NBA Shooting Stars: A Celebration of Careers Derailed by Injury

Numerous pundits were riding high on the Chicago Bulls before the season began. With Derrick Rose sidelined with sprained ankles, it got me thinking: who are the best and most dominant NBA players who've had a career cut short by injury? This is a difficult question because I'm not after the most gruesome NBA injuries or careers cut short by injury. I'm not after tragedy either. The players listed below had to have serious highs couple with serious and even abrupt lows. Also, make sure you read past the #1 slot because there is a lot more to this than click-bait.

If you'll note, this trio was so good, that they actually went on to have lengthy careers (and some are in the Hall of Fame!). My primary purpose here is not to start a debate about who had the worst injury. Rather, I am celebrating NBA players who had a few seasons of absolute dominance only to have it taken away by injury and father time. Part of my goal is to examine those seasons to show just how good these players were.

Notable omissions: Yao Ming, Tracy McGrady, Derrick Rose, Chris Webber, Bill Walton (sorta, kinda, still undecided but my dad loathes him)

4. Larry Bird.

Bear with me because it's strange to make the case that Bird was a shooting star.

When my dad watched Larry Bird, he would say, "Best Pure Shooter." The reason I capitalize that phrase is that my dad always said the last thing to go on a baller is his shot. Bird could still shot even when he back was destroying the nerves in legs. People forget that Bird played his statistically best season at the age of 31 (1987-8). They overlook this season because the Detroit Bad Boys took out the Celtics that year in the postseason. Yet, people also don't realize that Bird only played four more seasons after that. In fact, he was never the same. His PPG dropped by ten after the 87-88 season.

The beauty of Larry Bird is that Bird might have gone down as even BETTER without all his injuries (back, bone spurs, etc).  We forget that if Bird had played his entire career without injury, he might--MIGHT--have the title of GOAT (greatest of all time). But we'll never know, although you have to admit that this is hilarious.

3. Bob McAdoo.

Before you say, "He's a hall of famer!" look at these statistics (ppg/rpg/bpg/mpg):

Season 1973-4: 30.6/15.1/3.3/43
Season 1974-5: 34.5/14.1/2.1/34.2
Season 1975-6: 31.1/12.4/2.1/42.7

Even in the 1970's era of inflated NBA statistics and the arrival of a culture of dunking, McAdoo's seasons stand out. He even won the MVP in his career twice. If he'd been able to stay healthy, my dad told me McAdoo would have been on the NBA's Mt. Rushmore. The man could ball.


2. Pete Maravich.

My dad watched Pistol Pete (actually my dad watched most NBA players from the 70s and early 80s because the NBA wasn't all that popular--tickets were cheap! My dad walked up gates and bought tickets to the 1983 FINALS for $10). I know people over the age of 50 who use Pistol Pete's name as an internet password. There was something mystical about him, especially because you didn't see a whole lot of him on television. Yes, he shot a lot. But he was considered the best ball handler, by those who watched him, to play the game.

He also fell apart because of knee injuries (and had a tragic death too). But I wish we could have more videos like this.

1. Grant Hill.

The man was so good that he only recently retired. The problem is that once he injured that ankle of his, he could only go in one direction and couldn't recapture the symphonic energy of his early career. It's hard to remember that once upon a time, people were arguing Grant Hill could be better than Jordan. My dad used to coach me to play like Grant Hill. If you can't remember Hill's young years, look at these stats:

Grant Hill: Seasons 2-7

Those are insane stats. Look at them...they're almost Russell-esque. He was a monster; if we saw those stats today, we'd probably talk about this player being in the same realm as LeBron (and it actually makes you appreciate LeBron more).

Then, if you remember, Grant Hill fell off the face of the earth. But for those six years, beginning after his rookie year, he was a force that made you want to drink Sprite.

***

But let's say something about all of these players and the other injured-great-ones: basketball is a brutal sport in terms of torque. All the stopping and starting slowly grinds you down, a little bit at a time. It happened to Bird, Jordan, Shaq, Wade, Kobe, and many others. All sports pulverize you. As Bill Simmons writes, "Only three things could derail [someone's] talent: a major injury, circumstances, and bad luck." We are constantly barraged by the media developing new hall-of-famers and announcing the next big thing. Sometimes it helps to remember that there are so many good basketball players that buzzfeed-type articles like the one above don't do the players justice.

Sometimes it's better to take it slow and carefully watch the games, one at a time, just to make sure you're enjoying the transcendental game of basketball. There are so many amazing players, even if they're just shooting stars: lasting only moments over the course of history.

And so that's what brings me to my last point about shooting stars: my dad loves basketball and that's why I started this blog. It's why I mentioned him when I talk about each great NBA player. He's never liked the way the media trashes basketball players and plays. He always says, "If you're playing basketball in the NBA, you're just that damn good."

So here's to all those injury ballers: you're good. Don't forget it. 

Imagining the NBA without Tim Duncan

In 1989, Tim Duncan was not a basketball player. It took Hurricane Hugo to force him into another sport—and inaugurate a radically altered NBA less than a decade later. That’s right: if not for Hurricane Hugo, we might have a fundamentally different Big Fundamental (Duncan’s nickname).

In 1989, Duncan was a promising young swimmer. Growing up on the Virgin Islands, he was a 13-year-old swimmer who specialized in the 50-, 100- and 400-meter freestyle events. Hurricane Hugo ravaged the Virgin Islands, including its only Olympic-sized swimming pool. Frustrated, Duncan had a choice: either practice in the ocean or find another sport. His fear of sharks led Duncan to abandon swimming in favor of basketball. Duncan’s mother passed away the day before his 14^th birthday and he started using the basketball hoop his sister sent to him as a present. In 1993, he enrolled at Wake Forest and essentially owned college basketball for four years. He completed his degree, in psychology, too! Sometimes I think being a psych major led him to develop this famous deadpan* look.

*SIDENOTE: one of the best things about Duncan is his deadpan look. He looks a little like he’s brain dead but actually he’s listening intently. I read somewhere that in school, professors used to think he wasn’t paying attention to lectures but then he’d ace the tests. Greg Popovich has said similar things about Duncan: when Duncan listens, he gets a glazed over look on his face. I saw that look on his face in the early 2000s when a reporter interviewed him after a regular season game. The reporter asked what Duncan did in the offseason for fun. With the same deadpan look, Duncan glanced at the reporter and said, “Play basketball.” She chuckled but Duncan just walked away. I remember laughing hysterically.

We know the rest. The Spurs drafted him after David Robinson sat out in 1997. Duncan went on to become the greatest basketball player between 1999 and 2009(with much deference to Kobe, LeBron, Shaq, and Wade). Seriously, if you had a starting five all-time, Tim Duncan would be your 4. There isn’t another power forward better than Duncan and there are only about four centers better than him (alphabetical order: Hakeem, Kareem, Russell, and Shaq; you might also throw in Moses Malone but he was a head case). Duncan is, without a doubt, one of the best players in the history of NBA and NCAA basketball. 

So let’s do a thought experiment, all in good fun: what would have happened if Hurricane Hugo hadn’t hit the Virgin Islands. What if? First, let’s consider Tim Duncan’s career before we consider the Duncan-less NBA. Duncan ends up practicing year round because the Virgin Islands are warm year round. Eventually, he ends up getting a scholarship for swimming from Auburn, Texas, or another ridiculously good swimming school. He finishes his degree (in psychology so he can still do that deadpan look) and competes in the 2000 Olympics. Back then, the best swimmer in the world was Ian Thorpe, but for funsies let’s say that Duncan wins gold* in the 200- and 400-meter freestyle. This isn’t such a stretch because Duncan has size 16 feet and is 6’11” and might have actually be built like Michael Phelps. He might have been washed up by the 2004 Olympics in Athens because he would have been 28, which is old in swimmer years. But probably—given his work ethic that we’ve seen for more than a decade—he’d have reinvented himself and won a few medals. Let’s say he’d have taken Phelps’ spot for the US in the 400 freestyle and so he wins bronze (much like Phelps did in 2004). Duncan doesn’t earn any endorsements and retires back to the Virgin Islands where he ends up playing videogames and swimming because that’s the kind of guy he is. So Tim Duncan the swimmer wins a few medals and retires to teaching swim lessons because there has only ever been one millionaire swimmer and his name is Michael Phelps.

*SIDENOTE: again, could you imagine that glazed over look when Duncan stood on the Olympic podiums? Bravo, imaginary Tim Duncan.

Now, what about the NBA? This thought experiment gets a bit absurd, especially to the extent to which I’m going to take it. Duncan had an impact on everything. There is the 1997 draft, David Robinson, the San Antonio titles in 1999, 2003, 2005, 2007, and 2014, the Lakers, the Detroit Pistons, the very culture of the NBA, and of course LeBron James. Again, this is going to get a little absurd but it’s fun.

The 1997 Draft. Everyone just moves up a slot but this will have serious implications. Without Duncan, the Spurs take Keith Van Horn #1 overall. Philly takes Chauncey Billups (#3 to #2), and the Warriors get Tracy McGrady, who moves up from #9 to #8. No else in that draft mattered. Seriously. So what happens with these guys? Philly still wants to trade Billups (like they did Van Horn) but can’t because the Nets already have Starbury and don’t need a point guard. So they keep Billups and combine him with Iverson. We’ll return to that in a little bit. Tracy McGrady flourishes for a bad team in Oakland and ends up signing with the Orlando Magic. His career ends up the same.

David Robinson and San Antonio’s Titles. Do the Spurs win any titles without Duncan? I don’t think they’d win anything after 1999, but David Robinson might have taken the Spurs all the way during the shortened season of 1998-9. Having drafted Keith Van Horn, San Antonio is much the same in this imagined scenario as it was in reality. In reality and in our imagination, San Antonio was ridiculously good and lost only one game in the Western conference (to a Minnesota Timberwolves team lead by a 21-year-old Kevin Garnett). Plus, the Bulls left a power void, meaning the 8^th seeded Knicks got all the way to the NBA finals. San Antonio beat the Knicks 4-2. For the sake of brevity, let’s say the Knicks took them to Game 7 but Ewing traveled in the waning seconds to give David Robinson his first and only title. Spike Lee explodes with rage. But that’s the end of the titles because Keith Van Horn falls off the face of the earth due to injuries.

The Lakers. Now we’re getting somewhere. They are a genuine dynasty for two reasons: no Tim Duncan and Billups is wallowing away in Philly. In 2003, the Lakers lost to the Spurs in 6 games in the first round. Without Duncan, the Kobe-Shaq combo wins over the Van Horn/Robinson combo. The Lakers win the whole thing, especially because the Nets are terrible without Van Horn. David Robinson retires and Van Horn continues to waste his immense amount of talent. The Spurs miss the playoffs in 2004. But wait, Lakers haters, it gets worse.

Karl Malone gets a ring because, with Billups wallowing in Philly, the Pistons can’t make it through the East. Ben Wallace and Rasheed Wallace take the Pistons-Pacers series to seven games, but Reggie scores 51 in game seven on 10-14 three-point shooting (in reality, the Pacers lost in six games). Miller’s Pacers get back to the Finals, only to lose in heart-breaking fashion in seven games. Spike Lee explodes with joy. Robert Horry still manages to get seven damn rings! Lakers win 5 titles in a row. That’s right, the Lakers have won 5 in row in the Duncan-less NBA. Shaq never goes to Miami because, well, why would he? Five titles in a row, no one is going to leave that team. So the dynasty stays together. However, Shaq arrives in the 2005 training camp weighing roughly 500 lbs because he’s so full of himself. So here we are:

Year                In reality:                   The Duncan-less NBA

1999               Spurs                          Spurs

2000               Lakers                         Lakers

2001               Lakers                         Lakers

2002               Lakers                         Lakers

2003               Spurs                          Lakers

2004               Pistons                        Lakers

2005               Spurs                          Phoenix (we’ll get to it!)

Of course, all good things come to an end. In 2005, the Kobe-Shaq feud is still brewing to the point that Miami trades for Shaq mid-season but doesn’t get the haul that it did in reality, so Odom stays in Miami. Miami manages to beat the Pistons because they have Odom and Billups is still in Philly. But Miami doesn’t face the Spurs because without Duncan and a newly retired David Robinson, the Spurs don’t make the playoffs in 2004. (So who did they draft? They draft Dwight Howard, who ends up teaming with Manu Ginobili and Tony Parker. Chaos I tell you!) So who did the Miami Heat face in the 2005 NBA Finals?

Phoenix. In reality, the Phoenix Suns lost to the Spurs in 2005, 4-1. But without Duncan, Phoenix’s run-and-gun offense decimates everyone. The combination of Malone-Kobe-Payton-Fisher-Devean George (seriously people, this is ridiculous) takes Phoenix to seven games, but Amare scores 48 and Shawn Marion scores 37 in Game 7. Joe Johnson nails 10 threes. Steve Nash sets the record for assists in a game with 36, breaking Scott Skiles’ record of 30 assists set in 1990. The Lakers are finally dethroned after being ignited by the best offensive game we ever saw. Phoenix wins 168-155. Kobe scores 79 but we don’t remember it. So that brings us to…

The 2005 NBA Finals. This is an epic battle because neither team bothers to play any defense. It also inaugurates a new era of basketball. If you remember the real 2005 Finals: it was such a defensive battle that only once did a team score above 100 points (Pistons, game 5, and they blew the doors off the Spurs, 102- 71). But in our imagined Duncan-less NBA, the Miami-Phoenix series has a completely different feel. Collectively, the Heat-Suns average nearly 250 points per game! Ultimately, Phoenix prevails because Quentin Richardson, Amare, Shawn Marion, Joe Johnson, and Nash can’t be stopped. Leandro Barbosa was on that team too, FYI. Shaq wins the MVP in a shocking turn of events, however, after he averaged 50 ppg in the Finals. The only problem is that Stan Van Gundy hasn’t fully integrated Shaq into the team’s playbook and Miami can’t pull it out the win. Phoenix wins in seven games. Game 7 is 178-165, Suns. Nash has 40 assists in the game. But something magical happens….

NBA culture. Without the Tim Duncan 2005 NBA Finals, the entire culture of the basketball is changed by the 2005 Miami-Phoenix Finals. The television ratings are through the roof, which allows David Stern to change the rules to favor offense the likes of which have never been seen. Miami and Phoenix meet again (in reality, Phoenix lost to Dallas, who then lost to Miami) because the rules are now in such favor for offense that Amare and Shawn Marion both average 25 ppg, with Joe Johnson averaging 21.5 ppg. Nash averages 9 ppg but 14 apg. Phoenix wins the title, again in seven games. Nash wins the Finals MVP, averaging 30 apg in the Finals, to go along with his regular season MVP.  A new league style is implemented: no defense and take a shot in the seven seconds of shot clock. Russell Westbrook literally explodes in anticipation of going to the NBA and Kevin Love has to shoulder the load at UCLA. And that finally brings us to the King…

LeBron. Without Duncan and with the relaxed rules on offense, Lebron wins titles in 2007 (No Duncan), 2008 (with the change in defensive rules, the Celtics can’t control the games), and 2009 (without any pressure because he won two titles, LeBron feasts on an overmatched Magic and lays waste to the Lakers, who have since traded Kobe to the Spurs for Dwight Howard and Tony Parker).

So here is what the titles look like:

Year                In reality:                   The Duncan-less NBA

1999               Spurs                          Spurs

2000               Lakers                         Lakers

2001               Lakers                         Lakers

2002               Lakers                         Lakers

2003               Spurs                          Lakers

2004               Pistons                        Lakers

2005               Spurs                          Suns

2006               Heat                            Suns

2007               Spurs                          Cavaliers

2008               Celtics                         Cavaliers

2009               Lakers                         Cavaliers

Of course, this means LeBron never leaves Cleveland, so I have no idea what happens in 2010 or after. What I do know is that without the Spurs, there would be a lot more dynasty (Lakers, Cleveland, Phoenix…haha).

But without Duncan, something is missing. Without Duncan, the NBA would be less competitive and less defensive-minded. Without Duncan, the NBA simply wouldn’t be recognizable. Without Duncan, we’d have to imagine silly fantasies about what would fill the gap left by his greatness.  

Ten Reasons to Watch the los76ers in 2014-5

I grew up in Philadelphia on Allen Iverson’s 76ers. He took a measly, lousy, no-good team in 2001 to the NBA Finals. Seriously, get rid of him and what was that team? Mutombo wagging his finger and Eric Snow passing to Aaron McKie? Do you even know who Aaron McKie is? Tyrone “Skeletor” Hill?

Granted, that Finals appearance was against an awful Eastern conference that today is, outside of Chicago and Cleveland, just about the same in 2014. A.I. was ridiculous at the turn of the millennium, though. In those 2001 Finals, the 76ers actually managed to beat the previously undefeated Lakers in Game 1. Now don’t go all “Iverson scored 48!” because Shaq scored 44—that game was really about the Lakers being cold. They had a month off from annihilating the Western conference. What made Iverson fun to watch was that at any moment, he could be Magic Johnson or telling people who cares about practice. Sometimes, often in fact, he’d be both. My best friend from high school, Pat, used to joke that A.I. would boldly claim, “Quit school. Play basketball.” Iverson was fun to watch because you never knew what was going to happen but at least it’d be a good show. There would always be pyrotechnics. And Iverson was the Efreet.

Which brings me to the 2014-5 Philadelphia los76ers. They aren’t going to be a good team. They won’t win a lot of games. They may not win ten, although the end of the seasons, they might pick up a few from other spectacular firestorms (see: Boston Celtic). In fact, when I think of the 2014-5 los76sers, I imagine a flying pirate ship hovering over the Philadelphia art museum, with flames erupting from every port, every night. Of course that means it’s going to be quite the show. Indeed, there are plenty of reasons to watch the los76ers. Here are the top 10 reasons to watch them:

1. How bad can they get? How many games will they lose and by how many points? We should all root against the proposal to shorten games because seeing the los76ers fall to a sharp Bulls team in mid-season form by 70 points? *Seriously, why are tickets so expensive? Also, there are still a lot of expensive tickets for that Bulls March 11^th game!)*

2. Nerlens Noel. This is all we really need to see. But really, how much can he play? How is his offensive game? He could be really good and he’s a rookie.

3. The possible return of Joel Emiid. If Emiid returns, you’ve got 3 players who can straight up ball.

4. Michael Carter-Williams. Who is that third player I just mentioned? MCW developed bad habits last year after the Sam Hinkie’s fire sale. How will he respond?

5. Who will they trade? Really this could be anyone, including the chairs and hotdog vendors.

6. How many people will continue to buy these expensive tickets? What kinds of giveaways will the los76ers’ management think up?

7. How irate and outraged will Stephen A. Smith be? How many times will he bring up Allen Iverson on First Take?

8. How loud will the boo-birds be?

9. Seriously, who is going to buy those expensive tickets?

10. And lastly, don’t watch the los76ers this season. It’s sad. But if you do, imagine them as the nothingness from The Neverending Story. It’s a lot more fun that way. Or you could imagine them as an inverse basketball team. They are whatever team the Globetrotters plays against. Maybe we’ll get to see the 1962 Washington Generals. Maybe.

In Hope for the 2014 Season: The Dunk and a Cultural of Sure Things

Perhaps the most incredible sight of the late 1970s and early 1980s was the (re)turn to the slam dunk. Outlawed by white men fearful of a college-aged Kareem, who still holds the record for the best movie scene by an athlete, the slam dunk came back to prominence with Dr. J and Darryl “Chocolate Thunder” Dawkins. It was such a powerful, athletic, and artistic accomplishment that it literally entered our language as an idiom for a sure thing. A “slam dunk” wasn’t just for physically talented individuals after this era. Slam dunks were for businesses who landed a new client or, for younger kids, a good grade on a test. The “slam dunk” didn’t just change basketball. It changed the way we looked at success and produced a new category for the most successful victories, although certainly success in sports can’t be mapped directly to business models.

In the past three decades, we’ve grown accustomed to the superior ability of NBA athletes to dunk. While there are certainly cases of successful NBA players unable to dunk—the newly retired Steve Nash is the foremost example—dunking seems a prerequisite. But as we’ve grown accustomed to dunking (and the 3-pt shot, ahem Spurs, I’m looking at you), the culture of the dunk—of sure things—we’ve moved it into a culture of expecting. We expect Andrew Wiggins to dunk and expect Jabari Parker to be an all-star. We expect Joel Embiid to be great so long as his back holds up. We expect Marcus Smart to ball. We expect rookies to make great impacts on the NBA. We’re always looking for the next LeBron James, the next sure thing.  We expect.

But this season might be a little different. Derrick Rose, finally we say, comes back. No, really. He’s coming back and hopefully he stays. The experiment of the Cavaliers gets to be compared to the control group known as the Spurs. The Clippers are high-flying, fun, and could lose games 162-157 (it’s gotta happen against one of the awful teams in the east). Chris Bosh gets to show us what he can really do (although this looks a bit ridiculous). Will the NBA screw Memphis again? Is Russell Westbrook going to explode into a million little pieces of awesome? How bad will the Sixers be? I’m actually serious about that last one. It’s going to be as fun to watch them win a few games as it will be to watch any team beat them (in all their fiery glory). We get to watch Tim Duncan go for six rings.

So rather than expecting, we get to hope. There are no sure things (yes, the Spurs are there, but remember, they’ve never won two in a row). More importantly, as the NBA season begins again, we get to do what all sports fans get to do: avoid sure things. We all have to go to work in the morning and all of our social media apps update us instantly on life. Everything is a sure thing, even more so with our interconnectedness. That’s what makes sports different from everything else. It’s so unpredictable that it’s almost a modern opera (or maybe soap opera, but I dunno).

Sports are a herculean activity conducted, often errantly, by men who might have once been called Titans. Each season, we get to watch them joust and sit in awe. We follow their lives because, in part, they make everything that’s a sure thing seem unpredictable. They rip us from the grind. And NBA players do with majestic slam dunks.

The Grind: On the Twilight of NBA Careers

A friend of mine recently remarked that decimation doesn’t actually mean an all-out destruction. It actually means the reduction of an army by 10%, at least in the Roman sense. It was an elimination conducted by those in command and a punishment reserved for mutineers. “Decimation” in this sense is a much more accurate way to describe what we’re witnessing with Kobe Bryant, Steven Nash, and several other aging NBA stars like Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, and even Dwayne Wade.

Whatever you might say about either Mr. Bryant or Mr. Nash or any other old-man baller, they’ve paid their dues with their bodies. They’re old for basketball players. Bryan and Nash are, prior to the 2014-5 NBA season, 14^th and 43^rd respectively, in minutes played all-time. Bryan has played over 45,000 minutes. If you played one game a day, never taking a day off, that’s over two years of basketball, excluding the postseason. Over two years of basketball at the professional level. Nash sits at over 38,000 minutes. Other active old-man ballers, like Shawn Marion and Vince Carter, are on that list too. With 48,000 career minutes, Garnett is 6^th all-time, but his career isn’t so much in its twilight as it is in the dark. Nevertheless, there are numerous aging former-superstars. Their careers are winding down now. That’s actually the most accurate way to describe the end: their careers aren’t abruptly ending so much as they are fizzling. They’re fizzling under the NBA grind.

It’s a grind. Unlike in the NFL, careers in the NBA don’t abruptly end over night. For instance, did you know Darko Milicic technically had a 12-year career and averaged more than 18 minutes a game? In fact, your average NBA player is handsomely rewarded. But they all end, eventually. And like getting old, the end happens bit by bit. The end of an NBA career, any career really, is death stretched over an extended period of time. A character in Neil Gaiman’s epic story The Sandman actually described this kind of death eloquently:

“Death’s a funny thing. I used to think it was a big, sudden thing, like a huge owl that would swoop down out of the night and carry you off. I don’t anymore. I think it’s a slow thing. Like a thief who comes to your house day after day, taking a little thing here and a little thing there, and one day you walk round your house and there’s nothing there to keep you, nothing to make you want to stay.”

The end in the NBA isn’t generally a shot to the knee, like it could be in the NFL. It’s a grind, a slow twist every time you land after a jump. That’s what we saw with Jordan and Bird. The knees ache, the rebounding gets grounded, the juke invariably slows. We saw Shaq turn into molasses to such an extent that we forget he used to do this in his college days. Others can see the grind too, hovering in the distance. LeBron and ‘Melo are wising up, losing weight, in preparation for the grind as it arrives with turning 30 as an NBA player. The weight, though, will only prolong the inevitable, the graying (or balding) of our heroes hair as Father Time touches LeBron and ‘Melo. Make no mistake, Father Time will touch them, as he will touch all of us, even if it’s bit-by-bit.

It’s the bit-by-bit that brings me to another topic: the ESPN harassment of Kobe Bryant. Even if Kobe is your enemy and an asshole, you have to respect the man.  Kobe isn’t a fractured ghost of his former self, at least not yet. He’s earned the right to keep playing and he certainly deserves the contract he was given, if only because the fans of the LA Lakers want to witness the final grind on a five-time champion.

In regards to players generally, I believe as long as they want to stay and an owner gives them a contract, NBA players have every right to play. In fact, that might actually be why the Lakers gave Kobe such a massive contract: people want to witness the end of something great and are willing to pay for that. We want to watch Kobe cling to the end because he still believes there’s something left. There is something for Kobe to still do.

What then is the larger lesson of the grind? I’m not sure.

But take a moment to watch this video. No, I mean it. Watch it. There is something here that transcends the grind and the individuals of basketball. The twilight of basketball careers always forces us to reflect on those who came before (before Kobe, there was Jordan, before Jordan, there was Bird and Magic, before Bird and Magic, there was Dr. J and Wilt, before…). The grind, outside of basketball, tells us that whatever we’re doing, as long as there is something still in our “house,” we should do it.

So let Kobe play and we can watch him doggedly push back against the grind. He is Sisyphus and the basketball is his rock. Watching him will remind us: as long as we find meaning in it, we should keep doing it. We should keep pushing back against that thief who will always successfully steal from us.

Keep pushing that rock, Kobe. Keep pushing that rock.