Lost in Translation

You want more mysteries? I’ll just try and think, where the hell is the whiskey? Bill Murray as Bob, in Lost in Translation.

As of now, the idea of Adam Morrison is dead.

That idea was that he’s the next Larry Bird. Or that he we was worthy of a third pick in 2006, to Charlotte.  

He’s like the Thunderbird of wine: nearing extinction.

It wouldn’t hurt as much, if his name translated into one of the great “Morrison’s;” Jim for one. But it doesn’t, it would be make believe. The dude from the Zags, yes, a guy who averaged 28.1 points per game his Junior year, leading Gonzaga to a 29-4 season, into the sweet sixteen, finishing with a National Player of the Year Award, whom was heralded at times by the narrow-visioned Jordan, to be the next “it” thing, has been tossed into the sea of pro-hopefuls like myself, waiting tables at Marie Callenders, and drinking cheap beer. The last two years he’s done as much basketball–watching, as any overweight bartender has, playing forty-one games, and averaging a pea-size 2.1 points with the L.A. Lakers.

The mop top, slinky white kid, from Glendive, Montana, with the awkardly perfect stroke (42.6% 3pt his Junior year) has been given over to the harsh reality of linguistics. A reality that some people have it, and some don’t. As Darwin would say, a game masquerade in survival of the fittest, where the biggest fish eats the littlest fish, then grows into a bonafide superstar. Unfortunately Morrison has been ingested.

I have travelled the country quite a bit. My travels have taken me to parts of Africa, most of Indonesia, in the slums with the Abo’s in Australia, and the list continues to mount. But no matter how much my Spanish speaking friends continue to quiz me on the difference between ‘que’ and ‘quien’ I am a lost soul awaiting a certain type of death: death by stupidity. Attempting to be a linguist would be less attainable to me than would walking the tight rope from New York to New Jersey; it just isn’t happening. Period.

So I’ve taken to being the laughing stock of our gatherings. And it’s awarded me with a comedic role, one I now relish in, considering most of the pretty Latina girls are taken by my humbly sensitive English-only-quiet-naturedness. But when it comes to professional sports, none of this funny. We all remember watching Morrison drill tough minded Michigan St. for 43, then, two weeks later doing the same against Washington, on 18-29 shooting, 6-9 from downtown.  He followed that with 27 against Virginia one week later, and then 34 against Memphis the next. Without a doubt he was the risen, beetles clad, better looking version of Larry Bird. So on draft day, going to the Bobcats could not have been a more perfect fit. He would certainly be the starting swing man and begin his ascent as the teams go-to, and the leagues best Caucasian player since Nowitski or Nash.

Nonetheless, the me-first, stylistic NBA clashed with Mark Fews pick setting sets at Gonzaga. Morrison, who’d lived off the pick and pops, no longer had that luxury, playing with athletic freaks like Gerald Wallace, who would rather go 1 on 5, jumping over his defenders, then work a team oriented set. This lack of a team concept suprised the non-athletic forward his rookie seasion, as he averaged 11.8 points per game. Though that was an understatement for what people thought he was capable of, we still saw it as a partial success. He could continue to build on such, and would hopefully assert himself more and more on the wayward, loss heavy Bobcats. But a seriously sprained knee in training camp his sophomore season deterred him. He played 44 games, starting just 5, and clearly lost his perfectly dopey looking demeanor. He was now tense, and it showed, as he shot 36% from the floor and averaged 4.5 points.  Guys like Nazi Mohammad made Morrison’s slow feet look like blocks of concrete. At that point, the slow forigiving Larry Brown  asked his personal chefs what the fat content would be with roast de Morrison. The answer was zippa-roo!(As they skipped to the Sounds of Music)

His trade to the Lakers, on the eve of his third season, was a salary dump on Charlotte’s part. The deep and experienced Lakers allowed the soft tempered Morrison to drown in the background, lose touch with his could-be abilities, and collect rings in the art of all things sitting. The days of comparisons were clearly over. He was more of a poor man’s Keith Van Horn than he was Larry Legend. His translation abilities were like a blind man reading letters in a darkened optometry office. He scored a zero.

The latest news on Morrision is close to null.  He was waived by the Washinton Wizards on the eve of the 2010-2011 season, over lost projects like Yi Jianlian, and Hilton Armstrong.  A Washington team who as of Saturday is 13-31, and without a doubt would lose to ranked elites like Kentucky, Kansas, Duke, or Syracuse.

Morrison has become more intriguing as an unexpected flop, than he would have, as a success. Not only because of our cultural  fondness for his days of railing teams for 30+ with Gonzaga, but because of our interpretable use for him, as we further try and compare and translate others at the college level with similar skill sets.

Jimmer Fredette is one of these translatable college players. Breaking on the scene last year, the 6’2, 195 pound guard, torched Arizona for 49, a BYU record.  Later, in the Mountain West conference tourney, Fredette put up 37 against TCU, a conference tourney record.  His record setting did not end with personal numbers, as Fredette led BYU to their best season in their history, losing in the 2nd round, 30-6, and ranked #16 in the polls.  In their opening round game against Florida, a double overtime thriller, Fredette put up 37, hitting two clutch threes down the stretch to ice a 99-92 win over Billy Donovan and co.

Then the questions began. A limited athlete, and short for his position, Fredette became the talk of the NBA draft. BYU’s up-tempo offense allowed for Fredette to put up a lot of shots. Which bore the question, is he really this good, or is he a product of a fast paced environment? His numbers answered the question. Last season, Fredette shot 45.8 from the floor, 88.9% from the free throw line, and 44.0% from the three point line. He averaged 22.1 points per game, first in the Mountain West, and his 4.7 assist per night, ranked second on his team.   

Before the start of this season, Fredette had been determined to be a late first to early second round pick, based upon his lack of athleticism, and size. This is because of players like Adam Morrison, who without the pick and pops simply could not get open. Not to mention Morrison had six inches on the stocky Fredette, and could shoot with the same depth.

According to Charlie Zeggers, a free lance writer with rotowire.com, and others, Fredette will have a “career path [that] will most closely mirror Redick’s, unless he has the good fortune to land with an NBA team that will play to his strengths and hide his weaknesses.” This is based upon the current comparisons to: Steph Curry, J.J Redick, and Morrison,  whom were great college shooters, but lacked either the size or athleticism, to translate it at the next level.

Or so we thought. As of now, Steph Curry is a budding all star with Golden St, and is arguably the best player of his draft class. Redick has become a solid role guy with Orlando, and is used as both a three point specialist, and a spark off the bench ala Tony Delk. Both players have ignored the translation factors, and outplayed a large majority of those drafted above them, further giving Fredette fans hope, because Morrison is the exception of the three.

 Which is why we need to live in the moment and enjoy what he’s doing now. His 27.4 points per game, on the 16-1 eighth ranked Cougars, without question places him as the early favorite to win the National Player of the Year Award. Three 40+ nights in his last four games, have us admiring not only his hard-nosed play, but his godly, astronomical greatness. And to top it off, the dude is humble, a class act, a guy who says more about his teammates than he does his individual accolades.

I believe he’ll translate something positive into any NBA arena next year. His humility should earn him kudos with the brash arrogance of the NBA elites.  He’ll rival Curry, Redick, Mike Miller, and Jared Dudley, as one of the premier three point shooters in the league.  And with his work ethic, could become like a Mark Price, who with hard nosed determination, and shooting ability, earned himself top fifteen point guard status in the history of the NBA.

If not, then you can expect a write up on the guy three years from now. It will be entitled: “Only the Good Die Young,” and will leave you wondering why the NBA is more popular than the momentary game of college hoops.

–Luke Johnson