up with you. Things have certainly caught up with Detroit, the players and the coaches.
—With Dwayne Wade’s acrobatic, amazing and burned into playoff lore lay-up yesterday, the Pistons are being fit for a playoff toe-tag faster than Marty McFly was when facing a possible duel with Mad Dog Tannen in Back to the Future III.
—That play was indicative of what’s wrong with Detroit this post-season. Wade flipped the switch; the Heat have flipped the switch in the Eastern Conference Finals—but the Pistons have stood by and watched, mostly. Had this been 2004 or even 2005, somebody on the Pistons would have wrapped up Wade’s arms and prevented the shot from being taken. Somebody would have taken him to the floor. Hard.
—Everyone says not to write off the Detroit Pistons; that they love it when their backs are firmly against the walls and the odds are worse than Pitt-Aniston reconciliation. Well, wish granted. Down 3-1 in the Eastern Conference Finals against a team that has had it in for you for the past twelve months is pretty bad odds. Of the last 43 teams to be down 3 games to 1 in the Conference Finals, only three have came back to win the series.
—Don’t blame Flip Saunders for this—as it has been rumored that the Pistons are. (Wasn’t that the rumor with this group and Rick Carlisle for awhile? And for a short time last year, Larry Brown? Maybe it’s the players, after all.) For all that the Pistons are and claim to be, they sure throw their coach under the bus pretty easily. No, the “Demise of Detroit” is simple logic. Time takes its toll in the NBA, through injuries and fatigue, and there’s nothing they can do about it.
In honor of the late, legendary, “That Guy” actor club, I can’t help but wonder if Detroit would be fairing better under the tutelage of Paul Gleason. He could have even coached the Pistons as his character in The Breakfast Club, Principal Vernon.
Try and imagine his post game press conferences: “Mess with the bull, you get the horns.” Or “I told them the next time I have to call a time-out, I’m crackin’ skulls.” Or simply imagine Vernon giving a pre-game speech: “You ought to spend a little more time trying to win the game and this series and a little less time worry about trying to impress people.” Paul Gleason, you will be missed.
—Yes, these are the things that I think about. All. Day. Long.
—Is it me, or have the Pistons become a mini-version of the Spurs and are beginning to argue and bemoan every call that isn’t in their favor?
Western Conference Finals --If Mark Cuban can turn around the Mavericks with his money and enthusiasm, why not the Cubs?
—Sticking with the baseball thing for a second, in baseball, they always say good pitching always beats good hitting. Is that what we’re seeing in the Western Conference Finals? From the Dallas Mavericks, of all teams?
The Mavs got burned in Game 1 by 32 fast-break points from Nash and the Suns up-tempo game. They preached defense and stopping the Suns in transition before Game 2. Since that time, they’ve allowed 25 fast-break points combined in Games 2 & 3 (and just four—4!—in Game 3). Neither team scored a 100 in the Game 3, which is always to the advantage of whoever the Suns are playing. Seems like Phoenix has have run into a wall—good defense.
—The MVP, Steve Nash, has gently called out his teammates, saying they need to show more fight and have “been a little too passive” at times. I don’t think it’s long before his teammates start fighting back and asking for a piece of the MVP Trophy. After all, they helped him win, and now he's calling them out?
--Hard to believe, but Raja Bell really could be the key to the series for the Suns. Say that again, slowly. Raja Bell.
—Two words (in the voice of Christopher Walken): “More Barbosa”.
Back later this week with NGS II Finalist Assignment #2…
After a wild weekend, which saw my wife and I buy our first home, my newborn daughter baptized, followed by Monday’s announcement and the subsequent turn of events in NGS II, I haven’t had time to collect my thoughts and put out an actual post about the NBA Playoffs.
In the spirit of that, here’s a bunch of things I’ve been collecting on an internal notepad the past few days and need to get them out. I’m fearful that if I don’t, I’m going to turn into a sports version of Ashton Kutcher in The Butterfly Effect.
Mavs-Spurs
–It was clear to from the first quarter of the Mavs-Spurs game who was should win. You just never know with the officiating these days if the right team will win. Don’t get me wrong, had the Spurs won, they would have semi-deserved it with that amazing run in the third and fourth quarter, but I was beginning to believe that David Stern, seated just rows away from Mark Cuban, really did have it in for him. Stern almost smiled at times (at least it seemed that way on TV) as the Spurs made their run back from 20 down. Cuban was glaring out the corner of his eye in Stern’s direction. Can we get a Stern-Cuban match as the main event at Wrestle Mania next year?
—Is there anyone who gets more calls, but complains more in big spots than Tim Duncan? Where were the fouls that they called on Dampier and Van Horn? Even when TNT was bold enough to show the replays, they weren’t there. The call on Van Horn in the 4th quarter, where his hands are straight up and Duncan moves into him is incredible. I must have rewound TiVo five times. I was speechless (probably because my wife, four year old son and baby daughter were all asleep). When Duncan commits the same fouls that are called on these guys, he complains every time. This reminds me…
—If this career in basketball doesn’t pan out, Duncan could always teach lessons to the Hollywood crowd on how to act surprised at their name being called during awards season with his “Who me?!? No…It..Can’t..Be…Me” Face.
—The Mavs first half was a thing of beauty, more impressive because it was the Dallas Mavericks of all teams, on the road, against the Spurs in a Game 7. Scoring on 14 of their first 16 possessions and shooting nearly 77% until about 2 minutes to go in the second quarter, it was one of the best Game 7 starts I’ve ever seen. They were playing in a different gear than San Antonio, from the out-of-bounds plays to defense, to loose balls—that first half set the tone and gave the Mavericks the confidence they needed late in the game.
—Did anyone else see the David Hasselhoff poster in the crowd during the game? Was that a Dirk Nowitzki fan? A family member? Does this in fact prove Norm MacDonald’s theory that Germans, indeed, love David Hasselhoff?
Suns-Clippers
—Just too magical to believe the Clippers could win, I guess. But it doesn’t help your cause when you play differently than you did most of the series. The Clippers had gone with a smaller lineup during their wins; a lineup which could get back down the floor on made shots and defend the perimeter well. Suddenly, Chris Kaman’s back logging significant minutes in Game 7. The Suns made him look like his feet were in concrete (which isn’t a difficult task).
—Where do the Clippers go from here? The ultimate crossroads for a downtrodden franchise is the year after it gets over the hump. So what do the Clippers do? Does Donald Sterling pony up again this summer for a couple key free agents like he did last summer? Does Elgin Baylor keep Cassell? It is conceivable that that Baylor, in a span of about three years could go from one of the ‘Worst Executives of the Year’ to ‘Executive of the Year’ to one of the ‘Worst Executives of the Year’. It all depends on the next five months.
—We’ll know everything we need to know about the Suns tonight in Game 1. Nash’s legs, their streaky shooting, their size difference to Dallas and if D’Antoni can match wits with Avery Johnson, because Gregg Popovich couldn’t. Dallas is a much different beast than the two L.A.’s. Now is when Phoenix needs Amare Stoudamire most.
Pistons-Heat
—About two weeks ago, I wrote about how Shaq had lost the 'eye of the tiger'. While I said Shaq wasn’t the dominate force he always was, he could be dominant every other game. I figured with all that rest from taking the Nets out in five games, he’d be a major force last night. But after watching the game, it’s even more clear to me that Dwyane Wade, Jason Williams, Antoine Walker and Co. have to carry this team. He was slow on defense—didn’t move his feet and got into foul trouble, only playing 29 minutes. This was in the face of a Pistons team that was a little tired from their seven-game series with the Cavs. If the Heat are going to win this series and the next, they need more from the Diesel in the games you can count on him at full strength (and to keep him away from guarding Detroit’s high screens.)
—I am anxiously waiting another “guaransheed” win for the Pistons in Game 2. It’s beyond comical.
—Still am not of the opinion that a win in the conference finals or a series win in the conference finals justifies Pat Riley booting out Stan Van Gundy. Not even winning an NBA Championship will do it. You just don’t treat “friends” like that.
There, it feels better to have emptied those thoughts--ready to work on the first finalist assignment now…and pack for the move…and change the baby’s diaper…
I was a witness last night. From this day forward, I’ll know where I was when it happened. I just can’t figure out exactly what I was a witness to.
Was it the day that LeBron James became without a doubt, the best basketball player on the planet? Or the day we saw the mighty Pistons fall, thus ending the reign of "team chemistry basketball" in the NBA?
It’s both.
After James’ 32 points, 5 rebounds, 5 assists, 2 steals and one block in the Cleveland Cavaliers Game 5 upset win over the Detroit Pistons at the Palace, I’m anything but innocent anymore.
I can enjoy the displays that Kobe Bryant puts on, I can still love the Los Angeles Lakers and I can still admire Dwyane Wade, Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki. But I can no longer deny LeBron is far more advanced at 21 than anyone in NBA history. What I think I need most right now is to be enrolled in the ‘Witness Protection Program’.
We still can’t compare him to Jordan (which is almost becoming a compliment to James)—he passes like Michael never could. Nor rightfully can we call him Magic—he scores and drives and hits jumpers like Johnson never could; but we can say that LeBron James is fulfilling the prophecy.
What do we do now that we know?
Maybe we wait for his rival to emerge—like Magic, Michael and Larry had each other. Because, if we’re truthful with ourselves, there’s no debating James’ has jumped up a level. Sure, he’ll need to win some titles—but who else has or has ever had the potential since Magic to average a triple double for the entire season?
But there have only been a handful of players who see the game this way—hitting game winners, dropping precision passers for game-winners, doing all the little things and saying all the right things. James trusts his team mates, yes, but he trusts himself even more. While we complain about Kobe’s two versions of selfishness, we LeBron to be more selfish.
Forget the MVP debate; it’s clearly obvious to anyone who’s watched the regular season and the playoffs that LeBron James is the best basketball player in the NBA. The way James understands the game is uncanny. Take his numbers in the regular season, (31.4 points, 7.0 rebounds, 6.6 assists per game) and the playoffs as an example: against Washington, James averaged 35.7 points, 7.5 rebounds and 5.7 assists per game while shooting 50% from the field. He had to score more against the Wizards and Arenas because it was that kind of series. Against Detroit, LeBron has averaged 25.4 points, 8.2 rebounds and 7 assists per game. With a grind it out, defensive minded Pistons team focusing on him, LeBron’s numbers are extraordinary.
Last night, I was a witness to something else: perhaps the end of ‘team chemistry basketball’ as perfected for the past three seasons by the Detroit Pistons.
Maybe they went away from the game plan, maybe they’ve become to cocky and coasted for the past three months, taking every other game off, or maybe they’re just a victim of LeBron James.
But what it must be like for Detroit right now, questioning everything. Lindsay Hunter taking your last good shot of the game? Missing out on the opportunity to capitalize at the end when Eric Snow throws the ball away? These aren’t your older brother’s Pistons. They lost three straight games to a Cleveland team that didn’t even have their second best scorer. Do they even have a game plan for defending LeBron?
The Pistons, since beating the Los Angeles Lakers in the 2004 NBA Finals, have been amassing an ego not rivaled since Willie Beamen in Any Given Sunday. Detroit approached the last four months of this season like the 2004 Lakers did.
Which is why they’re cooked—the Pistons became the exact opposite of what they once were.
This series has implications well beyond this year. Think of what it would to Detroit’s psyche from now on. How would they react next year to facing the Cavs? In future years? By beating the Pistons now, when James and the Cavs weren’t supposed to, is bigger and has greater impact than beating them in a year or two. To Rip, Sheed, Chauncey, Big Ben and Tayshaun, losing this year will be inexplicable.
What we’re really witnessing is the changing landscape of the NBA. Used to be, a team would win games—individuals would entertain. But now, no longer do you need players who fit each role and get along. Start with a couple scorers (preferably one All-Star)—with speed and range on their jump shots—and surround them with role players. That’s more or less what Dallas, Phoenix, Cleveland and L.A. (Lakers) have tried to do. And three of those teams are still playing—all with a 3-2 series lead.
The only thing “guaransheed” right now is that LeBron James has made ‘The Leap’ and the Pistons way of basketball is on the verge of extinction.
We haven’t seen a player this dynamic at this age or a style shift like this since the 1980’s. I was five months old when Magic made ‘The Leap’ in the 1980 NBA Finals. Probably still in diapers when Larry became a ‘Legend’ and had a short attention span, like any kid, who would rather sing the Gatorade commercials when Michael first became ‘Jordan’. If I ignore this, I’m missing out of one of the biggest moments in the history of the NBA. Not many players get there, and no ones done it since the aforementioned “Big Three” did it in the 1980’s. And rarely are there shifts in the formula for building a competitive team like we’ve seen with the Suns, Mavs and Cavs.
Until now.
I was watching when LeBron James made ‘The Leap’ and when the NBA shifted eras. Can I get a witness?
With the report that Larry Brown is about to become a very rich man (again) after he is eventually bought out as head coach of the New York Knicks—that’s $48 million for Brown in one calendar year, for those playing at home—I tried to make sense of it all.
What would cause a man to take a job like that in the first place? At the time of his hiring, Brown had accomplished so much in his career—but was getting older and facing much uncertainty with the Knicks.
Was it really the money? Because after one season in New York, Larry Brown is limping away wounded from his “dream job”. His impeccable record as a head coach is taking a hit and likewise, his ego.
After a trip to Blockbuster, I think I’ve got it all figured out. Brown was Al Pacino’s inspiration for his part in last fall’s Matthew McConaughey/Pacino vehicle Two for the Money.
The similarities between Pacino’s character in the film and Larry Brown are eerily similar.
Pacino plays Walter Abrams, the head of a New York gambling organization that “advises” sports gamblers. Part of the twist is that Abrams is a recovering gambling addict who can’t help but continue to get in on the action. Abrams also has some health problems that he occasionally uses to his advantage. But Pacino’s biggest contribution to this movie and the role are his speeches—which are highly entertaining and fast paced rants.
He pushes protégé Brandon Lang (McConaughey) from an 82% average in picking college football winners to a massive losing streak and basically shatters his confidence.
Stop me if you’ve heard this before.
Larry Brown plays a basketball coach, the head coach of the New York Knicks that is the key guy to a once proud franchise trying to rebound. Brown has bounced from city to city, franchise to franchise and league to league in his 30 odd years as a basketball coach. Basically, he’s what Bob Dylan wrote about in Like a Rolling Stone. Sometimes, he uses his health problems as an advantage (see: acid reflux), and his biggest contribution to games are his entertaining and painfully slow post-game press conferences.
In New York, Brown has pushed his players like Abrams pushed Lang in Two for the Money. Abrams made Lang become a personality, John Anthony. Brown makes his players mold to his personality. Sometimes that can work—but not when you’re dealing with the players that Brown is.
The careers of Stephon Marbury and Steve Francis are proof that at this point, they can’t be changed. They don’t play defense, they don’t play smart, they are infectious on and off the court (in a bad way) and don’t care what others think of them. These players are often referred to as “me-first” wanna-be superstars. And Larry doesn’t do well with those kinds of players, let alone build a team around them.
Still, the question is, how does Brown let himself get into this situation to begin with?
Maybe, like with Abrams and Lang, the money thrown at him by Knicks President Isiah Thomas was too tempting. Who could resist that kind of cash, even if there is a good chance you could fail miserably and tarnish your coaching legacy?
Something certainly caused Brown to ignore the warning signs of taking this job: 1) the roster of players who read like the tagline from , the “not ready for prime-time players”, 2) the pressure of the fan base, 3) the clueless owner, 4) the losing attitude that has become apart of the Knicks, 5) the large contracts that allowed for little flexibility for the present or near future and above all else 6) Isiah Thomas.
Getting into bed with Zeke is like shacking up with Lindsay Lohan. Sure looks enticing, but then you remember everywhere else they’ve probably been. The repercussions are endless.
Aside from that, here’s the main reason as to why Brown took this job—he really is like Abrams in Two for the Money–a compulsive gambler who can’t step away from the thrill. Only it isn’t large sums of money Brown dangles out there each time he takes a risk—but his legacy and his health become more questionable with time.
It is the only way to explain why the man can’t find a place to call home, why everywhere he goes seems to be perfect at first, but sours like milk after time.
The only way to explain Larry Brown is by using the argument Abrams makes in Two for the Money about the real reason people gamble. The addicted don’t gamble to win; they don’t even really gamble for fear of losing. To the addicted it’s the thrill that comes from losing, to know you lost it all, but you’re still alive to tell the tale.
For a consummate winner like Larry Brown, who always turns a franchise around, maybe that’s what it takes. Maybe the only thing left for coaches like Brown, Riley and Jackson is to just keep going, push as hard as possible, until you ultimately fail. Work and work until you put yourself in that ultimate no-win situation.
At least Brown will get paid handsomely for failing—not many can say that. And that’s perhaps the biggest failure from this: dealing with the idea the Knicks and Isiah Thomas of all people are willing to pay him to not coach.
Now, I understand the mindset of Larry Brown, but I won’t count him out. Soon, he’ll be coaching another team and further testing his addiction’s limit. You can bet on it.
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.
Steve Nash must be taking lessons from David Copperfield. Because Nash winning the MVP this year is like Copperfield dating Claudia Schiffer.
It’s slight of hand and trickery—I just don’t see how Nash became a two-time MVP. I can’t help but feel like we’ve been duped as NBA fans.
Because Steve Nash as a two-time MVP is a farce.
This isn’t about Kobe, LeBron and Dirk anymore and if they should have won. It isn’t about personal attacks or who’s a better person. It isn’t about the merit of their seasons, what makes a team better, how much individual stats hold against team success, etc.
This is about the absurd notion forming that Steve Nash is one of, if not the best, point guards ever.
And if you don’t think that’s what’s happening, you need to realize that by Nash winning his second MVP Award, he just joined Michael Jordan, Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain, Moses Malone, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar and Tim Duncan as the only players to have won more than one MVP.
Nash has somehow done this without leading his team in scoring or being a game-altering threat to take over in the 4th quarter. He’s not even a lock to take the last shot in a tight game. Plus, he looks like Kelly Leak from the original Bad News Bears.
The strange thing is I like Steve Nash. I think he’s done wonders to change the pace and face of the NBA the past few seasons, reverting teams back to the 1980’s and early 90’s style of fast-tempo basketball. It’s what the NBA needed.
But Nash is no better than a handful of other NBA point guards who have been good, impressive and great—but never got to that level.
In a comparison provided by the good people at Basketball Reference.com, Nash is in a select company of solid and dependable point guards—but hardly the best ever. In fact, according to the website, Nash has only slightly better than a fifty percent chance to make the Hall of Fame. No other MVP has averaged fewer points since Wes Unseld in 1969. Yet he also became the only other point guard beside Magic Johnson to win back-to-back MVP’s.
Look at this group of point guards and their best seasons:
Steve Nash 2005: 15.5 points, 11.5 assists, 3.3 rebounds per game. He led the league in assists and shot 88.7% from the foul line. 2006: 18 points, 10.5 assists, 4.2 rebounds. He shot 92% from the free throw line and 43% from three point range, and led the league in assists.
John Stockton 1990: 17.2 points, 14.5 assists, 2.7 steals, 2.6 rebounds per game. Stockton led the NBA in assists from 1988-1996—but was never MVP, even though the Jazz routinely won and appeared in the playoffs. In ’90,
Kevin Johnson 1990: 23.9 points, 12.2 assists, 3.9 rebounds per game. Johnson shot 50% from the field that season. He routinely averaged a double-double in points and assists, basically from 1989-1996.
During that 1990 season, Johnson didn’t even get a vote for MVP; Stockton finished 9th to Magic Johnson. Nash is basically doing exactly what all point guards used to do—score and distribute. Heck, on occasion, some of them would even play defense.
The MLB A.L. MVP debate last year focused on the fact that David Ortiz was merely a hitter, while A-Rod played both parts of the game. While its obvious basketball and baseball are different sports; we also apparently have different basic criteria for MVP’s in general, because Nash doesn’t play any defense. Had Smush Parker not gone 7-37 over the last four games of the Lakers-Suns series, a national audience might have seen that Nash couldn’t guard a slow motion Ace Ventura when he’s pretending to play football at the asylum.
Here were the other candidates for MVP this season, who share similarities with MVP’s of the past:
Kobe Bryant, 2006: 35.4 points, 4.5 assists, 5.1 rebounds, 1.8 steals. Bryant won the scoring title.
Allen Iverson, 2001: 31.1 points, 4.6 assists, 3.8 rebounds, 2.5 steals per game. Iverson won the scoring title.
Michael Jordan, 1992: 30.1 points, 6.1 assists, 6.4 rebounds, 2.3 steals per game.
Obviously, throwing out all these stats isn’t going to change the outcome, and doesn’t prove or disprove anything.
But I can’t shake it—Nash is a current day John Stockton, Kevin Johnson, Isiah Thomas or Tim Hardaway who just joined a list of nine of the greatest players in NBA history.
The same guy who, at times during Phoenix’s Game 7 win over the Lakers Saturday, wasn’t even the most valuable guard on his own team, with Leandro Barbosa making us question why Nash had such a hard time earlier in the series. The same guy who has a two year scoring average of 16.7 points and plays some of the worst defense in the league. The same guy who is now in the same breath as Jordan, Bird and Magic.
If you had told me at any point in the past ten years that the Los Angeles Lakers and the Los Angeles Clippers would meet in the playoffs during any postseason, I would have spit out my beer and laughed uncontrollably, like the New Orleans Saints front office probably did after the Houston Texans didn’t take Reggie Bush in the NFL Draft last Saturday.
So here we are, dealing with the improbable, but very possible—a series between two franchises who share the same arena, but distinctly different histories. If this wasn’t the Lakers and the Clippers, the focus would be on the goofy notion that neither team will leave their home court; they’ll just alternate locker rooms. The biggest thing either has to deal with is the change in the paint color scheme on the court.
Here’s what’s most troubling: who would get dibs on the front row seats, Jack Nicholson or Billy Crystal?—because Lord knows there isn’t room for both in Staples.
While the focus in this upcoming series should be on the Clippers, a Caddyshack like Cinderella story of the bumbling franchise that all of the sudden turned into a viable playoff contender (with Donald Sterling staring as Judge Smails)—it won’t be.
The Lakers are the most intriguing playoff story going, for two reasons: Phil Jackson and Kobe Bryant.
Though he’s tied with Red Auerbach with most NBA titles won by a coach, the knock on Phil Jackson has always been he had all the talent while winning titles with the Bulls and Lakers. And until recently, maybe that was true.
But after this impressive season-long coaching clinic, when will Phil get the recognition he deserves as Greatest Coach of All-Time? Because there’s nothing left now to discuss with his latest turn in L.A.—and maybe that’s why he came back. How do you top winning championships with Michael and Scottie, Shaq and Kobe? How about turning a team that everyone laughed at for two seasons and making them a Western Conference semi-finalist.
We should have seen this coming—shouldn’t have we assumed that Jackson would out-coach Mike D’Antoni?
Maybe this was Phil’s plan all along. Think about it: if you were Jackson, how would you go about winning games during the regular season in the West? Team ball? No way. Sure, maybe you can count on this collection of misfits to step up in the playoff spotlight like they have, but night after night, over the course of 82 games? Not a chance.
So you put the ball into the hands of one of the league’s most dynamic players and basically let him try to get the team into the playoffs. While Kobe’s doing his thing, Jackson was molding the likes of Lamar Odom, Luke Walton, Smush Parker and Kwame Brown into believing in their roles.
(Can you actually believe we’re talking about Kwame Brown and Luke Walton as a viable basketball players? Me neither.) One unmistakable fact about Jackson: he’s an excellent motivator and can sell basketball like Big Tom Callahan sold auto-parts.
Then, there’s Kobe. I remember watching Jordan’s “Flue-Game” against the Jazz in ’97 and the Game 6 winner over Russell in ’98, with a bunch of my friends. And it was…anti-climatic. We’d come to expect the 50 point games and last second heroics. He was Air Jordan for crying out loud.
But with Kobe, well, it’s unfair to compare him to Jordan, because he’s really not. He’s actually the anti-Jordan.
He wasn’t cut in seventh grade, his father wasn’t killed tragically and for all of his smiling, he doesn’t have Jordan’s off-court likeability (not to mention the whole Shaq divorce). Jordan was endearing because of those all his quirks. Bryant speaks multiple languages, has openly admitted to cheating on his wife and has an ego the size of Jackson’s Montana ranch getaway. Bryant is less than likeable because of these things.
So as Kobe hit the game tying lay-up and subsequent overtime winner, I was thoroughly impressed because unlike Jordan, everyone who isn’t a Laker fan is rooting for Kobe to miss those shots. Most of us want to see him fail because, frankly, we don’t like him as a person.
And that’s fine—we don’t have to like him. But we have to recognize what Bryant’s doing on the basketball court. In the past 86 games, he’s gone from selfish and self-serving, to 62 points in three quarters (where he was berated for not going for the non-Wilt record, to scoring 81 (where he was berated for actually doing it), to leading a group of players who wouldn’t see the court on most NBA rosters into the playoffs.
If there’s one Jordan comparison that works, maybe it’s this one: he massages his team mates’ confidence the same way MJ did. Did you see the way he talked to Parker after that game-tying lay-up?
And did you see the way his team mates mobbed him like Jimmy Chitwood after the Game 4 OT winner? They love him.
But somehow, we still don’t.
In a short five game span, Kobe’s played the role designed by his coach. He became a team leader and a team mate, making the Lakers into a fun-loving, all-for-one NCAA Tournament style playoff Cinderella.
And yet, we still discredit the performance. We still call him self-serving and egotistical. Make no mistake—he’s probably still all those things. But when will we start acting like the fictional Yankees fans did in For Love of the Game and just applaud this? A legend is forming in front of our eyes, but our dislike for Bryant’s personality blinds us.
After Game 4, a fan said that they hadn’t heard the Staples Center that loud since the 2000 Western Conference Finals comeback win over Portland. Sure, Smush Parker made a steal, Luke Walton forced a jump ball—but the success of this team can be credited to Phil and Kobe. They still haven’t won this series or anything else this year—and maybe they never will again.
With the way the NBA playoffs have started, what with the Clippers winning their first playoff game since 1993 and taking a 2-0 lead in it’s series over the Nuggets, we’ve started the playoffs a little differently than normal. In addition to that, the Pacers, Wizards and Lakers are all playing each of their series tight. It looks like we’ve got some crashers on our hands. And if you’re going to crash something, you’ve got to have rules—we learned that from Wedding Crashers last summer.
Using that as a guide, here’s a list of rules for prospective Playoff Crashers.
Rule #1—“Never leave a fellow crasher behind.”
Typically, the best two teams meet in the NBA Finals. It’s hard to crash the playoffs, only a few have taken it as far as John Beckwith did: in 1999 the Knicks were only the second team to beat a 1-seed as an 8-seed (the Nuggets were the first in 1994 over the Sonics). The Knicks made the Finals, but fell to the Spurs in five games.
The point of a playoff crasher is to get in and have your fun—but when other crashers start to fall, you usually bow out gracefully. Non-biased fans want to see the best teams in the Finals, kind of like the NCAA Tournament.
Rule #6—“Do not sit in the corner and sulk. It draws attention in a negative way. Draw attention to yourself—but on your own terms.”
So many teams oblige the higher seeds by bowing out early—usually by not playing very hard and then complaining about “officiating”. Here’s a note for these offenders: the officiating is terrible in the playoffs every year, in every sport—get used to it. Give us something we can use, an excuse like you were more focused on your college graduation ceremony or something.
A good Playoff Crasher will mold itself after some of the legends. The 1995 Rockets could be considered the Chazz Reingold of Playoff Crashers. That year the Rockets were defending champions (Sam Cassell, currently manning the Clippers, was the point guard on that team, too) but the sixth seed in the Western Conference. They beat the Jazz (60-22 overall) three games to two in the first round; then beat the Suns (59-23) four games to three and followed that up in the Western Finals by beating the Spurs (62-20 with league MVP David Robinson) in six games. They were 5-0 in elimination games that year. Rule #7—“Blend in by standing out” also applies here.
Rule #20—“The older the better, the younger the better.”
If you are a potential Playoff Crasher, it’s best to be a veteran laden team or have a key veteran player that knows what to do in certain key situations. As previously mentioned, Sam Cassell’s been to the playoffs with the Rockets, Nets, Timberwolves and Clippers. That’s the player I want leading a group of guys like Elton Brand, Shaun Livingston, Chris Wilcox and Chris Kaman—playoff first-timers who, without proper guidance and support, would be making vacation plans in a week.
Robert Horry is always a good luck charm and I’m convinced that some team will hire him as an assistant coach in a few years, just in case. These veterans are here to remind everyone else that it’s a long two months to the Larry O’Brien Trophy and they shouldn’t get so excited so early—like Sack Lodge was to go quail hunting; don’t be overly aggressive.
A young team—like the ’95 Orlando Magic—can also work as a Playoff Crasher under this rule. The Magic were built for speed and comfort. A young Shaquille O’Neal and Penny Hardaway, supplemented by 3-D (Dennis Scott) and Nick Anderson made a run through the Eastern Conferences Michael Jordan-less Bulls, Knicks and upstart Indiana Pacers. The Magic ran out, you could say, in the Finals. Orlando’s Nick Anderson couldn’t close out Game 1 from the foul line, and after missing four free throws, Kenny Smith of the Rockets hit a three and sent the game to overtime. Anderson and the Magic were never the same—he broke Rule #22 of Playoff Crashing: “You have regulation to seal the deal. Period. No overtime. ”
Rule #29—“Always be a team player. Everyone needs a little help now and again.”
This applies to everyone in the playoffs—even Kobe Bryant. Most superstars need a little bit of help from their friends. They need a Vince Vaughn’s Jeremy to play the role and take one for the team; be the big guy, the Babaganoosh. Michael had Scottie, but he also had a big shot from John Paxson or Steve Kerr. Clyde Drexler couldn’t do it alone against Jordan and the Bulls in ’92, but helped out Olajuwon in ’95 with the Rockets. David Robinson needed Tim Duncan. Everybody’s needed Robert Horry.
Rule #33—“Never go back your place”.
As a Playoff Crasher, this rule becomes vastly important as the playoffs go on. Don’t let it get to a seventh game against a team that should have already beaten you. They will do so in Game 7. The Pacers never learned this against the Bulls in the late 90’s. The Kings forgot it against the Lakers in the 2003 Western Finals. Once you’ve got a team down 3-1 or 3-2, you better close it out.
So, Playoff Crashers—those are the rules, break them and you’ll be outed at the reception. Good luck, and remember Rule #76—“No excuses. Play like a champion!”
I admit I love and miss the NBA of the 1980’s. Magic and the Lakers against Bird and the Celtics, along with Michael’s one-man show. Here we are, nearly twenty years removed from that time and the main gripe against the NBA is its lack of anything resembling the basketball most of its current fans grew up watching.
All is not lost. I think the NBA is slowly working its way back to that 80’s vibe, with star players like LeBron James, Kobe Bryant, Dwyane Wade and star-studded teams like the Pistons. With that in mind, here are some early playoff awards, a.k.a. ‘I Love the 80’s: NBA Playoffs 2006’.
The “I Wanna Be Sedated” Award to the possibility of Spurs-Pistons Part Deux.
Sure, the 'Stones and the Spurs are fundamentally sound and team oriented—that’s great, except it made for one of the most boring, un-exciting Finals in the past twenty-five years last season. The Finals were uglier and more frightening than the Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes era. With that in mind…
“Sweet Dreams Are Made of This” Award for Best Finals Match-up for fans and media to: Lakers-Cavs. With a match-up like this, the league and the fans would get exactly what they’ve longed for and the media would be able to write epic pieces about Kobe vs. LeBron. It would be a classic series between two superstars not seen truly since 1991's Magic vs. Michael. Hey, a guy can “dream” can’t he?
Suns-Nets would offer scores like 130-122 in OT. It’s the anti-2005 Finals. Just think of Jason Kidd against Steve Nash, the two best point guards (Chris Paul aside) in the NBA, going at each other. What would be the over/under on combined assists between the two of them? 30? 35? How about the amount of combined dunks from Shawn Marion and Vince Carter? J
ust a terrific potential series between two teams who run up and down the court like Steve Prefontaine--and have no interior presence what-so-ever.
Lakers-Heat—Why not just combine the 80’s and the present? Miami Vice meets Showtime. Riley vs. Jackson. Is there a need to even point out the massive ratings boost the Finals would receive if it were Shaq and the Heat against Kobe and the Lakers? New Shaq sidekick against old Shaq sidekick. East coast L.A. vs. West coast L.A. I’d even hire the ringside announcers from Rocky IV to call this series. I can hear them now, as Shaq and Kobe stare each other down following Luke Walton assuming the old role of Kurt Rambis and tackling Dwyane Wade: “ It’s a gutter war!” In fact, if I’m running ‘The Ocho’ one day, I’m putting them as my number two announcing team, right behind Cotton McKnight and Pepper Brooks.
If the NBA wants to go NCAA Tournament/George Mason Cinderella on us, we could have Clippers-Wizards in the Finals. What better story than two former pathetic teams that are young and energetic; who entertain and can score. Give Gilbert Arenas a national stage in order for everyone to see him as the Top 10 player he is. Picture, if you dare, Sam Cassell doing the ‘Giant Gonads’ dance after a big fourth quarter three. Now that’s fan-tastic.
“The Future’s So Bright, I Gotta Wear Shades” Award to LeBron James for Best New Artist.
On Saturday, I thought I saw a reincarnation of Magic Johnson and Michael Jordan in the body of one LeBron James. Never heard of him before, but apparently the kid can play basketball. He’s the first person since Bird or Magic that has an actual chance to average a triple-double at some point in his career. But these playoffs are really about his chance to make ‘The Jump’ to another level, that being success in the postseason. He handles the ball; he rebounds; he passes—oh, and he scores. The way he changes pace and his court vision are the primary reason that King James was able to drop a 32-11-11 triple double. With perspective, all it did was give the Cavs a 1-0 series lead against the Wiz, so this wasn’t Magic against the Sixers in the ’80 Finals—but it’s a great way to start. James also won the “You Can Do Magic” Award by the band America in a similar category.
The “Dancing With Myself” Award to Kobe Bryant in the Lakers-Suns Series.
As a Lakers fan, I’m dreading this series if Kobe doesn’t start being Kobe—like Kevin being forced to bunk with Wet-The-Bed-Cousin Fuller in Home Alone 2. This could go one of two ways—the Lakers are either getting blown out of the water or winning this series. Think about it: do you want to let Kobe get to a seventh game? Me neither. And why? Because he’s put up 39, 37, 51 and 43 against Phoenix this season.
But on Sunday, with the Lakers trailing throughout the game, keeping it close throughout, I was surprised to see Kobe defer to team mates Luke Walton and Lamar Odom—which hasn’t been done since those two were in college. C’mon Kobe, don’t think you’re fooling us—we all know you’re “Hungry Like The Wolf.”
The “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” Award to David Stern for the NBA’s outdated and useless playoff rules.
Stern rules the NBA with an iron fist not seen since Stalin. He’s certainly the supreme ruler of the NBA and we get that. But can someone explain to me why the playoff seeding formula is more difficult to figure out than the math equations from Good Will Hunting? The Clippers absolutely tank its last couple games, drop to the sixth seed, but host a playoff series against a divisional champ with a worse record? In the words of Dr. Evil, “Rrriiiigggghhhttt.” Ditch the division winner ranks ahead of regular season record stuff, pronto.
Plus, if the playoffs were any longer, we’d be staring at an end date of mid-July. Seriously, my daughter was in the womb for shorter than this—TNT's got 7 games in 7 weeks after the first round is over. One of the NBA’s worst moves with regard to the playoffs was making the first round a seven game series. There’s a lost sense of urgency in the 7-7-7-7 format. Theoretically, a team could play 28 playoff games—that’s not a playoff, that’s more than a third of the regular season.
The “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” Award to the Pistons for “most unlikely but likely happening” in the playoffs.
Simply put, the Pistons have gone over three full NBA seasons without losing one major starter or role player to injury. That’s over 300 games without being bitten by the injury bug (while benefiting heavily from an injury to Karl Malone in 2004 and Dywane Wade last year). Stuff like that doesn’t happen in the NBA for this long, so guess what? The basketball Gods seem to really enjoy music from the ’70’s. Their favorite song? Instant Karma, of course.
Coming off the massive disappointment of somehow missing out on National High Five Day on Thursday—yes, I went without knowing about it and without so much as a “low-five”—I’m in an interesting frame of mind. The weekend is upon us, I found out my wife is being induced to have our daughter next Thursday and the NBA playoffs are here, so I’m happy. But there’s nothing that will get me “riled” up more than Pat Riley.
For some strange reason (or multiple ones), I can’t stand the head coach of the Miami Heat.
This in itself is amazing, considering the Los Angeles Lakers are my favorite team; I still salivate over footage from the Showtime Lakers of the 80’s, of which Riley was the architect of.
In a way, Riley is everything 80’s—even still—from the suits, to the hair right down to the yuppie attitude.
After forcing out Stan Van Gundy (whom we haven’t heard from since he left the Heat and can now be presumed to be lost in the Bermuda Triangle), Riley took over as Heat coach on “an interim basis”. In January, he went went so far as to say he wouldn't coach past this year.
Look, I understand he was tending to his ailing mother—and I wish the Riley family the best—but you tell everyone your coaching back to coach through a spokesman, after indicating heavily back in December that it was most likely a short term gig, that you would look for someone long term?
The way Riles announced it reminds me of an episode of The Office. Steve Carell was trying to help Dwight prepare for a speech and he was explaining sometimes it’s not what you say, but when and how you say it. It prompted Dwight to announce to the office that Brad Pitt had been killed in a horrifying car accident. Softly, before leaving the room, he also said that the bonuses promised to everyone weren’t happening. No one asked about it, they all were too worried about Brad Pitt.
That’s how Riley did it, how he’s always done it, with trickery. It’s always been a magic act with Pat Riley. Don’t pay attention to the right hand while he’s doing something with the left. The Heat are on the verge of the playoffs, possibly their best chance to win a title ever. Riley was gone tending to family business, and Larry Brown was taking headlines for his disappearing act in New York, the MVP debate—boom—that’s when Riley gets us, a little one sentence blurb from a spokesman; “oh, yeah, um, I’ll be back next season.”
If you don’t believe this hasn’t been planned with extreme effort and caution, you’re sadly mistaken—and you’d be playing right into Riley’s hands. From the moment he realized Shaquille O’Neal was available in the summer of 2004, Riley wanted in. He wanted Shaq, and then he wanted the sideline. But you can’t do that all at once—it has to be planned.
Or you could be forgetting that Riley could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman in white gloves. He’s the ultimate motivator, the button pusher and 80’s yuppie. He’s the Gordon Gecko of coaching, and the NBA is his Wall Street.
He’s so good, he even convinced Stan the Man to smile and defend you as he quit. He even got Stan to disappear.
First, land Shaq, then, somewhere down the road; oust Van Gundy by using back channels with the players you brought in and the media to undermine his authority. Heck, float a rumor in the dead of summer, just to see what the reaction is.
Let yourself be quoted saying something like, “I may take a little bit more of an active, I think, participation in some of the things, but for the most part I’m content at doing what I’m doing.” Then, when the time presents itself, whisper in Van Gundy’s ear about “family” and “pressure”. For a top-off, act shocked that Van Gundy resigned. Five months later, announce your coming back for another season on the bench. It's masterful; it's brilliant.
If that’s not how it happened, he must have had some dirt on Stan being a double for Ron Jeremy, threatened to expose him and that was that.
See, Van Gundy was on the verge of making Riley obsolete; forgotten. In just two seasons as Heat head coach, Van Gundy had won 17 postseason games, 2nd all-time in Heat history to only Riley’s 18. His postseason and regular season win percentages, .605, are Miami’s best all-time. Riles can’t have that—he’s a legend, remember?
Now what I want to know is why doesn’t Riley just admit who he is and take a little credit for it—c’mon, it is impressive. Just tell us the truth, Riles, you know you want to. Maybe if you come clean about this scheme, you'll get some belated high fives.
UPDATE: Since this was posted, Pat Riley's mother has passed away. With deepest simpathies to him and his family, let me clarify this is not a personal attack on Riley during this difficult time, just my assessment of the way he's handled his position with the Heat.
