Mainly the question Warrior Andrew Wiggins' presence poses Is he the wing answer to the Warriors concept of deep shooting, defense and movement? This year, really the first year that fans should judge his performance, Wiggins played like a star through the first half of the season and was named to the starting five on the West's All Star team. Some pundits questined whether he belonged. I didn't. That is not until the second half of the season when Wiggins game went south or north or whereve disinterest or confusion or lost spirit takes a player. I texted coaches and knowlegable NBA sources, what was going on with Wiggins? How could a player who played so well before the All Star Game, play so unenthusiastically the rest of the way? I got all sorts of possibilities. None satisfied me. Wiggins is a 6'7" swift, leaping, slashing, shooting wing with a 7 foot wingspan. Past perfomances prove he is cabable of sustained greatness. Why then, now does he not perform at that level all the time?My wife, who is an artist and sees life in terms of esthetics, joked that perhaps Wiggens sees himself as a ballet dancer and not a pro-basketball player. "Ha, ha!" I said. Later, I began thinking about what Melanie's joke. What if? Which is the question one always asks oneself if one is a mystery writer, which I happen to be (See my website Warrior14.com for info. on my upcoming first mystery novel) What if Andrew Wiggins doesn't see himself as a star? I played in the NBA for 10 years. I've been around the sport all my adult life, even while I was teaching and in retirment. Every NBA star I ever knew or every spent any time examing possessed a very strong and clear image of himself as a GREAT player, a STAR. There are no modest superstars. They may say the right things and people may thing they are being modest, but it is fiction. They actualize how they see themselves. And they see themself in the heavens in the galazies of brilliance. The more I thougt about this, the more it made sense to me. Every thing i've ever heard about Andrew Wiggins is that he is a gentle, thoughtful young man and a great teammate. What if the answer to his inconsistency is his inability to visualize himslf in the role of a superstar. In some ways I understand. I was selected to the West's 1963 All Star Team. If someone had asked me back then was I an All Star, I would have probably said no. I had a good season, that was it. That response for all intents and purposes predicted the way I would play and whee my game would lead me. For the next nine years until I retired, I was a reliable, defensive minded, rebounder, an important cog in the machine of the team, but I would never be an All Star again.
Back to Adnew Wiggiins and his performances in this seasons playoffs. Suddently Wiggins has left whatever kept him playing so lacklusterly in the second half of the season and is playing like an All Star. His guarding of Super Star Luka Doncic (Here' a guy who has a firm image of himself in the role of super hero) was magic. What I'm hoping for is this: Andrew Wiggins is finally seeing himself as a bone fide super star.
Cloe your eyes Wigs. There's a picture there. It's of you flying through the air dunking on Wilt Chamberlian, or of you slashing past Bam Adebayo, or sinking a three over the outstretched hands of Magic Johnson. It's you. You beleong you belong in the same realm as Steph and Klay and LeBron, and KD.
SACRAMENTO KINGS
A couple of quck thougts about the Kings. They lucked out by jumping from the 7th lottery postion to 4th and a chance to get a really solid college player in the draft. The most essential thing right now is that the owner Vivak Ranadive must get off the dime and externd GM McNair's contract so the Kings will finally have some continuity. McNair has earned it, making some difficult but smart moves, so that for the first time since I moved to Sacramento, the Kings have a chance to create a playoff team. No ownership meddling any more.
Ode to the Golden State Warriors 2015 by Tom Meschery
One small change and the line reads: Good luck,
timing, and the stars. This morning I’m still seeing
Curry’s three float through the sky of the arena
reminding me of a lesson in geometry:
An arc is a segment of the circumference
Of the circle – from foot (the flat plane of release)
that travels in silent degrees over the moon.
That it drops into the hoop is a matter
both of mathematics and imagination.
I am watching this arc with my arm in a sling
Having had my shoulder replaced with titanium,
A science of a lesser degree than the one
Curry, and his teammate, Thompson,
use to turn mathamatics into a sport.
As far as my titanium shoulder will allow,
I raise my arm to salute the Splash Brothers
And their teammates, three out of five,
Bogut, Barnes, and Green
And all the other players off the bench,
No small part of the equation called teammates.
And raise it up again through pain
To honor the others: players and coaches,
Gentry, Adams, and Kerr for his coaching
That were it not intense, looks much like joy.
Something so old inside me called desire
Yearns to play again, to shake off years,
Travel through the television screen
And be six-six again, called undersized
Like Draymond Green snatching rebounds,
Playing beyond our skills because we will it,
Because we know that timing gives us wings.
And wherever they are, the old Warriors,
Nate and Rick, Al and Jeff, I wonder, if like me,
They’re watching these new Warriors, Dubs,
Seeing how much luck, timing, and the stars triangulate.
