When Dirk Nowitzki took his first fadeaway of the 2011 playoffs, it looked a lot like the thousands of others he’d taken in his 12-year career. He stood for probably the millionth time in his life in the high post, free-throw extended, back to the basket, pacing his dribble like my grandpa paces his Toyota Camry. He surveyed the scene – a German-engineered basketball machine processing information as it passed in front of him. Then, just as the moment seemed right, Dirk did his turn, off-foot push-off, Mr. Miyagi ninja-leg raise and released. At that moment, Nowitzki’s body gets itself into a position that almost makes you wince. It’s like watching the one-armed drummer from Def Leppard – it feels awkward and kind of unnatural, but the simple fact that it’s so effective gives the motion a poetic flow, a kind of uncomfortable beauty. And as the ball drops perfectly through the net, into its rightful home within the iron, we just watch. For that single, solitary moment we ignore the fact that it’s impossible to tell whether or not he’s wearing a mouthpiece, or that his English might be getting worse, and we just watch. And then we listen.
I’m sure Dirk didn’t know at the time that he had just taken the first step on the unpaved path to winning his first championship. After a tough end to the regular season, and with the draw of a legit Portland team, I’m sure he wasn’t even sure his boys from Big D would make it out of the first round. But they did, and as this team of vets and journeymen, hardened by a collective slog through a half-century of title-less seasons, swept the defending champions – the too-brazen-for-their-own-good Lakers – I think that’s when it probably started to creep in.
“We might be able to get this done.”
“This might be our year.”
“Audi’s are extremely reliable automobiles.”
Ok, I made that last one up, but you get the picture. It was after that Lakers series that this group of dudes, with Biggest Loser-type playoff baggage, started to look like champions. So how did they do it? How did they go from “soft” and “old” to “experienced” and “crafty?” How did they go from the last living reminders that B. Diddy was once B. Diddy to the first team to extinguish the Heat? Well, friends, I’ve spent an almost-perverted amount of time thinking about this over the last few days, and while most customers at my day job did not receive the winning service they’ve come to expect, I do have a few theories. Let’s get to it:
1. Good Offense Might Just Beat Good Defense: For whatever reason (myself included), over the last few years NBA fans/humans in general have fallen in love with defense. We heart the Celtics and the Bulls for embodying it, we long for the good ole days when teams actually played it, and we hold dudes in the highest regard who own it as their sole skill (see Perkins, Kendrick).
And I guess it makes sense. America was built on the kind of effort and grit that goes into playing really strong, really tight D (and who doesn’t love America?). But I think we might’ve fallen almost too in love with defense at this point, to where it clouds our view of the most basic concept in basketball: that the purpose of the game is to put the ball in the basket. Now I’m not going to say that Dallas didn’t play any D – they have at least one top-notch defender (Marion) and a bunch of guys who can contribute – but this is not a defense-first squad. They’ve had such defensive issues that they started using a zone (which I love) to cover up the no-less-than three defensive liabilities they have on the floor at any given time (Dirk vs. Bosh, Kidd vs. fast people, Barea vs. adults).
In the end, it was Dallas’ ball movement on offense that exhausted the Heat’s stifling D. And that’s really the whole Finals story. Unless of course, I’ve simply succumbed to a Clockwork Orange-style brainwash from watching Mike D’Antoni‘s system over the last few years. I’m keeping both in play.
2. There’s No I In Team: It’s all that crap your AAU coach used to spout about seconds before you tuned him out…I think that stuff might actually be real. If anything, this series was the ultimate referendum on whether playing as a team can conquer a clear discrepancy in talent. Is it the chemistry that a unit builds up, or the best player usually wins the series? There’s nothing about the Mavs’ team that made them a bad match-up for the Heat, other than playing really unselfish, team basketball. (and they have The Custodian). And they still won, on the road, in under seven games. This doesn’t close the book on the argument, but it does at least set a few pages on fire.
3. LeBron James May Be The Overrated Player in the History of the NBA: Of course I mean this under the caveat that the best player in the world can be considered overrated. Let’s kick it back for a second to that 2007 Eastern Conference Finals Game 5…ya know…the one where LBJ scored 25 straight (including the Cleve’s last seven points in the fourth quarter, all nine of their points in the first overtime, and all nine of their points in the second overtime) (epic). In that Pistons game, everyone knew down the stretch where he was going and what he was doing. And he still did it.
At the time, this was a skill that no other player in the league (maybe since Kareem) had. Completely diminishing the element of surprise and still getting what he wanted. Yes, they weren’t always the best basketball plays, but they were winning plays. A 17-10-10 doesn’t win Finals games. What wins Finals games is you scoring 35 points, breaking dudes spirits as your Adonis shoulders knocked out their wind and still got the and one.
…Side note: I have a sneaking suspicion that the LeBron we just saw in the Finals, i.e. the LeBron that looks about 30 pounds lighter than the animal we had seen in the Cleve, might feel like he can’t bully people around anymore at his current weight. It’s hard to think that the most fantastic physical specimen we’ve ever seen might be a little insecure about his body, but I’m still throwing it out there. I mean at 6’8″, 250 I would still be giving out swirlies to dudes during officials’ timeouts, but that’s just me…
And that’s why it’s so hard to like him these days. Because that guy, who showed us a potentially historically-relevant brand of basketball doesn’t exist anymore. We haven’t seen him in over a year now. And there’s also that whole continuing to say really dumb stuff. I mean, yeah bro, I know my life is kind of crappy, why do you think I care so much about your ungrateful ass? I’m a 5’9″ white dude who can’t jump – I pretty much maxed out my athletic potential in the 8th grade. Go use the gifts God gave you while I overeat and spend a cut of my mediocre salary on League Pass.
So there it is. As much as I tried to make this column about the Mavericks, (because everything has been about the Heat so far), I couldn’t. Our lasting image, beyond Dirk’s fadeaway, beyond the ball movement, and the substitution patterns, beyond the Jason Terry 28-foot three, and The Custodian’s backyard hard fouls is a 2011 NBA story about LeBron James, and his actions and his decisions. But I have another sneaking suspicion: that Dirk, with his banner and his trophy and his ring, probably doesn’t really care. You can have the spotlight. I’ll just take the W. Because, to a champion, that’s what it’s really all about.
What do you think?
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