A Feeling of Contentment

On dealing with losing, and why it can only do so much.

This is where I am supposed to write about hope. Instead, I’m writing about when I was sixteen years old, sitting three rows from the ice at a Carolina Hurricanes game, talking with my cousin about, of all things, the Charlotte Bobcats.

“What do you think about the Bobcats?” I asked, “Do you think they can make the playoffs next year?”

My cousin shrugged his shoulders. “Maybe not next year, but two years from now.”

I remember feeling content with his answer. The Bobcats only won 26 games in 2005-06, but hey, it was eight more than the year before, it seemed assured they would continue to improve. They did, but only by so much. Then they plateaued, short of where I had expected, and that playoff berth my cousin predicted was two years away wouldn’t come for another four.

So I’d like to write about hope, but that’s not what this story is about. Instead, this is about how I felt back in 2006, and how I have felt every season since. This is about the feeling of contentment.

Before the start of the season there is always a sliver of hope for most NBA lottery teams, unless it’s obvious the team has blown it up to rebuild. After a summer of draft picks, free agent signings, and positive vibes coming out of training camp, it is easy to feel at least a little optimistic about a team’s chances. Take for example the moves made by some of last year’s lottery teams. The Cavaliers got another number one pick, signed one of the best centers in the league (when healthy) in Andrew Bynum and brought in one of the better combo guards in Jarrett Jack. The Bobcats signed easily the best post player in their team’s history with Al Jefferson. Portland, who fell victim to an incredibly thin roster last season, signed and traded for a number of players to give the team much needed depth for its talented starting lineup. Look across the board at last year’s lottery teams, and the majority of them got better by some margin. What undermines all of this is that for most lottery teams, despite what changes they have made, the status quo remains, whether they want it to or not.

Simply put, most lottery teams aren’t talented enough. Occasionally they are, but injuries to key players end any talk of making the playoffs (Portland and Minnesota know what I’m talking about). Most draft picks, even the one’s who turn out to be good ball players, fall short of what’s expected of them. For every good free agent signing, there are a thousand bad ones, either due to a bad fit or through a bad contract that no CBA could prevent. Other times a team hires a coach who has no idea what he’s doing, and screws up a potential playoff team (I’m looking at you Sam Vincent).

Point being, the odds are generally stacked against lottery teams, particularly those who remain in the bottom half for consecutive years, and if they’ve remained at the bottom for a long period of time, chances are their bad fortunes aren’t only a result of injuries or bad luck in the lottery. As teams continue to struggle, rebuild, or do a combination of both, as one who supports a lottery team, a growing feeling of content sets in. Yes, I can only speak for myself, but call this my attempt to reflect the feelings of others. As such, I also acknowledge that despite how much fun I have following the NBA, at the end of each season I am left feeling disturbingly untroubled by the outcome of the team I support.

The Bobcats have won 28 games over the past two years, and I am okay with that. When the team blew it up two years ago, I told myself it would take four years to rebuild, and I felt all right knowing the team would undergo at least four more losing seasons before flirting with the playoffs again. Maybe feeling content is what prevents me from losing all sanity, but I am starting to hate it.

For me, to be content is to cope. Accepting things will go bad makes the season easier to get through. It is a sad way to approach it, but it’s the best way I know how. I also believe it’s not the right way. Fans have to look forward to something, and while I see positives steps being taken, I also expect things to remain relatively the same, and not just for this year, but every year. Call it being realistic (the Bobcats are after all historically bad), but I sometimes wonder how magical a place it must be for fans who irrationally believe in their teams no matter how good or bad they are.

So here’s where I’ll leave things, and hopefully this drives my point home. I’m here to tell you that your lottery team, like mine, is at least two years away from the playoffs. I hope however, that instead of nodding your head like I did, you shake it and tell me to piss off.

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