You be you. Through training camp and the first six weeks of the season, that was the unofficial mantra of the Oklahoma City Thunder, or at least its three headliners, Russell Westbrook, Paul George and Anthony. Whenever a problem arose with the Thunder's offense, and there were many, one of the three would tell another, "You be you." It sounded cordial, even magnanimous, and it was delivered in a conciliatory, we're-all-good-here kind of way. But as far as solutions go, it was pretty thin. What it lacked in specificity it made up for in confusion.
By Dec. 1, it was clear you be you wasn't working. The Thunder were 8-12 and ranked 24th in the NBA in offense. This grand and unexpected experiment -- the trades for George from Indiana and Anthony from New York to team with the NBA MVP Westbrook -- was in danger of collapsing under the weight of everyone being themselves. You be you meant nobody was really anybody, and it was obvious that somebody needed to be someone else.
"I think starting the year by letting them work through some things was the way to go," says Thunder coach Billy Donovan. "I wanted to see how some of this stuff played out. Well, everybody being them wasn't going to work. 'You just be you, you be you, you be you' -- no, it just wasn't going to work. Russell is this great transitional player. Paul is so great at flowing, cutting, moving. And sometimes Carmelo wants to say, 'Let's slow it down; let's grind in the half court.' Well, we can't come down and say, 'OK, let's run and cut and move, and let's get out on the break, and let's slow it down.' It can't happen."
It was natural for the revamped Thunder to need some time to process and adapt. During a training-camp news conference, general manager Sam Presti, with his trademark loftiness, said, "The vision for our team and the way we've gone about our business has always been to see things for what they can be, not for what they are." They were built for June, for one seven-game series after another, with a tightened court and a shorter rotation and a predictable succession of days off. But at 8-12, with the season threatening to dissolve into an indecipherable and sclerotic mess -- one night a blowout loss to the Mavericks, another a rousing win over the Warriors -- Anthony approached Donovan after a practice and asked to talk.
Carmelo opened with a question:
What do you need from me?
[...]
What do you need from me?
Donovan absorbed the question -- one he couldn't have been expecting -- and thought it over. He tends to give long, involved and enlightening answers that often include "So, to answer your question ..." somewhere around the midpoint. His eyes narrow as he goes, and the lines in his forehead deepen as he makes his point. He is almost never glib.
What do I need?
Well, here goes.
"Carmelo," he said, "I think for our team, we're going to need you to fill a role. You're going to have to stretch the floor, and you're going to have to recognize mismatches. We're going to need to create space for Russ and Paul to play downhill and be creators for us. There might be times when you go four or five or six possessions and you don't get the ball. You might get missed on the break. Those are all adjustments, but we can't be the full team we're capable of being unless you're playing well."
Never in his career -- not in his eight years in Denver nor his seven in New York -- had Anthony been open to the idea of reducing or even altering his role. But as Donovan spoke, he nodded along and said, "OK, Coach. I've got it."
Without saying it, Donovan was asking him to be Olympic Melo, the guy who holds nearly every offensive record for Team USA and is the only men's player with three gold medals. Will Donovan get that guy? Again, it's complicated. In the Olympics, playing against inferior competition and with the world's best players, Anthony was willing to sublimate his ego, and his isolation game, for the greater good. But NBA coaches have pined for Olympic Melo before, notably Mike D'Antoni, who created the Olympic offense that created Olympic Melo, only to watch his tenure as Knicks coach end after he and Anthony clashed over the deployment of that very same offense.
"I had to tell myself, 'OK, this is different,'" Anthony says. "Russ did things his way here. Paul did things his way in Indiana. I did things my way in New York. We were all solo artists. So now the question is, how do you bring your solo artistry to this band? We all bring something different to this band. I think once we realized and appreciated what we bring to this band, that's when things started to click for us.
"The hard part is adjusting to having this opportunity. You have to sacrifice and change your game for the sake of what works for this team. Early on, it was like, 'Damn, it's not going to be the same game no more.' I had to get a grip on that and realize it's for the better. It took a little bit for me to understand -- 'Oh, wow, we've got Russ, Paul, Steve. I got guys now.' Takes a lot off me. Takes the burden off me to go out there and have to be a superhero night in and night out."
The conversation with Donovan allowed Anthony to voice what was already growing inside him: He would be the one who would try to be somebody else. He had agreed with everything Donovan said. He had nodded along when his coach told him he needed to cut down the isolation plays and keep the ball moving and shoot more 3s. He kept reminding himself: I've got guys now. Without saying the words, he said he would make every effort to bring Olympic Melo to OKC.
The next day, Anthony called Westbrook and George together and told them the new plan. "I'm gonna accept this role," he told them. "Until we accept that things are going to be different, we're just going to be this average team."
Presti and Donovan are quite lucky that they're in a very small media market with local media mostly avoiding criticizing them. Players having to ask for coaching 20 games into the season and basically coaching themselves in the weeks prior would get guys slaughtered in other markets.