If you’re a Blazer fan, fan of the NBA or merely an interested observer of overall misfortune, you’re more than familiar with the plight of one Greg Oden. From the time of his initial microfracture procedure, to his torn patellar tendon, through his latest “debris cleaning”/third microfracture procedure, the final piece to the Portland Trail Blazers’ championship puzzle has become the latest symbol of a franchise who seemingly broke a few mirrors, crossed the path of a few black cats, and walked under a few ladders since the 1976-77 season.
In case you’re wondering, the Blazers are cursed. From LaRue Martin to Bill Walton. From the coin flip, which would’ve led to Olajuwon, to the ensuing pick of Sam Bowie. And, recently, Brandon Roy’s knees to the aforementioned “Mr. Glass” Oden’s saga since being chosen first overall has been a seven-layer cake of disappointment for a certain professional basketball franchise, and a never-ending sh** sandwich for the city in which it resides.
It’s hard to imagine longing for September of 2007, the month and year of our egg’s initial crack but at least then, there remained hope for a once-in-a-generation big man who was certainly going to make “the” difference … just not quite yet. But I am. I miss the idea of being “that” team and having “that” guy. I miss the idea of being the Lakers of this centuries second decade. And well, I miss merely having hope. But the hope is gone, the championship window has closed, and for those of you thinking you’ve finally gotten the closure you so desperately need … think again.
This isn’t over.
I didn’t get much sleep last night and no, it wasn’t due to a soft mattress, midnight rape or nude gay art show that went on in my room last night (sorry, that was an ode to one of my favorite movies, Wedding Crashers). It was due to what I experienced at the hands of three supernatural visitors. In a Christmas Carol-esque experience, the ghosts of the NBA past, present and future walked me through the modern Trail Blazer experience, beginning with the grainy footage of the 1977 Blazers celebrating an unthinkable NBA Championship, and ending with “Fragilé” himself, hoisting the Larry O’Brien Trophy and thanking God, Pat Riley and the Miami Heat’s team doctor for resurrecting his career, and later spring-boarding a life which sat idle during a dark time in the Pacific Northwest.
Past Ghost showed me the title, sprinkled in some positivity with highlights of Portland’s Western Conference clinching game at Phoenix in 1990, the league’s overall best record in 1991, and the acquisition of players like Steve Smith, Scottie Pippen and a young Damon Stoudamire. He also showed me Clyde Drexler, Terry Porter and Jerome Kersey. However, he’d have been remiss not to also have shown me Olajuwon’s 2 championships, Bowie’s various X-rays and well … Michael Jordan’s career. In addition, Game 6 of the 1991 Western Conference Finals, Game 7 of the 2000 Western Conference Finals, and images such as yellow Hummers, dime bags and Pit Bulls. He reminded me of phrases such as CTC (Cut the Check) and “Both teams played hard.” Showed me plays such as Sean Elliott’s last second three in the 1999 Conference Finals, Magic Johnson’s rebound to end the 1991 Conference Finals, and Shaq’s alley-oop dunk in 2000. Bastard!
Present Ghost was somewhat irrelevant. After all, I’ve been witness to Oden’s major malfunctions, Roy’s extreme misfortune, and Kevin Durant’s meteoric rise towards the top of NBA hierarchy. He assured me he had a larger role in this introspective experience, but I assured him of my lack of interest in a paranormal know-it-all rubbing my nose in the present-day organization’s failed attempts at NBA success. So I told him to hit road.
That brings us to Future Ghost; he’s the only one who offered me any hope of squelching the pain of more than 20 years of consecutive Blazer woe. I hoped whole-heartedly as we disappeared into the fog of the night, him in his retro LeBron James jersey and me in a pair of flannel boxers coupled with a “Beach Bash ‘99” muscle shirt, that he’d open the experience with good news; maybe word of a rising star acquired through the draft, a deep playoff run in the not-so-far-off future, or possibly an unexpected drug or alcohol problem derailing the career of “that guy” in Oklahoma City. No dice. Instead he offered me a beer, cigar and suggestion to relax. “You’re not going to like this,” he said. “But I’ll try to make this as painless as possible. It’s about Greg Oden.”
Uh oh.
He started as I thought he might; Oden becomes a free agent, no one offers him a contract, and he’s left to rehab on his own accord. However, this is where things begin to go off the rails.
Greg – sensing this is it – acquires the services of a world class trainer and begins training feverishly, rehabbing and eating properly. Due to a newly found work ethic, the former number one pick targets a mid-season return and begins contacting teams regarding potential workouts. Team representatives are taken aback by his slim/fit physique and are impressed with his range of motion less than a year removed from his 3rd microfracture surgery. Pat Riley talks privately with Oden and offers him a contract through the remainder of the year. Greg signs with the Heat, plays an increasingly pivotal role as the playoffs progress, then shuts down Kendrick Perkins and Serge Ibaka en route to a 4-game sweep of the Oklahoma City Thunder, giving Miami’s “Big Three” the title they’ve been unable to secure since their creation nearly 3 years ago.
“Great,” I say as I finish my drink. “It gets worse,” Future Ghost tells me as he hands me another beer, “you might need a couple more of these.”
He then proceeds to tell me that Oden, due to his outstanding performance in the Finals, parlays said performance into a multi-year contract with the very team he just helped defeat. That’s right, he signs with the Thunder, helps anchor the first back-to-back-to-back-to-back championship run in NBA history, and plays an average of 65 games over the length of his 5-year deal. Meanwhile – during that same 5-year span – the Blazers decide to blow things up, acquire the first pick in the upcoming draft via a trade of perennial all-star Nicolas Batum, and await the arrival of Shawn Kemp VI, the best point guard to enter the draft since Derrick Rose and newly discovered son of the famously promiscuous ex-NBA great. However, prior to the draft, HBO’s “Real Sports With Bryant Gumbel” does a piece on Oden and the amazing resurrection of his career. During the piece, Oden begrudges the Blazer franchise and directly applies blame regarding his injury purgatory to the medical staff and organization as a whole. He goes on to speak to the weather and hypersensitive fan base as negatively contributing to his dilemma, and says he “wouldn’t wish that scenario on anyone.” Due to such, Kemp VI decides to take his talents to Europe, the Blazers are forced to draft another also-ran player, and hence continue bailing water from an already sinking ship.
I tell Future Ghost that I’ve had enough and that it just can’t get any worse. He reaches for another beer and apologizes for what he’s about to say, “Sorry bro, but I’m paid by the hour.” He then proceeds to tell me that Greg finishes out his career at the age of 33, opens a chain of fast food Chinese restaurants named, “Oden Sesame!,” and accumulates a net worth exceeding 1 billion dollars. He then decides to buy the Blazers from Paul Allen – who’s tired of fighting the good fight – move the team to Boise, and sell minority shares to retired NFL quarterback and car dealership mogul, Kellen Moore. Years later, Greg does a follow-up story on “Real Sports,” where he apologizes to the people of Portland for falsely accusing them of responsibility regarding his injuries, and says he can’t help but feel he’s partially responsible for the implosion of a once model franchise. “It took me years of therapy to come to grips with my pain regarding those years. I hope you can understand and that I have no ill will towards your great city.”
I sat idle, wondering to myself not only “how” this could happen, but why I was being forced to endure such an experience. Seriously, Ebenezer Scrooge was an irritable, cantankerous, curmudgeon whose deplorable negativity was poisoning those around him, while I … well … alright … I understand, but the people of Portland deserve far better than what they have, and presumably will endure over the last couple decades of a once proud organization.
“Word,” replied the ghost.
I abruptly awoke in a cold sweat, regurgitating what I’d just experienced, and wondering aloud whether to believe it.
Some will question whether or not this franchise is cursed, but no one can deny the nightmare it’s currently living through. Be it Walton, Bowie, Roy and now Oden, this city has and is enduring a level of pain and suffering known only by fan bases named Cubs, cities named Cleveland, and golfers named Norman. It started in the 70’s, continued through the 80’s and 90’s, and seems to have reached a new level this century. Is any of it Greg Oden’s fault? Absolutely not. I wish him well and would love nothing more than to see him get to make at least a small splash in a sport and in a league he was certain to dominate … just not at our expense.
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