Suddenly, the NBA has been flooded with a bunch of retired players
seeking to make comebacks. The recycled hopefuls include Shawn Kemp,
Charles Oakley, Allan Houston and Penny Hardaway. Even Reggie Miller
seems to be flirting with the idea.
What gives?
The assumption is that none of these old-timers is in drastic need of
money. A more realistic motivation is that they simply miss those
aspects of The Game that they remember so fondly: The celebrity (and
all its extra-curricular perks), the camaraderie, the squeak and
squeal of sneakers on a hardwood floor — but most of all, the edge of
world-class competition. There's nothing in the workaday civilian
world that can come close to equaling the combination of mental,
emotional and physical thrills that arise in even the most
inconsequential NBA ball game.
Even players on cellar-dwelling teams always have their pride on the
line whenever the lights are switched on. Indeed, if they weren't all
highly competitive they'd soon be compelled to seek other, more
non-aggressive employment.
It's so easy (and so tempting) to forget about the arthritic knees and
the tender hammies. To forget about the broken digits, the strains and
sprains, and the lingering body-bruises.
It's just as easy to grow weary of sitting on the sidelines and
yapping into a microphone. And where's the teamwork, or the
mano-a-mano confrontations to be had in playing unlimited rounds of
golf? Also, how can a red-blooded ex-NBAer truly embrace a sport where
the players mostly wear white, are prohibited from spitting and
cursing, and where instead of saying "zero" the term used is "love"?
After a career full of adrenaline rushes, life in the slow lane is boring.
But do any of these has-beens have a realistic chance? Especially
considering the humiliating comeback experiences of Michael Jordan and
Magic Johnson?
The answer is a mixed bag of nevers and maybes.
In truth, power players have a much better chance of recovering
game-worthy chops than do finesse players. That's because even the
most judicious bangings and in-the-paint-warfare require comparatively
gross skills to be exercised in a comparatively small area. Post-up
defense, boxing out, rebounding, taking up space, and even setting
screens are all aspects of a big man's game that suffer only minimal
diminishment with encroaching age.
So scratch Shawn Kemp because his effectiveness relied on quick moves.
But if Oakley can still knock down his mid-range jumpers, then — even
as he approaches the ripe old age of 44 — he could conceivably work
himself into good enough shape to be a valuable player for a pair of
five-minute rotations per game.
After all, Kevin Willis is a year older than Oakley. And it is widely
conceded among NBA-insiders that Dikembe Mutombo is at least as old as
the Oak-man.
On the other hand, players who rely on quickness and guile will have a
much more difficult time — only because the skills necessary for their
survival are much more delicate and finely tuned. Also, losing a step
(or more) isn't quite as fatal within the confines of the lane as it
is in the wide-open spaces above the foul line and beyond.
Moreover, after sitting out a year (or more), it's not so easy for
anybody to plug back into the action. Indeed, where (given their being
in tip-top physical condition) a banger would require a month or two,
finesse players need at least three or four months.
So, then, what might the prognosis be for Miller, Houston, and Hardaway?
At age 42, Reggie should not unplug himself from the monitor.
Returning to the fray would only result in his being humiliated, as
well as the glow of his past glories being greatly dimmed. This
decision is a no-brainer.
Houston is still "only" 36, but hasn't played in two years. There's no
doubt that he feels hale and hearty these days, that his jumper is
still deadly, and that the arthritic pain in his knees has greatly
diminished. The fact remains, however, that the kind of severe
arthritis that forced Houston into retirement in the first place can
never fully heal. It's just as doubtless that the physical strain of
training and competing will rekindle the agony and the weakness.
Houston is only fooling himself if he thinks that the rather painless
bliss of civilian life will survive the almost daily pounding,
cutting, jumping (and landing) of NBA action.
Unless he believes that returning to the court is worth having a pair
of knee replacements, or being confined to a wheelchair in his dotage,
then Houston is advised to keep his sneakers in storage.
Hardaway is also 36, and hasn't played since he appeared in four
early-season contests with Orlando and the Knicks in the 2005-06
season. In his prime, Penny was primarily a one-on-one player and a
decidedly inferior defender. It's certain that his defense is
appreciably worse than it once was, while, at the same time, it's
highly questionable whether or not he'll be able to withstand the
physical defense that his offensive game plan necessarily attracts.
Besides, during Hardaway's last three seasons in the league, he was
already over the hill. Why should anybody believe that nearly 20
months on the shelf will resurrect his long-faded skills?
Since Hardaway's contract is not guaranteed, the Heat have little to
lose. Except for forfeiting a valuable roster spot (and the resultant
on-court time) during the preseason activities that might have gone to
a younger player with a potentially brighter future. Indeed, signing
Hardaway is a blatant sign of just how desperate Miami is to somehow
find "new" parts to complement the recuperating D-Wade and the rapidly
aging Shaq.
And what's at stake for Penny? He has nothing to lose but his dreams.
If I had to give a grade for Hardaway's signing with Miami it would be
a W (for Wishful Thinking).
seeking to make comebacks. The recycled hopefuls include Shawn Kemp,
Charles Oakley, Allan Houston and Penny Hardaway. Even Reggie Miller
seems to be flirting with the idea.
What gives?
The assumption is that none of these old-timers is in drastic need of
money. A more realistic motivation is that they simply miss those
aspects of The Game that they remember so fondly: The celebrity (and
all its extra-curricular perks), the camaraderie, the squeak and
squeal of sneakers on a hardwood floor — but most of all, the edge of
world-class competition. There's nothing in the workaday civilian
world that can come close to equaling the combination of mental,
emotional and physical thrills that arise in even the most
inconsequential NBA ball game.
Even players on cellar-dwelling teams always have their pride on the
line whenever the lights are switched on. Indeed, if they weren't all
highly competitive they'd soon be compelled to seek other, more
non-aggressive employment.
It's so easy (and so tempting) to forget about the arthritic knees and
the tender hammies. To forget about the broken digits, the strains and
sprains, and the lingering body-bruises.
It's just as easy to grow weary of sitting on the sidelines and
yapping into a microphone. And where's the teamwork, or the
mano-a-mano confrontations to be had in playing unlimited rounds of
golf? Also, how can a red-blooded ex-NBAer truly embrace a sport where
the players mostly wear white, are prohibited from spitting and
cursing, and where instead of saying "zero" the term used is "love"?
After a career full of adrenaline rushes, life in the slow lane is boring.
But do any of these has-beens have a realistic chance? Especially
considering the humiliating comeback experiences of Michael Jordan and
Magic Johnson?
The answer is a mixed bag of nevers and maybes.
In truth, power players have a much better chance of recovering
game-worthy chops than do finesse players. That's because even the
most judicious bangings and in-the-paint-warfare require comparatively
gross skills to be exercised in a comparatively small area. Post-up
defense, boxing out, rebounding, taking up space, and even setting
screens are all aspects of a big man's game that suffer only minimal
diminishment with encroaching age.
So scratch Shawn Kemp because his effectiveness relied on quick moves.
But if Oakley can still knock down his mid-range jumpers, then — even
as he approaches the ripe old age of 44 — he could conceivably work
himself into good enough shape to be a valuable player for a pair of
five-minute rotations per game.
After all, Kevin Willis is a year older than Oakley. And it is widely
conceded among NBA-insiders that Dikembe Mutombo is at least as old as
the Oak-man.
On the other hand, players who rely on quickness and guile will have a
much more difficult time — only because the skills necessary for their
survival are much more delicate and finely tuned. Also, losing a step
(or more) isn't quite as fatal within the confines of the lane as it
is in the wide-open spaces above the foul line and beyond.
Moreover, after sitting out a year (or more), it's not so easy for
anybody to plug back into the action. Indeed, where (given their being
in tip-top physical condition) a banger would require a month or two,
finesse players need at least three or four months.
So, then, what might the prognosis be for Miller, Houston, and Hardaway?
At age 42, Reggie should not unplug himself from the monitor.
Returning to the fray would only result in his being humiliated, as
well as the glow of his past glories being greatly dimmed. This
decision is a no-brainer.
Houston is still "only" 36, but hasn't played in two years. There's no
doubt that he feels hale and hearty these days, that his jumper is
still deadly, and that the arthritic pain in his knees has greatly
diminished. The fact remains, however, that the kind of severe
arthritis that forced Houston into retirement in the first place can
never fully heal. It's just as doubtless that the physical strain of
training and competing will rekindle the agony and the weakness.
Houston is only fooling himself if he thinks that the rather painless
bliss of civilian life will survive the almost daily pounding,
cutting, jumping (and landing) of NBA action.
Unless he believes that returning to the court is worth having a pair
of knee replacements, or being confined to a wheelchair in his dotage,
then Houston is advised to keep his sneakers in storage.
Hardaway is also 36, and hasn't played since he appeared in four
early-season contests with Orlando and the Knicks in the 2005-06
season. In his prime, Penny was primarily a one-on-one player and a
decidedly inferior defender. It's certain that his defense is
appreciably worse than it once was, while, at the same time, it's
highly questionable whether or not he'll be able to withstand the
physical defense that his offensive game plan necessarily attracts.
Besides, during Hardaway's last three seasons in the league, he was
already over the hill. Why should anybody believe that nearly 20
months on the shelf will resurrect his long-faded skills?
Since Hardaway's contract is not guaranteed, the Heat have little to
lose. Except for forfeiting a valuable roster spot (and the resultant
on-court time) during the preseason activities that might have gone to
a younger player with a potentially brighter future. Indeed, signing
Hardaway is a blatant sign of just how desperate Miami is to somehow
find "new" parts to complement the recuperating D-Wade and the rapidly
aging Shaq.
And what's at stake for Penny? He has nothing to lose but his dreams.
If I had to give a grade for Hardaway's signing with Miami it would be
a W (for Wishful Thinking).
