There's a lesson here, for anyone looking hard enough to find it. But you'll have to look awfully hard, through all those layers of Shaquille O'Neal's fat and past Allen Iverson's selfishness. And you'll have to look with wisdom, careful not to be fooled by the two faces of Jason Kidd.
But if you can do all that, congratulations. You're smarter than the average NBA general manager, who would happily gut his team for the chance to add an NBA superstar.
|
|
| This might be the closest Jason Kidd got to Chris Paul the entire series. (Getty Images) |
Dallas Mavericks?
Denver Nuggets?
The three most disappointing teams in the 2008 NBA playoffs. The three teams who traded for the disgruntled superstar. See the connection? Is the lesson starting to seep in?
This postseason ought to be enough to jar NBA executives out of their favorite trade adage, which postulates thusly: In any trade, no matter how many teams and players are involved, find the biggest superstar in the deal and circle his new team. That's who won the trade.
That's the theory, but like so many theories -- Rome being invincible, Earth being flat, Bush being right -- it has crumbled under the weight of reality. Not to mention the weight of Shaquille's ass.
Here's the thing about an NBA superstar: Wherever he is, if he's miserable, he's part of the problem. Too much losing, not enough touches, not enough respect or attention or whatever ... he's not immune.
And whatever was wrong in one city, it will be wrong in the next.
There's concrete data here, people.
Allen Iverson was a loser in Philadelphia, and he's been a loser in Denver. Great player? No question. He's one of the most incredible individual talents ever. But he's a loser, the anti-Midas, and his toxic touch followed him to Denver, which disgraced itself in a first-round sweep by the Lakers. The Nuggets quit in that series, dissolving under the leadership -- such as it is -- of its selfish point guard. Iverson, Carmelo Anthony and J.R. Smith took turns going one-on-five, jacking up 214 shots while begrudgingly handing out just 33 assists in 412 combined minutes. Selfish is as selfish does, and Iverson is the most selfish superstar this league has ever seen.
Unsurprisingly, the 76ers have been better off without him. They were 5-12 (.294) when he forced the trade to Denver early last season, then went 30-35 (.462) the rest of that season and 40-42 (.488) this season. While Denver flamed out in four games in the 2008 playoffs, the 76ers are putting up a fight against Detroit.
Jason Kidd isn't selfish, at least not on the court. He's just old. He's the ultimate stat-sheet stuffer who impresses the naïve with triple-doubles while infuriating the initiated with his inability to defend. Dallas succumbed to the statistical spotlight, bringing in Kidd's playmaking in exchange for Devin Harris' play-stuffing. Before the trade, the Mavs were 35-18 and sailing toward the best record in the West. Afterward they were barely a .500 team (16-13) waiting to be blown out in the first round by New Orleans.
After whining and pouting and faking his migraines, Kidd got what he wanted -- out of New Jersey -- but nobody got more from the deal than the Hornets' Chris Paul. Given five games to attack Kidd, Paul averaged 24.6 points and 12 assists with a ridiculous 10-to-1 ratio of assists to turnovers. Six New Orleans regulars, Paul included, shot 50 percent or better from the floor. Kidd, meanwhile, averaged just 8.6 ppg and 6.8 apg and helped exactly none of his teammates shoot better than 47 percent.
With Shaquille O'Neal, the Suns got a mixture of Iverson and Kidd: selfish and old. O'Neal's selfishness is more subtle than Iverson's, but it's there. He contributed to the spectacular fall of the Miami Heat by being obstinate and out of shape, and his arrival triggered the equally awesome collapse of the Suns. Overnight Phoenix went from dynamic to stagnant -- and downright mediocre -- going from 37-16 (.698) without O'Neal to 19-15 (.559) with him.
O'Neal bogged down the Suns' offense with unseemly inefficiency, shooting 44 percent from the field and 50 percent from the foul line, and didn't do the one thing, the only thing, he was supposed to do: contain 32-year-old Tim Duncan. After a modest (for him) regular season, Duncan exploded on O'Neal for 24.8 points and 13.8 rebounds per game.
It's rarely worth it, the addition of a disgruntled superstar. Boston got it right with Kevin Garnett, but it's unfair to Garnett to compare him to Iverson, Kidd or O'Neal. While that trio of malcontents hijacked their former franchises, Garnett had to be talked into the trade that would send him to Boston. He wasn't thrilled in Minnesota, no, but Garnett wasn't interested in killing one team just to play for another.
Boston added a team guy, and look what happened: Boston has become a great team. Dallas, Phoenix and Denver? Losers, all three of them, and in the aftermath of their postseason flameouts, one coach has been fired and more might follow.
Don't blame the coach, you idiots. Blame the moaning megastar who infected his new team. And the general manager who willingly acquired the virus.