Superman Has Entered The Building

On December 14th, 2005, I wrote a blog entry during an Orlando Magic road trip to New York and Dallas. This was Dwight Howard's rookie season; on the first game of that trip, Howard recorded 23 points and 13 rebounds in a win over the Knicks.

Here's part of that entry from two-plus years ago: The kid is an absolute monster, and he only gets better with each passing day. As [Magic television announcer] David Steele would say on the bus back to the airport later that night, Howard 'is going to save the franchise.'

Save the franchise? After watching the Slam Dunk contest at the NBA's All-Star Weekend in New Orleans the other night, I need to amend that statement.

Dwight Howard is going to save the National Basketball Association.

Does it need saving? As Orlando Sentinel columnist Jerry Greene noted this week, the latest Harris Interactive Poll shows that the NBA's popularity relative to other major college and pro sports has dropped once again -- tied for sixth with a 4 percent choice among those polled, a number that's down 60 percent over the last five years. That's tied with golf and college basketball, but trailing the NFL, baseball, college football, auto racing, and hockey (!). We've obviously come a long way from the days when "The NBA on NBC" was among the highest-rated programs on television each week.

Remember those days? Marv, the Czar, and Ahmad? Hannah Storm in the studio? I'm thinking of the early 90's, long before anyone had ever heard of Mixed Martial Arts or televised poker. The NBA was mainstream then; now, it's tied for sixth.

The reasons for pro basketball's decline in popularity are too numerous and complicated to lay out here. NASCAR has something to do with it; the proliferation of cable and satellite television and the Internet explosion probably counts, too. There's likely a socioeconomic factor as well -- a growing resentment towards young, obscenely wealthy professional athletes who don't seem to 'get it.' Whatever. All I know for sure is this:

What I saw on Saturday night was the most compelling thirty minutes of NBA-related coverage that I've witnessed since I left ESPN to move home to Orlando and join Sun Sports -- which, coincidentally, was almost five years ago. Dwight Howard, for anyone who missed it, owned the night.

He set the tone by dunking from behind the backboard -- something that I can write in ten words, but cannot possibly encapsulate for anyone who didn't see it. He raised the bar with the Superman Dunk -- and much like the Blind Dunk (Dee Brown), the Spud Dunk (Spud Webb), and the Free Throw Line Dunk (Jordan), Howard's effort instantly lept into one-line recognition status. And then, when merely showing up for the final round would have been enough to bury poor Gerald Green, Howard stunned us again by lofting a bounce pass to the rim, tapping the ball off the backboard with his left hand, and thundering home a dunk with his right.

It was ridiculous and magnificent. Sick and uplifting. Go back and watch the reactions from his peers -- check the looks on the faces of future Hall of Famers like Kobe Bryant and Jason Kidd -- and judge for yourself. They have no idea what to make of this wonder-child.

Let me help them: Dwight Howard is going to save the NBA.

He's not going to save the league purely because of his athleticism, which is freakish to the point of incredulity. He's going to save the league because he's an otherworldly athlete whose personality is such that even the most grizzled NBA observers -- the Charles Barkleys and Kenny Smiths of the world -- are drawn to him.

Did anyone listen to Kenny and Chuck gushing over Howard on Saturday night? Did you hear Barkley -- Barkley, of all people -- make the comment that Howard "is a great face for that franchise?" Did you hear Kenny Smith declare the contest "over" after the first round, noting that the earnest efforts of the other candidates -- and let's be honest, who cares about their names -- "wouldn't get it done?"

That doesn't happen solely because of athleticism. That happens because of personality. Howard is a magnet, the way Jordan and Magic were magnets, the way that, despite their spectacular skills, Kobe Bryant and Vince Carter and Tim Duncan are not. No knock on anyone in particular -- Magic, along with Larry Bird, saved the league once, Jordan elevated it into the mainstream, and guys like Lebron James have carried the flag admirably -- but they don't light the skies like Dwight Howard does.

In this lineage, the succession that covers my lifetime, there is Bird, Magic, Jordan, Lebron, and then Dwight. Honorable mention to Julius Erving for opening the airspace above the rim, and a purist's nod to the Detroit Pistons and San Antonio Spurs of this decade for bringing the team game into the conversation. But the royal blood is in Howard's veins.

Dwight Howard has already saved the Magic franchise. The new arena deal in Central Florida, complete with a written guarantee from the organization not to leave Orlando for at least 25 years without prohibitive financial penalties, can be at least partially laid at his feet.

Howard just saved the Slam Dunk contest. It's been written 100 times in the last two days, and you'll read it again next season, and the season after that.

His next feat? Dwight Howard is going to save the NBA. The league may never achieve the lofty prime-time status of the 1990's -- our sports universe may simply be too fractured for that -- but he's the future. He'll have some help from players like Chris Paul, Brandon Roy, Dwyane Wade, and a handful of other stars whose warmth and charisma match their supreme talents, but Howard is the key. The NBA has found the horse upon which to hitch its wagon.

Dwight Howard is going to save the league. And when his Hall of Fame biography is written, a magical Saturday night in New Orleans will be cited as the tipping point.

The Price Of Winning

"Was it worth it?"

A longtime Orlando Magic executive asked that question, rhetorically, in a hallway at Amway Arena on Wednesday night. The "it" of which he spoke was the Miami Heat's 2006 NBA Championship. The reason for the rhetorical question, of course, was Shaquille O'Neal's departure to Phoenix.

Was the Heat's title worth Shaq's money? Was it worth the salary cap quagmire that created this year's Miami roster, a group that currently holds the worst record in the Eastern Conference? Interesting question.

We'll get to that in a moment. First, the trade.

I was in Indianapolis for the Magic's road game against the Pacers last weekend when the Shaq rumors first started to simmer. By the time I arrived at Amway Arena on Wednesday for a Magic-Nets tilt, the deal was done. It was all the buzz in the hallways.

Nets coach Lawrence Frank was asked about the Shaq deal off-camera, and he articulated what many have subsequently pointed out -- the Heat just got themselves off the hook. They shed the $40 million that Shaq is owed over the next two seasons, taking back Shawn Marion's $16.4 million this season plus the $3.8 million that Marcus Banks will make this year. Banks is signed for three years beyond 2007-08, peaking at $4.75 million in 2010-11, but if Marion opts out after this year -- which he has the right to do, and which he might be enough of a knucklehead to believe he should do -- Miami could enter the 2008-09 season with a payroll of pebbles and seeds.

Assume that Marion opts out after this season, in search of another max deal somewhere else. That's $17,180,000 gone. Smush Parker has a player option for $2.4 million next year, but the Heat will surely find a way out of that. The Heat hold the option on Alexander Johnson's contract for a relatively miniscule $687,456. If all three of those deals go away, that's $20,267,456 off the cap next season, leaving the payroll at $52.78 million -- a number that would rank as the third-lowest among 30 NBA teams this year.

Even if Marion stays, the 2008-09 number for Miami could be $69.9 million, which is less than 12 teams in the league right now. Of course, that's before the team signs any draft picks -- and with a 9-39 record as of this writing, there's an awfully good chance that Miami will be drafting rather high this summer.

On that note, the only downside for Miami is the possibility that they rally just enough in the second half with Marion and Dwyane Wade to throw themselves into a washing machine for a high lottery pick. Short term, everybody wants to win; long term, the best outcome for the Heat would be to finish the season at their current pace, hope that Marion ventures off into free agency, and enter the 2008-09 season about $15 million under the luxury tax threshold. With that kind of cap flexibility and a high draft pick, the rebuilding around Wade starts immediately.

In summary, Miami gets out from under Shaq's deal, replaces him with a four-time All-Star who can run all night and guard five positions, and places itself in position to retool for the next decade. Off the hook, indeed.

On the other hand, why does Phoenix do this deal?

Say what you will about team chemistry between Marion and Amare Stoudemire, but to me, there's only one answer to that question: Tim Duncan.

The Spurs have knocked Phoenix out of the playoffs in two of the last three years and three of the last six. Shaq is clearly not the player he used to be, but he's also clearly 7-feet and three-plus bills. If Phoenix keeps him healthy and feeds off his unquestioned clubhouse-mediator skills -- remember, the first words out of his mouth when he got to Miami were "This is Dwyane's team," and as the guy who anchored the 2006 Miami Heat NBA Championship Parade on Sun Sports, I can vouch for the effectiveness of that approach -- they could very well ride the Diesel into a series against San Antonio. Once there, the Suns obviously like their chances with O'Neal hammering away at Duncan, as opposed to the jackrabbit style that has won plenty of regular season games but failed to deliver a title.

Further, while there are plenty of guys out there who could make life difficult for Duncan in a playoff series, none have the cache' and marketability of the Big Aristotle. Phoenix, which currently sports the best record in the Western Conference, is only 14th in home attendance this year. If increasing interest + selling more tickets + demonstrating a commitment to winning + doing SOMETHING to counter Duncan = $40 million over the next two seasons, you make the investment. That's how badly the Suns want to clear the hump and get to their first NBA championship. Obviously, they think it's "worth it."

Which brings us back to the original question -- was Shaq "worth it" to Miami? Was the title "worth it?"

I say it was. Shaq made basketball relevant in Miami, which is no small feat, but going a step further, he made Miami relevant in the NBA. He made the Heat legit, in much the same fashion that Kevin Garnett once made the Timberwolves legit and Alonzo Mourning once made the Hornets legit.

[Edit: based on a very astute reader comment below, let me amend this after the fact -- Alonzo Mourning was the first star player who made Miami Heat basketball relevant in the NBA. An omission on my part. There's no Heat, as we know them, without 'Zo. Thanks to the anonymous reader for pointing this out.]

For that matter, O'Neal did for the Heat what he did for the Magic ten years earlier. He put the franchise on the radar for the national media, the fans, and most importantly, other players. He made the Heat a more-than-acceptable option for free agents, the kind of place that a draft pick wouldn't be bummed to join. Of the most recent expansion teams, the Bobcats and the Grizzlies are still looking for that guy, while the Raptors may have found him in Chris Bosh. Maybe.

Of course, the one thing that Shaq delivered to Miami that none of those players ever did for their respective franchises, and the one thing he did for Miami that he couldn't do for Orlando: win a championship. I have written in this space before that "the only thing that never ends is the glow of a championship," and I'm sticking by it. I was a Magic employee when the team reached the 1995 NBA Finals, and if someone had offered us the chance to spend $40 million to ensure that Nick Anderson's free throws went down, well, that probably would have been a short meeting. Perhaps you have to suffer through the wins and losses long enough to get it.

I guess the Suns agree that "the only thing that never ends is the glow of a championship." They're betting $40 million on it. And the Heat, who wouldn't know that glow were it not for Shaquille O'Neal, were willing to let him go in the hopes of getting it back.

What I Did On My Vacation, Part Whatever

Miss me? Doubt it. Again.

Yeah, I write about vacations often. Just so happens that I like to travel. I suppose that's part of what draws me to the broadcasting business in the first place -- although, with all due respect to my current digs of downtown Indianapolis, the "work" trips usually pale in comparison to the "fun" trips.

I should mention, however, that if one has to travel for work, Indy is highly underrated. Downtown Indianapolis is everything that Downtown Orlando would love to be, if only Downtown Orlando ever got out of the house. Within a five-minute walk of my hotel, I can find a museum dedicated to the history of the NCAA, plus the RCA Dome, the utterly stunning Conseco Fieldhouse, the soon-to-be stunning Lucas Oil Stadium (next year's home of the Colts), the minor-league baseball Victory Field, plus the state capitol, a dozen great restaurants, and about a zillion friendly people. My wife gives me a hard time about how much I enjoy Indianapolis -- and seeing as how I once got her a press pass for the Indy 500, wherein she hooted and hollered like the good racing redneck that she insists she didn't marry, she really ought to simmer down.

Anyway, I am here because the Orlando Magic are playing the Indiana Pacers tomorrow night on FSN Florida. How I got here, however, is worth a few minutes.

Mrs. Red Sox Nation and I just celebrated our 10th anniversary. I know, I know, I overachieved. Or, as I prefer to call it, I outkicked my coverage.

For this momentous occasion, we worked out a plan to take a vacation without our precious children. We love them very much, both of them; we also needed this. The plan, to make a long story short, was to go skiing. With all the planning of a dart at a map, we chose Taos, New Mexico.

For those who have never made the trip, the Taos ski area is just about the hardest place to get to among any vacation spot you can imagine. It makes Auburn look like Atlanta. You fly to Albuquerque, which is only forever, then drive two-plus hours straight uphill through some of the most breathtaking country you have ever seen. "Breathtaking" is actually a cop-out -- despite my rep as a writer, despite my English major and allegedly vast experience on the road, I honestly cannot capsulize the vistas we enjoyed while piloting a rental car up to 9,400 feet above sea level.

Ever heard the phrase "Big Sky?" It's usually attached to a ski area in Montana. All I can tell you -- and again, I'm struggling -- is that I have never understood the phrase "Big Sky" as well as I do now. New Mexico, and the American southwest, is Big Sky. Mammoth. Endless. Overwhelming. Please, if you take nothing out of anything I write in this space, please please please treat yourself to a visit to this region of America. You will be humbled. You will bore your traveling companion with repeated references to how bloody enormous and vast it looks. You will never look at a strip mall off I-95 the same way again.

So once we had literally climbed the mountain, we finally arrived at the Taos Ski Valley, which is essentially an Alpine village tucked into a crevice among the sharpest, most hostile terrain I've ever visited. There are about five restaurants, four hotels, two ski shops, and maybe 100 permanent residents of "TSV." And it's in the middle of absolute nowhere. Needless to say, we had a blast.

We hit the slopes like mad. And why not -- there's nothing else to do there. Fully 51 percent of the mountain is rated as "expert," which was way beyond my skill set, but worth every minute. We ate like kings. We signed up for a wine dinner wherein we met the owners of a small vineyard in Alexander Valley, California, who asked us for our e-mail addresses. By the end of the week, we knew every employee of our hotel by their first names. I'm skipping everything, including two days visiting Santa Fe, my cathartic experience of driving past "The Pit" at the University of New Mexico, and an utterly bizarre dinner at the oldest hotel in TSV, but it's only because I'm excited and exhausted. Once I get home to Orlando and recover, I would like to go into Taos Ski Valley in greater detail, only because I found it fascinating.

But mostly, I'm wiped. And we have a game tomorrow.

I'll be home on Sunday, about three hours before kickoff for the Super Bowl. In all seriousness, I hope your week was as wonderful as mine.

Back to reality. See you on TV.