Rose offers Chicago hope. Again.
He's got a legitimate supporting cast this year...
Rose offers Chicago hope. Again.
“They're not double teamin' me, it's cool” - Derick Rose said with a smile on his face in a post game interview after leading his bulls to a comfortable victory over the Milwaukee Bucks, in what was his first playoff appearance since he tore his ACL at exactly this stage three seasons ago.
The truth is, there hasn't been a lot of reason to double team the former MVP this season. Sure, he's shown encouraging glimpses of his form of old, but the constant injury concerns, the improved offensive quality of his teammates, and his unjustified willingness to fire up threes has allowed teams to play him straight up. But there was something different about him on Saturday. He wasn't just “out there”, he was hoopin'. You see, that's what we call playing basketball in Chicago. When basketball is one of the primary concerns in your life, when you spend every free moment playing, watching, or arguing over it, and when people know you got game, you don't “play basketball” in Chicago - you hoop.
People forget. It is an inevitable fact of life. Our fast-pasted, slave-of-the-moment society forgets particularly quickly. It is fair to say that Derick Rose has given us reasons to question if he's forgotten about the drive that made him simply “R. Rose”. For a while it was perfectly reasonable to question if his focus wasn't too much on his “son's graduation” and “meetings” at which he didn't want to be sore. Rose was given 350 million guaranteed reasons to alter his drive a little bit and allowed us to question if he forgot that unless he proves himself further those future meeting will be merely with a former NBA player – not a legend, not Chicago's favorite son, not somebody whose sports achievements become eternal.
As a Chicago sports fan, it is genuinely hard to jump off the Derick Rose bandwagon. You love rooting for him (you'd also hate to jump off and have him prove you wrong). It was probably the hardest at the launch of the Adidas D.Rose 3 in which Rose broke down when talking about violence in Chicago, basketball as a shield, his injury, his comeback, and the inspiration that it serves to his fans. I've developed enough cynicism about today's media-savvy world to tune out most events in which athletes utilize shrewdly-crafted PR slogans to sell more stuff. But this is D. Rose, this is Chicago, it is different, it must be. He talked to a fan on stage – an Indian looking teenager, somewhat out of shape. “You hoop?” - Rose asked him. “Yup” - the nervous kid responded. And the two were connected. Sports is the closest thing to a true meritocracy. So it truly doesn't matter who you are, where you're from, and what you look like. As long as you can hoop. And I can't possibly explain in this piece how good and refreshing that feels to some many people, every day. We all know that the actual “deal” is that Rose gets on the floor, impresses the kid asks his parents for a pair of D.Roses, they agree – kid, parents, Adidas, Derick, the NBA, everybody's happy. But things feel more genuine with Derick. During the launch he said things like “this shoe is great, but...” and shifted focus to Chicago's violence, his appreciation, and the struggle that holds back so many people from the neighborhood he grew up in.
Appreciation is an underestimated concept in today's society. Almost as soon as we get something, we feel we've earned it, we deserve it, or we're entitled to it. So when Rose said he's willing to sit out games not to be sore at his future business meetings, some raised eyebrows, others raise their voices. They pointed to this feeling of entitlement. They pointed to the guaranteed contracts and hinted at a loss of motivation. Watching his every move, fall, grimace, gesture became not just habitual, but compulsive at that point. And there was reason for concern. Rose is the second worst 3-point shooter in all of the NBA among players with at least 200 attempts. Anyone who's played the game of basketball knows that for a player with an ability to get his own shot, the three pointer is the easiest shot one can take – you can literally pull up at any time and hope it goes in. Undoubtedly, that's not what made this player great. What made him great was relentless driving to the basketball with great explosion, disregard for his own health, and a bold rise over defenders that separated him from just about anybody in the league. He knew he couldn't be checked even without a consistent jumper, so it was expected of him to ruthlessly go at defenses and get tough buckets. You know, the Chicago way.
The feeling was almost nostalgic on Saturday night in Chicago. Rose was goin'. Cliches get thrown a lot way too much in sports, but insert your favorite one here. “He got his swagger back”, “he got over the mental hurdle”, “he put the distractions aside”, he just “went out there and played”. Actually, he did none of those things. He hooped.
There was something different about D. Rose on Saturday – he dove on loose balls with reckless abandon, he dunked and looked at the crowd, he got the fans involved like never before, he drove as if he knew he couldn't be stopped, you pull up for that three as if you know it's going in. You know, the Chicago Way.
People do forget. But D. Rose did his very best on Saturday to remind us just who it was that did the forgetting. It is we who seem to have forgotten the story of a kid from Englewood who had nothing but basketball to get him out of the hood. Most of the people reading this now, and the man writing in, is incapable of truly understanding the story. We can't truly know what it is like to use the game you love, and love for the game of basketball is as deep and passionate emotion as any, to get yourself and all the people you love out of poverty and danger and into safety, security, fame, and lavishness. But we've heard this story. We just forgot. We forgot that playing basketball is all that mattered then. It didn't just keep you out of trouble. It was your best friend. It was the time when it was impossible to think about anything other than getting buckets so that it provided the best possible therapy for any problem you may have. And that's why the chubby kid on stage can connect so easily with D. Rose. And it's the reason why D. Rose is so important. Because the struggles are different but the remedies are the same.
Derick Rose was goin' hard in Game 1. It made us Chicago fans pump our fists in the air and pound our chests with pride. But we all do it cautiously. We can't help not to be incessantly concerned about his physical health. And the emotional health of a city that so badly wants him to succeed. But now we must also cherish. We must cherish the moments in which D. Rose finds the mental strength to trust his body again and to let himself go. And just to hoop. You know, the Chicago way.
