Big men don’t sell shoes, and they don’t make for very good narratives unless they’ve spent the entirety of their careers philandering with 20,000 women or tweeting while conducting an orchestra. Since Mike shifted our paradigm and forced the NBA fan to look outside of the paint for the game’s finest, the brilliant pivot has found himself an afterthought regardless of his obvious merits, leaving our Tim Duncans and Yao Mings to have only their trophies and statistics to remind themselves of their greatness as the YouTubers continue to wonder why J.R. Smith can’t put it together and be a star. Perhaps the rule changes by the NBA have led the centers and fours to become less risky and aggressive, knowing that better chances for free throws and high-percentage shots await a guard charging toward the bucket with a head full of steam. The common pro basketball populace might have just gotten tired of seeing these lanky giants use their superior size to finagle their way into points that seem less earned than the physical impossibilities being heaved up by the likes of Carmelo Anthony and Kobe Bryant. Maybe all of the cranky old men have it right, and these big punks just don’t pass muster when compared to the canonical greats of this sport. Whatever the case, the era of big man not only has passed but still lingers around in spirit so as to harm the cases of those young titans trying to prove their own worthiness, such as one young should-be MVP candidate, Dwight Howard.
Howard’s stardom has always been relegated to some sub-standard form of greatness, a jangling parade of praise dragged down by the endless caveats strung to his feet by his litany of critics. He has no post moves; he just jumps high. He’s a hypocritical Bible-thumper who would always find his niche but never could make the league his own. Well, until he has; this year, Howard boasts some of basketball’s most impressive numbers along with an actual game that’s evolution can be seen in every nuance, every shift of angle that the skinny-legged Adonis has picked up in the L. Advanced statistics make Orlando’s paragon the obvious choice for the game’s best two-way player, as he ranks second in the NBA in PER, eFG% and individual Defensive Rating, first in Defensive Win Shares and WS/48 while placing his team at third in the league in Defensive Rating even after his GM Otis Smith shipped out his best defensive teammates for those models of effort and hustle, Hedo Turkoglu and Gilbert Arenas. For lack of better phrases, Dwight Howard is having what we usually call an MVP season, yet his name has only been bandied about as it always has: as a marginal choice, one that deserves to be considered but not actually rewarded. And whom have we writers deemed the favorite for that most coveted and irrational of regular season prizes? None other than everyone’s new favorite player, Derrick Rose.
And why wouldn’t the springboard-footed blur of a human be the league’s favorite? Rose does everything fans expect from a superstar: he attacks the basket with both ease and gusto, does marvelous things when his shots become contested and wears a Chicago Bulls uniform. That’s basically all we want; the problem, though, is all we want shouldn’t be confused with all we need. Maybe it’s a bit self-important (for both me and the NBA) to make the MVP some sort of referendum on how NBA fans should appreciate the game, but an award predicated on choosing the league’s best player for a year (though I don’t know that anyone’s actually sure about what an MVP is supposed to be) probably should not go to the guy whom we have all decided we like the most (unless he’s the best player. I need to catch my breath from all of this parenthetical writing, though). Rose’s MVP push, as strange as it may seem, recalls not the run by Chris Paul in 2008, but rather Nash’s two wins in which he was given credit for essentially everything that happened in a Phoenix Suns game, constantly spurring the question of, “Where would they be without him?” for supporters. Regardless of the actual numbers trying to clarify where exactly the Bulls would be without Rose, the bigger problem with that line of argument in favor of the Bulls’ young gun has to be that the Bulls have risen to the top of the Eastern Conference standings through stifling, passionate defense which, unlike Nash and the Suns’ offense, are spearheaded by the play of the Chicago point guard. This does not even imply that Rose’s defensive abilities are sub-par (he’s actually improving, and even as he fails to position himself correctly or sells out for a huge swipe at the ball, Rose consistently has shown effort on the defensive end this year), but instead disproves the supposition that because the Bulls’ roster is not filled with names that most casual roundball observers know or care about that Rose must be doing all the heavy lifting.
And down in Orlando, that is all Dwight’s doing these days: heavy lifting. After a night gushing with three-pointers and heady perimeter defense that led to a huge comeback victory for the Magic, maybe Howard’s contributions will be marginalized, as they always are. Even with 18 boards and five blocks. I don’t blame the fans as I’m easily guilty of the same. A week or so ago, I saw a Howard line of 31 points and 17 rebounds and didn’t blink; it’s just what he does. But simply because we’ve gotten used to greatness does not excuse our willful ignorance of it. Because, for once, these big guys just don’t get enough respect.
