On the NBA: Damned When They Do

All prophets go mad, and with good reason. They’re basically given all of the worst parts of immortality by seeing the inevitable occur over and over. Given that, all of us with the ability to remember things (apologies to my amnesiac brothers and sisters) basically have our own moments of clairvoyance because we’ve recognized patterns and see history repeating itself. We either ignore the impending doom and soldier on or strive to redesign fate to suit our own expediences. For the sakes of all who aren’t fond of the weirdly Calvinist boredom of fate, let’s hope the Los Angeles Clippers and Minnesota Timberwolves are of the latter group because if they aren’t, Blake Griffin and Kevin Love may bring their respective messiah acts elsewhere by the time their true potential is reached.

This 2010-11 season has belonged to these two young men, and a greater youth movement league-wide, in a way that a season hasn’t been in a while. The longest streaks of consecutive double-doubles this season belong to Love and Griffin, respectively, unsurprising given the freakish desire to snatch rebounds that resides in both players’ eyes as soon as a shot goes up. Griffin has thoroughly soared his way through the first three months of his rookie season by simply existing in ways that no player ever has on an NBA basketball court. New parts of the air above the hardwood have been carved out by his extended limbs, essentially creating new parts of a basketball court every time he sees a ball sail near his proximity. Love’s game affixes itself to the ground more firmly, more firmly than any other player’s, as he boxes out every moving thing he physically can before perfectly timing a board and somehow also pours in more threes than any other big man (fours and fives) averaging more than six boards a game (unless Wilson Chandler counts, which he doesn’t). These two have been idiosyncratic and brilliant and mind-numbing and sloppy and transcendent and innovative and all of the other things that things can be. I’ve been grinning a lot while watching basketball this year because of them. But this ride, these redemption stories for two franchises completely saddled with cartoonishly terrible front-offices, seem as likely to be short-lived as it did unlikely to be this startlingly sublime.

No one would ever describe either Love or Griffin as dumb players. Misguided at times, overly enthusiastic, earnestly ambitious, bone-headed for moments? Probably. But both seem quite likable and intelligent, meaning they are probably both aware of the morasses in which they both find themselves half-drowned. Love has already complained about both the coach and management publicly if subtly, aware of the nutbars running the show that wouldn’t allow him to top 30 minutes a game earlier this year as he was already averaging 12 rebounds per game. Griffin doesn’t have to look very far to notice the (alleged) blubbering, miserly hatemonger of an owner the Clippers have yelling at Blake’s teammate about his weight in the middle of games. As great as these teams both look now, as fun and hope-filled as these three months have been, why would stars as bright as these deign these franchises worthy of their respective illumination? Clipper stardom has always led to doom (the ghosts of Danny Manning and Elton Brand probably camp out in Griffin’s locker), and Love’s only predecessor, one Kevin Garnett, found eternal happiness and harmony only after leaving Kevin McHale, Glen Taylor and Minnesota behind.

The real hope lies on the court for both of these teams. Because these two young squads are so abundant with the freakish-potential youth, maybe their constantly evolving cores of adolescents can turn into winners before these two get available. Gordon, Jordan, Aminu, Bledsoe and even Davis do look like the makings of an actual future, one in which actual progression can happen. That is, if everyone doesn’t take the first train out of town as always happens with the Clippers, the worst team in major American sports history. Blake Griffin could truly be the one for them, the star that made the franchise, but he could just as easily figure out that the gaping sore of a front office that represents his team has been mostly to blame for the past misfortunes, and the guys in it aren’t going anywhere, at least without some David Stern intervention.

Love has to have realized that the third star that his T-Wolves appear to be building around is a guy who may never play in America, much less for Minnesota. David Kahn has been the most hilarious, if not maybe the slightest bit genius, general manager in the league, generally not the description of the kind of man an NBA player would want in charge of his opportunities to win anything. Al Jefferson? Leave for nothing. Darko Milicic? 4 years for the new Webber! Ramon Sessions? No playing time, death knell for your confidence and a ticket out of town in return for 50 bucks! Just plain weirdness has been Kahn’s MO. Great for me to read and write about, likely miserable for which to play. Love’s already talked to guys on his Team USA squad with which he took home a gold medal from the World Championships about exiting to places with non-madmen in charge; David Kahn better hope that Michael Beasley’s ankles and mind are right and that Ricky Rubio just got tired of Spanish girls and national stardom. Otherwise, Love’s exit could happen in two years, where the qualifying offer won’t be nearly enough for Love’s services and some enterprising GM of a big city squad offers him the world (though who knows anything past the upcoming CBA).

Though it seems sweetly romantic that these two would reinvigorate organizations direly in need of the kind of press that comes along with winning as opposed to management idiocy, Love and Griffin are under no obligations to stick with franchise historically ruined by penurious, dumb-headed moves over and over. Not when the basketball gods can rip Brandon Roy, Yao Ming and Greg Oden from us after brief flirtations with greatness. Griffin’s already missed a year thanks to injury; he likely has no future plans to miss the playoffs again, evident in his play if not in his team’s record. Years wasted are years wasted, even more so at the beginnings of careers, and these talents are the kind that deserve to see their brilliance properly appreciated. Donald Sterling and David Kahn better hope they have it in them to get great with them.

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