Photo via mikesgreek on Flickr
Know what I hated about watching Wizards games during their 0-8 stretch? The foul mix of sweat, guilt, and masochism that seeps out of your pores after each game is over. There was an odd sense of hopelessness on the roster that manifested itself in the listless performance of their team day after day. There was no tomorrow in Andray Blatche’s clueless midrange jump shots and equally clueless evasion of accountability. There was no sunshine in Nick Young, who, in his fifth NBA season, still has only taken baby steps in becoming less of a one-dimensional player. There was no joy in Jordan Crawford. The incandescence that existed only weeks before the NBA season started – a healthy John Wall’s emergence as a star, rookies Chris Singleton and Jan Vesely—began to flicker and fade.
The lights are back on now, at least temporarily. Winning against a Raptors team who played their second night on a back-to-back-to-back schedule is unquestionably a morale boost. Flip Saunders made a wise move to switch up the starting roster a bit (initially reported as an injury bump for both Andray Blatche and Rashard Lewis, but both ended up playing off the bench), but the problems that existed in the team’s first eight games don’t simply vanish.
At the heart of all the disappointment is John Wall. Last year, behind the dumbfounding experience that was Blake Griffin’s NBA arrival, Wall had a quiet very good season in spite of nagging injuries that at times robbed him of his signature burst. After a summer of tantalizing crowds with his awe-inspiring talent, we’re left with only questions and doubt in the new year. The root of tantalize stems from the story of Tantalus, a Greek mythological figure who stole nectar and ambrosia from the gods (among other unspeakable crimes) and was condemned to spend an eternity in hunger and thirst; he would be teased with fruit that evaded his clutches, and water that would recede whenever he went for a drink.
The Wizards, and specifically Wall, understand the plight of Tantalus well. Wall spearheads a team that shouldn’t have the worst record in the league. Against Toronto, Trevor Booker and Chris Singleton was the adrenaline injection the team needed to start the game. Both were active and alert. The Wizards were moving, cutting, and aware of the each other’s place on the floor. The team not only demonstrated its talent, but its willingness to hustle and play with, and not against, cohesion.  But is this merely low hanging fruit? It’s nice to get a jolt of energy from your young players for an emotional win like the one against the Raptors, but it’s also distressing to think that some of your most talented veterans aren’t able to provide that punch on a nightly basis.
The players touted most as building blocks for the future are the same players who play as though their primary source of basketball knowledge came from playing a few games of H-O-R-S-E. There is no movement. Everyone waits their turn for a shot. Everyone settles for low-percentage opportunities with all the conviction in the world, perhaps taking the Kobe System a bit too much to heart.
This single victory could be what galvanizes a remarkable run. But in a more likely scenario, it’ll mirror Tantalus’ struggle: a glimpse of hope before an inevitable letdown. To my knowledge the Wizards haven’t committed any crime as wicked as cannibalism or human sacrifice*, which makes the Wizards’ season thus far an even harsher reality.
* – (Hmm, actually, “cannibalistic†and “human-sacrificial†would be apt descriptors for Andray Blatche and Nick Young’s style of play.)
The Wizards have played playground games this season, and it’s neither aesthetically pleasing nor conducive to winning. They have a personnel problem; a rather elementary one. In fact, I think I can explain it with my own fifth grade experience:
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Photo via katatlarge on Flickr
The transition between fourth and fifth grade was unbearable.
See, the fifth graders at the time were vile people.
Every activity they took part in during recess eventually got banned. There was always too much roughhousing and too many kids getting injured as a result of their pent-up demon-rage.  So as fourth graders we could only watch as every conceivable outlet of fun keeled over and died. Let’s run down the list:
Basketball?Banned.Kickball?Banned.Handball?Banned.Tetherball?Banned.Foursquare?Banned. (HOW?)Dodgeball?Haha.
Becoming a fifth grader was supposed to be an honor. Fifth graders were released to recess first. But in the wake of what the previous fifth graders did the year before, the playground was a desolate field of nothing. We were teased by the basketball courts and the open field, which mocked our inability to play due to stupid punishments set by incompetent administration. Left to our own devices without organized, structured concepts of amusement, 10-year-old kids hearken back to primitive activities. We looked to nature and our age-old desire to manipulate it.
Our grassy field was meant for soccer. It was meant for kickball wars (essentially a Civil War battle re-enactment with two opposing teams of up to 25 on each side of the field kicking balls in unison as though it were a round of musket fire. …But we were like, 10. What the hell was the Civil War?). With these games taken away from us, we did what we could to stay amused. Near the kickball/baseball mounds were a colony of fire ants (they weren’t fire ants, but they were red and we didn’t know any better). Along the grass were small flowers that the girls used to braid into bracelets. Bees frequented these flowers, and we knew it. You can probably guess what we did with our time.
We stepped on the bees lightly, only to stun the bees and prevent them from flying away. Picking them up by their wings–making sure not to get stung–we’d toss them into the ant hole and watch as the bee—five times the ants’ size—would flail and struggle against the swarming ants. We wanted to know if the bee would still have enough strength to ward off the ants. It didn’t. It couldn’t.
Barbaric? Yes. But the fifth graders before us set a standard that couldn’t be lifted. What were we to do? We were trapped, and despite our best efforts, we couldn’t escape their legacy.
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Where would a winning culture come from on this Wizards roster? Three of the team’s most recognizable talents are holdovers from a transitional period. Blatche, Young, and McGee all found themselves playing major minutes during the Gilbert Arenas Recovery Era, in which the team struggled and all the while fostering individualistic tendencies already prevalent in the much of the roster. The Wizards, and most importantly Wall, are being chained down by failed investments made in the past. Blatche and Young are unquestionably talented. But after years and years of nurturing, neither has emerged as a team-oriented player. So the plight of Tantalus exists in the purgatory that gunners Blatche and Young represent: vessels of promise that are too talented to relinquish without reassurance, too hazardous to leave hanging around unattended.
The Wizards are right to celebrate their first win. The team is nowhere near as bad as their record suggests. But holding onto their damaged goods will take them nowhere. They’ve made their investment in Wall and should be obligated to do right by him. What they choose to do with their remnants of the past will matter very soon. It can mean the difference between jumpstarting their renewal in earnest and continuing their struggle for the low hanging fruit right above them.
