On Sunday night, the Thunder guard broke out of the gate in the All-Star Game with a record-setting 27 points in the first half . Where his fellow All-Stars were there to shoot a record amount of 3-pointers, or to dunk unopposed, or to run to the cup unabated by, say, any lateral movement by a defender, Westbrook was there for none of that.
In a game mired by a crowd luffing in the advertisement-addled farts of the Taco Bell Skills Challenge and the Foot Locker Three Point Contest, Westbrook was the star.
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This was no small feat. How do you become the star of a game already full of stars, one in which an embarrassment of riches has deadened the response from those in the arena and watching at home?
Hell, we’ve reached a point where complaining about the All-Star Game itself is indeed more taxing than anything. There’s no defense; players were snubbed; they don’t run plays; the game is meaningless. Not that any of these complaints aren’t valid, just that after hearing the same old thing year-on-year makes it difficult to swallow.
Then there’s Westbrook himself, an unlikely hero in any scenario. His permanent scowl is offsetting, diametrically opposed from the projected tranquility of his running partner in Kevin Durant. The narratives around him are abundant and largely unpleasant. He steals shots; he gambles; he doesn’t defer to the second-best player on the planet. Let Westbrook be Westbrook is a double-edged sword in which the namesake aggressor prefers to surprise his opponents, clunking them over the head with the haft rather than cutting them across their length.
This attitude has made Westbrook an agitating figure in the NBA. Oklahoma City’s second star is player built for today’s tenure of button-pushing columnists. He is a villain, ripe for Hot Takes as well as a takedown. He’s unlikable, right up until the moment his play actualizes the meaning of #LeaguePassAlert.
It’s also why he was the best part of the All-Star Game. And its MVP.
Westbrook was angry from the beginning. He scored less than a minute after checking into the game, then drew a shooting foul followed by three-straight 3-pointers to open the second quarter. He jumped so high on an alley-oop that he hit his head on the backboard and then scowled about it, angry at the polyurethane foam that protected him from needing stitches, as he ran back down the floor.
This, dear reader, should have changed whatever opinion you had about Westbrook to the only correct one: unquestionable greatness.
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All-Star Weekend is an event of great pomp but little circumstance. The events were boring and miscalculated. The Dunk Contest tried to wedge unreadable tablets into their judging process only to quickly remove them; the Three-Point Contest played the same Coldplay song over and over again at the start of each round; the Rising Stars Challenge was impotently jingoistic; Shooting Stars culminated in a jiggling Dominque Wilkins hitting a half court shot. The pre-game show and halftime acts were too long, felt forced and were so boring I’m struggling to maintain interest even writing a two-sentence recap of their terribleness.
It’s no wonder that, come time for the Big Game on Sunday, Madison Square Garden was properly deflated.
Watching Westbrook destroy his fellow All-Stars was the only thing that helped pump up that crumbling, old architectural eyesore. While the other players were out there being pals, Westbrook was out there making enemies.
In any other situation, your correspondent would be annoyed by this. I, like many, have not found Westbrook to be particularly entertaining, landing firmly in the “Con” column when it comes to the Thunder guard. But watching him not be able to turn it off, even for a moment, in a game that meant nothing in an atmosphere as wretched as All-Star Weekend … well, it flipped a switch.
Yes, Zach LaVine did a great job during the Dunk Contest. Yes, Steph Curry blew away the competition at the Three Point extravaganza. Those were, in honesty, somewhat expected. But to see Westbrook go insane during the All-Star Game? How can the purity of that level of vitriol for an opponent no matter the circumstance not be the one, shining truth from a weekend created by hucksters and executed by the lowest bidder?
So let us thank Russell Westbrook. Thank him for being unable to shut it – whatever IT is – off. Westbrook took that which seemed distant and cheap and delivered unto us something tangible thanks to his unwavering Westbrookness. In doing so, he made All-Star Weekend real again.
They damn well better hope he’s there next year.