TEAM DREAMS 2017–18: The Suns Also Rises, Again
How a Warriors assistant tried to uncover Phoenix’s frightening secret
The Gorilla led the men through the suburbs of Fountain Hills and Apache Junction, through Tortilla Flat and finally, by the time the first sign of the rising desert sun was showing a bruised purple around the foothills, they arrived at the Superstition Mountains.
They came to a gully that to the untrained eye looked like nothing more than years of erosion, carving out a deep trench in the granite and centuries-old volcanic ash. The Gorilla stepped to the side of the mountain and laid one large, rubbery hand on the rock. The side of the mountain seemed to shudder and a gorilla-sized doorway revealed itself, the outer rock rolling slowly to the side.
Only the handsomest one among them was probably old enough to have seen an Indiana Jones and he decided not to say anything.
The Gorilla waved them through.
*
There’s something in the water in Phoenix.
I mean literally.
Take one look at perpetual wunderkind, Devin Booker, and tell me you actually believe he’s a day over a hardened 13. They say two years on the lowest ranked team in the league ages a man — not to mention the harsh sun of the desert climate and accompanying dry air — yet Booker appears to perpetually be two years away from being two years away from his sweet sixteen.
And the world’s most incessantly handsome man, Tyson Chandler? If time and his driver’s license can be believed, he’s 34. Jared Dudley is 32 and has never appeared younger, more dewy, or seemingly thrilled to be playing for the Phoenix than he does in his Suns player photo.
Me, a whistle blower? Are you kidding? I do yoga three times a day and look exactly like Steve Kerr. You think those things are coincidence? He made me assistant coach for a reason. Do I have my eyes on an even bigger prize? Absolutely. But I need time, or even better, whatever’s in that water in Phoenix.
Can you imagine? Getting a tap on that stuff, how many more championships it can guarantee us? And it’ll be me, Bruce Fraser, assistant coach of player development for the Golden State Warriors, responsible for it.
*
Inside the mountain stalagmites dripped and the air smelled to each of them like the fondest memory they had from childhood. Marquese Chriss smelled his first dog, a Chinese crested named Basketball, while Eric Bledsoe inhaled the tangy smell of chlorine from the outdoor public pool in July. Devin Booker smelled Eggo waffles, which he’d had for dinner the night before, and Dragan Bender got a whiff of cotton candy as well as the biting metal tang of his house’s ancient set of warlock battle armour. Tyson Chandler smelled diesel fumes from his first car, a Ford Model A.
After climbing a steady incline until even their most conditioned of calves burned, they reached a plateau with a dense concentration of iridescent stalagmites on the ceiling, dripping down into a glowing turquoise pool. The Gorilla, no acrylic hair on its body out of place, led them forward and made a cup with two rubbery hands, bringing it to its face, motioning for them to drink. They did.
The Gorilla, itself ageless, untethered to our existence in a way few would readily understand, watched appraisingly in its retro Suns warmup jacket. Now and again it would nod when one of the players made a hearty gulp, the nylon rustling gently as it did so, echoing softly through the caverns of the mountain.
*
It sounded like voices, you know? Like the whole soul of that mountain, all the ancient beings that were in there before, were telling me the way. Steve believes in that kind of thing, so I do too.
So it was crazy when I came out of a real dank tunnel and there they all were, the 2017–2018 Phoenix Suns including the weird Euro rookies, lapping at some big glowing pool like a bunch of Avatars. I never saw that movie but I bet you can picture what I mean.
And they were horsing around, splashing each other. I saw Brandon Knight dunk Alex Len in the water, probably the best dunk I’ve ever seen him do. It started to get a little out of hand and then I heard this rubbery, clapping sound, like two huge dishwashing gloves slapping together. The Gorilla is standing there and I swear, I swear, on all seven of Steve Kerr’s rings, that it said “Nap time”.
*
The Gorilla moves with purpose but unhurried past each player, all of them now settling down onto large blue foam mats, the kind that velcro to the walls of school gymnasiums. To some it hands blankies, to some soothers, to Tyson Chandler it hands a silk sleep mask. All settle down onto the mats, curling up and appearing radiant in the limpid light casting down on them from the pool.
*
The best I can figure is they overdid it. They drank too much of that baby water — I wish there was a better name that captured it. They were all out like lights. You probably won’t believe me but it looked as if they started to shrink, too, like they were Zach Zippering. I never saw that movie, either.
I thought to myself, just be patient, take a meditative pose like Steve showed you and wait for this Gorilla to cart them all away back to the Suns nursery. So I get down into my best Steve’s Shavasana to wait and wouldn’t you know, I get clocked over the head.
Next thing I know I’m coming to on a bus pulling into Bakersfield, wearing a Suns warm-up suit. I turn on my phone and see a few photos of me in the same suit with a message that says they’ll go to Steve unless I forget about the mountain. What’s worse, they must have used some of that youth juice on my hair cause I’ve lost each and every silver strand and I can’t stop Googling photos of Steve and me, before I set foot in that mountain.
So no, I’m not talking, but know what I saw. I also know a box of grey men’s hair dye arrived for me in the mail today with a Suns headband around it and huge, rubber prints all over it, so you’d be a fool to talk too. That Gorilla is ancient, there’s pictures of it, all through the ages.
It was here before you, me or basketball, and it’ll be here once it all — everything — disappears.
