Bill Simmons, Grantland (5/10/13)
11. Blake Griffin
After winning three NCAA titles at UCLA, Sidney Wicks became memorable as an NBA player for four reasons: Portland drafted him no. 2 overall, then Wicks slowly morphed into the first we-used-to-love-him-now-we-hate-him Blazer (the first of many); along with Curtis Rowe and John Y. Brown, he's widely credited in Boston for briefly murdering Celtic Pride and nearly causing Red Auerbach to jump to the Knicks; and he had his butt famously kicked by Calvin Murphy, a legendary NBA fight because Wicks was ONE FOOT TALLER than him.10 I left this reason out: My mom thought Wicks was incredibly handsome and gushed that he looked like a black Omar Sharif. That I remember this all these years later tells you exactly how frightened I was that my least-favorite Celtic might become my stepfather someday. All in all, he's probably the sixth most memorable Sidney ever, trailing Sidney Poitier, Sidney Crosby, Sidney Lumet, Sydney Pollack and Sydney the Whore from Melrose Place.
But here's why Sidney Wicks stands out for NBA/history reasons …
He averaged 24.5 points as a rookie, then saw his scoring average drop every year for the next nine years until he retired. Do you realize how hard that is? You have to willingly become 7 percent worse every year for your entire career — it's like intentional atrophy. I don't know whether he's the Dave Stapleton of basketball, or Dave Stapleton was the Sidney Wicks of baseball. But that brings us to Blake Griffin … 24 years old, marketable, likable, wildly entertaining, one of the best five forwards in basketball, and one of the best in-game dunkers who ever lived. Should we be concerned by this Wicksian career arc?
Year 1: DNP (knee surgery)
Year 2: 22.5 PPG, 12.1 RPG, 3.8 APG, 51% FG, 64% FT, 16.8 FGA, 8.5 FTA, 1.3 stocks,11 21.9 PER
Year 3: 20.7 PPG, 10.9 RPG, 3.2 APG, 55% FG, 52% FT, 15.5 FGA, 7.1 FTA, 1.5 stocks, 23.4 PER
Year 4: 18.0 PPG, 8.3 RPG, 3.7 APG, 54% FG, 66% FT, 13.4 FGA, 5.3 FTA, 1.8 stocks, 22.4 PER
Yeeeeesh. What happened to his rebounding? (Great question.) Why isn't he getting to the line as much? (No clear answer.) Is he shooting more jumpers? (Quick look at HoopData says … nope.) Did he lose shots to Chris Paul and Jamal Crawford these past two years? (Probably.) And should we be worried that bigger power forwards can bully him down low, the way his archnemesis Z-Bo did in Round 1? (In all caps: YES.) What about Kirk Goldsberry breaking down Blake's offensive game by saying, "He's obviously great near the basket, but he's below-average everywhere else"? (A big fat YES.)
We always judged Blake on his preposterous potential — well, what happens if he already reached it? His outside shot hasn't improved in three years; opponents beg him to shoot it (especially in the playoffs). He can't affect games defensively with his athleticism like, say, Shawn Kemp in the mid-'90s. He isn't a good enough rebounder right now. He isn't big enough to be your small-ball 5, and he's not strong enough to handle bigger power forwards like Duncan and Z-Bo. He thrives in up-and-down, ABA-type games, but as soon as those games slow down (especially late), so does his effectiveness. And he's a never-ending injury risk because he plays so recklessly.
On the flip side — that's what we love about the guy. I have probably watched him in person 55 times at this point; he's the most fearless basketball player I've ever seen. You watch Blake Griffin the same way parents watch their 9-month-old child crawling around a house that hasn't been childproofed; you never feel safe, not for a second. Nobody wants anything to happen to Blake. That feeling lingers over the air in every Clippers game, especially because it's the Clippers, the most jinxed franchise in sports (see my 2009 "Curse of the Sacred Buffalo"). Stripping aside all the fanboy stuff, you're getting an 18-8 every night from someone who plays one end of the floor and treats every game like he's an X Games contestant. That's not a superstar. That's a star. Big difference.
And look, we're edging into the top 10 here. We're putting up the Superstar Rope in front of the Trade Value nightclub right now. Blake Griffin isn't good enough yet. You could rank him higher because he's the most popular Clipper ever, someone who earns his max contract from a popularity/interest/star power standpoint. And you could rank him lower because he's just not that valuable yet, and because his icy relationship with Chris Paul — if any coach who's even remotely competent the next coach can't heal it — is straying into "Him or Me" territory. We're getting there (as covered in Part 2 of last Friday's column). So we're splitting the difference and sticking him here.
8. Chris Paul
Three reasons he's not higher …
A. He's about to get paid $80 million to 100 million for five years by somebody, whether it's the Clippers, Mavericks, Rockets or Lakers.
B. He's missing the lateral meniscus in his right knee, which is a fancy way of saying, "His right knee no longer has the cushion that knees usually need to do all the things that knees do." Read this 2011 ClipsNation piece for all the dirty details; it includes fancy diagrams and everything. In year four of his next contract, he'll be 32 years old, with 12 NBA seasons on his odometer … and odds are, he'll be battling problems with that knee and playing in some degree of pain. Has to be mentioned.
C. Look, I'm one of the preachers at the Church of Chris Paul. He's the best point guard I've ever watched on a regular basis. I can't blame him for being saddled with an overmatched coach and two years of pieces that never totally fit. He did everything he could. But his personality isn't always … um … favorable? He's demanding and occasionally condescending. He has no problem undressing a teammate verbally in front of 18,000 people. He's always gesturing and telling teammates where to go and what to do, almost like an abrasive wedding planner. He's always playing angry. There were times during these past two postseasons, especially when things went wrong, that CP's body language basically said, "These guys suck — I'm gonna have to do this myself."
There's a subtle balance between "I have to trust my teammates and build up their confidence" and "We're gonna lose unless I take over" — something that Isiah Thomas mastered completely during Detroit's five-year run from 1987 to 1991 — that Chris Paul never totally found in New Orleans or Los Angeles. He might be this generation's Oscar Robertson — someone so demanding/intimidating/relentless that teammates practically cower around him. Well, Oscar never made the Finals until much later in his career, when he crossed paths with Kareem in Milwaukee. Should we read anything into the fact that, in eight years, Chris Paul has never played in a conference finals? Or that he's 16-24 in the playoffs? It's a fair question, right? For the life of me, I can't understand why Paul and Blake Griffin don't get along, or why two straight Clipper postseasons COMPLETELY self-combusted. Even factoring in the Vinny Del Negro Effect, it's still a little strange — you shouldn't keep self-combusting when you have one of the league's best players.
And again, we're in the top 10 and picking nits. Chris Paul is fantastic. I voted for him fourth for MVP this season. In Dallas, with Rick Carlisle and Dirk and Cuban and a bunch of carefully selected role players flanking him? I'm sure he'd be even more fantastic. But in Los Angeles, with another inevitably shaky coach, the Lob City mind-set and a totally dysfunctional organization? I'm not quite as sure. Throw in the missing meniscus and the Clippers' tortured history and he's eighth. You know, unless he jumps to the Lakers (see footnote).
NBA Trade Value, Part 3
