Why We Overreact to the NBA's First Week

Records early in the season don't mean much, even in a lockout-shortened campaign. Still, we can't help but react to them. That we react, as much as what we feel, says a lot about how we view sports team. We jump to conclusions despite the small sample size. That's because whether it's our team, a neutral franchise or a hated powerhouse, we want consistency. We want to be able to trust. 

It's partly nostalgia. Teams may now just be brand names, but every fan—even those who weren't around before the annual offseason dance of free agency had the league in a perpetual state of turmoil—longs for the days when a team was a team. And how could they not? Knowing that the same guys would return year after year, and that even bench players were synonymous with that jersey, not only offered up stability. It was comfort, a point of identification. Teams simply didn't change enough for every year to be an adventure. 

Today, we root for laundry. To put it more charitably, we look to franchises for continuity based on something more like a brand name, or the projection of the coach's or front office's personality out onto the entire organization. In certain unfortunate cases, like those pesky Cleveland Cavaliers, it's the owner who sets the tone. Partly it's a matter of influence, but it's also about perception. Does it seem like there's a constant with a team? Is there a plan, or a proven track record that can undergird all the offseason changes take place? If so, then we're cooking. Then there's something we can trust.

So when the Celtics start the season 0-3, or Lakers 0-2, an alarm goes off. It's not the same thing as, say, a team expected to take that crucial next step falling flat in the first few weeks. Besides, the Thunder did that last year and went on to the conference finals. The 2006-07 Mavericks went on to a 67-15 record despite an 0-4 start. 

The Celtics and Lakers are both old teams with injury issues. And yet we want them to matter. Even if we root against them, we don't like to see them utterly diminished, since these are trusted brands. Kobe Bryant, for better or worse, makes his presence felt in the NBA. That's why the way the Lakers went out against the Mavs last spring was so mystifying, even annoying. The Celtics are a different team than the one that won the title in 2008, but their Big Three of Kevin Garnett, Ray Allen and Paul Pierce is still around. We don't like the idea that these names could simply disappear.

Some people exult at these early season misfortunes. The paradox is, if the Celtics and Lakers continue to slide, we all lose. Look at what has happened to the Knicks over the last decade plus. Major markets should be pillars; even in the case of the Lakers, the team everyone loves to hate, a Lakers team that fizzles without drama upends our sense of the sport. It should matter if the Lakers can't contend. But it's possible that this team has simply gotten old, the least interesting kind of denouement. We panic over this possibility the same way that those teams fans do. The last thing we want is a league where trusted brands no longer matter. If nothing else, they owe it to us to go down in flames or arrogantly push for the next phase of self-importance. The Lakers lost that when they were denied Chris Paul; the Celtics have been living on borrowed time since they made the Finals in 2010. 

We want our teams to succeed. In a way, though, teams crucial to the league's landscape belong to all of us. Without them, there's a vacuum. It's exciting to see it filled, temporarily, but it just doesn't feel the same as having those familiar touchstones. Maybe this is an argument against parity. Or, more to the point, it's an argument for teams to find ways to keep mattering. Because if the Lakers can risk falling into irrelevance, why should any lesser organization be able to keep it going for more than a year or two?