Everything But Poker

Eight months ago I watched a basketball team listlessly conclude another abysmal season – a conclusion that lasted about 30 games. The lack of basic interest in playing the game was unmistakable in this bunch from January until May, as opposing teams regularly walked into the Staples Center and effectively put games away before the start of the second quarter. All season, commentators pointed to the lack of cohesion among the players, an inept coach and an unrelenting slew of injuries as the likely sources of the Clippers’ horrid play, but the fact is it all began with one man: Baron Davis.

When the Clippers traded for Davis last summer – aside from the expectation that he would team up with Elton Brand to bring the team back to the playoffs – they expected to get the superhero of the 2007 playoffs. That summer, Mike Dunleavy watched from his couch as this bearded assassin caused mayhem in Oakland after taking out the league’s best team that year, the Mavericks, then threw down the most vicious dunk of this millennium in a narrow second-round defeat to the Jazz, all while leaving the sports world dumbfounded with his ruthlessly dope style (which inspired one of the best blog names in history). At that point, every coach in the NBA wanted Baron Davis on his team.



So in preparation for his homecoming last fall, Davis hyped up the way his new team would play fast-paced, made sure the whole city knew he was coming to paint the town Clipper red, white and blue … and then toned his body with the fat girl’s diet – Jenny Craig. Once the season started, the fastest break the Clippers could run was a light jog that looked more like a “yog” (It’s a soft J). Writers claimed that Dunleavy was holding Baron back when it was actually the other way around: Baron was too slow to beat any other guard of the dribble last season so he had to slow it down, pass it off or chuck up a contested fadeaway 20-foot jumper. In the NBA, your team is only as fast as your point guard, and Baron Davis was undeniably slower than he had ever been, in spite of his distorted self-image as one of the league’s quickest and deadliest players.

This is no longer the case. I stepped back into the Staples Center last night unconvinced of what I had heard from the training camp reports – the Davis had returned in excellent shape with a new-found dedication to his own performance and the team’s success. And through the first half of Monday night’s game against the Warriors, my doubts were confirmed. The team looked confused in its halfcourt sets, defended the high screen-and-roll terribly and managed to give up 73 first-half points – an astonishingly feat even during preseason.

But then the Clips took the floor in the third quarter and Boom Dizzle came out like a man possessed. Dunleavy substituted Rasual Butler for Al Thornton in the starting lineup (which will hopefully be the case for the remainder of the season) and the scoring onslaught began. LA opened the third quarter on a 22-5 run, highlighted by two Davis steals just past halfcourt within the first two minutes – the second of which Baron dove for like an earthquake had just hit. He spent the rest of the period abusing Monta Ellis and Stephen Curry, crossing them up then driving into the lane before kicking the ball back out to sharpshooters like Butler and Eric Gordon.

Just as the Clippers tied the ball game late in the quarter and the crowd began to sense that familiar Clipper feeling of an impending blown fourth-quarter lead, the first pick in the draft, Blake Griffin, stepped on the floor and completely embarrassed the Golden State bigs, grabbing rebounds, blocking shots and abusing forwards of all shapes and sizes from the post and the wing. It was a remarkable sight, especially after sitting through so many lackluster performances last season, and it was no doubt a product of Davis’ explosion in the third.

The best parts of the night, though, were not while the ball was in play. During time outs and free throws, Davis and Dunleavy held these intimate discussions that appeared more like conversations between assistant coaches. Last season Baron scoffed at every Dunleavy direction, and the coach turned sour at the first sign of indignation. On Monday there was dialogue, a series of intense deliberations that seemed highlighted not by stubbornness, but mutual respect. Baron Davis wants to make a good name or himself in his hometown, and he knows that last season did as much to kill his rep as any performance could have. But now he’s slimmed down, he’s motivated and he’s got that swagger back that led him to walk into an arena for a playoff game with a bullet fedora on top of that mangy beard.