By Jesse Marx
By Chris Parker
By Jake Rossen
By Jesse Marx
By Michelle LeBow
By Alleen Brown
By Maggie LaMaack
By CP Staff
Monday's announcement by former Minnesota Timberwolves guard Doug West that he was suffering from depression and chemical dependency was not as surprising as it should have been. For at least the past couple of years, there had been vague rumors, whispers, and wisecracks from within the Wolves organization about West's lack of dedication to his body and his game. Even as the caliber of West's play steadily declined, however, it was pleasantly convenient for all concerned to portray him, both physically and psychologically, as a gnarled survivor.
As the last of the original Timberwolves, West had endured seven years of constant losing with admirable dignity, sacrificing his body and holding his tongue for the greater good of the team. When the franchise's fortunes moved in a positive direction the past two seasons, it was easy to embrace the hokey but still heartwarming thought that West's perseverance had paid off, that justice had been benevolently served. In that respect, he was the feel-good, on-the-court surrogate for thousands of long-suffering Wolves fans. No wonder there was something of a conspiracy of silence regarding the increasingly apparent flaws in his game.
All that was exploded last week when West was traded to Vancouver in exchange for guard Anthony Peeler. When West threatened not to report to his new team, Wolves Vice President Kevin McHale reportedly told him his contract would be terminated, a blunt wake-up call that prompted West's statement on Monday that he would undergo treatment and get his life together before heading to Vancouver. Whether West rededicates himself to basketball, the trade for a player with Peeler's package of skills was one that should benefit the Wolves. Before we applaud the deal and move on, however, an honest appreciation of the pros and cons of West's long tenure with the Wolves is in order.
Most of the good memories are from the bad times. In fact, during the worst two seasons in the Wolves' woeful history, a period when the team lost 130 out of 164 games, West's performance was a solitary joy to behold. On offense, he would slide his lean, rugged physique behind one of his burly teammates to rub off his defender, then rise up and sink his trademark jump shot from the corners of the foul line. On defense, as the opponents' best outside shooter jogged toward the basket, West would hike up his shorts and bend into a feline crouch, flexing his hamstrings and slapping the court with his palms to signal his readiness for battle. In the locker room, while higher-priced stars such as Chuck Person, Christian Laettner, and Micheal Williams traded glares and excuses, and clueless coaches like Jimmy Rodgers and Sidney Lowe groped for answers beyond their grasp, West was an oasis of professionalism and good will.
The acceleration of West's physical decline began after the '92-'93 season. Having drafted gifted shooting guard J.R. Rider, the Wolves' brain trust asked West to bulk up so he could shift over to small forward, a position that would pit him against bigger, stronger opponents. West had just compiled what remains the most accurate two-year shooting percentage in Wolves history, and his '92-'93 season point total was more than Rider would amass in any of his troubled three seasons here. Yet he dutifully added 20 pounds to his 6-foot-6 frame and maintained his gritty style in the face of physically superior competition. For three years, both the frequency and the accuracy of his shooting declined. Minnesota's win total kept inching upward.
West's sacrifices did not go unnoticed. Less than two years after McHale and Coach/General Manager Flip Saunders took over the team's personnel decisions in the spring of 1995, West and Tom Gugliotta were the only players who had not been dumped from the Wolves' 12-man roster. Before the '95-'96 season, West was given a five-year contract at an average annual salary of nearly $3 million. A year later, after McHale and Saunders had drafted Kevin Garnett to play small forward and traded Rider to Portland, West was slotted back at his old shooting guard position in the starting lineup.
Now on to the bad memories of good times. As the Wolves surged to their first-ever playoff berth last year, West was clearly the weak link among the starting five. Granted, his intensity was invaluable to the team's defense on the perimeter, especially alongside the naïve and nonchalant guarding abilities of rookie Stephon Marbury. But on offense, West's once-automatic jump shot was suspect, and his confidence had eroded to the point where he was a shooting guard who refused to shoot, launching fewer attempts per minute than any other guard or forward on the team.
The positive, not totally inaccurate spin on this was that West's unselfish offense complemented a lineup in which other players needed the ball a lot to be effective. But it's also true that West's inability to shoot from long range--he made just 15 three-point shots last year--enabled opposing defenses to ignore the perimeter and shorten the distance required to trap Marbury outside or double-cover Gugliotta and Garnett near the basket.
Always a pro with the media, West became increasingly sensitive when questioned about his offense. Plays designed for him to be the shooter were infrequently called, he said, creating an inactivity that affected his rhythm. But as his shooting percentage plummeted, it became a chicken-or-the-egg dilemma: What came first, the lack of accuracy or the lack of opportunities?