WFNY Staff Chat: Win Ugly 2020 includes Jacksonville
December 1, 2020Ohio State remains No. 4 in latest College Football Playoff rankings
December 2, 2020
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nd then there were two. Tristan Thompson has departed Cleveland to sign with the Boston Celtics, which he punctuated Monday with warm social media good-byes as the deal became official. This leaves Kevin Love and Matthew Dellavedova, now that he’s re-signed, as the only remaining members of the Cavs’ 2016 title team.
None of this is a shock, for this is how these things go. His contract was up. Teams only stay together for so long. Still, this one hurts. We’re a bit past Thanksgiving now – nearly two months past if you’re citing the Canadian version – but if you’ll permit me, a few thankful words on Tristan Thompson’s time as a Cleveland Cavalier.
Tristan was and is and forever shall be known as an essential element of an NBA championship team. His tenacity was one of the key ingredients that gave the mid-2010s Cavs their identity. Without him, they don’t win the title. He was very rarely spectacular, and that was the whole point. If you’re going to have a team armed with ball-hungry superstars, you’re going to need grunts. Tristan delighted in being a grunt. He set the screens. He boxed out. He ran the floor doggedly whether he would be rewarded for it or not.
All these things, all those collisions, dozens of times per game. No one needed to explain to him where he fit in.
For a time he was the ultimate energy big, especially when playing at home. After a dunk or a block he could always be counted on to holler into the crowd. He gave himself to the people and they gave themselves right back. His plays resonated. LeBron and Kyrie got the oohs and ahhs, for those were the responses their artistry merited. Tristan elicited more primal reactions. He didn’t make plays so much as he won fights. He was all chest and shoulders and elbows, standing resolute against whoever lined up opposite him. He was among those who ensured that the Cavs were more than prima donnas and pretty boys.
I, for one, never thought he would be shit when the Cavs drafted him. An undersized energy big at No. 4 overall – ugh, great. But his motor proved invaluable to the Cavs and vexing to opponents. He was good for three offensive boards a game from the minute he entered the league, and surrendering an offensive rebound is like receiving a work email at 4:45 on Friday. Just when you thought you were done, you’re not. It’s demoralizing. Insulting. It can make you want to quit. That goes double in the crucible of the playoffs.
He grew as a player while in Cleveland. As a young lion he was, to put it charitably, not cerebral. He would bash his head against the wall after grabbing an offensive rebound, trying to take every one right back up to the rim and often getting his shot blocked. In time he learned to look for shooters and cutters to better exploit moments of chaos. He became passably competent in the short roll and kick-out to the corner. He learned how to hunt for open spaces where passes might find him. There was the thing where he switched his shooting hand from left to right, sure, but that seems to have worked out okay; much ado about nothing, considering how rarely he shot jumpers.
Tristan was and is and forever shall be known as an essential element of an NBA championship team.
Tristan was and is and forever shall be known as an essential element of an NBA championship team.
His game is destined to live on in memory more than stat lines. Aside from offensive rebounding, there is nothing spectacular to be found on his Basketball Reference page. His talents don’t show up in the box score, like, at all. Low scoring, few blocks, few steals, mediocre defensive rebounding. But he could slide his feet enough to hang with most any guard and he was strong enough to bang with most any big. He was never a defensive stopper per se, but he was certainly a deterrent. Whatever work needed to be done, he would do.
Some fans, it should be said, harbored bad blood after the protracted contract negotiation that preceded the 2016 season. He was perceived in some circles as overpaid, and sure, perhaps he was. But such is life as an indispensable piece of an NBA contender that’s over the salary cap. Had he gone elsewhere, the Cavs would have had no means of replacing him. If you had your employer up against the wall such that you could write your own check, what would you do?
Steven Adams, himself in Thompson’s peer group of frontcourt workmen, who was recently traded from Oklahoma City to New Orleans, was asked on Tuesday about the importance of representing the city he plays for. It’s an easy thing to forget about completely given how often players’ addresses change, but Tristan came to mind as Adams said the following:
“As a player, obviously you just play basketball – there’s that. But then again, you’ve also gotta think bigger than that. You’re representing a city, and also the city’s history as well. That’s the main thing. You have to really look at that and then understand how you need to hold yourself. That’s why fans really want to get to know you, just to make sure you’re a good dude. You’re representing them…It means a lot to people, and so it shouldn’t be taken too lightly.”
Whatever your Cleveland looks like, odds are Tristan represented it well. He showed up to work. Four hundred forty-seven games straight, many of them spent doing the dirty jobs no one else would. His work was defined by effort, hustle, indefatigability. He was the proverbial blue collar player that Cleveland, or at least a certain idealized version of it, begged for.
I did, I must say, occasionally have a niggling suspicion that his affection for Cleveland was a bit of a put-on – that, not unlike how he understood what role to play on the court, he understood how to endear himself to fans off it. He surely learned a thing or two from watching LeBron. He knew to call Cavs fans the best in the league. He was a good sport with reporters. He was no dummy. But I grant you that this is a deeply cynical view. His turn as an adulterous villain in the Kardashian Cinematic Universe notwithstanding, I’m aware of little evidence of Tristan being a nefarious dude.
He started the Amari Thompson Fund, named for his youngest brother, who lives with epilepsy. He reportedly talks to his mom, Amari’s primary caregiver, every day. He was a consistent joy at the Cavs’ Big Shots & Little Stars fundraiser, one of the very best events the organization puts on. He was charming when interviewed, particularly by Allie Clifton, on telecasts. If the Cavs were going to pick anyone to represent them, from now through forever, Tristan would rank toward the top of the list.
As a franchise, the Cavs do not have many long-tenured heroes. Only seven players beyond Thompson played in Cleveland for nine-plus consecutive seasons, and many of their careers were maligned by injury: Zydrunas Ilgauskas, Anderson Varejao, Bingo Smith, Danny Ferry, Hot Rod Williams, Austin Carr and Mark Price. (LeBron’s decamping to Miami removes him from consideration.) Of that group, only Ferry and Varejao do not have their numbers retired.
Thompson has made nary an All-Star team, but his longevity, consistency and overall profile make a compelling case for putting No. 13 in the rafters.
I would love to see that ceremony happen one day. A retired number is a distinction not necessarily reserved for the best players, but for the most significant ones. It’s meant to appreciate those who embody what a franchise stands for. Now, I’m not advocating for the Sherwin-Williams billboard to be replaced with a ten-story Apotheosis of Tristan. I’m just saying that there are worse players to honor than the grinder who extracted the most he could from his talents and won a championship while he was at it.
But then, if Tristan Thompson never gets his number retired in Cleveland, it won’t take anything away from what he achieved here. He was a supporting player, through and through. His game never belonged in the spotlight. He needn’t be appreciated for his work to have mattered.