Sensational Scola

Rockets' forward shining on international stage once more

Jason Friedman
Rockets.com

HOUSTON - There are two fundamentally different viewpoints when it comes to the impact of familiarity and attraction.

The first follows the maxim that familiarity breeds contempt; essentially stating that if you get exposed to something too much and too often you’ll soon become disinterested, falling victim to the sort of creeping boredom which craves newness and excitement in lieu of the status quo. This phenomenon can be witnessed by taking a gander at the perpetually-expanding cereal aisle or simply observing the way frat boys typically treat the fairer sex.

Then, of course, there is the other crowd – the one which favors the philosophy that preaches the only path to true love and appreciation is to go all in, fully immersing yourself in the object of your affection, embracing every subtlety and nuance until you know this thing inside and out, whereupon instead of feeling repulsed by the object’s irregularities, flaws and apparent ordinariness, you are instead drawn in even deeper by its intricate, multi-layered complexity and singular essence. It’s not about it being perfect – it’s about it being perfect for you.

I recently found myself contemplating this very subject while listening to the new Arcade Fire album “The Suburbs.” I know you didn’t come here to hear me blather on about music but I think it speaks to my point (and my abject inability to ever be a music critic) when I tell you that I was utterly unimpressed by this album the first few times I listened to it all the way through. It didn’t hook me and it certainly didn’t capture my imagination the way their two previous releases had. In fact, the only reason I continued to push play on my iPod was because I trusted the band and felt they had earned an honest effort from this listener.

That was a month ago. Today? I’m totally smitten and head over heels in love with its sonic landscape lush with complex colors, chords and lyrical wizardry. It’s said that the devil is in the details. What they don’t tell you is that a fair bit of heaven exists there, too.

All of which is my convoluted way of steering the conversation toward the similarly ethereal Luis Scola. That he is once again dominating on the international stage is no surprise. The Rockets’ forward was a whirling dervish of a one-man wrecking crew for Argentina two years ago during the Summer Olympics in Beijing and he’s at it once more at the FIBA World Championships, leading all players in scoring by averaging more than 30 points per game – all while shooting the ball at a scintillating 61.8 percent clip, no less.

And just when you think he can’t possibly raise his level of play, the guy goes for 37 points (on 14-of-20 shooting) and 9 rebounds while leading his country into the quarterfinals and past powerful Brazil. Rockets General Manager Daryl Morey remarked on Twitter that Scola went into “video game god mode” to help Argentina vanquish their archrivals 93-89 Tuesday afternoon and the description couldn’t have been more apt. The delicious irony, however, is that such a performance came from someone who couldn’t possibly appear more mortal (at least in a basketball sense, anyway).

Scola’s vertical can probably be measured with a ruler rather than a tape measure. An hour glass would be just as relevant as a stopwatch when it comes time to size up his speed. He uses his left hand when operating out of the post only as an option of last resort. And his jumper (can you still call it a jumper if the person's feet never leave the ground?) will never be taught in a how-to manual.

Yet none of it matters. The man still finds a way to get it done.

He is the manifestation of skill meeting tireless effort and energy. Decry his athletic limitations all you want but there’s no denying the master’s touch and footwork on display when Scola dips into his dizzying array of spins, pump fakes and jump hooks. He forces you to reconsider the merits of speed when watching him consistently beat every other big man (and plenty of the smaller ones, too, for that matter) down the court on fast breaks. And devoid of high-flying hops, Scola still finds a way to snare rebounds to the tune of more than 8 per game.

Having watched him for three years now, Rockets fans know the truth: Scola is simply passion personified. He loves the game. Loves the competition. Loves the challenge of improving himself every day. The Houston Chronicle’s Jonathan Feigen once wrote that Scola is the walking, talking embodiment of every fan’s ideal: that if we, too, were able to compete at the world’s highest level, we would do so with the sort of passion and professionalism Scola displays on a daily basis. 99.999 percent of us play the game we love for free. If every professional basketball league on the planet were to suddenly dissolve, rest assured Luis Scola would play gratis, too. And he’d do so with a giant smile on his face.

Perhaps it wasn’t love at first sight for Rockets fans the moment they first laid eyes on this unorthodox, hirsute Argentinean. But the more you watch, the deeper you fall. Our familiarity has bred not contempt, but rather blissful contentment. And days like today only confirm what we already knew: Luis Scola may not be perfect – but he’s positively perfect for us.

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