De facto Manifesto

I play a sport. I'm not very good, mind you -- I'm only allowed on the floor because my cheques don't bounce -- but there are whistles and referees and scoreboards, and you could even find seven or eight seasons worth of stats on the internet if you should be so inclined. The entire league is basically an excuse to go for drinks after the game, and yet, since somebody's keeping score, it's bound to get competitive at some point. I don't think there's a person in the league who hasn't yelled at the ref, who hasn't had a bad game and then felt the dread of a long week before a chance for redemption, or who hasn't gone into work the next day hoping to get asked what you did last night, because dammit, you were a star and you gotta tell somebody.

Of course, even though every single player gets the juices flowing and everybody prefers winning to losing, I'm pretty confident that not one person would suggest that every single player is trying equally as hard as everybody else. That's just lunacy. You've got your ridiculously skilled guys who kinda float until the play comes to them. You've got your guys who miraculously find a fifth gear when they get the ball, when they couldn't find third when there was defence to be played. You've got guys in their 40s and beyond who see better uses for their energy than chasing down a kid with a 20 year head start. And, of course, you've got the guys who appear to share DNA with Jack Russell terriers -- "Is that a ball? Is that a ball? Go get it! Go get the ball! Good boy! Geez, aren't you tired yet?"

Now, I'm a big fan of effort. I have hands of stone, so the only way I can really feel like a contributing team-mate is to bring the legs of fury, every time. My favourite game ever happened a few months ago, when the top six or seven guys on my team couldn't make it, leaving us short staffed and under-talented to boot. Predictably, we got cranked, but everybody on my team brought the effort, played the full game as close to their potential as you could hope for. It was beautiful. We went home happy. I would play that game a million times. We still lost.

I swear, NBA fans -- or at least the Toronto Raptors fans that I am most familiar with -- have this same relationship with their teams. As long as a team scraps and claws, as long as you're willing to give it your all in a losing effort, we'll be content with that. Pops Mensah-Bonsu is well on his way to the fan favourite status once enjoyed by Jerome (Junk Yard Dog) Williams -- although Amir Johnson might be a better fit for the role, since he, you know, occasionally sees court time. Heck, somebody ask Vince Carter if Toronto fans are willing to let a little coasting slide. And I get it, I do. I would much rather cheer for Paul Millsap than for Carlos Boozer, or for David Lee rather than Eddy Curry, or for anybody in the free world rather than Ricky Davis. But really, as much as I love effort, it is but one skill taken from a whole host of others that make up your successful basketball player. Two offensive rebounds in five minutes of work is excellent, but when accompanied by two fouls and a turnover, it is less helpful than it could be. If your game is based more on basketball IQ than athleticism -- like, say, the majority of the Raptors roster -- then perhaps, instead of crashing the boards just to show willing, I'd prefer you save your energy for the things you are good at, like scoring the ball at an unholy clip.

In a perfect world, I'd have everything. I'd have Chris Paul and Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett and their inhuman talent and supernatural drive, and I'd be cheering for a team that would almost never lose a game, and would never ever lose a game because they weren't trying hard enough. In this world, though, I take what I can get. And, when given the choice between marginal-talent-exemplary-effort and superior-talent-acceptable-effort, well -- I admit, the hustle makes me happy, but I'm willing to trade a little of that for the wins.