April 17, 2008

Race to the MVP – the final installment from Rob Peterson.

Final MVP Ballot – the way old friend Maurice Brooks would vote (if he had one).

Kobe Bryant, by the time the regular season came to a close, became the favorite to win the award for two reasons:

1. Our legal system, as presently constituted, only permits Michael Jordan to trademark his silhouette – not copyright his game. And, knowing this, Kobe has Xeroxed every aspect of it to the point that some now consider him the more complete player. (Every aspect that is, except for the globally-marketable neutrality; that torch was passed to another No. 23.)

2. While it wasn't his best season – in previous years he carried a below-average cast of ancillary characters to the playoffs and made scoring 50 the new 35 – he did happen to play on the strongest team of his post-Shaq career. And that's what matters …

After all, the Most Valuable Player award isn't meant to be interpreted literally. If it were, it would belong to LeBron James. In terms of the extent of a decline caused by subtraction, LeBron alone is as valuable to his team as any two players are to theirs.

To say nothing of his averages: 30, 8, and 7. You don't see that every day. (In fact, they embarrass Kobe's 28-6-5, when you consider the fact that LeBron doesn't have a teammate that would crack the Lakers' top eight.)

But, again, Most Valuable Player isn't intended as an accurately-applied label. The award, instead, is given to the most valuable player on the NBA's best team …

Except for this year. This year, Kevin Garnett is the most valuable player on the NBA's best team. Though his numbers weren't remarkable (except for this one), his mere presence certainly was. As many attest, it was transformative. If Kobe gets his own superlative as the best player, and LeBron as the most valuable, KG can lay claim to his: most influential leader. Barack on the block.

Take, for example, the fact that the Celtics were 7-2 without him when he was injured in late January. On the surface, this seems like the opposite of a testament to his value. But re-adjust that lens: Garnett preached interdependence.

In his years spent as a solitary superstar in Minnesota, Garnett failed to cement his legacy with a championship. And by the time he touched down in Boston, he had finally realized he couldn't do it alone; he was great by himself – all-time, even – but without an inspired cast around him he was nothing close to what he wanted to be. It's no wonder, then, that Garnett became the perfect leader for a team that, this past summer, began to rally around the South African term Ubuntu. The translation:

If KG's time in the NBA had taught him anything, surely, it was that. Furthermore, his subscription to the philosophy wasn't cheerfully spread among his teammates like a contagious case of "We can do this!" It was ingrained. The Celtics finished with 66 wins just a season after winning 24. And no less than 20 of those wins, regardless of whether Garnett played, would never have come had he not first imposed his ethic.

With that said, though, neither his magnetism nor the counterintuitive proof of his value is enough for voters to overlook the number of games he missed. In their minds, too many other worthy MVP candidates played full seasons ...

Namely, Chris Paul, who's the surprise candidate, until you consider the following:

In the last 20 years, every MVP has been on the team with either the best or second-best record at season's end. With one exception: Steve Nash, in 2006. (And his Suns finished with the third-best record.) This means, then, that voters believe strongly in the power of the individual. It may not seem fair that a player's season-long excellence will go unacknowledged if his team doesn't finish among the top two, but the other side of that coin makes a solemn promise: if a player succeeds at the object of the game – winning – he becomes a compulsory frontrunner for the distinction.

(This is perhaps why the NBA's MVP award, for its flaws, should be admired: built in is the purest-possible incentive for its suitors.)

Such was the case with Paul, who couldn't be ignored once people realized the Hornets were genuine. New Orleans spent a good part of 2008 as the best team in the best conference and Paul was, without a doubt, the reason why. He accounted for nearly 50 percent of his team's points.

In the final months, it was only for brief periods that the incumbent Spurs and surprise Spaceships assumed the West throne in place of the Hornets. But the Lakers did pose a substantial threat. And when L.A. beat N.O. in the final week of the season, two things were finally decided: the West's top two seeds and the MVP race.

The subjective nature of the award – in lockstep with the general human tendency to do so – grants recent history greater significance than it may otherwise deserve. So not only did this voter impulse favor Kobe, since he outperformed Paul head-to-head, the Lakers suddenly had a better record than his Hornets.

What had thrust him into contention for the award in the first place – the fact that his team was in first place – had become something to which only his main competition, Kobe, could lay claim.

In the end, it's likely that Paul's admirably quiet campaign will land him in the company of a pre-green Gore. He may not be given the title he hoped for, but he'll win the popular vote.