The Raptors are currently second in the NBA for double digit wins, trailing only Oklahoma City. This is a strange reality to inhabit, like finding out your quiet neighbor actually owns a fleet of luxury submarines. We have twenty one of these blowouts now, which suggests we are either very good or other teams have collectively decided to stop trying when they cross the border.
I was looking at the injury report earlier and saw Chris Paul's name on it. It remains deeply surreal that he is here, wearing our jersey while sitting on a padded chair. It feels like a clerical error that just never got corrected, like when the grocery store accidentally stocks a single box of very expensive artisanal crackers in the bargain aisle.
The Deadline and the Pizza
The trade deadline has passed and we did not get Domantas Sabonis or a franchise altering superstar. Instead, we ducked the luxury tax to ensure the Rogers family remains comfortable, which is a nice gesture if you enjoy corporate accounting. We acquired some depth, including Trayce Jackson Davis, who apparently fits this roster like a glove.
I am not sure what kind of glove we are talking about here. Some gloves are for gardening and some are for cold winters, but basketball analysis usually ignores the specific utility of the footwear or handwear in question. Regardless, analysts seem to think he belongs here, which is more than I can say for the stray cat that lives under my porch.
We also have a link for free Pizza Pizza slices because of the win. There is something fundamentally Canadian about rewarding a professional athletic achievement with a triangular piece of dough and orange grease. It makes the twenty one double digit wins feel tangible, even if the digestion process is anything but.
A Team Deserving of Something
People are saying this team deserves a shot, though it is unclear what they should be shooting at. We did not sell high or sell low, we simply stayed in the middle, which is a very safe place to be if you are afraid of heights or depths. The roster is what it is, a collection of humans who are better at basketball than almost anyone else, yet still subject to the whims of a billionaire’s tax bracket.
I think back to backup centers of the past, like Primoz Brezec or Jorge Garbajosa, and I realize that the names change but the feeling stays the same. We watch the games, we collect our promotional pizza, and we wonder why Chris Paul is on the injury report. It is a cycle, much like the rotation of a ceiling fan on a low setting.
Eventually, the season will end and we will look back at these twenty one blowouts with a sense of mild confusion. We might not have the superstar we wanted, but we have a glove like fit and a backup big who might play occasionally. In the end, that is usually enough to keep the lights on and the pizza warm.