My NBA fanhood boils down to a series of moments. Michael Jordan‘s shove of Bryon Russell. Allan Houston‘s Game 5 floater against the Heat to send the Knicks to the second round of the ’99 playoffs. LeBron James‘ 48 points against Detroit in Game 5 of the ’07 playoffs. The Kobe to Shaq alley-oop in Game 7 of the 2000 Western Conference Finals. The Ron Artest Game 7 three-pointer in last years’ NBA Finals, followed by a ceremonial salute to his therapist.
Of course these aren’t the only memorable moments to transpire over the past 13 years, but they’re the ones that stick out to me. They’re the ones that replay in my head when I reminisce. I can recall where I was, the emotions, the movements, everything. In 1999, I was parked on my bed, eating a box of Wheat Thins as was my go-to, childhood snack ritual. My love of the game stemmed more from a starstruck demeanor than any particular appreciation of the inner workings of basketball. When Houston nailed that shot, of course I was happy. My brother and father had bred me to become a diehard Knicks fan. But watching Houston run down the court, furiously throwing his fist through the air in celebration, showed me something I was otherwise oblivious to. These players cared just as much as I did. They weren’t merely manifestations of the N64 games I religiously played. Happiness, frustration, disappointment and satisfaction were all a part of my youth basketball leagues, so why couldn’t they exist in the NBA?
When Dirk savagely cut the heart out of Oklahoma City in Game 4 of the Western Conference Finals, I knew I had witnessed one of those moments. Some of my friends had just moved into a new apartment – the television was on the floor and we were sitting on alarmingly uncomfortable wooden chairs. But Dirk’s inspiring play lessened my discomfort because everyone around me knew what was happening. Is this for real? We knew Dirk was great, but he had never displayed that extra gear. The one that heightens your sensitivity to your every surrounding. After the comeback was complete, we sat in stunned silence. The room was pulling for Oklahoma City, but no one was pissed about what had happened. In 10 minutes, Dirk was beginning to carve out a new place for his legacy.
But one moment is not enough to define a career. No matter how many times I relive throwing my Wheat Thins-filled hand in the air, it won’t elevate Houston to Hall of Fame status. It takes a compilation of legendary moments or a transcendent playoff performance culminating in an NBA Championship. After Game 4 of the Western Conference Finals, we knew that the latter was possible. The former, however, is hardly possible. For the past 13 years, Dirk’s career has essentially passed us by without anyone noticing. As analysts, we constantly preach consistency. And that’s exactly what Dirk has provided. Eleven 50-win seasons, at least 23.0 points per game for seven straight years and an unchanging, ever-deadly jump shot. Throughout his NBA journey, we’ve known what we’re getting with Dirk. Not outstanding, but just on the cusp. That’s why we’re enamored with the Kobes, D-Wades and LeBrons of the NBA. They may not be as consistent, but they’re capable of the unthinkable. Just when we think we’ve figured them out, they take it to a whole new level of absurdity.
Every element of Dirk’s game is planned an executed. When he walks on the court, it feels like every step, dribble, spin or shot is fine tuned to his exact specifications. He plays basketball like a weekend warrior – perfecting his jumper because he has no hint of athleticism. And so we want to root for him. But Dirk’s ascension has been, for the most part, frustrating. He’s a 32-year-old star unwilling to embrace our open arms. The more love we show him, the more he runs away. His press conferences are short. When the Mavs clinched the Western Conference Finals, Doris Burke awkwardly searched for him on national television. Where was he? In the locker room. He quietly slipped away, allowing Mark Cuban to bask in the glory. In his attempt to deflect the attention, he only caused more to head his way. Look at how Dirk’s focused on an NBA title, not a conference title. Look how humble he is. Look how unassuming he is. Less than a month ago, these were the traits of losers. Now that he’s won the title, it’s the mark of a winner.
The truth is that we never know how bad a superstar wants it until he gets close. Wade flew around the court with reckless abandon. LeBron can sugarcoat it all he wants, but he disappeared. Dirk, however, ambled up and down the court with an air of certainty. He was the only player on the court that, when he touched the ball, my senses enhanced. Just the mere threat of a basket left me on the edge of my seat. On the rare occasions that he missed, my heart sank. I was shocked and disappointed. Even though my mind knows that he’ll miss over 50% of his shots, my heart was unwilling to accept this reality. That to me is the mark of greatness. He was the only player on the court whose failure was completely and utterly unexpected.
So where does Dirk go from here? He’s got his title, he defeated evil. Yet he’ll never get the credit, no matter what we do. He’ll always be the sub-plot to the King James storyline. But take a look at the raw facts. As much as we love to praise team chemistry over individual stars, these Finals did come down to individuals. Late in the fourth quarter, it was LeBron, Wade and Chris Bosh vs. Dirk and Jason Terry. On paper, the outcome is certain. But all but twice, the Mavs won. Dirk won. A Miami victory would have finally validated our long-held belief that LeBron is the best on the planet. But instead of clarifying, these Finals complicated.
Somehow it still feels like Dirk stole LeBron’s mantle and the question of the NBA’s best player is relatively obvious. Still, the question has to be asked: Is it time to rid ourselves of the preconceived notion that LeBron is the best? Dirk beat LeBron with less help, plain and simple. If we measure greatness by winning, Dirk won. If we measure greatness by doing more with less, Dirk won. So who’s to say that Dirk is not the best player on the planet right now? What more does he have to do? All I know is that I don’t have an answer.
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