Contentment on a Treadmill

There are so many players in this league that infuriate me with their unfulfilled potential. Every time Tyrus Thomas bites on a bad pump fake, I end up with my head in my hands. Every time Marvin Williams starts to slowly turn invisible, I shake my head. And every time Mario Chalmers hands the ball to an opposing defender, I damn near throw my remote through my television.

But Trevor Ariza is a bizarre exception. He has the athleticism necessary to be an elite two-way swingman, but he proves night after night that he has no business whatsoever operating in a shot-creating capacity. His defensive aptitude is completely reliant on quickness and length over technique, even if his style doesn’t scream for it as obviously as, say, Josh Smith’s. And with the Rockets, Ariza consistently plays as if he’s everything he should be, rather than everything he is.

I know that Houston deserves a more natural scoring leader, and no team in the league would benefit more from one. But the little voice inside my head (the same one that screams at Tyrus or sighs at Marvin) only seems to reiterate what I already know: Trevor Ariza is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

You could blame a lot of people for Ariza’s stunted offensive development, but it just seems natural for him to exist in his current state. As a Laker, Ariza’s skill set made him not a Kobe wannabe, but a welcome, unique part of a championship squad. And as a Rocket, Ariza’s physical tools would seemingly allow him to step into Tracy McGrady’s shoes, but his limitations allow him to be something so much more. If you were to pick out the teams of the NBA in the truest sense of the word, the Rockets would certainly be among them. Would that be the case if the divide in traditional statistical production between Ariza and his teammates was more notable? If his high number of shot attempts were a product of anything other than necessity?

Hardly. If Ariza had a more diverse offensive game, it’s probable that the Rockets would be improved as well. But everything we’ve come to know about them this season would be eclipsed by convention. Ariza’s mediocrity (which isn’t meant to be an insult) is part of what makes Houston so unbelievably charming, as if each clanging jumpshot or overambitious drive was only further evidence of Trevor being earnest. The Rockets are only the Rockets because of their delightful limitations, and to expect more of Ariza is to wish death upon the Rox as we know them.