In 1998, 22-year-old Stephon Marbury was the second-best player on a Minnesota Timberwolves team that was on the brink of something special. The Timberwolves had just come off the first winning season (45-37) in franchise history the previous campaign, and with budding superstar Kevin Garnett and leading scorer Tom Gugliotta by his side--with excellent veteran players Sam Mitchell and Terry Porter (who would both later become head coaches in the NBA) there for support--Marbury, the team's high-revving point guard, held the keys to a very sexy automobile.
Then the NBA owners locked out the players--in part because the Glen Taylor signed Garnett to a $126 million dollar contract, which was more than the team, or any team, could afford. When the lockout ended, the Wolves made numerous mistakes (see this excellent article by Steve Aschburner written last year, about it) and Marbury realized that the most he could make under the newly-reached deal was $71 million, or $55 million less than Garnett, and demanded a trade because he couldn't handle making so much less than someone he saw as his equal, in terms of star power. Which led to the Wolves giving in and traded Marbury to New Jersey. Which led to a plummeting of the Wolves' potential. Which led to them never finding another point guard with the same zoom, a chemistry with the same verve, or much success in the playoffs.
And what did Marbury get out of it? Well, he stunk enough on a cruddy New Jersey team to get traded to the Phoenix Suns where he played well but never had any teammates at the level of, say, a Kevin Garnett, and then he got traded to the Knicks. But by that time, his greed and poor attitude had overshadowed his ability, and then he subsequently got a bold head tattoo and was soon eating Vaseline and crying on the Internet at the end of his NBA career.
Fast forward to today, and the issues Minnesota's having with Kevfon Lovebury.
By now you may've read Adrian Wojnarowski's story over at Yahoo Sports that features Kevin Love unloading on T-Wolves management, decrying the lack of respect with which he feels he's been treated since Minnesota signed him to a four year, $62 million contract rather than the maximum five year, $80 mil deal, and suggesting that the Wolves don't get him any help or know what they're doing. I have a number of issues with Love's gripe. Let me bust out some roman numerals to list them off.
I. You signed the deal, Kevin. You. Signed. The deal.
II. You signed the deal last year. Your chance to complain has long since expired.
III. You have a $62 million contract over the next four years. Sixty-two million dollars is a lot of money to make in four years. A lot of people, including me, would be thrilled to make one-quarter of a million dollars in the next four years. Thrilled. You will be paid 248 times the amount that I would be thrilled with making while doing a job I would be 64 billion times more excited doing than the job I have now. A lot of Americans don't have jobs since the recession. Try not to be 248 more times out of touch than you should be.
IV. The max deal is for Ricky Rubio, not you. Rubio's the one who comes in and makes the whole team look better, including you. This is a big part of this problem of yours, I sense--that you're not the alpha wolf. Fair enough that you want to be. But look how the team did with you "leading the way" before Rubio came. Look how the Wolves instantly improved when Rubio showed up last year. Look how the team has fared since you came back this year. Watch how it will play when Rubio gets back. Marked contrasts.
V. That hand injury still stinks, and you launching flat-assed threeball after threeball while attempting to work out the kinks in your broke stroke isn't helping this team. You think Rubio's going to come back and try to break a bunch of ankles on his repaired ACL? No. He's going to throw sweet passes and take care of the ball. You, Kevin, should park your ass down low and hit the boards.
VI. You need to play some defense. The one-on-one D isn't scaring anyone. The help D is virtually non-existent. The greats play both ends of the court. Until you buy into that, you're not fooling anybody who really knows the game. Which makes me wonder...if you really know the game.
VII. You're young. You're 24. Earn something before bitching so much. A playoff victory would be nice. And double-doubles don't count. I'd like to contend that the double-double crap is the most overblown, empty stat out there. Any self-respecting big man should get a double double each and every game by simple virtue of not sucking.
VIII. That broken knuckle injury that cost you the start of the season is still pretty fresh. And complaining that nobody believed you when you said you did it working out was pretty lame. I, for one, don't believe it, not when those two knuckles are the most commonly broken when throwing a punch. Even if you did break them doing "knuckle push-ups..."that was dumb. Let's see, you missed more than 10% of the season. What's 10% of your salary? And you made that for doing nothing? And you have the audacity to insinuate that the Wolves are shortchanging you?
IX. You need to consider your fans. You know, the people that make your salary possible. You wanna have a gripe with management, you better separate that from the way you treat the fans. An interview with Adrian Wojnarowski is going to be read by the fans. You need to remember that. Or have personal manager or trainer remind you. Unless you recently broke your hand on their face punching them and they don't work for you any more.
X. You're too into yourself. When you hit that three-ball for the win vs the Clippers last year, I was really excited...until I saw your celebration, which should have won an ESPY for most most self-serving display of the year. Go ahead and watch this video that shows your fatal flaw--if you can stomach it. Observe the video closely from the 10-second mark to the 21-second mark in particular. You know, the part where your teammates mob you and you leave them all hanging, refusing any hug or even eye contact, complete with a re-thrusting of the arms-out, I-Am-The-Greatest pose at the 21-second mark, in case we didn't get it the first time.
Gross.
You want to raise your stock? Be more aware of your teammates. Throw that sweet full-court outlet pass for a lay-up more often than once a month. Pass the ball to Pekovic out of the high post. Kick it out to Shved for a three more often. Hit Kirilenko on a back-cut like everybody else on teh team seems capable of doing. Guard your man instead of cherry-picking someone else's rebounds. Quit hanging out under the basket complaining to the refs about a no-call while your man beats you down the court. Shut the pie hole. Play some ball.
Damn.
P.S.: Watching ol' crotchety Garnett hustle around last week in the Celtics' 104-94 win over the Wolves in Boston was bittersweet to say the least. Especially in light of this latest Love mouth-off, I miss the hell out of KG. Guy never really said much in the press against management over 12 years, even when trade rumors swirled. He still plays hard, plays hurt, plays D, works within the team framework, raises the level of intensity every game...and it sucks that he's doing it in green and white at the end of his career.
P.P.S.: Anyone remember that ESPN "All Nude" commercial with KG and Marbury before things between them went awry? So young. So much potential. So much magnetism. At least Marbury's had a rebirth in China. Good for him. And if you haven't seen this video where he hits a trio of ridiculously-long shots back-to-back-to-back, you should.
P.P.P.S: Good place to watch a game in 'Kato is Nakato bar and grill. A block off highway 169 into North Mankato for travelers passing through. Tasty beers on tap, an excellent steak sandwich, good TV screens, friendly staff, remodeled place. Caught a portion of the Wolves' Friday win over the Cavs there with Nick Healy, who, by the way, is a good guy to watch a game with. His stories about his own ball-playing career in St. Paul in the late '80s were cracking me up.
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