The Utah Jazz, much like their musical namesake, are
an acquired taste. You may not get it at first, but once you’re in,
you’re in: tapping your toes and saluting the solos, throwing out
your favorite practitioners in a reverential yet exuberant tones.
Miles, Max, Malone. Sonny, Stan, Stockton. Soon you’re seeing and
hearing things that no one else seems to get, and every other style
seems so…boring.
Boring? Isn’t that what jazz is all about? Isn’t that what the Jazz
are all about? While I’ll refrain from going as far as to say, 'for
the uninformed, maybe;' I do hope that someday history will give
these two J’s a kinder look. At the very least, Utah’s Jazz could go
to Europe, to tour and play before the fawning 'informed,' who
relish the sounds of the 'geniuses' in action. Then the whole band
could retire for good, fortunes in hand, ready to live that lush
life. On Green Dolphin Street, perhaps.
Now, I’m not saying that the famous Utah Jazz we all know and love
are on-court carbon copies of the musical idealism known as jazz,
but the similarities are there. Take bebop, usually the most copied
and best loved style of jazz. Bebop is marked by wild
improvisations, jaw-dropping soloists, minimalist instrumentation,
and a dangerous respect for both tradition and deviation. Tradition
is key, however. The players still jam on the standards, the famous
songs penned by the Gershwins, Porters, Ellingtons, and Cahns of the
world. They still use the traditional instruments: piano, bass,
drums, trumpet, sax. With that foundation, they go wild.
The player must have excellent technique, a love of their instrument
and a reverence for their craft. The player must be able to interact
with others, selflessly giving up what is necessary for the good of
the performance, while always remembering that their individual
brilliance is the reason they are up on stage in the first place.
The player must be able to think on their feet, and make sound
decisions at a moment’s notice.
The melody is king, you don’t want to deviate too much, because
there was a reason why these songs sounded so good in the first
place. But nobody wants to hear the same record over and over, which
is why you must take chances. It is cruelly important to the life of
the song, and the spirit. As the listener learns more and more, he
or she begins to understand the nuance, and embrace what becomes the
obvious. Whether it becomes a way of life or not, the fan is hooked,
as each new experience with the craft becomes more and more
rewarding.
The problem is, as the craft becomes more and more diluted, most
fans don’t realize what they have until it is gone for good. I
implore you to appreciate the Utah chapter of this jazz milieu
before their time runs out.
The Utah Jazz are living remnants of an era gone by. Their way
sticks out like a sore thumb, a tenor saxophone straining to be
heard amongst the blare of drum machines and adolescent-orientated
packaging. They are insufferably predictable, brilliantly
consistent, and they continue to defy the odds of surviving among
the changing times. Attitudes sway, fashions come and go, and other
outfits take over the top of the charts. The Jazz play on, trading
fours and executing with aplomb. 50 wins, 50 wins, 50 wins…
Usually, as with all prejudices, the differences bring out the hate.
I felt it too, on both counts, with the music and the team. Not just
indifference. Not just, 'the Jazz, yeah, boring.' No, nobody stops
at that. It’s always 'the Jazz? Lord, I HATE 'EM!' Think about
tuning in to TNT on a Tuesday night: 'Jazz against the Spurs? Crap!'
Admit it, you’d rather watch Warriors/Kings.
And, yes, the formula is the same. These guys have been at or above
a .573 winning percentage for thirteen seasons, and stand an easy
chance to eclipse that mark this year. They run variations of a
staid pick-and-roll offense that utilize the same two principal
avatars, John Stockton and Karl Malone, and rarely score on a
half-court play that wasn’t called from sidelines by coach Jerry
Sloan. Every year they seem to shuttle in a veteran big man to help
with depth and foul the opposing big men. Every year they come off
to the media as either useless cliché mongers, or grizzled blowhards
who let off steam in all the wrong ways. Every year they contend for
the best record in the West, and every year their championship
dreams fall short.
Every summer they head home with their heads held high, and set out
to initiate a series of improvements that will ensure another
stellar season the next year. No muss, no fuss. You may not like
watching them, you may not like listening to them, you may not like
thinking about them. But you have to respect the Utah Jazz. Whether
you’ve given it to them or not, they’ve earned your respect, year in
and year out.
Last year was no different. The Jazz should have been reeling from a
second round loss the year before, seemingly blowing their best
chance for a title in the Jordan-excepted lockout season. For what
felt like the sixth year in a row, rebuilding should have been on
the horizon. The Lakers were finally ready to rule the West.
Portland, the team that had knocked them out of the playoffs by
exposing Utah’s limited athleticism, boasted several dangerous new
additions. Phoenix added Eastern superstar Anfernee Hardaway.
Sacramento came within a jump hook of taking Utah down the year
before, and their young team could only improve. San Antonio, for
years Utah’s strongest rival in the Midwest, was coming off their
first title. Utah’s time was up. Again.
The Jazz’ core was weakened even more by the free agent defection of
guard Shandon Anderson to the Houston Rockets. Anderson took a five
million-dollar pay cut to play for what turned out to be a lottery
team. The only additions the Jazz managed to come up with were black
hole forward Armen Gilliam and journeyman center Olden Polynice, a
cancerous tumor to nearly every team he had joined up with prior to
1999-00. Everyone was a year older, the West was as stronger than
steel, and the Jazz were primed for a fall. So what’d they do? Win,
win, win…
55 wins, in fact. Everyone played to their ability, turning in
consistent performances and inspired competitiveness. Jerry Sloan
did a masterful job of alternating the proud veteran minutes with
the eager leanings of his solid rookies: Quincy Lewis and Scott
Padgett. Polynice started, Greg Ostertag relieved, and the two
combined for a solid output at center: 42 minutes, 9.8 points per
game, 11.5 rebounds, and 3.1 blocks. Better yet, although they
possess the worst two pairs of hands in recent NBA history, the two
only managed to cough up the ball a meager 1.9 times a game. Compare
that to Theo Ratliff (1.9 in ten less minutes), Luc Longley (1.9 in
19.7), and Vlade Divac (2.3 in 29 minutes). It doesn’t absolve them
from the groans of the Delta Center crowd after another would-be
assist deflects out of bounds, but numbers sometimes help the pain
go down a little smoother.
Guard play was solid, and sometimes spectacular. Jeff Hornacek’s
last go-round was a memorable one, he may have been a problem on
defense, but the fans were delighted at the prospect of another year
of long range brilliance and impromptu mid-range feats of fancy.
John Stockton remained one of the game’s sagest playmakers, managing
eight and a half assists in less than thirty minutes. Stock attacked
the rim a great deal, more than we’ve seen him do in years, and kept
the defense on its heels with clutch shooting.
Quincy Lewis looks like a solid pickup, his defense is sound and he
should really contribute once the team learns how to use his
mid-range game more effectively. Howard Eisley saw time at shooting
guard, improved shooting will do that, but Stockton’s caddy decided
to carry bags for Dallas’ Steve Nash last summer.
The real story of the Jazz’ spectacular season was Karl Malone, who
turned in another magnificent year at power forward. Just a year
after taking home the MVP award, (a dodgy vote tainted by his worst
statistical season in years, better campaigns from Tim Duncan and
Alonzo Mourning, and a second round playoff exit), Malone more than
made up with a brilliant year.
Sporting a shaved head and fu manchu, a defiant middle finger in the
face of those who can’t handle the country and western All-Star,
Malone remained an unstoppable force on offense and a perfect
example in the locker room. 82 games. 35.9 minutes. 25.5 points, 9.5
rebounds, 3.7 assists. Scowls to burn and wins to spare. He may not
have many friends around the league, but who needs chums when you
can play ‘til May?
The best part of last year was the feeling of overachievement. While
some Jazz fans may disagree with this, it often felt as if Utah was
playing on borrowed time. When you’ve been picked to take a dive six
years running, making a strong showing in the second round is
downright admirable. Follow that up with one of the best Utah
offseasons in recent memory, and even Jerry Sloan may crack a smile
this year.
Perhaps inspired by their Eastern Conference brethren, the Indiana
Pacers, the Jazz selected high school product DeShawn Stevenson with
their first round pick. It was a rare showing of derring-do by the
Jazz, even if the 23rd pick was a low risk transaction. As the
summer droned on, it became clearer and clearer that Howard Eisley
was in no mood to return to the Jazz. In a pointless retelling of
last year’s clash between agent Dan Fegan and the Jazz front office,
Eisley dribbled to Dallas, saving his muscatel for a low salary and
continued reserved existence.
In return for their troubles, Utah had one and they wanted four, the
Jazz picked up Golden State hybrid forward Donyell Marshall. The
team also picked up all-around veteran forward Danny Manning after
the Kansas product had his contract bought out by the Bucks.
Last year’s squad had only Eisley and jump hook victim Armen Gilliam
as bench contributors, unless you count fouls as contributions, then
Greg Ostertag should have been Sixth Man of the Year. This year
Jerry Sloan has a plethora of veteran options to mix and match with.
Most notable among the new additions is streak shooting guard John
Starks, late of the Warriors, who can play either guard slot and
boast tough-nosed defense. Though Starks, at barely 6’5', isn’t much
of an improvement over the late Jeff Hornacek; he will claw and
scrape just as well as his predecessor did.
Starks’ age is a question, and so is his shooting. He isn’t nearly
as consistent (35%) as Hornacek (48%) was from deep, and he isn’t
much for spotting up. Starks is at his best running a screen/roll,
which shouldn’t be a problem for the Jazz, but how much do you want
Stockton on the weak side watching Starks executing Stockton's own
trademark play? And how well does that run with Jacque Vaughn, a
solid point man who struggles with shooting, spotting up? The answer
might be to run Starks as a point guard more often.
Or to not start him at all. John can be a great third guard, he is a
former Sixth Man Award winner, and Bryon Russell can easily slip
into the shooting guard slot as a starter. On a team like the Jazz,
the only differences between shooting guard and small forward are
who guards whom, and Russell is coming off a career year. Start
Marshall at small forward, bring Manning off the bench in back of
Malone, and you could have an answer. Or how about Stevenson? He
can’t play more than twenty minutes a game, but he could give you
some scoring at the beginning of each half, and pick up some early
fouls on the opponent.
The beauty in all this is that Sloan can actually consider all these
veteran combinations, and not have to worry about how each of them
will affect his two superstars. In Stockton and Malone, he has two
franchise stalwarts who give their best no matter what the
surroundings look like. This goes back to the jazz equation. Even
with an avant-gardist like Cecil Taylor laying down the melodies,
John Coltrane still blew better than anyone else. Miles Davis’ band
may have kept changing, but the soul was the same.
Stockton and Malone aren’t the jazziest cats around. Malone is as
country as the Louisiana swamps, and Stockton comes off as bland the
polo shirts he wears to each game. But in their hearts, you can tell
where the inspiration comes from. Maybe someday, after all this is
over, they’ll find their true calling.
Perhaps ten, twenty years from now; we’ll see them again. Of course,
by then they’ll be sporting berets, soul patches and multi-colored
sweaters. Blowing and tinkling down in some dive of a bar, backs to
the audience, playing away. The chemistry will always be there, but
the surprise will always be how much they pull out of the cats they
jam with.
'Just pick and roll, man, pick and roll. And watch me for the
changes…'
|
