J.J. Barea is not just an NBA champion, but a vital cog in the NBA champion Dallas Mavericks' sprint to glory. This is both flummoxing and, to me, displeasing. Grantland's Bill Barnwell wrote today about how incredibly important Dallas' vaunted bench ended up being, setting all sorts of standards other reserve units won't soon meet.
Why J.J. Barea Is Both Simple And Difficult To Root For
At the top of that sub corps is Jason Terry, but right behind him is Barea, who actually started the final three wins of the Mavericks' season. Barea has a weird narrative tied to him by NBA watchers, one of a small fighter who makes big men look silly and fills the bucket like few others. J.J.'s performance against the L.A. Lakers in the second round only bolstered the reputation; he really did make Pau Gasol, Lamar Odom and Andrew Bynum look silly running the pick-and-roll with Dirk Nowitzki.
But with Barea, that tends to be the exception. And this is where my feelings on J.J. get tricky.
As a player, Barea’s obviously very flawed, a volume scorer who doesn’t score that much, who is wholly inefficient from the floor, who doesn’t chuck the deuce* that well, who is prone to turnovers and who defends as well as a 5’8 guy can, which is to say not very well at all.
So basically, Barea is a smaller Ricky Davis. But he's championed by the masses because of his -- and I'm assuming here -- size, lack of Nate Robinson-like histrionics and the inability to really hate the Mavericks as an entity. This isn't a unique situation; double-standards are more a part of life in sports than anywhere else, which is saying something. (Only in the sports world could hordes of untold size side with a character like Dan Gilbert instead of LeBron James.)
That's not what has me uncomfortable with Barea, though. It's the aesthetics of his game. My friend Eric Freeman has a great observation of Barea: "It's not that he flops, it's that every move he makes looks like a flop." Barnwell calls it a "herky-jerky, chaotic style." But that actually sounds fun. That sounds like Brandon Roy, or early Russell Westbrook.
But that herky-jerky, chaotic style mixed with Barea’s size and strength makes his forays into the lane resemble midget wrestling or bumper bowling. There’s no grace to it. It’s (sometimes) effective, it’s a nice counterbalance for the Mavericks’ overwhelmingly perimeter-based roster. But by God is it ugly.
That’s what I can’t get past: Barea is a solid reserve at best, a marginal producer with obvious holes and an ugly game but a good, seemingly humble fellow who doesn’t bitch, isn’t inordinately selfish and knows his role. A commendable being you can’t stand to watch.
I imagine this is how much of the casual sports-fan population felt about the San Antonio Spurs. I understand now.
* I still don’t know what “chuck the deuce” means, so I’m assigning it the definition of “spread the ball.”
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