By Luke Middleton
Preface: I started writing this about three months ago. I wanted to get my statement on the record before we got to the end of the season. I had the groundwork for this post collected and formed and had this just about ready to publish. But I waited. Maybe it was being busy with other things, maybe it was waiting to see what happened so I didn’t look stupid if I was wrong. Either way, it never got posted. Three months later, here we are without the ability to prove a “told you so”, but with a much larger pool of observation that comes with hindsight.
About a quarter of the way through the NBA season, MVP talks start to surface. On January 26, ESPN.com did it’s Midseason Report and writers gave their picks for conference champs, finals champs, rookie of the year, and the MVP, among other things. Dirk Nowitzki got the most out of the five unofficial votes when two writers picked him.
Steve Nash, Dwyane Wade, and Gilbert Arenas all split the remaining three picks.
And the very presence of that last name in the MVP discussion is precisely what I want to focus on.
The intention of this article isn’t to pick on Gilbert Arenas (or Chris Sheridan who said he showed us his “East Coast bias”). The objective here is to really establish the difference between an MVP and everyone else in the league. Even if 23 of those “everyone elses” are All-Stars and do great things on the court. I live in the DC area and Gilbert is the “MVP candidate” I’ve had the most exposure to. So, I will share what I have observed. It’s not Gilbert’s fault I live here (but it is a coin’s fault that Gilbert lives here — or maybe not). We all have the great responsibility of protecting the MVP award and any sense reverence we have for it (basically, the complete opposite of what we do with the All-Star Game MVP). Remember, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. It does not make you the NBA’s MVP. And we must learn that it does not put you in the discussion.
And maybe this is a bit about why early predictions lend themselves to statements that can look a bit silly in hindsight. Or maybe it is about how we’ve created a stage where the best way to get noticed is to say something different or new (I really don’t believe Sheridan was saying this just to get noticed – don’t get me wrong, but he was probably just having some fun
with his pick). Our media lends itself to chasing the new and the unique and the novelty (in various ways, all three of those words apply to Arenas). What good is a sports writer or analyst if he says the same thing everyone else says? No one gets a video of them put on YouTube if they say, “Michael Jordan was the best ever” or “The Spurs play good defense.” But, you know, when you’ve got five or ten or a dozen sports writers giving their picks, why not take a chance and make things interesting and add some variety to the selections? Sometimes people stretch for things just to make a minor point (like picking the Cavs to win it all just to prove that they could – even when you know they won’t). And sometimes people really believe what they say. So, who knows. (I should point out that the reader may be victim of that same sensationalism by reading this.)
So, let me beat this horse dead before continuing: my end is not to focus on Gilbert as an MVP candidate. That is my means. That’s the avenue I want to take to get where I want to take you. My end is to contend for the level of MVP play to be reserved for the highest standard of play — a standard that is not relative to the current competition. There is no such thing as a necessary number of MVP candidates. There are one, two, three, or four guys who play like an MVP in a given year. Maybe more. Heck, maybe none. If it’s only one, then he should be the only candidate. If it’s two or three or four (like this year), then they should be the candidates. None of this, “But he’s right up here after the top three” stuff. Either he’s playing like an MVP or not. The MVP is not determined by everyone else’s level of play (I know, I know — 2005). The MVP should have its own unwavering standard. The All-Star game consists of the top 12 players from each conference, no matter how good or bad the league (or the Eastern Conference) is at the time. It is completely relative (see: Jamaal Magloire, 2004).
The MVP is not this way. It’s like being seven feet tall. If you’re looking for people seven feet tall, you don’t grab Shawn Bradley, Dikembe Mutombo, and Yao Ming … and then toss in Marcus Camby and Alonzo Mourning and call them “Seven foot candidates.” You’re either seven feet tall or you’re not. You’re either an MVP or you’re not. It’s not unlike being pregnant.
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