With Yao Ming's Career in Jeopardy, a Failed Era Reaches Its Painful End

It was painful while it lasted.

At times, it was fun, too.

Now, Yao Ming's injury-plagued, trophy-less Houston Rockets tenure is in limbo.

Has the 7'6" center played the last game of his career?

Yahoo! Sports first reported this afternoon that sources within the organization had determined the stress fracture in Yao's left foot might never heal, no matter the procedure.

The Houston Chronicle then added to the gloom with further comments from team physician Tom Clanton.

The optimistic prognosis: Yao's out for the year.

If happiness is a warm gun, Houstonians would love to find the witch who has cursed this franchise and put a bullet in her head. They cannot put one in her heart, since she doesn't have one.

This routine lost its element of humor long ago.

In the aftermath of this bleak news, no one associated with the organization wins in any of the possible scenarios.

Clanton, GM Daryl Morey, and Coach Rick Adelman will not tell anyone that Yao is finished if they can help it. Such truth does not sell tickets in a crummy economy.

"We have no starting center and a shooting guard we're not sure will play again. How about that $3,000 deposit on season tickets next year, Mr. Thomas?"

When you can't pay the mortgage and you incur debt just shopping for groceries...

Forget that angle.

The uncertainty of Yao's foot injury, which was supposed to heal in a matter of weeks through rest but didn't, is about more than this franchise's financial health.

Leslie Alexander spends money as few NBA owners do to pursue championships. He drafted Yao Ming and signed off on the expensive Tracy McGrady acquisition because he believed both players would deliver the city of Houston another title.

Call him short-sighted or bird-brained—if you're cruel. Do not question his commitment to winning.

Morey isn't sure when or if McGrady will return to the lineup. Yao has done nothing for seven weeks and has not improved since the stress fracture ended his playoff run.

If that doesn't signal the explosion of a bankrupt experiment to the Rockets' brain trust, well—"bird-brained" will be one of the kinder words I use.

No news with this franchise is great news. This unwanted enlightenment is like being hit over the head with a brick, run over with a semi-truck then socked with a metal trash can—after partial recovery—in the hospital bed.

What doesn't kill this franchise only makes the basketball god who hates it angrier.

Given the chance to do it again, the Rockets would still pick Yao first in 2002.

Some reasons are obvious, some aren't.

The sheer value of Yao's marketability world-wide and his global ambassadorship has brought the Rockets to households that previously had never watched an NBA game.

No one can deny that part of Morey's declaration that Yao is "untouchable" in trade talks has to do with the center's being from China.

How could Alexander pass up this wallet-stuffing opportunity? Could you?

Aside from his monetary value, and the hundreds of Houstonians of Chinese or Asian descent who have now attended at least one game, Yao is also a good guy with a winner's attitude.

Alexander and then GM Carroll Dawson saw that, too.

They knew that, with work, he could become a 20-point, 10-rebound machine who commanded double teams on every possession.

Opponents would spend hours building their game-plans around his presence in the post, and he would jump-hook and Shanghai-shake them to a third championship.

Yao made good on management's first two predictions. A brittle foot less malleable and durable than glass kept that third dream at bay.

There is no need to say "I told you so" or something about Dwight Howard's superiority.

No one has invented a time machine. The Rockets cannot redo 2002. They cannot get Howard, either.

From what I hear, the Orlando Magic kind of like him. Call this a hunch: Otis Smith wants to keep Howard in Central Florida for the duration of his career.

If you want to kick this dog when it is down, go ahead. The creator of this misery will appreciate your sick sense of humor.

I've already read amputation jokes in such poor taste that Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks, and Mitch Hedburg might be offended.

What the Rockets must do now is chart the course for the turbulent skies ahead.

Morey has the smarts and the trust of fans to keep this plane from sputtering Jet Blue-style.

When sparks fly and metal crashes on the NBA's runway, no one dies or faces physical injury.

However, there are as many victims, and the remains of the fallen rest in the smelliest and ugliest of morgues.

The Yao and T-Mac era flopped worse than Norbit and Pluto Nash. When Alexander agreed to spend more than $35 million on two players, he expected more than one playoff series victory.

When he praises both players in post-injury press conferences, there is no hint of satisfaction in his pleasant but firm timbre.

Still, management stands by its 2002 decision, and Yao's character is the other part of that.

No one who has coached or played with him questions his desire to win or his work ethic.

Jerry Sloan once called him a "coach's dream" and a player "29 other teams would love to have."

When ABC analyst and former teammate Mark Jackson speaks of Yao's deficiencies, he does it with care and acknowledgement of the center's unyielding passion.

Yao will play again if he can find away to beat his cursed feet.

This witch, however, plays an unbeatable brand of hardball.

As much as I have dogged McGrady, he did not ask to be a suit model, either.

Morey's first task this summer is resigning Ron Artest at all costs. He must give the versatile, effervescent forward whatever he commands in the open market.

At about $8 million last year, he was one of the league's best bargains. If he asks for $10 million to $12 million a year, he'll still be a bargain.

Artest injected a defense-oriented roster with a snarl it sorely needed. The roster, with or without Yao and McGrady, still needs it.

Then, Morey must find a center in free agency who can play as more than a suitable backup.

He should phone Steve Kerr again and re-open talks about Amar'e Stoudemire. Even if I think the guy is a defenseless idiot and a loser, he has talent the team could use.

If both sides can come to an agreeable deal, consider this a reluctant stamp of approval.

Perhaps the only white cloud in Monday's devastating atmosphere is the Rockets' finds of the last two years.

Morey fleeced San Antonio to land Luis Scola, as gritty and fiery as any pro athlete. He netted Carl Landry with the 32nd pick for mere cash considerations. He plucked Aaron Brooks late in the first round.

He stole Ron Artest, again with a desirable contract, for Donta Greene, Bobby Jackson and the pick that became Omri Casspi.

The guy appears to know what he's doing. Houstonians hope looks are not deceiving them.

Back to 2002, should the Rockets have selected Jay Williams, Drew Gooden, Chris Wilcox, Nikoloz Tskitishvili, or Dajuan Wagner?

The only acceptable alternatives to Yao from that class were Stoudemire and Caron Butler.

Both players wear the same number of championship rings as Yao—zero.

Tayshaun Prince and Mike Dunleavy are fine support players but not stars. What else could they have done that year?

The Rockets hoped for a storybook ending to this era. Clanton's "career-threatening" diagnosis gives it a nightmare one.

There's no need to drag this franchise to hell. It's already there.