Philosophizing on league-wide issues and offering previews of upcoming opponents, ‘On the NBA’ is our new general NBA column. Today’s feature looks at tonight’s opponent, the Washington Wizards. – Ed.
Though they probably shouldn’t, beards hold a lot of significance when it comes to impressions left on those in their mighty presences. A few strands, or a few hundred thousand strands, of hair on a man’s face can tell a small child if he or she should talk to this slovenly looking fellow or not. As Conan O’Brien has returned to late night television this week, his red face-coif delineated his freedom from the major network game (or he had a new demo to which to cater). Hell, American presidents can’t have them if continuing to be president holds any cache for them (although I’m a bit disappointed in the facial hair of all second-termers). While they may come in and out of fashion, the beard makes a somewhat purposeful statement about the wearer. When Gilbert Arenas sulked his way into Washington’s media day this year with his new facial attachment, his visage practically yelped, “Fun’s over.”
Arenas’ mug, as welcome a sight as it may be these days around the Verizon Center, once graced any piece of Wizards paraphernalia that could be bought; it now hides behind a mask of whiskers and dour impertinence, leaving us all to feel guilty and angry at the one-time-revered weirdo at once. His is a regret that can’t be fathomed; because of a really tasteless joke that got way out of hand, Gilbert Arenas has become persona non grata way before his behemoth contract would have ever made him so. David Stern put a gag order on Arenas and a moratorium on his personality, while the Wizards have simply tried to make him go away. After exhausting all options of voiding Arenas’ contract (Gil did almost give Washington the biggest “free do-over” card in NBA history), the Wiz have done something far more important in the process of eliminating Arenas from the public conscience: they have replaced him. And the new guy? He is quite good.
While Arenas’ face may carry the baggage of his grief with him as he trudges along the sidelines, the only thing John Wall’s mug leaves on anyone else’s is a grin. The kid plays big, thinks big and smiles big. He’s not just “the new”; he is THAT new, the one who will bring balance to the Force and save the cheerleader and make us all smile while doing it. Wall had brought the team all it lacked before he took a step on that shiny NBA hardwood: an excited fanbase, renewed media attention and, quite simply, a future (something that was missing in even the Gil/Butler/Jamison era). His presence can not receive enough plaudits or horns trumpeting the arrival of the one for which they’ve been waiting, the new face of the team. But the thing is that he didn’t replace Gilbert Arenas, per se, because when things are replaced, they usually don’t share the backcourt with their replacements.
As rousing as the narrative of Wall the Savior coming to spread the good news of fast breaks and everlasting fan happiness is, the idea of the attitude that Arenas (and less-notable-only-because-his-carerr-is-over “veteran leader” Josh Howard, a man whose story may be ending more tragically than Gil’s. And do not be mistaken, it is ending) leaves swirling around him somehow seeping into Wall’s headspace feels just as worrisome. Though I am not a man who believes in uninhibited osmosis of players’ identities when on the same squad, no one can deny that Gilbert Arenas will be able to get John Wall’s attention. Likely, the exuberant rookie has a soft spot for the Man with the Beard Claiming to be Gilbert Arenas developed from years of seeing the Hibachi light up the fireworks and release the streamers; at worst, Wall thinks of him as an eccentric worthy of taking life lessons in how not to act.
All offseason, the Wizards have made quite public the team’s wishes to deal the former franchise player, but the league knows that Arenas isn’t just a bad apple in need of a soft touch (or month with Larry Brown); he’s also got just about the biggest clunker of a contract in the NBA, a fact that made Arenas non-tradeable long before Crittenton-Gate. Short of an armed robbery between road games to give the Wiz’s lawyers more leverage on voiding the deal, Gilbert Arenas will be a Washington Wizard for the foreseeable future (Ugh; “For the foreseeable future” sounds like the worst Kinks song ever). Which means he will be a teammate, and likely starting backcourt pal, of John Wall’s for what will be the formative years in the youthful superstar’s NBA life, a fact Ted Leonsis cannot like. And the beginning of the John Wall Show with Gilbert Arena’s Basketball Corpse has not been roses or daisies or any other flower that suggests satisfaction. No, Gil’s already faked an injury, gotten fined and gotten a real injury, with all that nonsense taking place before a single NBA game that counted could be played. Despite the new non-character character Gil attempts to project, he still wants and misses all of it. Yes, the money and adulation were nice, but don’t forget: we understood Gil, or at least fell in love with whatever the hell he was. Unlike “freaks” like Rodman and Artest who can only find public redemption in rings, Arenas had made us love him for what he was, and as anti-thetical as this pop psychology should be to me, that seemed to mean a great deal to Agent Cero. Sans contrition, though, Gilbert Arenas does not find an understanding crowd when he enters the Verizon Center anymore. Nobody wants to see him win just because he’s Gil (so we have to love him) any longer; the crowd doesn’t hate him, either. It just wants to see John Wall.
Yes, Wall may be the most enticing thing to ever wear a Washington jersey, so it seems only natural that the joy he exudes would make Wizards fans forgive and forget all past transgressions of the franchise. The kid looks like not only the biggest thing the Wizards have ever seen; he looks like the messiah of the present-day “point god” era, a conflagration of every great point guard who came before with just a touch of sledgehammer-like force in the air for good measure. He can’t help but make us forget about Gilbert. Why wouldn’t Wall? He offers the only hope that matters, the kind that Gilbert never could bring: the salvation of winning.
