You can read my season 1 write-up here.
I want to first extend thanks to my many wonderful contributors, this season seeing my staff expanding from two to 13. I cannot express enough gratitude to our columnists, Jacob Mustafa, Connor Winn, Ben Heller, Eric Todd, and Shawn Grady, each without whom we would be at a loss; I want to thank the ever-illustrious Huay-Bing Law, a man whose expertly crafted nightly highlight compilations gave this blog something extra for which it had been in want in season 1; I would be remiss without mention of Ye Tao, our Chinese editor whose efforts to bridge the cultural divide and bring Chinese content to this space should not go without appreciation; I want to thank our talented cartoonists, Josh Frankel, Huy Mai, and Ms. Troy Palmer-Hughes, the latter for whom this page stands as a tribute to artistic ingenuity, each pixel of its artwork born from her pen. And last, yet absolutely not least, I want to thank Felix Cardona who fastidiously manned the chats even when all interest had been lost in a hopeless season. Red94 is a better place because of the aforementioned contributions.
I want to thank the Houston Rockets organization and the many wonderful people within whom I met this season at the Toyota Center. First and foremost, Jason Friedman, above all else a friend who made life that much easier for this wide-eyed blogger, teaching me the ropes of journalism; Nelson Luis and his staff for welcoming me into that sacred space of the NBA lockerroom despite my inexperience; Sam Hinke and Sachin Gupta for their willingness and cooperation in helping us find truth and reason.
I want to thank each and every one of you for your patience in what has been a trying year: it is no secret that I was not nearly as prolific as in the year prior with life circumstances eating into time already so preciously scarce. Despite those trials, through your encouragement we grew, adding game-night chats, a weekly podcast, The Ninetyfour Store, and the Ninetyfourums, the latter for which I hold renewed hopes with minor tweaks and greater team interest as we approach a newborn season.
Finally, of course, much thanks to ESPN without whom none of this would have even been possible.
***
Most significantly characteristic of the year was my credentialed entrance into the Rockets’ lockerroom, an experience still so resoundingly surreal; I’ll never forget my first time, a night I’ll take to the grave and a watershed moment for this blog.
I wisened up and bought a flipcam so I could be your eyes and ears and bring the lockeroom to you, capturing the emotions of the NBA post-game. It was not easy–here was my first ever interview, a train-wreck of sorts–but for your patience I remain forever indebted; I am a writer first but in those other lacking journalistic aspects I will improve for the sake of this page.
So again we look ahead with yet another strange season behind us, where hopes were dashed seemingly as soon as it began. Yao went down and so did the year, the promise of the playoffs fading to a distant fantasy. Carmelo did not come through that door, nor did anyone else, and reality set in that there would be no savior riding in upon horse; the Rockets were what they were and would deal with the hand they were dealt.
Yet from strange script, the Houston Rockets dug deep, as they are oft to do, dealing two mainstays and making a push, exciting our interests and bringing life to what had been dead on arrival. They coupled a frightening offense–the league’s best even for a certain time–with a surprising stinginess at the other end, thrusting themselves into the postseason chase. A star was born in Lowry, and a legend was cemented in Hayes, while youthful regulars in Patterson, Dragic, and Lee captivated us with their relentless zeal. T-Will got weirder, the team won without Luis, and no one still has a read on what is going on inside of Jordan Hill’s head. It all happened without Shane Battier, for five years the fountainhead of this franchise and a mind who I feel blessed to have probed.
Yes, again we look ahead, unknowing of the course. Never to such levels has uncertainty prevailed: Hasheem Thabeet stands as a beacon of hope; the coaching search continues and the quest for a star remains. Once more, we stand at the precipice of irrelevance, seizing for some sign for return to greater glory.
The story continues, now into season three, perhaps not thus far written as we would have liked. We endure together as it unfolds, seeking solace in common consternation. Once more, I thank you for your support and hope you will continue to read. In review, this is Rahat Huq, signing off for season two of Red94.
