AJC > Sports > Hawks > Blog > Archives > 2007 > February > 21
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Soft as puddin’
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Even on their best days these Hawks are soft (soft as puddin’ - as I’ve been known to say out loud after watching their weaker efforts this season).
You know it. I know it. They know it. So let’s just say it loud (or write it), so there’s no more whispering about what we all know. They’re soft as a bag of warm gummy worms. Soft as that custard-filled ring around Charles Barkley’s waist. Soft as … well, you get the point.
Do they have moments when they stare the truth down and rise up the physical and mental challenge that another team or a situation presents? Sure. But more often than not, the Hawks’ true colors shine through.
Take Tuesday’s game in Chicago for example. Any team that’s within striking distance of a playoff spot, with a chance to make a real move and coming off of a four-day break, is supposed to show it’s teeth (especially against a foe that’s manhandled them repeatedly the past three years) on the first night of the new season.
The Hawks showed their bellies. They rolled over and played dead as the Running of the Bulls began after halftime at United Center. I don’t even equate being soft with quitting, which is often done in this context. That’s not the case.
But when you examine these Hawks against the teams in the NBA known for being rugged and tough - Chicago, Utah, Charlotte come to mind immediately - it’s easy to see why they’ve been routinely dominated.
What you want to see is one of these guys, any one of them, stand up not only for himself and his teammates, but stand up to himself and his teammates. I’m sure Hawks fans do more screaming at the TV than the Hawks do at each other when they’re playing listless and without any real drive.
Looking at them, though, it makes me wonder. Who do they think will rescue them on nights like that? Joe Johnson? Josh Smith? Josh Childress? Tyronn Lue? Mike Woodson? What happens if none of them can come to the rescue? (Um, let me see, 106-81 back-crackings happen.)
If these Hawks are waiting on someone else to save the day, they’ve already lost. That’s one of the reasons why I’ve always made it clear that I don’t like the idea of losing Salim Stoudamire in a trade (which could still happen with the trade deadline roughly 24 hours away). For whatever faults he might have as a player (in just his second year mind you), Salim remains the Hawks’ most overtly passionate player. That may manifest itself in strange ways sometimes. But his passion for winning and for the game is well documented here.
No successful team can have that. You can’t get your competitive edge and your fire from a guy who may or may not play every night. It’s not logical. And it’s not reasonable.
That’s why I’ve been writing for weeks here that the Hawks need a spark, someone to take the reigns on the floor and provide the direction a coach can’t when the players are between those lines. I’ve talked about Luke Ridnour (some people see the things I see in Ridnour while some others I respect do not) and Anthony Johnson (one of my favorite veteran point guards who, to the detriment of his own career sometimes, refuses to settle for a half-hearted effort from himself or any of his teammates). I’m still convinced that adding a player like either one of those guys (in addition to a nasty big as well) totally changes the complexion of these Hawks.
And what’s wrong with holding each other accountable? Why is that so taboo in today’s NBA? Why shouldn’t these guys expect each other to come out and play with a ferocity and recklessness that can only be put down by a more talented team with equal fervor?
I could go on and on about this, but I won’t. The trade deadline is coming. And like everyone else, I’m working the phones trying to see if there is anything shaking around Hawksville. There could be fireworks. Or Thursday’s 3 p.m. deadline could come and go without so much as a blip. It’s up in the air now. But if there are any changes to be made, cosmetically or otherwise, I know where I’d begin.
