nothin' but net
All Star
Posted by Paul Shirley, May 3, 2005
I have not played a meaningful minute since I re-joined the Suns in January. My role on this team, with regard to games, is to cheer at the end of the bench, give encouragement to my teammates as they leave the floor during one of the 74 timeouts in an NBA game, and stay prepared enough to play should catastrophe or blowout befall my team. I do not however, play when it counts. I am still trying to wrap my brain around this concept as it is a new role for me. Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually ********, and can occasionally make a coherent basketball play. This is the first time since, well, ever that I have not been asked to play in parts of the game that will directly influence whether some little kid that is a fan of my team goes to bed with a smile or a whine. A reporter recently asked me if wins were as sweet, and losses as sorrowful because of my stunted participation (his question, actually, was nowhere near so poetic—it’s easier to make things sound good when a backspace key is available). I was impressed by its direct nature. I don’t think he was trying to stir up controversy; he seemed truly curious. Of course, I suppose that is his job. I might have dodged a bullet when I chose a more thoughtful answer over, “Man, this is some [bovine excrement]. I can’t believe I ain’t playin’. I mean, what is coach thinkin’, man? All’s I need is a chance.” Whew.
Now that I have given the take-everything-out-of-context weevils something with which to work I should note that I still believe I might have the best job in the world. I do not play because my team does not need me to play. I am an okay basketball player, but I am not better than the players in front of me in the rotation. Even if I were, we have the best record in the best league in the world, so it would seem that someone pulling the strings might just know what he is doing.
That being said, it is sometimes difficult to surf the far end of the bench. I do miss having an influence on the result of the game. It is not playing, exactly, for which I am wistful; it is more the visceral feeling of having helped my team to a win or, absent the victory, knowing that I gave it my all but lost out anyway. (If we were playing Grand Theft Auto, the cliché police would have lit one of my stars. I am glad that only about three people get that.)
So far, I have deviated almost none from my job and everyone seems to be happy. With my limited role, though, comes a somewhat detached relationship to my teammates. Now, I don’t want to be too exaggerative—I am a part of this team and do behave as such—but I would be lying if I said I have the same claim to the results as does Quentin Richardson. It would be folly for me to intimate that he and I are experiencing the same emotions now that we have closed out the Memphis Grizzlies; it just is not true. To me, it goes something like this:
If X is the magnitude of the emotional result of one game (either negative or positive), the following would be some of the multipliers which would result in an aggregate emotional impact for people with different investments in a particular game:
Starter: 2.0X
Bench player who sees significant time: 1.8X
Head coach: 1.7X
Assistant coach: 1.6X
Me: 1.5X
Trainer: 1.3X
Security guy at arena: 1.2X
Steve Nash stalker: 1.1X
Standard fan: 1.0X
Drunken homeless guy outside arena: 0.5X
To explain, for those who were not fans of the word problems at the end of the math book chapters, it is pretty simple. We shall use Shawn Marion as an example. After our latest win at Memphis, which did close out the series, but was also relatively ugly, the emotional result (X) was, say, a 7. So Shawn felt an emotional impact of around 15 (2.0 x 7). I felt an emotional impact of around 10.5 (1.5 x 7), and the homeless guy sustained one of about 3.5 (0.5 x 7). This is all slightly changeable based on how seriously the particular player took the game and how attractive the girls he gave his tickets were, but I think it gives a rough guide. In words, since this isn’t high school algebra class, any feelings I have about a win or loss are going to be slightly dampened compared to Shawn Marion’s. If we win the NBA Finals, it is not going to be because of something I did; to take such credit would be extraordinarily self-serving. Now, I may have had some influence; perhaps a play I made back in training camp or an esteem-boosting poker loss I absorbed on the plane helped in some small way. But, let’s be honest, any impact I have is much smaller than the impact Jimmy Jackson, or Alvin Gentry (assistant coach), will have. The potential range of emotions because of a win or loss is bounded, as I showed in the absolute masterpiece that is the above table, and I think that is the way it should be.
I have not played a meaningful minute since I re-joined the Suns in January. My role on this team, with regard to games, is to cheer at the end of the bench, give encouragement to my teammates as they leave the floor during one of the 74 timeouts in an NBA game, and stay prepared enough to play should catastrophe or blowout befall my team. I do not however, play when it counts. I am still trying to wrap my brain around this concept as it is a new role for me. Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually ********, and can occasionally make a coherent basketball play. This is the first time since, well, ever that I have not been asked to play in parts of the game that will directly influence whether some little kid that is a fan of my team goes to bed with a smile or a whine. A reporter recently asked me if wins were as sweet, and losses as sorrowful because of my stunted participation (his question, actually, was nowhere near so poetic—it’s easier to make things sound good when a backspace key is available). I was impressed by its direct nature. I don’t think he was trying to stir up controversy; he seemed truly curious. Of course, I suppose that is his job. I might have dodged a bullet when I chose a more thoughtful answer over, “Man, this is some [bovine excrement]. I can’t believe I ain’t playin’. I mean, what is coach thinkin’, man? All’s I need is a chance.” Whew.
Now that I have given the take-everything-out-of-context weevils something with which to work I should note that I still believe I might have the best job in the world. I do not play because my team does not need me to play. I am an okay basketball player, but I am not better than the players in front of me in the rotation. Even if I were, we have the best record in the best league in the world, so it would seem that someone pulling the strings might just know what he is doing.
That being said, it is sometimes difficult to surf the far end of the bench. I do miss having an influence on the result of the game. It is not playing, exactly, for which I am wistful; it is more the visceral feeling of having helped my team to a win or, absent the victory, knowing that I gave it my all but lost out anyway. (If we were playing Grand Theft Auto, the cliché police would have lit one of my stars. I am glad that only about three people get that.)
So far, I have deviated almost none from my job and everyone seems to be happy. With my limited role, though, comes a somewhat detached relationship to my teammates. Now, I don’t want to be too exaggerative—I am a part of this team and do behave as such—but I would be lying if I said I have the same claim to the results as does Quentin Richardson. It would be folly for me to intimate that he and I are experiencing the same emotions now that we have closed out the Memphis Grizzlies; it just is not true. To me, it goes something like this:
If X is the magnitude of the emotional result of one game (either negative or positive), the following would be some of the multipliers which would result in an aggregate emotional impact for people with different investments in a particular game:
Starter: 2.0X
Bench player who sees significant time: 1.8X
Head coach: 1.7X
Assistant coach: 1.6X
Me: 1.5X
Trainer: 1.3X
Security guy at arena: 1.2X
Steve Nash stalker: 1.1X
Standard fan: 1.0X
Drunken homeless guy outside arena: 0.5X
To explain, for those who were not fans of the word problems at the end of the math book chapters, it is pretty simple. We shall use Shawn Marion as an example. After our latest win at Memphis, which did close out the series, but was also relatively ugly, the emotional result (X) was, say, a 7. So Shawn felt an emotional impact of around 15 (2.0 x 7). I felt an emotional impact of around 10.5 (1.5 x 7), and the homeless guy sustained one of about 3.5 (0.5 x 7). This is all slightly changeable based on how seriously the particular player took the game and how attractive the girls he gave his tickets were, but I think it gives a rough guide. In words, since this isn’t high school algebra class, any feelings I have about a win or loss are going to be slightly dampened compared to Shawn Marion’s. If we win the NBA Finals, it is not going to be because of something I did; to take such credit would be extraordinarily self-serving. Now, I may have had some influence; perhaps a play I made back in training camp or an esteem-boosting poker loss I absorbed on the plane helped in some small way. But, let’s be honest, any impact I have is much smaller than the impact Jimmy Jackson, or Alvin Gentry (assistant coach), will have. The potential range of emotions because of a win or loss is bounded, as I showed in the absolute masterpiece that is the above table, and I think that is the way it should be.
Think Mark Madsen on both! 
