Stanley Johnson and the Penumbra of the Dark Side
Posted: Fri Jan 02, 2015 11:10 am
You saw it, didn’t you?
That time Stanley gambled for a steal at the top of the key?
Which time am I talking about though? The time it turned into a fastbreak dunk that brought the house down? Or the time he didn’t get the steal and left the defense playing four-on-five behind him?
Or the time he took that three-point shot with 27 seconds left on the shot clock? Which time? The time he drained it from 25 feet? Or the time it killed clanged off the back of the rim and killed our momentum?
Which time? Does it matter?
What about the time he turned and told the UNLV student section to “Shut the **** up!”
Or the time he did the same thing to the SDSU crowd at Maui?
Or the time he grabbed 13 points and 13 rebounds against UNLV, but also missed the potentially game-winning layup, and turned the ball over seven times including the last push up the court?
Or the time he went 9-10 from the line in the game against SDSU which we won by two, and was named the MVP of the Maui Invitational?
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In the Star Wars universe, there are seven forms of lightsaber combat. Form VII is called Vaapad. The Ferocity Form. It is so named because of the style and mindset which the wielder must employ.
You remember enough about Star Wars to know that there is an eternal struggle between the light side of the Force, personified by the Jedi, and the dark side, often personified by the Sith. The thing is, The Force doesn’t change. Only the force-user changes, and he changes based on the choices he employs when he wields The Force.
Mace Windu developed Vaapad with another Jedi Master and then taught it to his apprentice. Please keep in mind that Mace Windu was a total badass. (That’s why Samuel Jackson played him and why he got a purple lightsaber.) He defeated Darth Sidious, later known as The Emperor, in single combat before bitch-ass Anakin Skywalker betrayed him, freeing Sidious to kill him. Windu did this because of his mastery of both aspects of The Force.
When using Vaapad, the wielder flirts dangerously close to the dark side. There is a danger in that mindset. Killing must typically be done solemnly, reverently, with grief. But the Vaapad-user relishes the fight and the satisfaction of winning without letting the dark side overcome him. Two of the three Vaapad wielders, Mace Windu’s partner and later his apprentice, ultimately lost their battle with the dark. They couldn’t control the aggression inherent in The Ferocity Form. But never Mace Windu. His use of Vaapad allowed him to subsume the aggression and ferocity of the dark side in the pursuit of the good.
Vaapad is more than a fighting style. It is a state of mind, a path that leads through the penumbra of the dark side.
The penumbra, of course, being where the shadow meets the light.
-----
I hope you find the light and dark side analogies apt. You see, the dark side of The Force is an inherently selfish devotion. Everything you pursue is for personal gain: wealth, power, authority. The light side requires suppressing these baser instincts and being part of the collective where, as the Jedi Master Bill Walton said, the secret to basketball is finding joy at someone else’s success. In fact, I don’t know if there’s any other sport where the difference between playing “the right way” and playing “the wrong way” stands more starkly. In baseball Barry Bonds could be an asshole and play as selfishly as he wanted, and it mattered not one iota. But in basketball when you’re playing selfishly you’re taking the wrong shot, or not making the extra pass, and your team is worse for it. Besides, usually, the reason you’re doing that is because you’re out to get yours.
In some ways, this is the manifestation of AAU culture. In others, it’s the result of too many of these players being the absolute best player on their high school teams, to the point where it’s not even close, so that player getting his and the team’s success dovetail. But not so in Division I basketball, where the players, teams, and coaches are all too good, and where even one player going to the dark side in the pursuit of his own interests can ruin a game or a whole season.
In all actuality, we’re raising our basketball players in Sith Academies and expecting them to come out as Jedis.
It’s not hard to see the dark side, or the light, in basketball. The Spurs in last year’s finals were probably the purest iteration of basketball that we’ll ever see. They were one with The Force. Then, on the other end, we have me-first gunners like J.R. Smith. Nick Young. These aren’t bad people. I mean both of these guys are kind of douches, but they’re not bad people. But Hell, let’s just ask J.R. himself how he feels about passing up a shot or making the extra pass:
"Last season a visiting J.R. Smith observed that Curry likes to let the game come to him. When I asked Smith if he approached the game similarly, Smith said, ‘Nah. I wish I did. If I did I’d be a lot better player.’"
Oh.
This isn’t aggression as much as it is simply poor team basketball, but it’s another manifestation of the dark side all the same—that powerful pull that tells you to take that shot when you’re guarded with 20 seconds left in the shot clock instead of finding the open man. You see the struggle between light and dark in any player who hesitates before taking that three he know she probably shouldn’t be taking. Guys like Smith and Young stopped hesitating a long time ago.
Then you have those who pass through the penumbra: Michael, Kobe, Bird. In the spectra of team basketball, it probably went something like Bird, then Michael, then Kobe. But they’re all winners who had absolutely no qualms about telling you exactly how they were going to rip your heart out and then doing exactly. Russell Westbrook, today, might be the best prime embodiment of The Ferocity Form; someone who plays with terrifying, borderline reckless, aggression.
Another who passed through the penumbra was some fans’ favorite comparison for Stanley, Ron Artest. Ron played with an edge, an aggression, that few matched. You play that way when you watch your best friend die on as basketball court after being stabbed through the heart. Ron’s edge overcame him more than once, but he was a winner who was the best player on a 60-win team and an integral part of a Lakers’ championship.
-----
I’ll be honest—I couldn’t stand watching Stanley for the first few games of the season. He’s an incredible talent. He did a lot of good things. He’s not a bad kid, and he’s certainly not a bad basketball player. Don’t confuse anything I’m saying for a lack of skill or talent. The Emperor was talented. Darth Vader was talented. But you could see him on that path.
There were too many times where he basically just did what he wanted, both on offense and defense. He gambled for too many steals, outside our system, and left the defense exposed. Or he just didn’t get down in a stance. Or he took a bad three early in the shot clock. Why did this happen? It happened because in high school he’s quick enough to get that steal, or he wasn’t asked to play defense, or because him taking that three was maybe the best option.
This form sacrifices much to bolster offense, leaving one exposed to attack…
That’s not what we do here at Arizona though. That’s what they do at VCU. At Arizona, Miller is the Jedi and the Packline is Jedi basketball: we’re not going to be shooting the gaps, looking for steals. At least we’re not supposed to be doing that. And it wasn’t as though Miller didn’t notice. Miller’s not exactly a subtle guy. He talked about players needing to learn the system, about lowering expectations heading into the beginning of the season. He talked about players, although probably not Stanley, being ready to mug for the camera but not turning it on when the time that it mattered came.
It was tough for Miller losing Nick Johnson. For the Jedi Master Sean Miller, Nick, to say nothing of Aaron Gordon, was the ultimate Knight. The guy who was always in the right spot. The guy who learned every position. The guy who suppressed whatever hype and expectation he had by coming in as a 5-star shooting guard and learning the system, getting better every day, and becoming an All-American.
But what if I told you Stanley is better than our All-American shooting guard Nick Johnson? In basically every statistical category besides free-throw shooting? Maybe he’s not better for Miller, but he might be better for us. Maybe, in addition to what the stats bear out, maybe Stanley’s the killer this team didn’t have last year. Maybe that matters. Maybe you need some part of the dark side to make that final push.
I think Stanley’s getting better at being a good Jedi. He’s too smart not to. He was no worse than the second best player on the court for us in the UNLV game. He was willing to try to take that last drive, even if he turned it over. He missed a layup that would have won the game, and he probably did it because he was concerned that his aggression would cost him a charge.
This team has notable deficiencies, but I don’t think Stanley is one of them. He could be. That’s always the concern when you pass through the penumbra. Russell Westbrook is always going to get heat for taking too many shots. Players can cause issues behind the scenes too, not that I’m saying he has, or will. There’s a risk, and a balance, as with all things dark and light. At the end of the day though, you go to war with Stanley and are confident that he masters his darker instincts without losing that edge, which you will need before all is said and done.
For, as the Jedi Master said, “Nastiness is required.”
That time Stanley gambled for a steal at the top of the key?
Which time am I talking about though? The time it turned into a fastbreak dunk that brought the house down? Or the time he didn’t get the steal and left the defense playing four-on-five behind him?
Or the time he took that three-point shot with 27 seconds left on the shot clock? Which time? The time he drained it from 25 feet? Or the time it killed clanged off the back of the rim and killed our momentum?
Which time? Does it matter?
What about the time he turned and told the UNLV student section to “Shut the **** up!”
Or the time he did the same thing to the SDSU crowd at Maui?
Or the time he grabbed 13 points and 13 rebounds against UNLV, but also missed the potentially game-winning layup, and turned the ball over seven times including the last push up the court?
Or the time he went 9-10 from the line in the game against SDSU which we won by two, and was named the MVP of the Maui Invitational?
-----
In the Star Wars universe, there are seven forms of lightsaber combat. Form VII is called Vaapad. The Ferocity Form. It is so named because of the style and mindset which the wielder must employ.
You remember enough about Star Wars to know that there is an eternal struggle between the light side of the Force, personified by the Jedi, and the dark side, often personified by the Sith. The thing is, The Force doesn’t change. Only the force-user changes, and he changes based on the choices he employs when he wields The Force.
Mace Windu developed Vaapad with another Jedi Master and then taught it to his apprentice. Please keep in mind that Mace Windu was a total badass. (That’s why Samuel Jackson played him and why he got a purple lightsaber.) He defeated Darth Sidious, later known as The Emperor, in single combat before bitch-ass Anakin Skywalker betrayed him, freeing Sidious to kill him. Windu did this because of his mastery of both aspects of The Force.
When using Vaapad, the wielder flirts dangerously close to the dark side. There is a danger in that mindset. Killing must typically be done solemnly, reverently, with grief. But the Vaapad-user relishes the fight and the satisfaction of winning without letting the dark side overcome him. Two of the three Vaapad wielders, Mace Windu’s partner and later his apprentice, ultimately lost their battle with the dark. They couldn’t control the aggression inherent in The Ferocity Form. But never Mace Windu. His use of Vaapad allowed him to subsume the aggression and ferocity of the dark side in the pursuit of the good.
Vaapad is more than a fighting style. It is a state of mind, a path that leads through the penumbra of the dark side.
The penumbra, of course, being where the shadow meets the light.
-----
I hope you find the light and dark side analogies apt. You see, the dark side of The Force is an inherently selfish devotion. Everything you pursue is for personal gain: wealth, power, authority. The light side requires suppressing these baser instincts and being part of the collective where, as the Jedi Master Bill Walton said, the secret to basketball is finding joy at someone else’s success. In fact, I don’t know if there’s any other sport where the difference between playing “the right way” and playing “the wrong way” stands more starkly. In baseball Barry Bonds could be an asshole and play as selfishly as he wanted, and it mattered not one iota. But in basketball when you’re playing selfishly you’re taking the wrong shot, or not making the extra pass, and your team is worse for it. Besides, usually, the reason you’re doing that is because you’re out to get yours.
In some ways, this is the manifestation of AAU culture. In others, it’s the result of too many of these players being the absolute best player on their high school teams, to the point where it’s not even close, so that player getting his and the team’s success dovetail. But not so in Division I basketball, where the players, teams, and coaches are all too good, and where even one player going to the dark side in the pursuit of his own interests can ruin a game or a whole season.
In all actuality, we’re raising our basketball players in Sith Academies and expecting them to come out as Jedis.
It’s not hard to see the dark side, or the light, in basketball. The Spurs in last year’s finals were probably the purest iteration of basketball that we’ll ever see. They were one with The Force. Then, on the other end, we have me-first gunners like J.R. Smith. Nick Young. These aren’t bad people. I mean both of these guys are kind of douches, but they’re not bad people. But Hell, let’s just ask J.R. himself how he feels about passing up a shot or making the extra pass:
"Last season a visiting J.R. Smith observed that Curry likes to let the game come to him. When I asked Smith if he approached the game similarly, Smith said, ‘Nah. I wish I did. If I did I’d be a lot better player.’"
Oh.
This isn’t aggression as much as it is simply poor team basketball, but it’s another manifestation of the dark side all the same—that powerful pull that tells you to take that shot when you’re guarded with 20 seconds left in the shot clock instead of finding the open man. You see the struggle between light and dark in any player who hesitates before taking that three he know she probably shouldn’t be taking. Guys like Smith and Young stopped hesitating a long time ago.
Then you have those who pass through the penumbra: Michael, Kobe, Bird. In the spectra of team basketball, it probably went something like Bird, then Michael, then Kobe. But they’re all winners who had absolutely no qualms about telling you exactly how they were going to rip your heart out and then doing exactly. Russell Westbrook, today, might be the best prime embodiment of The Ferocity Form; someone who plays with terrifying, borderline reckless, aggression.
Another who passed through the penumbra was some fans’ favorite comparison for Stanley, Ron Artest. Ron played with an edge, an aggression, that few matched. You play that way when you watch your best friend die on as basketball court after being stabbed through the heart. Ron’s edge overcame him more than once, but he was a winner who was the best player on a 60-win team and an integral part of a Lakers’ championship.
-----
I’ll be honest—I couldn’t stand watching Stanley for the first few games of the season. He’s an incredible talent. He did a lot of good things. He’s not a bad kid, and he’s certainly not a bad basketball player. Don’t confuse anything I’m saying for a lack of skill or talent. The Emperor was talented. Darth Vader was talented. But you could see him on that path.
There were too many times where he basically just did what he wanted, both on offense and defense. He gambled for too many steals, outside our system, and left the defense exposed. Or he just didn’t get down in a stance. Or he took a bad three early in the shot clock. Why did this happen? It happened because in high school he’s quick enough to get that steal, or he wasn’t asked to play defense, or because him taking that three was maybe the best option.
This form sacrifices much to bolster offense, leaving one exposed to attack…
That’s not what we do here at Arizona though. That’s what they do at VCU. At Arizona, Miller is the Jedi and the Packline is Jedi basketball: we’re not going to be shooting the gaps, looking for steals. At least we’re not supposed to be doing that. And it wasn’t as though Miller didn’t notice. Miller’s not exactly a subtle guy. He talked about players needing to learn the system, about lowering expectations heading into the beginning of the season. He talked about players, although probably not Stanley, being ready to mug for the camera but not turning it on when the time that it mattered came.
It was tough for Miller losing Nick Johnson. For the Jedi Master Sean Miller, Nick, to say nothing of Aaron Gordon, was the ultimate Knight. The guy who was always in the right spot. The guy who learned every position. The guy who suppressed whatever hype and expectation he had by coming in as a 5-star shooting guard and learning the system, getting better every day, and becoming an All-American.
But what if I told you Stanley is better than our All-American shooting guard Nick Johnson? In basically every statistical category besides free-throw shooting? Maybe he’s not better for Miller, but he might be better for us. Maybe, in addition to what the stats bear out, maybe Stanley’s the killer this team didn’t have last year. Maybe that matters. Maybe you need some part of the dark side to make that final push.
I think Stanley’s getting better at being a good Jedi. He’s too smart not to. He was no worse than the second best player on the court for us in the UNLV game. He was willing to try to take that last drive, even if he turned it over. He missed a layup that would have won the game, and he probably did it because he was concerned that his aggression would cost him a charge.
This team has notable deficiencies, but I don’t think Stanley is one of them. He could be. That’s always the concern when you pass through the penumbra. Russell Westbrook is always going to get heat for taking too many shots. Players can cause issues behind the scenes too, not that I’m saying he has, or will. There’s a risk, and a balance, as with all things dark and light. At the end of the day though, you go to war with Stanley and are confident that he masters his darker instincts without losing that edge, which you will need before all is said and done.
For, as the Jedi Master said, “Nastiness is required.”