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When the Bobcats appeared in the NBA in 2004 – David Stern’s consolation prize to the city of Charlotte for the travesty that was George Shinn – I was pretty taken aback by, well, just about everything. There was something totally comical about them, from their name, to their uniforms, to their “everyday is Halloween, here!” color scheme. They just didn’t feel real; a sort of caricature of an NBA team, not unlike a fictional team some 13 year old might create in a video game, a whimsical figment of an enterprising imagination.
As I recall, I think it was the Bobcats roster that unsettled me the most. I was sort of baffled by the entire idea of an expansion draft – you mean you just give the guys away to the fake team? – and certainly didn’t understand the intricacies of “protecting” players, leaving certain players “unprotected” and managing a salary cap. All I knew was that I couldn’t tell heads-from-tails with the Bobcats; an assemblage of young projects (a term to be used very, very loosely) and veterans who I had largely forgotten were in the league. Sure, I had heard of Emeka Okafor, the Bobcats draft pick, and was sort of interested to see if Steve Smith had anything left in the tank (spoiler alert: he didn’t), but I had never heard of Malik Allen, and wouldn’t be able to get starstruck over Eddie House had he paid me to ask him for an autograph. I sort of got a kick out of seeing Jahidi White, a burly bear of a center whose biggest claim to fame was being the starting pivot for those “Jordan-led” Wizards teams. And in Gerald Wallace you had a young, athletic player, but at the time was mostly a dunker and slasher, and was nothing near the force he currently is today. Indeed, aside from the allure of Okafor, and a passing interest in Kareem Rush (where’d he go?) there wasn’t much there to catch the eye of a discerning NBA fan.
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Everyone except Primoz Brezec. Now, Primoz had come to the Bobcats via the Pacers, who at the time were a very good, deep team with finals aspirations. He had rarely seen court time with the Pacers in all of his previous three seasons with the team, and with his manageable, multi-year contract, must’ve been an ideal pick for an expansion team like the Bobcats. So there he was, the starting power forward for an inaugural team that also featured Okafor, Rush , Brevin Knight and Wallace. Yikes.
The Bobs were terrible – no surprise there – but Primoz was balling. Not quite a Diet Dirk, Primoz was something different; perhaps what Nikoloz Tskitishvili or Bostjan Nachbar was supposed to become. Primoz could flat out score, on jumpers and runners, with his back to the hoop or facing up his opponent. He more than did his part, averaging about 17 ppg in his first two months before settling down to 13.0 ppg (good for second on the Bobs that season), to go along with 7.4 rpg and 0.8 bpg as well. Before long, he became one of my favorite players on the 18-win Bobs, and I always clicked on ESPN.com highlights of Bobcats game to see how wacky Primoz got his 17 and 8 on that particular night.
In retrospect – and with expansion at the front of my mind, for obvious reasons – I find myself rethinking Primoz, reconsidering and reconstructing that strange first year of Bobcats basketball. At the time, it was easy to dismiss the Bobs as a new type of irrelevant; a terrible team that I had never seen before with absolutely no marketable players, and very little obvious upside. 18 wins never looks pretty, and the Bobs were doing it for the first time, without the players, symbols and icons that normally accompany a known team in the league. There was little to get behind, not much to hang a hat or a coat on. It was easy to dismiss the Bobcats as illegitimate, something purely needed to balance the conferences (the Hornets were now a Western conference team) and make sure that the NBA remained mathematically sound.
But on the other hand, the Bobcats were a place of opportunity, a destination of promise. No, they weren’t household names, and there was going to be no chance that they would win anything close to 30 games in the their first season. But it still didn’t take away the fact that it allowed for players to get legitimate experience, and earn legitimate money playing basketball. It gave Emeka Okafor a chance to learn what it was like to lead a team (and that he’d probably never have the skill to be a centerpiece player) in a fresh new environment. It gave guys like Gerald Wallace and Kareem Rush a chance to put up double digits in over 30 minutes a game. It provided the growing pains and losing angsts for mid 20-year olds like Keith Bogans, Eddie House, Brevin Knight and Melvin Ely to use constructively as contributing role players later on in life. It bestowed another year of earnings for washed up veterans like Steve Smith and Jahidi White to pad their incomes and support their own businesses, and fill out their payrolls. And for guys like Tamar Slay and Bernard Robinson, it was a nice reference on a resume, and a surefire way to secure employment abroad playing the game they were best at.
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One of the buzziest buzz phrases in this brave new world filled with “fiscal cliffs” and “debt ceilings” is the idea of “job creation”. Following the mini stock market crash of 2008, when we lost thousands (millions?) of jobs and unemployment rose (at its worst) to 9.2%, the focus centered on manufacturing employment opportunities for those who had lost work due to the downturn, and providing some sort of support network for those who would undoubtedly struggle to maintain steady employment in a recessed economy, like the youths, the elderly, and individuals with disabilities. The numbers have been bad, and the numbers have been good, but the focus has stayed – probably rightfully so – on job creation, and the expansion of our weakened economy.
Similarly, the NBA has a rare chance to create jobs and opportunities in its own league at a time where expansion might make some sense, given the circumstances currently at hand. With Seattle chomping at the bit to revive the SuperSonics franchise, and Sacramento’s Kings serving as the most likely subject to be to fulfill the quest, the NBA should be exploring every possible avenue to make both cities happy, while at the same time, expanding its markets and broadening its influence. There may be no better opportunity to do this by creating a SuperSonics anew in Seattle, and perhaps another team in the Eastern conference to provide balance (though Tom Ziller does not think this is a necessity). That way, the Kings can remain in Sacramento with new owners, the Sonics can be created without guilt or shame in Seattle, and a new city — Kansas City? Virginia Beach? — will get to experience the excitement of NBA basketball in their polis.
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Verily, the NBA has not perfected the art of expansion. The last seven expansion teams of the NBA’s modern era — the Charlotte Hornets and Miami Heat (1988), the Orlando Magic and Minnesota Timberwolves (1989), the Vancouver Grizzlies and Toronto Raptors (1995), and the Charlotte Bobcats (2004) — have had to wait, on average, 6 seasons before they posted a winning record (and even that didn’t guarantee a playoff berth). Kevin’s post on an potential expansion team in Seattle, and the bleak roster that that team would feature in year one of existence, more than confirms this unbecoming trend. It wouldn’t be pretty, and it probably wouldn’t be that pretty for awhile. Moreover, David Stern has repeatedly stated that expansion — once a major goal for the NBA — is no longer in its immediate plans, as long as he’s commissioner. By all indications, at least according to all relevant parties, this is not the time to expand the NBA.
I guess that’s a shame. Yes, the expanded Sonics wouldn’t be great. They would likely be terrible. However, if that was the team that allowed JaVale McGee to average 18, 12 and 3 in 34 springy minutes a game, and allowed the league to see what a compelling offensive and defensive piece Kent Bazemore might be if he got the burn, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. If it allowed Luke Ridnour a chance to play for his “hometown” team, it might all be okay. If it gave Orlando Johnson and Mike Scott the chance to stick around the league, or use the experience to become long-term professionals overseas, it’d be a worthwhile experience. If it gave James Jones and Mareese Speights a few more good years, and allowed the folks in Seattle to have a few more microbrewed beers, well, it’d truly be worth it.
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I’ve said it before: when you see an NBA player, you shouldn’t be seeing just an athletic man. You should be seeing a small business; a mini-enterprise and a portable brand, someone who has the capital to support a large number of people, and provide job opportunities for more than just themselves. There are drivers and gardeners, trainers and chefs, agents and accountants and dietitians and personal assistants attached to the player, and they are, in the flesh, a walking and talking small business in nearly every sense of the word. With more NBA jobs comes more opportunities for all, not just a player, or a coach, or a GM, or an owner. All benefit from creation, from newness and originality.
And at the very least? Well, we’d get to have another Primoz Brezec to marvel over.
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