Lots of people are talking about players’ rights versus owners’ rights, basketball being a business, winning is everything, and it all breaking down into an almost mechanical equation of loyalists of all varieties, arguing three sides to every story. Lebron this, Amare this, Chris Paul that. Kevin Durant. But there is something more to it, something primal, that on a base level, each of us implicitly realizes, no matter how many manufactured storylines are put forth by Stern, the Media, or the so-called reality television shows which are even now infesting this sport. It’s greatness. It’s that thing that makes one individual greater than the sum or so many before him that have tried and failed; it’s that which allows one to put his teammates on his shoulders and carry or push them through or over every obstacle to victory. It’s an intangible quality precious few possess.
Greatness is never given to you. It must be earned. You cannot be born into it without sacrifice, dedication, and effort. It cannot be handed to you on a silver platter. It must be uniquely yours, a what-some-would-call destiny forged through your sweat and tears: a combination of what is possible and what you will to be. Today, though, too many people, be they athletes, celebrities, or the well-to-do, have a sense of entitlement, like yesteryear’s aristocracy, that they were born special so they should have it all with little or no effort. Lebron James is the prototype of this societal model: before he had played a single game in the NBA he was called “King James.” Yet what’s to say then that he wouldn’t have been the Darko, the DeShawn Stevenson, or even Jermaine O’Neal? Who knew for sure that that 18-year-old would be a two-time MVP? Then? No one. Nevertheless, it was all given to him from day one, marketed to him, signed, sealed, and delivered to him. Even now, or at least up until “The Decision,” he still is (was) treated like aristocracy despite his anti-climatic disappointments the last two years. Having the best regular season record in the League only to flame out in the Playoffs? Let’s let the blame fall where it belongs: on the man who doesn’t have the heart of a champion.
So untouchable was James, before Wojnarowski roasted him, he was lionized despite his obvious faults. Look at ESPN’s free agency picture for him (above). The basketball falls behind his head like a too-low saint’s halo. Which intern broke through his or her boss’ blinders, and was like, dude, you have to lower the rock, people will think we’re trying to make him into Jesus. Who? ”King James,” the “Chosen One”? What? I know, hard to imagine elevating him with near-religious overtones. Fortunately, not everyone has fallen under his monumental shadow. There are those, who have always seen he just doesn’t have It. But is Chris Paul one of them?
Each and every time Lebron has had a chance to be a champion, he’s faltered. Every time he needed to show heart, he shrank from it. If it isn’t part of his billion-dollar plan, he’s not invested. And now, when there’s no one left to blame, when his team has generously spent well beyond the luxury tax, given him every free agent and trade they could, and even fired his coach and GM, Lebron finally realized it was all on him. So he ran. I’m not criticizing him for being a “new generation” player, or as someone one who wants to play with friends rather than see all others as the enemy, as someone in the modern free agency era exercising his contractual rights, or even as an force swinging the balance of power relations between players and owners and striking a hit against The Man; I simply submit that he looked greatness in the eye and blinked first. Not only that, he turned away, and walked the other way, head down.
The greatest among us, those who we should put forth as examples of what humanity can achieve don’t run from the hardest of obstacles: they smash through them. History is replete with such individuals, but being what this is, I’ll stay focused on basketball. Michael Jordan didn’t win a championship until his seventh year, as the media incessantlyreminded us for the first two rounds of the Playoffs last year, the (surprise!) seventh year of Lebron’s faux-reign. MJ didn’t run. He worked harder. He made it happen, he pushed himself to levels that maybe no other basketball player has reached. A few years later, Kobe Bryant had the good life with Shaq, and then it was all torn apart; egos got involved, Kobe made some questionable personal choices, struggled through both bad seasons and legal battles. Sure, he made trade demands, chided his team for not improving, and so maybe had some help in being forced to stay along for the ride, but in so doing so, proved all his critics wrong, defying all those who said he couldn’t play unselfishly, that he couldn’t play injured, couldn’t win without Shaq, or beat the Celtics. He overcame all that and now stands on the cusp of his sixth ring. Or Paul Pierce. He could never get over the edge with then-pal Antoine Walker, suffered several miserable years, was badly injured, and even, at one point, was stabbed eleven fucking times. Did Pierce quit, give up, or run? That’s not who he is. Pierce stayed in Boston and waited for his team to improve. Then, when the moment came, he seized it. People can talk about KG and Shuttleworth all they want, but anyone who watched those games three years ago knew that it was Pierce who had the soul of the winner, that it was Pierce who put them all on his shoulders and made them champions: highlighted penultimately by his epic Game 7 mortal combat finish with Lebron in the Eastern Conference Finals. With all three of these players, Jordan, Kobe, and Pierce, you can tell that they have It. That Something that makes them great. Lebron, for all his talent, doesn’t.
So where does that leave Chris Paul?
That’s the question isn’t it? When healthy, there’s no dispute, other than from a few disgruntled Jazz fans, that CP3 is the best lead guard in the League. Most would probably mark him down as a top-five NBA player. But is he just one more injury away from being Tracy McGrady? Is he a half-season of quitting away from being Vince Carter? Or is he more like Kobe, the man who withstood the challenges to his primacy from those two players, and who pulled up those around him to win two straight championships?
Some people say Chris is a punk, who’s mean, and plays dirty. Well, although few people other than Jeff Van Gundy said it at the time, it’s now generally acknowledged that Jordan was the same. There’s a fine line between dirty and using all your tricks to get every advantage. Ask Bruce Bowen about that. I think, like Mike, Chris toes that line and is such an uber-competitor that he will resort to anything to get the W. It’s what sets him apart.
Chris Paul does it all. He can score, he can control the ball, he can appropriate it from the careless, and he can distribute the rock with an uncanny floor vision: an inversion of the NBA-expected dominant big man. Most importantly, though, he’s always seemed to have It. When Lebron has the ball in the last minute of games, I see a man who believes he is entitled to hit the game winner. When I see Kobe do the same, I see death in his eyes: a man who wants to win more than he wants to score. There’s a crucial difference between the two. I see an intense look in Chris’ eyes at the ends of games. Anyone who watched the first home game against the Nuggets last year got it; months after one of the worst Playoff drubbings every, Chris took over and had his revenge. The man just would not be stopped. It’s that Something that lets him take over games and his made him a star. That edge earned him the nickname The Baby Faced Assassin. Or, as the Chinese call him, Small Cannon. Either way, the man is magic and will bring unparalleled talent no matter where he plays. Which brings us full circle.
Personally, I hope the place he finds his greatness is New Orleans. I hope that like Jordan, Kobe, and Pierce, Chris Paul decides to find his legacy within and not waste that efficacy by acquiescing to the myth that greatness can be found in aggregate desire. Is staying in Nola what Chris wants, though? Does he have the fortitude to lead his team to greatness? Is that what is written in his soul, or does he just want to play which a bunch of sure things and duke it out with other sure things, the city that he saved be damned? It’s what the Greeks would call an examination of Character.
One of the most moving moments in sports history is watching the high school game that Chris Paul dedicated to his grandfather. You can find a video of it if you look. It’ll send chills throughout you, even here in New Orleans in July. In tribute to his 61-year-old grandfather who had just been murdered, an emotional Chris swore he’d score 61 points in a high school game. That day, his will was supreme, and the words “obstacles” and “you cannot” held no meaning. When CP finally hit the last shot to reach that sublime 61, he fell to the floor in ecstatic relief, which, in itself, is a cathartic experience, even vicariously; but, then, to watch Chris go to the free throw line and intentionally miss his shots? It wasn’t about a scoring record or what college he’d get to play for the next year. It wasn’t about him. It was about a grandfather who had been his heart and soul. That, I have always believed, is the day the world learned Chris Paul’s character.
So what, Chris, do you think your grandfather would say about your association with LRMR? It’s not hard to see what they are. That them, Leon Rose, and Worldwide Wes are all trying to tell you what to do to be a “better” investment, a better “character.” But is that who you are? A follower? What happened to being the Savior of New Orleans? Wasn’t that good enough? Whatever you do, it should be you telling them how it is. We’ve seen your character. We know you can be great. But you have to actualize that greatness, and not self-abnegate it. With it, you can lead the Hornets to a championship. Without it, you’ll just be that guy who scored a lot of points, made a lot of money, and disappointed a lot of people.
Your choice.