Life’s a walking cloud of privilege when the most concerning thing for me to write about at the moment is a smashed bottle of water. It’s a fortunate position I give thanks for – to whoever is listening.
NONETHELESS, THERE IS A SMASHED WATER BOTTLE TO TALK ABOUT AND A SMASHED WATER BOTTLE WE SHALL TALK ABOUT.
An analysis must be had.
For me, for the readers, for the Raptors community.
For, if not me to care about something so minute, than who? Who, pray tell? WHO?
To those of you entirely confused by what the fuck I’m going on about, on Saturday, against the Philadelphia 76ers, Brandon Ingram was subbed out of the game after not playing so well and kinda hurting himself. As he sat down on the bench, in a huff, he slammed a bottle of purple stuff to the ground.
The bottle split apart wetting surrounding players and, more concerningly, popping a team attendant in the face. Ingram sat stoically as others cleaned it up on his behalf.
Other than it being one of the more expensive bottles of water to date – Brandon Ingram was fined $25,000 for his actions – there were no severe or permanent consequences. (I hope BI hooked up the team attendant.)
And, ultimately, Ingram showed remorse.
But ya know what? And, here’s one for ya, I’m glad he did it.
I’m glad Ingram throat-slammed that stupid, little water bottle. I’m glad he put everyone on notice with a little sugar water saturation. I’m not glad someone coulda lost an eye, but I’m glad Ingram showed some displeasure. Some uproar. Some rage.
For God’s sake, we need it. A lot of it. Because this team’s just too goddamn nice. Nice as rice. Plain as grain. Chill as krill.
Wait okay? Don’t you start. Don’t start assuming I’m some aging-millennial guy yelling at ocean waves for ebbing and flowing, calling Zoomers soft, even though I’ve got marshmallows for fingers, cause I’m not. So, bear with me.
You recall the whole Darko Rajaković celebration after the season opener against Atlanta?
You recall how euphorically crazed he was? How much energy he brought into that changing room? That one average-sized Serbian man could power a Meta’s worth of data centres [puke] with that kind of energy.
He took the whole team by surprise. A few guys were up for it: Jamal Shead, Ochai Agbaji, and Jamison Battle come to mind. The rest kind of watched in shock like he was nuts. And he probably is. That’s not the point.
The point is Coach Rajaković might just be the battery of this team. It might be he, and mostly he, alone carbonating the still water. Heating the forge. Spicing the curry. Scaring the audience. And, to me, that’s troubling.
Energy is a thing in professional sports. A big thing. Ask any Toronto Blue Jays fan about the energy of that team. Of wily-eyed Max Scherzer, or of Trey Yeasavage, or of Big Daddy Vladdy. Or of anyone by the end. It was intoxicating. Infectious. Inspiring.
Not to say those guys weren’t incredibly talented too nor that so many other things go into excellence, but one’s gotta wonder how much of that team-wide vivacity vaulted them to within inches of a World Series title.
Negative energy can sunder a franchise too. Cooper Flagg alone should yield fanbase exuberance for infinity. Nico Harrison’s presence – for many reasons, not just wasting Luka Dončić, according to stories by ESPN and The Athletic– stifled it. Whatever the hell is going on in Memphis stinks league-wide too. Ja Morant’s misery has disemboweled any hope this team had of contending. Bad vibes drain a team faster than a lost fork in a water bed.
Thus far, the vibes are good in Toronto. Compared to the latter years of the previous generation, they’re especially all gucci.
There’s chuckles. There’s daps. There’s high fives and butt slaps. There’s the fun bench rituals and celebrations. There’s the post-game chain award and Georgian team dinners. There’s a lot of goodness all around.
But it feels a bit tenuous. A bit house-of-cardsy. A bit like the good vibes are less comradery and more collegiality. Like, if, that three-game losing streak had become four, five, or six games or that Brooklyn Nets game on Tuesday went awry, things might’ve crumbled a bit faster than we’d expected.
Some of the games [not all by any means] have felt like watching a bunch of employees doing the job asked of them. Nothing more; nothing less. They care about winning, of course, but it’s as though the winning and losing is all part of some inevitable experience. A 9-5, if you like. They can try their best, but what may be, will be. And so be it. See ya tomorrow, Frank.
I took Ingram’s slamming of that water bottle as his best way of expressing displeasure to the others. That, to him, this sort of apathy was unacceptable in that moment. That his play was not good enough and neither was theirs. He was taking responsibility for his failures; they all should too.
I mean, Ingram never shows emotion. Like, ever. He’s as unflappable in street clothes on the sidelines as he is hitting a fadeaway middy with a hand in his face. So, if Ingram’s going to do something that empathic, it must mean something. Right?
That’s why I laud Ingram blasting that bottle to smithereens. The team needed one of their own to let them know. Someone to dig’em out of their hole. Someone to light the beacons of Gondor. To demand accountability. To lead.
And that’s just it. Other than Coach Rajaković (AKA the Serbianamaniac), I’m not sure who the leader of this team is. And, I’m not sure the Toronto Raptors do either.
If you go by “adult in the room” it’s Garrett Temple. But he doesn’t play. He’s more Papa Smurf than First Lieutenant, anyway. If you go by seniority on the floor, it’s Jakob Pöltl, but he’s more lead-by-doing than by cajoling.
If you go by who this franchise invested in, it’s Scottie Barnes. But he’s intermittently quiet – minus the random outbursts of frustration or excitement. Reserved even. His level of disappointment – with himself or others – does not build confidence. It detracts.
For example, when Ingram Hulk-smashed the water bottle, it was fusion. Guys were aghast and shocked, but that’s energy creating energy. It wasn’t exactly William-Wallace-charging-the-British-type inspiration, but if he’s angry, well then Hell maybe we should all be angry too.
Whereas when Barnes gets frustrated, it’s deflating. It’s sulky. It’s accusatory, at worst, uninspiring, at best. It sucks whatever energy remained far and away. Those empty-hand gestures and guffaws of disappointment towards a teammate or referee take their toll on a team’s morale.
As for the rest of the roster – including Ingram – they seem to be in their respective professional worlds. Rightfully, so. They’re young and still trying to become the best player they can be. They just don’t seem ready or wanting to take on a leadership role.
The best candidate, to my mind, is Jamal Shead. He’s young, but so well-beyond his years in maturity and emotional intelligence. I mean c’mon:
Shead knew the Refs were at wit’s end with Barnes. Shead tried to muffle Barnes’ muttering (read: loud complaining) not by trying to hush the inconsolable Barnes – likely only increasing tension – but by cutting the communication lines. It didn’t work. It was a savvy go of it.
I believe people have three ages. Their body’s age. Their spirit’s age. And, their soul.
Jamal’s age and spirit are young. He’s boundlessly racing up and down the floor, obsessed with attacking opponents – ballhandler or defender. Yet, through it all he remains tempered and under control. Like he’s been doing that sort of things for many, many years.
Shead exudes the kind of self-confidence and compassion that Kyle Lowry possesses. He knows how to be chum and accountability officer all at once. As his usage and minutes increase, so too will his position on this team’s hierarchy. I’m sure of it.
Until then, I fear this team is leaderless, which, to be clear, is not a knock on any one guy.
There’s a nautral progression to leadership. A collective understanding from the team that someone has say above the rest. And, an individual understanding from the leader that their words and actions need to and do carry weight. You can’t force that or assign it. It just happens, naturally.
I think Coach Rajaković recognizes this. I think that’s why he’s the one who injects fury and excitement into this team. Because no one else is really in a position to do it on a full-time basis.
Yet.
Coach Rajaković is buying time. Hoping, waiting, that someone steps in and takes charge. It’s the only way this team can rise to the level that its overall skill warrants. Until then, they’re going to have to lead in equal parts.
Each demonstrating to the other why they care and why this all matters, and why, if you don’t put in your best work, you might get a little wet.
