Gilbert Arenas Is Not Yet Magical for Dwight Howard and Orlando Magic
Throughout the press conference of his contract signing in 2008, Gilbert Arenas flashed the same smile that fans had come to love him for. On top of the monetary value of $111 million, something more was behind the beam—a moment of relief, closure and redemption. If he shed tears then, it was joyous, as opposed to when all 28 teams passed on him in the first round of the 2001 draft.
The max contract did more than simply confirm the belief Arenas always had in himself or categorize him among the group of elite stars. At last, the second round steal was no longer doubted but recognized. For a player who had to continuously prove his worth, the contract was as much a symbolic representation as the sustainment to the food of his pet sharks for many years to come.
It was the day he worked so hard for, rounded off nicely by the Adidas endorsement, the buzzer-beater which became the intro of NBA Live 2008, and the Washington Wizards who casted away a losing culture. Simultaneous injuries had depleted the roster, but one could only expect a smoother sailing from there on forth.
If that day marked the fairytale ending, the six more years of obligation on paper was a reminder of reality. He never breathed life into the franchise after that: just mouthfuls of bad breath.
In the two seasons that followed, the Wizards recorded 19-63 and 26-56, en route to grace another high lottery draft pick. Agent Zero? Also treading in irrelevancy following the aftermath of injuries and the gun fiasco.
On the Orlando Magic, Arenas plots revenge, benched behind Jameer Nelson and playing less than half a game every night. Once again, it comes down to showing doubters what he is really made out of.
The good news is that he has a great track record in materializing possibilities.
He is still trying, albeit failing. That's the bad news.
On top of that, Mr. February isn’t coming back, and neither is Mr. March, because the micro-fracture surgery robbed him his athleticism. He won’t admit it—but he doesn’t need to. It's all too evident on the court. Dwight Howard needs him to stumble into Mr. April, and be the hero of May, hopefully June. So far, that's just wishful thinking.
It’s almost hard at times to scold the affable goofball. For one, his failures did not result from the lazy entitlement of a huge contract (a la Eddy Curry). More importantly, though, it’s hard to escape the impression that he is still just a kid lost in the adult world.
Gilbert’s eccentricity certainly stems from his fantasies of exhibiting wealth through flamboyance, so he treats himself like a lottery winner. There is no other logic to explain the number of guns he owns, nor his alleged financial mismanagement. Not that the reason is original or makes it acceptable—it doesn’t—but one can’t help wanting to give him a pat on the back, or offer guidance.
But being a child at heart doesn’t alter the fact that Arenas is nonetheless a grown man. All grown-ups need to deal with the real world, and the reality is that times change quickly, perceptions even faster. For the sake of his own benefits, he must contemplate the last two years through a rearview mirror, and shun the media that is cashing in on his downfall.
Yes, he must avoid the very press who loved him for his outspoken mannerisms and perhaps enabled to the kid who was so prone to new nicknames. There were many, but not one is an accurate portrayal anymore.
It's best that he holds off creating new monikers, for any inspirations from others will only be drawn for punchline purposes. The priorities should be to develop an accurate jump shot, create new floor game, and limit those turnovers. Hard, unglamorous work.
That mistake of a contract, unforeseeably shortsighted, does give him a few more years to vindicate his wrongdoings. For the magnitude of the firearm debacle, Orlando is as ideal of a situation as he can possibly hope for. Under the supervision of old friend Otis Smith, a reserve role there is not the same as backing up a new savior already in uniform in Washington.
In retrospect, he went and left Washington on the same terms, unfolded his very first games there in suspensions from possession of guns in 2003. People hardly ever change, but that sentiment could also contrive the underdog attitude that brought him success the first time around.
So he must change—for relevancy, for another contract to smile about. Stakes waged by his success or failure are as high as ever. Only when he does turn the corner will those same critics embrace him again with open arms.
