Fair to label Nets franchise as ‘tortured’
I mean, what do you expect from a franchise named after a piece of equipment?
For the record, they began American Basketball Association life in 1967 as the New Jersey Americans. But when they relocated the following year to Long Island, they needed a new nickname. And the best idea someone could come up with was a rhyme for the Jets and Mets? Hence the New York “Nets.” Really?
Starting life in the Teaneck Armory, their perambulations have taken them to such homes as Commack Arena; the Island Garden in Hempstead (where, if memory serves correctly, the Celtics refused to dress and shower in the decrepit locker room for an exhibition game, encamping instead to their nearby hotel); the Nassau County Coliseum; the Rutgers Athletic Center; Brendan Byrne/Continental Arena/ Izod Center; the Prudential Center; and, finally, to the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, where they are currently making news for all the wrong reasons.
I think it is fair to label this franchise as “tortured,” and not simply because it has yet to hoist a championship banner in its NBA existence, which began with the 197677 season. After all, fellow ABA expatriates Denver and Indiana have yet to win, either. They each envy their old ABA pals from San Antonio, who have won it all five times.
To be fair, the Nets definitely had their share of ABA success, winning the championship in 197374 and 1975-76, the final season of the ABA prior to its merger with the NBA. So you might think they would have been entering the NBA with heads high.
There was one little problem. Their best player happened to be Julius Erving, the renowned Dr. J. But for very Nets-like reasons owing to finance, Dr. J was no longer a member of the Nets when they began play in the NBA. He had been sold to the Philadelphia 76ers. So in their inaugural NBA season they went 22-60, and Dr. J and the 76ers went to the Finals.
Their New Jersey existence was tedious, to say the least. The Rutgers existence was unbecoming of an NBA franchise. About the only good thing about it was that their departure was immortalized in
John Pizzarelli’s hilarious song, “I Love Jersey Best.” Among the lyrics: “The Jersey Nets went thataway. Piscataway no more.”
Off they went to the newly constructed Brendan Byrne Arena. Even with half-decent teams, a Nets home game had the atmosphere of a funeral parlor. Brendan Byrne Arena sat next to the Jersey Turnpike. Its mailing address was East Rutherford, N.J. To borrow from Gertrude Stein, there was no there there. The tepid fandom reflected that fact. When the 1983-84 team began its first-round series against the defending champion 76ers with a pair of victories in Philadelphia, you might expect them to return home before a raucous sellout crowd for Game 3. Nope. The joint was two-thirds full.
The building name kept changing, but the atmosphere never did. I began referring to them as the “Exit 16W Nets,” a franchise that really had no great reason to exist.
Their shining moments took place earlier in this century when Jason Kidd sparked them to Finals trips in 2001-02 and 2002-03. They were swept by the Lakers in ’02 and lost to the Spurs in six games the following year. They deserve special credit for their ’02 performance against the Celtics. They responded to a humiliating loss in Game 3 — remember the fourth-quarter Celtics comeback from 21 down? — by taking the next three games.
Since then? Not so much.
I must acknowledge I thought it was great when they moved to Brooklyn. A franchise that had never been exactly what you would call “stable” now had a shiny new home. And it is a good facility, easily reachable by subway from Manhattan.
But things have not gone very well on the court. The franchise is still trying to recover from the disastrous deal then-general manager Billy King made with the Celtics, when he forfeited valuable draft picks for what was left of Paul
Pierce and Kevin Garnett.
The current mess is courtesy of GM Sean Marks. On his watch the Nets have assembled a dysfunctional group that has looked good on paper, but doesn’t mesh too well when the ball gets thrown up.
James Harden talked his way into Brooklyn before forcing his way out the door. Kevin Durant will go down in history as a top-10-12 player, but he has evolved into a peculiarly unhappy personality. Ben Simmons seems neither physically nor psychologically destined to have a lengthy NBA career.
And then there is Kyrie Irving. We in Boston are happy to say, “We told ya’ so.” The Nets are the latest to discover that Irving is a transcendent talent who once upon a time earned the highest accolades for his skill from no less a point guard authority than Bob Cousy, but who is so wrapped up in himself as a supposed intellect that he becomes impossible to live with.
There is no denying Irving’s skill. He gets to the basket with extraordinary ease, finishing adeptly with either hand. He is a fearless shooter. I’d go so far as to say he has a touch of Andrew Toney in him (that’s high praise from me, folks).
But the rest? Please. He just isn’t as smart as he thinks he is. There seems to be no end to his willingness to embrace, shall we say, erroneous theories. He is a distraction, pure and simple.
Many say that departed coach Steve Nash was simply overmatched, but I don’t think we’ll ever know what he could have done in a better circumstance. I hope he gets another chance to coach, assuming he wants one.
And as for even contemplating the tone-deaf hiring of the tainted Ime Udoka as the appropriate Nash replacement? Really and truly . . . what were they thinking?
But once again, I ask: What else could we expect from a franchise named after a piece of equipment?