Utah Jazz: Al Jefferson Is Ready for His Redemption Story

When Zach Randolph went from being a burden to the New York Knicks and Los Angeles Clippers to being a star for the upstart Memphis Grizzlies, his story was portrayed as one of redemption. It was the most convenient way to explain why—despite producing in the same ways at more or less the same level—Randolph's team was finally finding success. After being diagnosed as a problem player, a rebirth was seen as the only possible explanation for Randolph's newfound role as a leader.

It was the insertion of a story where there was only the slightest justification for one; Randolph was deemed a man of change, but the real revelation was the inconsistency between his reputation and reality. The player stylistically doomed to lose was no longer losing, and rather than dig into why the Grizzlies were a team uniquely suited to maximize Randolph's gifts, so many pointed to a manufactured Memphis renaissance. Now the man is a star—he toppled the No. 1 seed in the West last season, gave the Oklahoma City Thunder a run for their money and remains the best player on a team that could make some postseason noise again.

Everything has changed for Randolph, despite the fact that, as a player, he's largely remained the same. 

It's only a matter of time before another very good player is marched through the phoenix's flames and praised in print for the evolutions he never really made. A good a candidate as any to follow the Randolph mold is Utah Jazz big man Al Jefferson—a highly productive player (he currently ranks 10th in the league in PER and owns per-36-minute averages of 21.2 points and 10.1 rebounds) who was never made into the public enemy that Zeebo once was, but nonetheless has played his career in an endless series of caveats.

Jefferson scores, but he's seen as a black hole. He rebounds, but he's not a particularly strong defender. He employs traditional post moves in a fairly unorthodox manner and stands at 6'10", but he doesn't dunk often. He's never won much because he's never been on a particularly good team, but even that idea is taken and twisted as a problem of his own doing. 

Yet this season, Jefferson's Jazz—who currently trail the Houston Rockets by just a single game for the West's eighth and final playoff spot—have flashed some impressive underdog potential. Utah's inconsistency is a huge problem, but in their relatively frequent peaks, the Jazz have shown the potential to beat some of the league's best teams; the combination of Jefferson, Paul Millsap, Derrick Favors and Enes Kanter is a lot for opponents to handle, and although the Jazz lack the stable foundation that empowered last season's Grizzlies, they hold the same mismatch potential for an unfortunate playoff opponent. 

And, for that matter, the basketball similarities between Jefferson and Randolph as individuals are actually quite eerie.

Neither is seen as much of a team player, and yet both are startlingly effective from the post and mid-wing. Plus, when paired with another versatile big (Marc Gasol and Millsap, respectively) their offensive games are unlocked; Jefferson and Randolph both thrive when given the real estate to operate comfortably, as opponents lose the capability of double-teaming from the opposite block. It's a difficult task to guard an opponent with one highly effective big man, but having to defend two completely changes the nature of the coverage, making the recovery dynamic much more complex in the process.

Jefferson has had a pretty remarkable season, but he's missing the slightest narrative catalyst: that ever-important team triumph. Randolph's "reconstruction" wouldn't be complete if not for Memphis' playoff competence, and the Jazz—even in a season of unexpected playoff contention—have yet to make that kind of league-wide splash.

Yet as was the case with Randolph's transformation, none of the plot construction really matters. Jefferson, independent of context, has put together another monster campaign, and while the parallels with the two players' narratives are certainly interesting, they should serve as a reminder of just how misleading reputation-based context can be. Reputation—in sports, as in life in general—has a way of becoming an analytical crutch, and although we often find it easier to lean on what we know or presume to know, it's no substitute for thorough understanding.

We can pretend that the inconsistencies between reputation and reality are indicative of some kind of change on the part of the player, just as many seemed to pretend that the Memphis version of Zach Randolph was a changed man.

But there are only so many new leaves to be turned over; basketball observation is an imperfect exercise, and when we reduce all that player does to single, simple, pre-scripted thoughts, we mistake every bit of color between the lines in a pursuit of far duller storybook drivel.