Video: The Washington Post’s Dan Steinberg, LaVar Arrington, Jason Reid and Jonathan Forsythe argue whether the Wizards’ Bradley Beal is the team’s best player.
When the last 24 years have been even worse (.359) with 15 seasons of 51 to 63 losses, it can seem like all good intentions are doomed.
And when such a franchise is also in the midst of the worst five-season collapse (106-262, .288) in its history, when the general manager who built the most recent version of this mess is in his 10th year and still employed, who cares what befalls them?
But I find myself caring about Wittman and the savvy adults who’ve replaced the more talented likes of Andray Blatche, JaVale McGee and Nick Young. The current batch are true pros, trying to reverse a poisonous culture so that Bradley Beal, 19, and Wall, whether he knows it, may grow up to see better times after the oldsters are gone.
Maybe I’m a sucker for a team that shows up when it seems pointless and its fans are selling tickets online for pennies. Maybe I enjoy seeing a team trade its third-leading scorer for scraps because he’s the Last Box of Rocks that’s left.
Maybe the Wizards’ recent rally is Fool’s Gold. But few teams could make such a staunch stand against indignity after that 4-28 start. So, respect it.
No one should want to jump on this train more than Wall. For the third straight year, he is almost the worst shooter in the NBA, as measured by effective field goal percentage (.405), which includes two-point and three-point shots. The past two years, he has made 7 percent of his three-point attempts. That’s correct: 7 percent. He commits more turnovers per 36 minutes every year: 3.6, 3.8 and now 4.5. Luckily, he finally has the set of experienced teammates, and the blunt coach, that he should crave.
“When we have bad games, we’ve got to learn to accept responsibility. Don’t feel sorry for yourself,” Wittman said long after Wednesday’s loss. “The good players take heat.”
“I tell the truth,” said Wittman, who was born in Indianapolis, raised on basketball as religion and was a star on Bob Knight’s 1981 NCAA champion at Indiana. “I have to coach. That’s the only way I know.”
Maybe the Wizards’ current stand against indignity will lead to nothing, and Verizon Center will remain the world’s biggest sarcophagus on many nights. For those who’ve endured recurrent bouts of Wizards Disease all these years, this may be yet another outbreak of unwarranted optimism.
But in a hoops town, it’s hard to fight the feeling. I thought I’d finally sworn off ’em, but (don’t tell my family) I’m watching the Wizards again. Like the old blues lyric puts it, “The doctor says I may get better. But I’ll never get well.”
For previous columns by Thomas Boswell, visit washingtonpost.com/boswell.
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