The first basketball blog I ever followed was written by Gilbert Arenas. He didn't talk about basketball very much, and most of what I remember is when he would talk about video games. He officially sponsored a professional ""Halo"" team named Final Boss that competes in national tournaments all over the place, and he was especially honored when selected to grace the cover of ""NBA Live ‘08.""
His wasn't really a basketball blog, but it was the blog that lured me in to the NBA all the same. Or, rather, it was the person who lured me in to the NBA. His personality was larger than life, and the way he approached the game was the same.
The legend of Gilbert Arenas says that he wore the number zero because that was the number of minutes he was expected to play as a freshman. It served as a constant self-motivation tool and reminder of his roots. Ironically, it also signified a number close to how often he tried to incorporate teammates into his ""NBA Jam""-style offense.
The legend of John Wall is completely different. Nobody really doubts Wall's ability to run a fast break, dish the ball out of traffic or finish at the rim. Wall was the consensus top overall draft pick in the 2010 NBA Draft since he was a senior in high school in 2008. His electricity is sure to rejuvenate a backcourt whose starting point guard has missed significant playing time for the past three seasons. And the Wizards played without a real point guard for a long time before that.
The thing is, Arenas was a point guard by position, but certainly not one by nature. If a teammate found an open crease on the floor, Arenas was just as likely to run over and take the open shot himself. He could beat almost anyone off the dribble for a free shot at the lane, but he'd just as soon create space by taking three steps backward and launching the jumper. It's the same ego-centric style we make CGI characters play in video games, but it's a lot of strain to ask of a human body. And Gilbert Arenas has three surgeries on his left knee to prove it.
So it would seem a young point guard with exceptional court vision and a gift for involving others in an upbeat offense seems like the perfect prescription for a 28-year-old who only ever really liked to run and shoot in the first place.
But Agent Zero doesn't see things that way.
Last week Arenas told reporters he is now with the Wizards to ""teach [Wall] the ins and outs of the game, and then eventually go on and move on.""
That's not necessarily how it should be, though. This offseason the Wizards traded for Kirk Hinrich, the defensive wizard who played a strong role with the Chicago Bulls before showing Derrick Rose the ropes in 2008 and helping him become an All Star by his second year in the NBA.
Arenas is undersized for a shooting guard, giving a whole five inches to Charlotte's shooting guard, Stephen Jackson (the standard by which I measure all aspiring two-guards). But they don't call him Agent Zero because he's afraid of tall odds, and even with his penchant for chucking shots, Arenas' career three-point shooting percentage sits nearly 20 points higher than Captain Jack's.
The only problem with Arenas transitioning to shooting guard is that it damages the one thing he's used to propel himself to his All-Star stature: his swag.
Make no mistake—Arenas' swag was unimpeachable. He shouted ""hibachi"" to let his defender know exactly how hot his shooting touch was getting. He didn't need to watch his 32-foot buzzer beater swish through the net to beat the Bucks in 2007—he turned around and walked away while the ball was still mid-air.
Even his rehab from his first knee surgery was entertaining. He created a game in which his goal was to make 10,000 jump shots during the offseason. He made it close before realizing he was overworking a leg that only wanted to recover.
Arenas treated everything as a game, and never was that more problematic than when he brought firearms into his team locker last winter.
And now he's responded to felony gun charges, a 50-game suspension, probation sentence and demotion to second fiddle with submissive humility.
In all reality, there might not be a place for an overpaid, injury-prone, shoot-first point guard on the Wizards anymore. Arenas is fortunate that he doesn't necessarily need there to be. His body has proven too combustible for his own style, but nothing about his swag demands being the focal point of an offense. Relinquishing the point takes a lot of humility, but if there's one thing to learn from Arenas' tragic tale, it's that sometimes being the bigger man means swapping out your controller for User 2 and letting someone else go to work.
Do you light fools up in NBA Jam with Agent Zero? Tell Kyle about it at ktsparks@dailycardinal.com
