As a denizen of Rip City, I couldn’t be happier about the start the Portland Trail Blazers have embarked on this season. The first month was filled with blowouts on a historic scale, nip-and-tuck victories on the road, and disappointing failures against the few teams (Golden State, Memphis) above the Blazers in the NBA pecking order. In short, it was everything I could ask for, both as a fan and as a writer.
Watching Tuesday’s game against the Denver Nuggets, the difference between the first and second halves for Portland was like night and day. Where the first half featured isolation plays that resulted in LaMarcus Aldridge baskets, lucky shots that went in, or bricks, the second half featured the pick-and-roll brilliance we’ve all become accustomed to, and coach Terry Stotts’ plays after time-outs have become a national by-word amongst the NBA writers’ fraternity.
The latest example of Stotts’ magic is both rooted in complex schemes and yet so very simple. The Nuggets expected either Aldridge or Damian Lillard to get the ball, likely beyond the three-point line. That’s how Portland’s offensive plays usually start, with the ball handler surveying the defense for a second before moving the ball and initiating the play. Aldridge did get the ball at the top of the key, but instead of taking his usual one or two dribbles into the midrange area he favors, he waited until Robin Lopez sealed off the incurably inept J.J. Hickson under the basket.
RoLo didn’t catch Aldridge’s pass cleanly (obviously, they’ve hardly practiced that play), but Hickson took a pitiful swipe at the pass before it got to Lopez, taking himself out of the play…and Denver out of the game. Lopez put the ball into the basket with 1.4 seconds remaining, and the Blazers’ latest absurd comeback was complete.
Are these habits Portland is developing sustainable for the long run? Of course not; look at last Friday’s Memphis game as an example of what will happen if the Blazers don’t focus for all four quarters against teams as good as they are. Do I, as a fan and not an observer, truly care if they continue to play with fire? No. The drama that’s playing out on the court may be heart-stopping and traumatic for some, but for me it’s a happy diversion from everyday life, win or lose.
To be open and honest, the Portland Trail Blazers are just about the only exciting thing happening in my life right now. Dating opportunities are nonexistent, money’s tight since my work hours have dried up, and all the usual problems working people have to deal with on a daily basis are constantly on my mind as the head of my household.
It gets to the point where you think about nothing but survival; you don’t think about your hopes for the future, you don’t make any plans for vacation or relaxation, you don’t consider what will happen once your parents get too old to care for themselves. The security some folks take for granted doesn’t exist for me and mine; we’re scrapping just to keep a roof over our heads and our bellies (and those of our dogs) full.
There are plenty of people in similar circumstances in Portland and beyond that continue to wholeheartedly support the Blazers, whether it’s paying a week’s salary to attend a game, buying expensive jerseys and other team gear (especially around this time of year), shelling out to Comcast for the TV package, or even taking to the myriad message boards and blogs to wax poetic about their favorite team (like, uh, me). Even when the recession was slamming into Oregon like a sumo wrestler belly-flopping onto a skinny teenage boy, the masses continued to pack the Rose Garden–during Brandon Roy’s heyday, there was a sellout streak that went into the hundreds.
While people will support the team even when it’s not very good, a Blazers team like we saw last year has the unique ability to galvanize an entire state (or states, if you include South Washington) and infect it with positive energy; after Damian Lillard hit that one-in-10,000 shot against the Houston Rockets in May, I couldn’t stop smiling for a solid week, even though the job I was at sucked and the people there had…complex…relations with me.
When I was bulling a few years ago with a few Boston Celtics fans that were around in the 1980s, I was surprised that they all mentioned Larry Bird’s steal from Isiah Thomas in Game 5 of the 1987 Eastern Conference Finals as the moment they remembered most from that era of Celtics basketball. Boston had won three championships prior to that year, and Bird had won MVP Awards in ‘84, ‘85 and ‘86, with numerous big moments throughout that time. The 1986 Celtics are widely recognized (except in Los Angeles) as the best basketball team of all time. And yet, they remember Bird stealing that ball, throwing it to Dennis Johnson for that layup, and going on to the Finals, where Magic Johnson’s Lakers would drum them out.
For the longest time, I couldn’t figure out why Celtics fans remembered the Bird steal above all the other moments that group of players had, both of success and failure. It wasn’t until I read Bill Simmons’ The Book of Basketball that I got the context I needed.
Kevin McHale, the Hall of Fame forward and post savant, had broken his foot in March 1987. He played the rest of the year on that foot…damaging it almost beyond repair. He never was the same player again. Bill Walton, the sixth man so instrumental in Boston’s success in ‘86, suffered another string of foot injuries that ended his career and sent him into a deep depression. Bird had back issues that grew progressively worse as the year went on; in 1989, he had double heel surgery to remove bone spurs, then had back surgery. He played in constant pain the rest of his career.
As time went on, the intelligent fans of Boston reflected on that Bird steal in ‘87 and knew that that moment was the last gasp of a dying giant, the final defiant stroke of a legend who refused to lay down and let the law of the jungle take effect, that the old must give way for the new. It had that unreal aspect to it, like you were watching something impossible, a brightly colored bird soaring into your drab world of gray.
Damian Lillard’s shot had that same aura as Larry Bird’s steal, the same effect on the team, the arena, the city, and the state. When Chandler Parsons collected that rebound and put the ball in at 0.9 seconds, we were all crushed. My father’s face crumpled for the briefest moment before composing itself into the stone-faced visage a man shows when he’s suffered more than his fair share of disappointment. My own heart sank down into my toes, and I thought, “Of course.” Who in the blue hell was I to dare expect anything different? This is the way the Trail Blazers–and my own family–have done things for most of their existence: reach for glory, get ohhhh sooooo close, then fall flat on their butts.
The Blazers would slink back to Houston for Game 7, get thrashed by a rejuvenated Rockets team, and be reminded of their place as NBA also-rans, not worth more than a curious glance or a few kind words spoken about them in courtesy…or pity. It was a microcosm of my life, and it sucked more than you can imagine to see that play out on television.
But then, Lillard clapped his hands, hoisted up a shot, and splashed home a three that sent the city into a frenzy. My father was yelling in joy at the top of his lungs, as was I. The bright bird had flown into our lives, lives marked by loss, struggle and a sense of futility, and gave us a glimpse of what it felt like to know that all was right in the world.
There are moments in life where you would wish for the impossible to happen. Will she go out with me? Can I get this great job? Will Colin Kaepernick be more than Donovan McNabb 2.0? 9,999 times out of 10,000, it doesn’t happen. You fail, you get let down, and you have to pick yourself up off the mat yet again. But there are those very special times when you get that one time, when the impossible happens in sports, work, or life, when you pray for a miracle and for the love of God, it actually happens. That moment was the Bird steal for those Celtics fans, and the Lillard shot will always be that moment for me.
The Blazers’ luck in close games and comebacks lately won’t continue, but the analytical part of me, the part I display in my writing, has been overwhelmed today by the fan side of me. I can’t help but feel that this version of the Trail Blazers is special in some way. The way they fight back, against the odds and double-digit leads, reminds me of my own struggles in life, and helps keep me going. It would mean the world to me if they somehow were able to reach the ultimate goal, and win a championship.
After all, if they can realize their dreams despite the obstacles in their way, why can’t I?
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