There are plenty of guys in the league who I can’t blame anyone for disliking. And I’m not just talking the usual suspects (Kobe, LeBron, Wade, Kobe, Parker, Kobe, Flopsy Varejao, Kobe, etc.). I like David West a lot. But he’s got an attitude problem, thuggish antics, and gets a lot of credit based on playing with Paul. Kendrick Perkins and Glen Davis have yet to set a legal screen in the playoffs, and yet have the same swagger as Ray Allen, Pierce, and Garnett. Any great player is going to be obnoxious to those that have to face him. You see the same thing with politics. For the most part, 70% of us can get along with one another in a civilized society, and we recognize one another as decent human beings. But put one of us with a pin of the opposite animal on it, and all of a sudden we grow distrustful of their intentions, their character, their moral integrity.
Sport is athletic drama, and drama invokes passion, and passion invokes hate. Rarely is it actually hate. It’s sports hate, which is relatively healthy in small doses. A pressure valve for anger, frustration, and grief over the universe’s stubborn refusal to accept that our team is good, and their team is bad. It’s irrational, but then, so is rooting for laundry, as the old (new) saying goes.
But there’s a new one that’s popped up I can’t quite get my brain around. This player, I just can’t see why they’ve earned it. He’s not dominant, just effective. He’s not cocky, smug, or boastful. On the contrary, he behaves with a certain degree of dignity and humility. He doesn’t act like the hosthot guy at work that took your project out from under you because you had to go to your kid’s soccer game, he’s the guy that stays late to help you get it done and then tells the boss what a great job you did. He works hard, he gets paid, he goes home. And yet he’s become some sort of iconic lightning rod for a fanbase so passionate, they will cry havoc if they are denied their tacos. He’s a role player that Lakers fans now thirst to watch suffer, and it’s all just because someone wrote about him as an example in the New York Times.
His name is Shane Battier, and hell doesn’t really follow with him, but a heckuva bad day at the office sure does.
Battier was always regarded as a great a great defender. A rough and tumble, spit and polish, beta male defender who just did his job. Also, kind of a geek. Big on technology, tech editor for HOOP. But he was largely under the radar. Then the Michael Lewis piece hit, and all of a sudden, he’s a “Kobe-stopper.”
A riddle. Stop me if you’ve heard this one, Amy
There’s a four way intersection, with a $20 bill in the middle. On each path, there’s someone different. The Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, and a Kobe-Stopper. Guess who gets to the $20? The answer is actually Ron Artest, who ran over Santa Claus and took the $20.
But the other answer would be no one, since they’re all figments of your imagination. That joke was a lot funnier 14 years ago. The point is that no one’s stopping Bryant completely. That’s part of the “2nd best basketball player on earth/former best player on earth” gig. But the objective is to make it difficult,and make him inefficient.Which the Rockets have done so far. And so much of that is Battier. Moving Bryant to the margin, rather than the horizon line is a long term objective It’s a process. Off the ball it takes bumping, tracking, and shadowing. On the ball it takes constant pressure, swiping, composure, fundamentals, and more bumping. And Battier has done it. If Kobe nails a turnaround, fadeaway, 17 foot jumper with Battier’s hand right in his face? You’ve done all you can do.
But after the Lewis article, Lakers fans, and Kobe for that matter if you look at his behavior in this series, took it personally. How DARE they say anyone could guard Kobe? NO ONE can guard Kobe!
And they’re right. But some guys do it better than others. So they still fail, but they fail less than others do. And while Kobe is sneering at teammates who are constantly letting him down, Battier has become the emotional rock of this team. He’s the spokesperson. He’s some sort of weird reluctant hero. He didn’t want the gig as leader, but in the absence of the guys that get paid, someone has to. And you see it. Every time Brooks swoops in for a layup or Scola knocks down the midrange, Battier’s clapping, cheering, encouraging. He’s working in every timeout. And that’s the big difference between these two teams.
The Lakers expect to get there and pout when they don’t. The Rockets expect nothing, but kill themselves to get wherever they’re going. We’d do well to take Battier as an example of the kind of player we want our players to be and not an imposter, daring to tug on Superman’s cape. Because the Rockets have forced a Game 7 due primarily to audacity. And while Battier speaks softly, he’s playing with an outright disregard for the script.
Here’s to hoping he can finish the flip.