(Apologies for the lateness. I had a thing.)
We’re doomed. I realize that now.
It was inevitable, really. We all wanted it. That player who would change things. The unstoppable force of nature. The nexus of violence, improvisation, tenacity, fearlessness, and fear-of-God-giving talent. And so we’ve been given him. Which is too bad, because there’s nothing to stop him from reigning fire down upon all of us.
“YOU GET A POSTER! AND YOU GET A POSTER! AND YOU GET A POSTER!”
There’s no stopping him now, of course. Now that he realizes what he can do. Now that he faced down LeBron. Kobe. Think about that. The team’s won 16 freaking games because they’re the GD Clippers and still, their hit list is impressive. Check it out.
Heat. Hornets. Lakers. Bulls. Knicks. Spurs. Suns.
He had eleven points versus the Nets and 24-14-6 against the Heat. The more we throw at him the stronger he becomes.
Moving past the hyperbole, we haven’t seen anything like this in the modern era. It hearkens back to glimpses of what we would have seen in Shaq’s rookie season. Or Kareem’s. No, literally. Except he has none of Shaq’s silly pompousness and need for attention, nor the aloof detachment of Kareem. He dunks on everyone, everyone, everyone, then stares them down. He’s unapologetically awesome, and in doing so, he’s the promise of greatness.
That word is what we hope for all those misbegotten freakshows who wind up as nothing more than “athletic” rotation guys who never really amount to everything. That they’ll put that athleticism to good use, work on developing some semblance of a repertoire and attack, attack, attack. And in the meantime, Griffin’s doing things which shouldn’t even be physically possible. Exhibit A:
THAT SHOT GOES IN, FOR GOD’S SAKE. What angle is that? Is it possible? Even if it was, how is it possible from a 21-year-old forward out of a post-spin in his first season when the entire defense is trying to stop, specifically him? HOW?
But wait! There’s more!
Again, with the insanity. He’s lifting off for a layup out of a driving post-spin by using Jeff Foster’s face as a launchpad. This isn’t reality. This is Blakeverse. He’s owning all of us. Clippers games are now must-watch. This is the organization employing Baron Davis, run by the worst owner in professional sports history, playing without their starting center, and yet people are staying up just to watch this… thing destroy everything in its path.
Zach touched on this the other day, Â but the absurdity of this moment should not pass us by. Which is why I won’t resort to worrying about him breaking something as he goes splaying to the floor for the fortieth time. I’m not going to focus on his defense (which actually isn’t that bad if you trust Synergy Sports- 30% FG% in ISO, but 50% in the post), or his awareness or his jumper (how is he hitting threes with that shot?). I’m just going to enjoy this. And revel in the fear.
This is really too good to be true. And while there is part of me waiting for it to be pulled out from under me and another questioning what set of Basketball Gods would give Donald Sterling this revelation in the draft, it does no good. There’s a chance, no matter how slim, that we’ve stumbled on the next one-man Army of Great, and we’ll have to face that reality.
If you need me, I’ll be in the bunker.