Paul Pierce Is The Motherfucking Truth
So said Shaquille O'Neal.
(So say we all.)
Pierce's career to date has been this weird mixture of respect and neglect; he's quite possibly the most ignored of the acknowledged superstars over the past ten years. This is a potentially transformative moment for him; Bill Simmons has commented a number of times that a victory in these Finals probably puts Pierce in the top 75 all time (more on that idea later) and probably elevates him to a Hall of Fame lock, as opposed to the borderline career he's strung together to date. He's already managed to transform his legacy simply by virtue of hardiness and longevity: in the Waning Jordan era, there were a number of players who emerged clearly in his mold, big physical 2/3s (remember that, back in the day, Jordan was big for a 2) who presented themselves as all-court scoring threats. None of them were exactly like Jordan (the most explicitly Jordanesque style going is Championship Dwyane Wade, who I'm not comparing in terms of skill, but in aesthetics resembled the 80s Jordan whose game was entirely based around screaming to the basket) but they all had their own spin on his legacy of dominating performances from the wing. There were a number of clear also rans - Jerry Stackhouse, Michael Finley, et al. - but four obvious elites: Kobe Bryant, Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, and Pierce. Bryant was the troubled wunderkind, then and now the most clearly talented. I'm sidestepping the Bryant/Jordan comparisons, but in terms of offensive skill, Bryant's game is - and has been - more complete than any single era of Jordan's. 80s Jordan didn't have Kobe's jump shot, Second Threepeat Jordan didn't have his explosiveness to the hoop. Bryant's trouble - all of these guys' trouble, perhaps - is in his well documented attitude, the inability to channel Jordanesque fury and competitiveness and contempt for his lessers into a motivating personality rather than an alienating one. Vince Carter was the most physically gifted, unstoppable in his driving attack, but completely unsuited, psychologically, to the exploitation of his own gross talents, and his retreat into a dodgily motivated, injury prone, wincing also-ran has destroyed the legacy of a once promising career. McGrady is maybe the most overtly tragic, if for obscure reasons. The most compelling of these guys, for my money, when he was on, the late Ralph Wiley once wrote a wonderfully weird column in which McGrady was, via extended metaphor, turned into the Kwisatz Haderach from Dune, and he was right: McGrady was a master of the Wierding Way, understanding possibilities before they unfolded, and mystically putting himself in just the right spot to exploit the defense. McGrady's best moments came when his lazy eyes were half closed, ripping you for 35 points seemingly in his sleep, seemingly without effort, all lanky grace. McGrady's fall from this height is harder to understand than Carter's - injury prone as well (except with legitimately troubleesome back injuries, not tweaked groin after tweaked groin), but clearly troubled, depressed, gloomily talking about quitting basketball, unable to win in the playoffs.
In 2001 or 2003, Pierce probably would've been ranked the least of these four superstars. Today I think he's clearly the second, after Kobe but ahead of Carter and McGrady, brighter stars who are flaming out. Pierce's style is the least glamorous, the least commonly photogenic, but all the more captivating for me because of it: I wrote previously that one FreeDarko commenter called his game "slovenly", but another more charitably captured the same essence by name-checking Legend of Drunken Master. His game is herky jerky, stutter steps, speed changing, surprisingly earthbound for an NBA superstar. Undoubtedly this is one part of Pierce's physical durability (the other part being his previously mentioned toughness); he's not so dependent on elevation and explosiveness, more dependent on a deceptively methodical way of lurching towards the basket, trying to setup either (a) his low-elevation fadaway, or (b) a wat to get his man into an advantageous position, trapped on Pierce's hip, where he can then bully his way to the hoop or use the leverage for one of his incessant spin-moves. I dig the more accessible, human-esque, method of Pierce's game, the exploitation of more everyday qualities (his relative bulk and strength) to compensate for a lack of more overaweing gifts. If I find McGrady at his best to be magically transcendent, Pierce is the negative image of that, a relatively mundane approach to the game elevated to its highest iteration. By comparison, Vince Carter at his best was pure physical power and ability, and Kobe at his frequent best is a completely intelligible mastery of every aspect of the game; both are impressive but neither is as personally inspiring to me as McGrady's best or Pierce's.
(Aside: for reasons passing understanding, as a young boy during the beginning of the Celtics' fallow years, I rooted for the Knicks. I cannot rationally explain this, but I've decided to retcon it as a preternatural appreciation, beyond the ken of my immaturity, for Patrick Ewing's stoically workmanlike game, just endless tonnage of effort and sweat poured forth in service of basic fundamentals and a turnaround jumper. College Ewing was a fearsome freak, but Pro Ewing was just a man putting on his hardhat and going to work with the ever diminishing collection of tools he had available. No wonder Hakeem Olajuwon destroyed him [and all comers]. I probably recognize something similar between Pierce's game and Ewing's.)
Plus there's Pierce's personality (sorry for the alliteration): moody, a little arrogant, self-described as bipolar in what was presented as a joke but probably wasn't. There's something petulant about his bad side, the side that feels disrespected or unloved, but I'm drawn in recognition to, if not the specifics, the general outline of his moodiness. He can be a hard guy to like, as a fan, and - like Rasheed Wallace, like Allen Iverson - I find that attractive. Not to mention that his darker attitudes set the stage for his chest-pounding elations in hard-fought victory.
This post is long enough now, so I'll return another time to the idea of one more victory - meaning an NBA championship - magically pushing Pierce into another historical category.
(So say we all.)
Pierce's career to date has been this weird mixture of respect and neglect; he's quite possibly the most ignored of the acknowledged superstars over the past ten years. This is a potentially transformative moment for him; Bill Simmons has commented a number of times that a victory in these Finals probably puts Pierce in the top 75 all time (more on that idea later) and probably elevates him to a Hall of Fame lock, as opposed to the borderline career he's strung together to date. He's already managed to transform his legacy simply by virtue of hardiness and longevity: in the Waning Jordan era, there were a number of players who emerged clearly in his mold, big physical 2/3s (remember that, back in the day, Jordan was big for a 2) who presented themselves as all-court scoring threats. None of them were exactly like Jordan (the most explicitly Jordanesque style going is Championship Dwyane Wade, who I'm not comparing in terms of skill, but in aesthetics resembled the 80s Jordan whose game was entirely based around screaming to the basket) but they all had their own spin on his legacy of dominating performances from the wing. There were a number of clear also rans - Jerry Stackhouse, Michael Finley, et al. - but four obvious elites: Kobe Bryant, Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, and Pierce. Bryant was the troubled wunderkind, then and now the most clearly talented. I'm sidestepping the Bryant/Jordan comparisons, but in terms of offensive skill, Bryant's game is - and has been - more complete than any single era of Jordan's. 80s Jordan didn't have Kobe's jump shot, Second Threepeat Jordan didn't have his explosiveness to the hoop. Bryant's trouble - all of these guys' trouble, perhaps - is in his well documented attitude, the inability to channel Jordanesque fury and competitiveness and contempt for his lessers into a motivating personality rather than an alienating one. Vince Carter was the most physically gifted, unstoppable in his driving attack, but completely unsuited, psychologically, to the exploitation of his own gross talents, and his retreat into a dodgily motivated, injury prone, wincing also-ran has destroyed the legacy of a once promising career. McGrady is maybe the most overtly tragic, if for obscure reasons. The most compelling of these guys, for my money, when he was on, the late Ralph Wiley once wrote a wonderfully weird column in which McGrady was, via extended metaphor, turned into the Kwisatz Haderach from Dune, and he was right: McGrady was a master of the Wierding Way, understanding possibilities before they unfolded, and mystically putting himself in just the right spot to exploit the defense. McGrady's best moments came when his lazy eyes were half closed, ripping you for 35 points seemingly in his sleep, seemingly without effort, all lanky grace. McGrady's fall from this height is harder to understand than Carter's - injury prone as well (except with legitimately troubleesome back injuries, not tweaked groin after tweaked groin), but clearly troubled, depressed, gloomily talking about quitting basketball, unable to win in the playoffs.
In 2001 or 2003, Pierce probably would've been ranked the least of these four superstars. Today I think he's clearly the second, after Kobe but ahead of Carter and McGrady, brighter stars who are flaming out. Pierce's style is the least glamorous, the least commonly photogenic, but all the more captivating for me because of it: I wrote previously that one FreeDarko commenter called his game "slovenly", but another more charitably captured the same essence by name-checking Legend of Drunken Master. His game is herky jerky, stutter steps, speed changing, surprisingly earthbound for an NBA superstar. Undoubtedly this is one part of Pierce's physical durability (the other part being his previously mentioned toughness); he's not so dependent on elevation and explosiveness, more dependent on a deceptively methodical way of lurching towards the basket, trying to setup either (a) his low-elevation fadaway, or (b) a wat to get his man into an advantageous position, trapped on Pierce's hip, where he can then bully his way to the hoop or use the leverage for one of his incessant spin-moves. I dig the more accessible, human-esque, method of Pierce's game, the exploitation of more everyday qualities (his relative bulk and strength) to compensate for a lack of more overaweing gifts. If I find McGrady at his best to be magically transcendent, Pierce is the negative image of that, a relatively mundane approach to the game elevated to its highest iteration. By comparison, Vince Carter at his best was pure physical power and ability, and Kobe at his frequent best is a completely intelligible mastery of every aspect of the game; both are impressive but neither is as personally inspiring to me as McGrady's best or Pierce's.
(Aside: for reasons passing understanding, as a young boy during the beginning of the Celtics' fallow years, I rooted for the Knicks. I cannot rationally explain this, but I've decided to retcon it as a preternatural appreciation, beyond the ken of my immaturity, for Patrick Ewing's stoically workmanlike game, just endless tonnage of effort and sweat poured forth in service of basic fundamentals and a turnaround jumper. College Ewing was a fearsome freak, but Pro Ewing was just a man putting on his hardhat and going to work with the ever diminishing collection of tools he had available. No wonder Hakeem Olajuwon destroyed him [and all comers]. I probably recognize something similar between Pierce's game and Ewing's.)
Plus there's Pierce's personality (sorry for the alliteration): moody, a little arrogant, self-described as bipolar in what was presented as a joke but probably wasn't. There's something petulant about his bad side, the side that feels disrespected or unloved, but I'm drawn in recognition to, if not the specifics, the general outline of his moodiness. He can be a hard guy to like, as a fan, and - like Rasheed Wallace, like Allen Iverson - I find that attractive. Not to mention that his darker attitudes set the stage for his chest-pounding elations in hard-fought victory.
This post is long enough now, so I'll return another time to the idea of one more victory - meaning an NBA championship - magically pushing Pierce into another historical category.
Labels: Basketball
posted by medrawt at
17:21
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