Ghosts, Grease Fires and Sinking Ships

 

Lead balloon, lemon, loser, this years’ Lakers, we hardly knew ye.

The inexorable creep of squandered talent and lost expectations has been bumping along in various directions for 55 games now. There’s probably not much we don’t know and less that we should expect.

“You all know we are only passing by. We only walk over these stones a few times, our boats float a little while and then they have to sink,” said Billy Pretty, a forgotten character in the sublime novel The Shipping News.

The floundering regatta of the Los Angeles Lakers is a cause that has no hope as it slowly but surely spirals downward.

I was never a Russell Westbrook acolyte but I can remember when it was a ton of fun to watch him ball. There was the slew of playoff runs with the Oklahoma City Thunder that never quite resulted in the ultimate coronation. There were even some games in Houston where, in the moment, he did Russell Westbrook things that defied imagination. He has had the ability to ignite a game, to be a relentless and unstoppable attack dog. He has also, all too often, come crashing down to earth.

At age 33, Westbrook could still potentially salvage a piece of his elusive prime. But the game has passed him by and his stubborn way or the highway surely doesn’t fit this particular team. The deafening silence of any kind of legitimate trade rumors in the hours leading up to the deadline means that other organizations are equally loathe to take on the bloated contract of a recalcitrant Brodie.

The Lakers’ woes don’t fall entirely upon Russ. There has been yet another season of Covid protocols and too many injuries to rehash. The combined age of everyone on the roster does not translate to numbers that are yet known to the human species. But excuses are also beside the point. At some level you’d expect a roster with 57 All-Star selections to do basic basketball things through instinct and desire, like toss the biscuit toward the bucket and have someone actually flush the damned thing.

Granted, there have been sporadic highlight reels along the busted process. Personally speaking, the most entertaining part of the whole morass boils down to marveling at LeBron James’ ability to elude Father Time, especially during those moments when surrounded by a small retinue of still-young draft busts and those who were never drafted in the first place.

An honorable mention goes to Carmelo Anthony for consistently clicking from beyond the arc at .392, as well as saying all the right things and generally giving a shit. I would also shout out the effort of Anthony Davis except I’m literally afraid of jinxing an athletic yet oddly unbalanced gazelle who seems at constant risk of bad landings and lengthy rehabs.

Just a few of the ghosts of seasons past would include a string of lottery picks that are now playing their best ball elsewhere, ill-fated coaching hires, and contractual decisions by “management” that border on criminal negligence: cue the $132 million paid to Luol Deng and lumbering Timofey Mozgov to basically do nothing.

Back to the here and now, there’s seemingly more than enough talent and experience to get things right. There’s also an obvious case of too many creators in the cook space, and this current Lakers season has descended into a worst-ever episode of Hell’s Kitchen.

It’s not even fun to watch it, let alone write about it. A quixotic Oz-like journey gone horribly wrong. Sinking ships, ghosts and grease fires. The clichés feel staler than the team itself.

The 2021-22 season endures for now, however painful it may be. The 9th place L.A. Lakers face the 11th place Portland Trailblazers tonight. LeBron and Russ are both questionable, with left knee soreness and lower back stiffness respectively. Asked about fans’ boos after the Milwaukee blowout, Westbrook called it a “sign of respect.” If he does suit up tonight he’ll likely be treated to even more respect.

Somewhere in a parallel universe, things change on a dime. A team finds its unity, fourth quarter comebacks become sustained efforts, pitchforks are tossed to the side and the chants and cheers become infectiously good and inspiring. Boats are righted and souls are saved.

Somewhere, beyond the yellow brick road.