Before the Law stands a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the countryside and requests admittance to the Law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot admit him just now. The man reflects and then asks whether he will be able to enter later on.
“It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.”
- Franz Kafka, Before the Law (as translated by Joachim Neugroschel)
Kafka’s world is as much about anguish as it is about ambiguity. His short story, Before the Law, is a waiting game. A man hopes desperately to enter the Law, an undefined destination that all men strive for. The man waits patiently his entire life for permission, but his passage is never granted.
And at that point in the story, it’s clear that the man had failed. What isn’t clear is how or why. Was the gatekeeper testing him? Did the gatekeeper have any authority at all? Or was it all one elaborate mental barrier? Kafka depicts a man who spends his entire life wondering, but spends no time overstepping the boundaries he sees in front of him, or the ones he’s made for himself. Patience is a virtue, but when paired with idleness, it’s a death sentence.
Please forgive me for thinking that all of this existential babble has something to do with Terrence Williams. It does, doesn’t it? Sitting through my three-hour philosophy class, all I could think about was Williams’ passive-aggressive/love-hate situation with the Houston Rockets — as though his season was just a reenactment of the entire story.
Of course we have to begin with Williams’ talent. Had he not been blessed with elite-level gifts, we wouldn’t be worried about him throwing away these important years of his NBA career. He’s been labeled as a true point forward since college, but you’re just as likely to find Williams dribbling the ball for 20 seconds before heaving a 21-footer on a forced isolation play as you are seeing him make a heady pass. In a New York Times feature, Williams’ former coach Rick Pitino once paid him the ultimate compliment: “Terrence can do anything on the court.†It’s true. But while those words are flattering, they’ve done little in helping Williams find an identity for himself as an NBA player.
To be fair, Williams hasn’t found a stable home yet. In his first two years, he’s seen four different coaches with four different ideas to utilize (or not utilize) him. Williams’ first 16 games as an NBA player were promising. Coach Lawrence Frank had plenty of confidence in him, allowing him to play through his shooting woes (he shot 35.9% under Frank). Both Kiki Vandeweghe and Avery Johnson both professed admiration of Williams’ talent, but that admiration soured as he was slow to embrace his role in their newly established systems. What could’ve been a new beginning in Houston was more of the same, with Williams seemingly unable to comply with Adelman’s potent offensive system. Then, of course, frustration began to fester.
During these many years the man keeps his eyes on the gatekeeper almost uninterruptedly. He forgets all about the other gatekeepers, and this first one strikes him as the only obstacle to getting into the Law. He curses his poor luck — in the first few years loudly and relentlessly, and later on, when he grows old, he merely grumbles to himself.
Twitter.
Great way to interact with people you don’t know. Also a great way to keep yourself in the doghouse. In an almost weekly occurrence, Williams expresses (in not-s0-subtle ways) disappointment with his role on the team. The way in which he uses Twitter is nuanced. By retweeting the cries and demands of rabid fans and also using fan Q&A sessions to project his own gloom, he paints himself as a tragic figure imprisoned by circumstance. It’s a weekly facepalm for many tweeters, but it’s also hard to deny someone so adept at conveying emotion in 140 characters or less.
Over the past two years, Williams has gotten himself into trouble for passive actions against his team. At what point does this frustration culminate into something constructive? Houston is very much looking to rebuild. It seems as though the Adelman era will reach an end, even though he’s been responsible for some of the most overachieving teams in the league. Williams will have a chance to start anew once more. But talent will only take him so far before teams begin to lose faith. Until William finds himself within a system, he’ll continue to be on the outside looking in.
It may be playoff time, but there is still work to be done for those that have missed the cut. As far as we know (though it’s unlikely), this could be Williams’ last shot at turning it all around. He’ll have to work. It’ll take compromise and it’ll take courage. It’ll be a struggle to conform and to realize where his duties lie. But maybe that’s enough to set Williams aright. His career may seem like a tragedy thus far, but maybe the concepts of valor and purpose aren’t rooted in the fruit of success, but the struggle; in at least trying to struggle.
Terrence Williams won’t have the rest of his life to make his way past the gate, but hopefully he won’t need that long.
