Kleeman's Jump Hook: Chris Paul and Deron Williams Could Use an Assist

Writer's note: Every Monday and Friday, I will publish an edition of "Kleeman's Jump Hook ." Since my work concentrates on the teams in the Texas triangle, this column affords me the opportunity to examine the happenings in the rest of the NBA.

In this space, expect these regular features: an opinion piece on a topic of league-wide interest, 'performance of the week,' 'give this a thumbs up,' 'malcontent of the week,' 'hardwood hyperlinks,' and a 'surprise players' showcase. Due to time constraints, prepare for a shorter piece than usual.

The regular features referenced above will appear in the Monday edition.

The league's top point guards deliver spectacular dish after spectacular dish, using hard double teams and heavy defensive pressure to create easy buckets for teammates.

Now, the men who live off of the assist could use one themselves.

Anybody on the Utah Jazz or New Orleans Hornets interested in helping their All-Star teammates should feel free to start work now.

The Hornets posted a 2-3 record to start the year and the Jazz were 1-3 before Thursday night's duel with the San Antonio Spurs at Energy Solutions Arena.

The worst offenses included the Hornets' opening night 113-96 beatdown suffered at the hands of the Spurs and a Jazz fourth-quarter meltdown in Dallas earlier this week.

It seemed unfathomable in late September that the squads employing the league's premier floor generals could miss the playoffs. Now it seems like an absolution.

With all the talk about the Western Conference's final two playoff spots centered on the L.A. Clippers, Houston Rockets, Phoenix Suns, and Oklahoma City Thunder, the Jazz and Hornets have shoved their way into the dubious discussion.

After one week, a small sample size for sure, the Rockets have tapped into the defensive-minded, always compete, always run identity that will make them dangerous, regardless of the names on the injured list.

Houston lost by a point to the defending champion Lakers in overtime without the services of Yao Ming, Tracy McGrady, or impressive rookie reserve scorer, Chase Budinger.

For just the fourth time in the previous five years or so, the Rockets won a game in Salt Lake City. Monday night's drubbing was as thorough a bloodbath as any team missing its All-Star cornerstones could have delivered in the league's toughest home environment.

After two promising, close losses, the Clippers began to look like the Clippers again. Still, if top pick Blake Griffin returns after his knee injury and plays to expectations, you never know what could happen.

The Suns, defenseless and diaper soft as they are, can still outgun the association's mightiest of the mediocre. At times, Steve Nash looks like the same offensive machine who garnered back-to-back MVPs.

He is one of the worst defenders at his position in league history, but his lethal passing and scoring forays will keep the Suns in the hunt for the seventh or eighth spot.

The Thunder won its first two games—at home against the lowly Sacramento Kings and in Motown against the in-transition Pistons—and the young, energetic star trio of Kevin Durant, Russell Westbrook, and Jeff Green looks poised to shower the NBA's newest avid fan base with at least 10 more victories.

The Jazz and Hornets? Both rosters are a mess, overstocked with lethargic or inconsistent players who either cannot perform the way Paul and Williams require or don't want to be there.

Was the Jazz's 113-99 win over the Spurs an indication of a pending turnaround, or was the contest more about San Antonio's early season deficiencies—missed defensive rotations, indecisiveness on offense, and turnovers galore?

With six new rotation players expected to fill major roles, the Spurs will need at least a month to mesh the summer arrivals with an established core.

Wake me up when the Jazz end that losing streak in the Alamo City that dates back to 1999.

The Hornets have tasted as hot and cold as prison food. Paul is the team's only ingredient with any flavor. The pieces around him fit as smoothly as garlic salt and raw onions on diet vanilla ice cream.

Emeka Okafor, the team's prime-time acquisition, has been anything but. He gives the squad more scoring in the post, but his defense has been flat-footed and passive. In the despicable loss to the New York Knicks, David Lee got wherever he desired against Okafor—from the hoop to the baggage claims at JFK and La Guardia airports.

Peja Stojakovic, a useless and gutless defender in his prime, gets abused now more than ever. He did bag a clutch triple in a overtime win over the Dallas Mavericks, but save that rare play, he remains one of the game's grandest choke artists.

He should be required by law to have his hands around his neck at all times.

David West has feasted on isolations and 20-footers, but his defense lacks the appropriate inspiration, and his post-ups are as ify as the cell phone reception in the middle of the Atlantic.

Paul jawed with Celtics point guard Rajon Rondo in a Sunday loss, with some speculating he ran to the Boston locker room to enact some physical revenge for Rondo's merciless, stolid trash talk.

"You're never gonna win a championship ring," Yahoo! Sports quoted Rondo as saying to Paul.

An Olympic gold medalist and 20-point, 11-assist, three-steal performer deserves better than this, but his franchise's owner is amateurish, lacking the will or the financial power to compete with the league's big dogs.

In the first week of play, the Hornets bench again registered as the lowest scoring among the 30 teams.

Byron Scott is still hoping someone off the pine will do more than just take up space. Heck, given the ease with which the Knicks and Spurs reserves destroyed their New Orleans counterparts, just taking up space would be a step in the right direction.

What happened to James Posey's sage and brutish defense? Down what French Quarter drain did his clutch shooting go?

Road-challenged Utah—the worst away team of the West playoff pack last season—has more issues than the Manson family.

Carlos Boozer, even after a tremendous 27-point, 14-rebound effort against the Spurs, still looks like he would rather be in Yemen than Salt Lake City.

The Jazz would still welcome a trade, but only if the interested front office surrenders a building-block star in return. GM Kevin O' Connor and the ownership group would rather absorb his bloated but expiring contract—which would count heavily against the luxury tax at the end of the season if kept—than trade for someone else's garbage stiff.

Mehmet Okur has averaged productive double-figure rebound and point totals thus far, slaughtering his recent matchups in the post and from the perimeter.

Still, he possesses all the athleticism of an office cabinet and is not physically able to offer resistance to penetration by elite guards.

When Tony Parker decides to attack the rim in every quarter, as he did in Thursday's second period, Okur's toast.

As is Boozer.

Without Matt Hapring's relentless energy and hard-nosed defense, Kyle Korver's long-distance bombs and other injuries, the reserve corps looks thinner than a throng of supermodels at a weight-loss convention.

Only Paul Millsap has succeeded consistently in making an impact off the bench. Even with his rugged rebounding and interior toughness, he still hacks opponents as if he wants a starring role in the next Freddy vs. Jason flick.

Andrei Kirilenko can still give Jerry Sloan 16, seven, and five, but his tendency to pout after rough starts can make him a liability against the elites.

Paul and Williams hate to lose, but the mismatched rosters they must captain will ensure that many more nights end in disenchantment.

You can see the burden each carries when you look into their eyes.

Paul, all six feet of him, has to keep the Hornets from sinking below sea level every night.

The Hornets offense has become a predictable screen-and-roll party everyone from Memphis to Boston has crashed. Instead of streamers and balloons, Paul carries a defibrillator, since every games hangs on how many assists he compiles and how many jump shots he can nail.

New Orleans' hopes live and die with Paul. Given that, the Hornets could stop breathing well before April, and Scott, the 2007-08 coach of the year, could lose his tenuous gig. Paul also has to fend for himself when childish punks like Rondo disrespect his prodigious talents.

The Hornets need another enforcer to stick up for Paul, a mean machine to let opponents know the point guard isn't the only player in the Big Easy with an unyielding will to win. West was that guy two years ago. Now, he seems determined to join his teammates in standing behind Paul in hopes the foe that night will fail to land its punches.

With no one to back up Paul on the court or off it, the Hornets have become Muhammed Ali without boxing gloves, a Tropical Isle Hand Grenade without the liquor. These Hornets have no sting, and the one paying for it more than anyone else is Paul.

For Williams, the outlook looks almost as hopeless.

After the collapse against the Mavericks, in which a 72-56 fourth quarter lead became an 11-point loss, agony hijacked Williams' supreme smile.

He moped off the flour—infuriated and disheartened—as if someone had just murdered his family and thrown his dog into a meat grinder and made him watch it all.

The best Williams can hope for is an end to his career-long All-Star drought. It would be one of the travesties of the decade if Williams again misses the cut—especially since the game is in his hometown.

Big-mouthed Rondo and the speedy Parker play alongside Hall of Famers. Paul and Williams get the small-market leftovers, dysfunctional rosters devoid of competitors who go all-in as often or want to win as much as they do. Every loss opens another wound and creates a bigger gulf between the two stars and their championship aspirations.

Like the first-responders who sometimes end up in their own accidents, these assist maestros need assistance—passes that won't arrive anytime soon