Knicks 113, Wizards 109: A Knick triptych
Once upon a time, “nobody beats the Wiz” was heard all over NYC. Today, everybody does. Last night was the Knicks’ turn.
Avalanche hack
You’re 28 years old. Millions of people watched you struggle last night at work. The company you work for is 100% in talks to transfer you somewhere, likely out of state. Your company’s pretty much an open joke, so while your ego can get behind moving, it’s also a bit bruised by the implication. The company is a joke, but only two-and-a-half years ago they added you, thinking you’d help turn things around. You couldn’t. They haven’t.
Do you know what to do if you’re ever caught in an avalanche? Spit. Dig a little space above your head and spit. Search crews often find people who’ve frozen to death were digging down into the snow, away from the surface; you’re disoriented in an avalanche. If you spit and it sits there, gravity’s telling you that’s down; if it starts to drip toward you, that’s gross, but more importantly that’s up. It’s important to know where you are.
It was a down night, but from the outside looking in, life is pointing up. You’ve already earned over $35 million; over the next four years you’re due another $90 mil. The wealth of kings, all for a man no one thinks can be the best or second-best worker in a good company. You know this to be true. You’re not bothered: a king’s head is his Achilles heel, disposable whenever things go wrong, and things have been going wrong in Washington D.C. pro basketball going on 50 years now. Better to fly under the radar. Keep your head. Keep your pride. Keep your rep.
Last night you scored 15. There were some rebounds. Some assists. There always are. The company lost, 113-109. They were feisty, but fell short. Falling short’s their m.o. You’re their best option, the way a glass of water from the hose outside instead of the kitchen is the best option, but only when the sink’s busted.
A few of your old co-workers now work for a rival company, the one that beat yours last night. One of them was, for a while, miscast as the big boss, like you. He’s not quite a second banana; more of a banana split, where the sweet sweet ice cream is an equally dominant flavor, and the right mix of secondary flavors – pineapple; whipped cream; nuts – adds up to more than the sum of their mmmm. That company is 25-17. The banana and the ice cream are both candidates for the All-Star game, maybe All-NBA. The sum of your company? “Hmmm.”
Heaven or Hell?
Watch this. What do you see?
The optimist sees a hero, a Nieztschean refusal to accept the impossibility of reaching the destination. The journey: that’s what Jordan Poole is about. He knows there’s no way he can save that ball inbounds. Still. The heart wants what the heart wants.
The pessimist sees a fool. Watch the way he hits the floor. His arms aren’t extended or reaching for it; he uses them to brace his dive. This was more of the madness we’ve seen from Poole all season, when at times he’s resembled someone Jordan Peele is directing, a man trapped in a bizarre reality where he thinks he’s just messing around alone at the gym, never knowing his actions are all being translated to an NBA player in an NBA game.
The wise person sees what Poole did in the final seconds, the outcome still undecided, and understands he’s neither hero nor fool.
Two and a half years ago, Poole was a bright young bridge in Golden State, making one of the 2022 Finals’ iconic shots, helping the modern Warriors to their fourth and seemingly final championship while promising oodles more splashes for years to come. A few months later in a preseason practice, Poole allegedly told Draymond Green he was “an expensive backpack for 30,” meaning Dray got paid a lot for Steph Curry to have to carry him. Poole struck a nerve. Green struck Poole.
Public workspaces have lost much of their pre-pandemic pervasiveness, but most of us have at one point or another worked outside the home, in a society where one trusts they need not worry they’ll be violently assaulted at work — and that if they are, that there will be justice. Green was fined, but not suspended. A week after the assault, the Warriors signed Poole to a $128 million contract extension. Their house divided, the Warriors’ title defense was a funeral march. The house of Usher fell with more grace than Lacob, Myers, Kerr & company.
A week into free agency, Golden State sent Poole to Washington for Chris Paul. Two days later, they gave Green a $100 million contract. What did Poole feel when he saw Green extended? When he saw Green stomp Damontas Sabonis? Strangle Rudy Gobert? Clock Jusuf Nurkić? We all know the world is a dark place. One reason we take care to protect children from it is the magnitudinal difference between “knowing” that and knowing it. Poole knew the world is effed long before Draymond sucker-punched him. But what is it to wear that knowledge in your bones?
No one eats with the ferocity of the starved. Poole has been to heaven and hell and back and back again. In the clip above, it’s the end that tells the story. There is joy. Poole’s genius and madness bleed over the lines and margins, his aura the color of delirium. He dives when it’s pointless, tries ridiculous shots and moves that are clearly, hilariously unprofessional. His company refused to punish his co-worker for punching him in the face, then had them fly around the country and work together for a whole work year, got rid of Poole and rewarded his assailant. What’s professional?
He scored 24 last night, his -8 rating second-worst, better only than Deni Avdija, who spent these teams’ last meeting unable to stop Julius Randle and this one unable to contain Jalen Brunson. At least this time Avdija didn’t front postgame about how Brunson isn’t that tough to guard.
Whatizit
Whatizit was the official mascot of the 1996 Summer Olympics. I have a vague memory of it; when I read Wikipedia’s description late last night, I chalked my confusion up to my brain being up past curfew. But reading it again in the light of day, I feel the same: “Whatizit originally appeared as a blue, tear-shaped ‘blob’ with rings around his eyes and tail. He wore high-top sneakers and had star-shaped pupils. His arms and legs were also short with a toothy grin showing both rows of teeth. He was later modified to have longer limbs to give a more athletic look . . . several changes were made to [his] appearance including losing the bottom row of teeth, adding a nose, making the tongue visible, and making the limbs longer, skinnier, and more athletic.” They also changed his name to “Izzy.”
TNT aired a one-shot animated film, “Izzy’s Quest for Olympic Gold,” because without a half-hour cartoon advertisement how would Bill and Monica Q. Public remember a 100-year-old tradition that brings literally the whole world together? Early in the film Izzy is challenged to a race by a couple of jerks, two brothers named Martin and Spartan. The race reached a river, one Izzy and Martin were able to jump across, but Spartan fell in and didn’t know how to swim. And the river ended at a very steep, very nearby waterfall.
Martin begs Izzy to save Spartan, which he does. The brothers are grateful, for about five minutes. Then they’re trying to sabotage Izzy from winning a bike race because they think if he wins, their world – which exists inside the Olympic flame, if you’re wondering – will be destroyed. You might find it strange that even after Izzy saved Spartan’s life, the brothers don’t seem moved. Marvin Bagley III understands. He is Izzy.
MB3 was drafted by Sacramento with the second pick in 2018. In college he was a prolific, efficient scorer who rebounded, too. He shot well from three, though on low volume; that, coupled with a 63% stroke at the foul line, made him an uncertainty from distance. His career per-36 numbers since show 19 and 10 and below-average shooting from the stripe and from deep. He is what he is, what he has been, always.
Bagley didn’t project to be a good defender, and hasn’t been. The search for one tell-all metric remains ongoing, but here’s one way to frame Bagley’s oeuvre: over his 235-game career, he’s accumulated 4.2 defensive win shares. This season is only halfway complete and noted not-Defensive Player of the Year Julius Randle nearly has 2.0. Again, that’s not a knock on Marvin. He is who he’s always been.
Detroit traded Trey Lyles and multiple 2nds to acquire Bagley when there was no bidding war for him. They shifted him to center, a new position. Same results: 19 and 9, no defense, no spacing. And yet he was losing minutes on a team that could be the worst ever. Detroit traded Isaiah Livers and multiple 2nds to be rid of Bagley. Last night, his first game as a Wizard: 20 and 11. Made 10 of 16 shots. Didn’t take a three. Missed all five free throws.
Most people believe whatever goes up must come down. Messiahs know that’s not true, though the climb is almost always finer than the fall. Bagley didn’t save the Kings or the Pistons; he won’t save the Wizards. Like Whatizit, everyone keeps trying to change him. He’ll just keep Marvin Bagley the Thirding, sound and fury signifying nothing. Saving someone’s life doesn’t make you their savior. A center who only makes twos and doesn’t defend? In this economy? Might as well be the end of the world.
