Robert Gray is a Toronto-area comedy writer and a devoted Raptors fan since day one. He’s been a fan since Walt Williams revolutionized the knee high sock industry. He once asked Lamond Murray for an autograph in a convenience store and Murray thought he was being sarcastic.
The Toronto Raptors are officially a well-above average basketball team. For years they were … not.
I used to say that they should have named our beloved expansion team “The Beatles” because every night they made me gently weep. My father and I would often be seen after a game doing our best impression of Robin Williams and Matt Damon hugging it out in a basement psychiatry office, my dad reassuring me repeatedly “It’s not your fault.”
For those of you who willingly participated in the perennial nightly tradition of heaving TV remotes, burying your faces in the couch cushions and taking your frustrations out on your weaker siblings: Congratulations.
You made it. It wasn’t easy.
But its over. It’s really over. You can let your guard down.
Yet, that might be difficult to do. The trouble is that some of us Raptor fans were witness to so many beat- downs that we now find ourselves unwilling to hope again; we’ve been conditioned by disappointment and futility. War and Peace authour J.K. Rowling once said “Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery.” This woman lived in her minivan at one point in time, I’m told. Her life’s story arc is as close to the Raptors’ as it gets. For nearly twenty years, the Toronto Raptors slept in a minivan. Now they wouldn’t even lease one from Kia at a genuinely affordable monthly rate.
I used to trick myself into getting excited about unexcitable things in a season. “Doug Christie is almost leading the league in steals per game!” Now the Raptors are almost leading the league in wins per season. (… almost). If you are reading this and you find yourself still being dragged around, a reluctant participant of the defence mechanism called skepticism … ENOUGH.
Don’t get me wrong— this is no time to be satisfied. To come this close to our dream and not to touch it would be a tragedy. So let us not be like Leafs fans, satisfied with the kind of playoff runs that are ultimately doomed however deep.
Let’s do something crazy.
Let’s go for broke. Let’s grab ourselves a third star. I mean a real star.
I’m talking about a specific dude. He’s a bad man; a bully in the paint; a head case. Call him whatever you want. He is someone who frightens grown men, the way Rodman and Artest used to (Both NBA champions by the way).
I want the “Boogie Man”.
Watching Demarcus Cousins play against other NBA players reminds me of Cosmo Kramer karate chopping a bunch of terrified children at martial arts class. We don’t scare Cleveland. We can change that. A Cousins trade would put a definitive lump in Lebron’s throat.
Picture King James sitting on his throne drinking Gatorade from a chalice held by Tyronn Lue. A young messenger fearfully approaches the King with news of the Cousins trade.
LBJ: What have you to report? And be quick with it, I’ve not got all day!
BOY: (Shaking with fear) Your Highness … I should tell you that this is only speculation at the moment… and I had no say in the matter…it would seem … that the Raptors….
LBJ: Out with it, boy!!!! You get the idea.
Now, this begs the question of course – “Who would we give up to get him?“ The short answer to that query is “As long as we keep Kyle and Demar, whoever it takes.”
Do we give up on poor ole JV? I love Jonas. He’s a great team player; he isn’t needy; he‘s competitive and I think he’ll be a solid NBA centre for years to come. Would I send him packing if it meant bringing in Boogie? Yes, faster than Andre Degrasse running to the bathroom after all-you-can-eat-crab-legs at Mandarin.
They’ll want one of our super-athletic wings. That’s fine. Between Terrence Ross and Norman Powell, I’d hope to keep Norm. He may never drop 51 in a game, but there is something special about his tenacity. I call him Norman “Scowl” the bow-legged beast. Hard Work is tatted on his arm like a pledge to the basketball gods. Terrence Ross’ tattoos are mottos that his nan used to say while crocheting mittens like ‘c’est la vie’ and ‘everything in moderation.’
With a roster like Toronto’s, where just about everyone contributes in one way or another, it’s sad to see anyone go. Would I want to get rid of “Number six in the 6ix” Corey Joseph? No. Would I bid him adieu for Cousins? Yes. The same goes for 2Pat, who is a consistent three-point stroke away from being the perfect role player.
In any case, it’s impossible to predict the magic moves of Masai. In my dream-scenario, he rekindles his bye-bye-Bargnani-brilliance and convinces Vlade Divac that the Kings are in need of Demarre Carrol’s services. For the record, I liked the Carroll signing, but if I’m being honest, I think years from now, Raptors historians will place him just between Olajuwan and Turkoglu on the list of free-agent miscues. He looks like he purchased his knees and ankles at an Amir Johnson garage sale.
If Ujiri and the Raptors swing for the fences to have a “Big Three” of Demar, K-Lo and Cousins, the worst that could happen is we regress to an average playoff team with more tinkering to do. But if they gel, boy… If it works and they feed off of one another, then we could very well send the league into a global meltdown by having the Toronto Raptors in the NBA Finals.
My fellow Raps fan, we’ve escaped from the shackles of expansion team despondency. Like Andy Dufresne in Shawshank, for years we endured, quietly chipping through bricks (and my God, there were lots of bricks). Now we find ourselves one player away from potentially reaching the end of the sewage pipe. We’re almost there.
And when Demarcus Cousins comes to Toronto, and the Raptors make the finals, we will kneel in the lightening and pouring rain together, thinking of everything that once was and how it shall be no more.
That’s if we pull the trigger.
As my Serbian grandfather used to say when he wanted his walnut pudding: “Now is the time.”