Requiem For Roy

"If you're keeping score at home, that either makes him the first Outlaw on the Blazers or the fifth."

Many people constantly search for a singular interconnection in the world; i.e., proof that everything happens for a reason, that the universe follows an exact plan, and that the various coincidences people often find themselves in are simply "clues" to help us understand said plan. Anyone with a deep-rooted belief in that theory definitely fucking rejoiced during the 2003 NBA Draft, when the Portland Jail Blazers selected high school small forward Travis Outlaw with the #23 pick. The fact that that particular player with that particular name was available in that particular spot for that particular team with that particular reputation is just fucking mindblowing, unless you're one of the singular-meaning truthers.

Of course, this is because the Portland Trail Blazers were the joke of the NBA in the late-'90s and early-aughts, due to the entire team's highly criminal (and possibly completely insane) nature. The franchise entered Bill Simmons' "Tyson Zone"; no crime was too outlandish, no reason for missing a practice too strange. They had registered sex offenders, dog fighters, and alcoholics. They had a point guard who tried to smuggle marijuana onto an airplane by wrapping it in tinfoil. They had a shooting guard who would regularly remove his headband and throw it into the crowd during game play. They had a franchise player who set the single-season record for technical fouls in a season. It would not surprise me to learn that the 2000-2001 squad was the secret organization that caused 9/11. Et cetera, ad naeseum.

Of course, all funny things have to come to an end sometime, and after a few years the "Jail Blazers" running joke slowly began to reach its conclusion. Rasheed Wallace was (mercifully) traded for 30 cents on the dollar. Shady small forward Ruben Patterson was dumped, as was the probably-sociopathic Bonzi Wells. Martell Webster was inexplicably drafted with the sixth pick of the 2005 draft, solely because he was a "good character guy." Still, despite all of these major moves, the first real step that the team took to re-invent itself, the one that definitively moved them out of the Jail Blazer era forever, was their trading of Randy Foye to Minnesota for Brandon Roy during the 2006 NBA Draft. It is doubtful that anyone knew it at the time, but this seemingly simple trade would mark the dawn of a new era for Rip City.

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I was a junior in high school when Brandon Roy made his debut for the Blazers. You know how high school society works; you've got your "haves" and your "have-nots," and the two different cultures are almost completely separate from one another despite existing within the exact same space. The "haves" think that they're absolutely and completely above the "have-nots" in every single way, and the "have-nots" think that they're so much smarter than the "haves" that they're above them in every single way, which causes something of a Class Cold War that lasts the entire four years. Everybody writes in the senior yearbook that they're "going to miss everyone" and that "this was the best class ever," when in reality, they probably disliked the majority of the people they were graduating with. This was not supposed to be the case at Jesuit High School, my alma mater; the school's moral code, focus on religious faith, and numerous bond-building activities and retreats were supposed to bring everyone together and tear down those boundaries between the cultures. Of course, this did not actually end up happening; sure, there were no almost no fistfights within the school halls, but all that meant was that everyone's hatred manifested itself through passive-aggressive jokes made in the hallway five seconds after someone they didn't like walked by. This was still your typical high school, only with neutered bullies.

One of the only times I can ever remember the whole school being united by a particular occurence was in the winter of 2006-07, when Brandon Roy was tearing up the NBA and looking like a lock for Rookie of the Year. Everyone's AIM profiles included the phrase "Roy for ROY!"; it didn't matter if you were cool or not, you still wanted Brandon Roy to win the Rookie of the Year award and you didn't care who knew it. This was the first thing in years that any Blazer fan could even be remotely excited about, and everyone embraced it. People would wear "Roy #7" jerseys to school on Free Dress Day and be genuinely complimented by the same enemies who would ordinarily be making fun of their haircut. In essence, Brandon Roy did what religion, morality, and basic principles of common courtesy could not: he brought my entire high school together. This was his fourth-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.

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Portland is generally not a very angry city. Violence has always been relatively low compared to other major cities; citizens barely bat an eye when the state government throws a billion dollars behind a useless building project; and Occupy Portland was almost certainly the tamest of all the "Occupy" movements. I tend to believe that this is because Portland, in the technical sense, is a "hipster city," and that easily one of the most uncool things hipsters can do is passionately care about something besides indie rock or veganism. So of course, the general population of the city is not going to get mad unless there's a really obscure reason that you've probably never heard of.

However, one of the city's most furious moments ever came in the winter of 2008, when Brandon Roy was wavering on the edge of being selected for the NBA All-Star team. Objectively, it didn't really make any sense to leave him off; he was averaging a 19-5-5, and was beginning to emerge as a superstar despite failing to get "superstar treatment" from writers or referees, ala Kobe Bryant. He was also Portland's first likeable star since Clyde Drexler, and had invigorated the franchise after nearly a decade of embarrassment. I will always believe that the collective venom of the Portland fans directed toward the NBA for overlooking Roy was what willed him to earn a reserve spot on the team, although all reasonable analysis would simply say that his election was merely due to a completely understandable late surge in the voting. I consider myself to be an extremely logical and analytical person; as such, Roy making me honestly believe this ridiculous theory is his third-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.

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Most sports movies are not, technically speaking, good movies. They mostly pander to an audience hungry for a definite hero, a definite villain, and a definitively happy ending. These three things are relatively nonexistent in the real world, which is why the best movies often include heroes of questionable moral background, villains with conflicted or misguided motivations, and ambiguous endings. For example, I believe that the best movie of 2011 has been Drive, in which the protagonist was a silent murderer who brutally killed no less than four people during the film (often in painful and excruiating ways). The song that played over the ending credits was called "A Real Hero," and it was used completely unironically. Could the protagonists of "Rocky," "Rudy," and even "The Natural" have committed such acts and been considered "heroes" within the confines of their worlds? Absolutely not; as characters, they are not permitted to be anything less than "ideally" heroic. This is partially why all of these films suffer as artistic achievements; they are weighed down by the usual limitations of sports movies. Every character in "Rocky" is extremely unrealistic, despite the fact that the movie is based on a true story; every character in "Rudy" is as one-dimensional as is possible to be; and every villain in "The Natural" is so laughably villainous that it's hard to believe there are no scenes in the film of the Judge presiding over a dogfight while text-messaging pictures of his penis to a crack-addicted supermodel. That's just the way sports movies are supposed to work, I guess; turn the brain off and enjoy the ride.

Very, very rarely, you come across an example in the real world where, although the "hero/villain/happy ending" dynamic is not nearly as black-and-white as the media eventually says it is, you can't help but feel like you're watching a sports movie moment unfold when it happens. Willis Reed dragging himself onto the court before Game 7 of the 1970 NBA Finals, thus whipping the previously nervous MSG crowd into a crazed frenzy, was a sports movie moment. Kirk Gibson limping off the bench to deliver a shocking walkoff home run in Game 1 of the 1988 World Series was a sports movie moment. The practically-still-in-diapers 1980 U.S. Olympic hockey team defeating the dynastic Russian team at the height of the Cold War was a sports movie moment. The 2007 Boise State-Oklahoma Fiesta Bowl was the best example of a sports movie moment, as it featured a po-dunk hick squad upsetting a major historical power through the following means: 1) a fourth-down hook-and-ladder touchdown to tie the game at the end of regulation, 2) a fourth-down touchdown pass by a halfback to save the game in overtime, and 3) a do-or-die Statue of Liberty play to win the game, which was immediately followed by the underdog's star player proposing to his girlfriend in the aftermath of the victory despite the two of them belonging to different races. These are the reasons why we all watch sports: for the mere chance that we could witness something that looks like it should be featured during the end credits of a sports movie as "the real story."

Brandon Roy's performance in Game 4 of the first round of the 2011 NBA Playoffs was probably not as significant as any of the moments mentioned above; it did not swing a championship, and in fact the Blazers would not win another game the rest of the season after it happened. The moment only took on "sports movie" proportions to Blazer die-hards, who had begun to hear terrifying whispers about Roy's long-term health during the 2010 season, one which culminated in Roy's soul-crushing knee injury at the end of the season that cost him nearly the entire playoffs, and then hampered him throughout 2011. In winter of the latter year, doctors revealed that Roy would never, ever be truly healthy again; he was playing bone-on-bone, and this was the kind of injury that could not be healed through surgery or rest. In fact, it could not be healed at all. It was the equivalent of Sandy Koufax' incurable arm troubles that forced him into his 1966 retirement. Blazer fans refused to believe the doctors' reports, steadfastly reassuring themselves that Roy was a higher level of being who wouldn't let this silly "lack of knee cartilage" bullshit hold him down. Then Roy returned to the court after months away...and wow, oh wow. It was as if Koufax had returned to the Dodgers in 1968 as a soft-tossing middle reliever who could barely get throw an inning without allowing three laser-beam line drives. Roy looked slow and sluggish. He couldn't defend anyone. His only valuable quality was his ability to catch fire from the field for a few minutes at a time, but these spurts were now viewed as achievements for him; just two years prior, they were regularly expected. Roy was not Roy anymore. This was patently obvious to everyone, even the eternally optimistic "Portland Soccer Moms" (Bill Simmons again) who still believe that Greg Oden will lead the team to multiple championships. Blazer fans losing hope in a player is nearly unprecedented, which is what made Roy's night especially magical to them.

Portland found themselves in a 2-1 hole entering Game 4 of their first-round series with Dallas. With a healthy Roy, they probably would have been up 2-1 or even 3-0, and Mark Cuban would have spent the entirety of Game 4 wondering about the fiscal ramifications of signing both Nene Hilario and Marc Gasol over the summer even though he already had a center. (As of this moment, Cuban is a favorite to become the new owner of my favorite baseball team, the Los Angeles Dodgers. Color me less than ecstatic.) Not with 2011 Roy; Portland simply had nobody who could carry the offense. LaMarcus Aldridge had done so admirably during the season in Roy's absence, but the Blazers couldn't rely on him alone against Dallas, the best team in the Western Conference. They needed someone else to step up. And this was why they looked up at the scoreboard with 40 seconds left in the third quarter and saw that they were down 67-44, their season all but over.

The movie begins here.

Seemingly harmlessly, Roy proceeds to sprint down the court and flick up an alley-oop to Aldridge, who does not have an interested Maverick within five feet of him. 67-46. Next time down the court: Roy dribbles the third-quarter clock down, stutter-steps, then steps back and launches a fadeaway three. The ball hits every single part of the rim, whirls around, hangs on the edge of the basket...and then drops in. The crowd wakes up. 67-49. End of the third.

10:30 remaining in the fourth, Blazers down 67-51. Roy drives into the paint, kicks it out to Nic Batum for three. Goggles. 67-54. Dallas scores twice in a row to make it 71-54. Roy responds by driving into the paint and laying the ball up beautifully off the glass and in, as color man Kevin McHale narrates, "This is the Brandon Roy of old." 71-56. A few possessions later, it's 73-60. Roy drives in, posts up Jason Kidd, spins around and tosses in a floater with Matt Devlin screaming, "Flashback!" Lead cut to 11, timeout Dallas. Now it's 75-62 with seven minutes to go. Roy drives inside and kicks it out to his team's best offensive player statistically (Aldridge). LaMarcus is completely wide open from eighteen; the Mavericks are now solely concerned with slowing down Roy, a one-kneed man who has not dominated a game in over a full calendar year. LMA hits the jumper, making it 75-64.

This next portion of the movie is the one where an audience in a theater would grumble things to the effect of, "Psh, like that could happen in real life." Roy again drives into the paint, and instead of shooting throws a beautiful no-look to an open Rudy Fernandez. Rudy shanks the jumper, but Roy grabs the rebound and hits a fadeaway fifteen-footer over a snarling seven-foot-tall German man to slice the lead to single digits. Several minutes later, Roy somehow manages to pull off the exact same move and hit a similarly tough jumper over Shawn Marion, who will effectively shut down Lebron James in the NBA Finals in a few weeks. 77-70, Dallas lead at its lowest since the first half. Finally, the climactic scene arrives: down four, with just over a minute to go, Roy lets fly a wild three-pointer as he's being hacked by Marion. Somehow, some way...twine. TNT cameras show Blazer fans in varying states of hysteria, as well as Peja Stojakovic sitting listlessly on the Dallas bench and looking like he just hit a gravity bong for the first time. The free throw makes it 82-82, and The Legend of Roy is complete.

I say this because, although Roy later hits a tough banker with 40 seconds remaining to give the Blazers the lead and the eventual victory, it was all over after the four-point play. Every single person in the building knew that Roy was going to make the winning shot, and every single person knew that Jason Terry would brick the attempted buzzer-beating three that would have won it for Dallas; these moments merely constituted the movie's epilogue. Roy's four-pointer was one of those classic examples of a team wrapping up a victory simply by tying the game, because the momentum and energy would simply not allow the team to lose. (My favorite example: in September of 2006, the Los Angeles Dodgers trailed San Diego 9-5 in the bottom of the ninth inning, and the first four Dodger batters all smashed baseballs into the bleachers to tie the game at 9. San Diego responded by going up 10-9 in the top of the tenth, and absolutely nobody thought that the Dodgers were going to lose. And they didn't; within about five seconds of the bottom of the tenth inning starting, Nomar Garciaparra had hit a walkoff home run and the entire team was dogpiling at home plate. But I digress.) In the immediate aftermath of Roy's spectacular three-and-one, analyzing the situation from a completely objective point of view, the Blazers had a team of inferior talent, were entirely reliant on a man with one healthy leg, and did not even have the lead...but for all intents and purposes, the game was over and they had won. Roy managing to achieve this rare feat, the strangest phenomenon in all of sports, is his second-greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.

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I wish we could incorporate the amnesty clause into everyday life. It would certainly help me; I would amnesty the memories of nearly every New Year's Eve party I've ever gone to, as they've basically all been train wrecks. Pete Rose would amnesty his gambling career. Magic Johnson would amnesty his womanizing. Don Imus would amnesty the time he called Rutgers' female basketball players "nappy-headed hos" with a live microphone in front of his mouth. The only person who couldn't completely save their life situation is probably Charlie Sheen, and he could at least kick one of his destructive habits (or one of his idiotic news interviews, which might even more helpful). Maybe the amnesty clause wouldn't make the world a better place, but it would make the world's population feel much less stupid about itself.

As the amnesty clause only extends into the NBA, however, we are forced to settle for just analyzing the rule as it pertains to professional basketball players. By far the most significant media story relating to the ruling was the initial rumor of the Portland Trail Blazers using it to shed Brandon Roy from their cap, thus opening up significant space in their payroll for future free agents (ones who weren't playing on one leg and making fifteen million dollars per season). Overall, it would have made absolutely perfect sense: Roy had no business making anywhere close to that much money, and because of his injury he didn't have a chance of ever approaching his All-Star numbers of 2008 or 2009 again. NBA fans knew this, Blazer fans knew this, and anyone with common sense knew this. From a purely financial standpoint, the Blazers would have been fucking idiots not to exercise this clause. It would have been a Get-Out-Of-$80-Million-Free card.

They elected not to do it. Of course they didn't. After everything that Roy meant to the team, and after all of his heroics, and (especially) after the Game 4 Miracle, simply cutting Roy loose would have caused a bigger outrage than if the entire city of Portland had banned smoking. Paul Allen would have had to spend all of the $80 million saved from Roy's contract on bodyguards, body doubles, Kevlar vests, and armored limosines to keep from getting murdered by an irate, probably-bearded Blazer fan (most likely with a crossbow). The Rose Garden would have burned to the ground. Hell, the entire city might have burned to the ground. That's how much Roy meant to Portland, and how much he needed to stay against overwhelming evidence that he should have left. Instilling that kind of completely irrational commitment within a fanbase, to the point where the relationship mirrors that of a desparately hopeful wife and her permanently comatose husband, remains Roy's greatest accomplishment as a Trail Blazer.

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On December 9, 2011, Brandon Roy officially announced his retirement from basketball. He only lasted five seasons in the NBA, and will now join the long list of Blazer careers cut tragically short by extenuating circumstances. Given everything mentioned above, it is tempting to label Roy as one of those "Rocky/Rudy/Roy Hobbs"-esque heroes, who rose above all challenges to wildly succeed beyond anyone's expectations or beliefs with evil villains and demons weighing him down at every opportunity. In reality, he was exactly the kind of sports hero that can actually exist: an exceptional athlete brought into a situation where success would grant him lifelong fame who often achieved great things in times of great distress. Of course, he was not a superhuman like Rocky, or an invincible Hobbit like Rudy, or a Greek god like Roy Hobbs. But he was as big a hero as the real sports world will allow, and for this reason, the entire Rip City nation is currently in mourning.