Gilbert in Wonderland

It's not so much that Gilbert is in Wonderland as it is he is Wonderland. The jersey thrown into the stands after every game was like a white glove lost by a white rabbit, and we chased after it as if we were going down a rabbit hole, and like most childhood stories about magical lands and holding onto one's youth this rabbit hole wound up being much deeper than a simple woodland borough. Gilbert took us on a journey that caused us as fans to examine what we want out of a basketball player, and if one latched onto Agent Zero, then chances are one welcomed the nonsense that he represented.

Gilbert sat on his mushroom for a love seat puffing on a hookah blogging about trespassing sharks and ice sculptures. The man was half fool and half sage sealed and stamped inside of a riddle, forcing us to ask: is he that big of an idiot or does he simply see things that the rest of us miss? Most of us sided with the latter. He proved everyone wrong at Arizona when they said he wouldn't play a minute. He proved everyone wrong when he showed that a guard who was neither a one or a two could still succeed in the League, and he most definitely proved everyone wrong when he earned a max contract mostly on personality, so why would we doubt his intelligence now, when he was the only one who was ever right?

The dude was the Caterpillar, which is where his true genius lies. He never gave too much away, which always left his audience guessing, wondering does he know more than us or does he know nothing at all. For a player who made himself so accessible to his fans and to the media, perhaps Gilbert's greatest magic trick was making us believe there would always be more to follow. Gilbert was an Ernest Hemingway story, an ice berg: 2% on the surface and 98% below the ocean. He made us believe that anyone and everyone was capable of more than what they appeared to be. What we now know is the man was an ice cube passing himself off as an ice berg, without the ability to get Washington past the second round or to reel in his own insane humor. He was an apparition made from hookah smoke.

For his first four seasons in Washington, Arenas mesmerized a city that is the home address of Presidents and regularly hosts ambassadors. Washington is a place for serious men and women. On the Metro, the people going to and from work wear dark, traditional business suits and either red or blue ties; they also tend to carry a newspaper, neatly creased, under one of their arms, using the right or the left to signify party loyalty. DC is clearly a place of order. Gilbert with his hyperbolic chambers and collection of NBA jerseys waltzed into the Diamond District as a Mad Hatter, quickly becoming the host of the party. Antawn Jamison was his March Hare, and Larry Hughes and Caron Butler each took turns auditioning for the role of the Doormouse. Gilbert Arenas and company made the Verizon/MCI Center the hub for zaniness and fun in a city that usually only laughs at clumsily placed one liners designed to put partisan crowds at ease, and the city had so much fun attending tea at the Phone Booth that the idea to give a nine digit max contract to a Hatter seemed like an act of sanity, when, in truth, it was an act of madness.

When Gilbert Arenas signed his max, he smiled; Abe Pollin, the owner, laughed; Ernie Gunfeld, the team president, grinned; and Eddie Jordan, the head coach, just stood there stoned face, realizing, "I am a clam in a world full of walruses and carpenters." Eddie Jordan knew that the contract the Wizards gave Gilbert was the equivalent to the keys of the kingdom, and he also knew, that as a head coach who often bumped heads with Gilbert, Gilbert now had him in check; and when Gilbert disappeared in two consecutive seasons because of knee injuries, leaving nothing but a grin, Eddie Jordan could hear the word "mate" whispered to him from tree branches and doorways. In the 2009 season, which was Gilbert, the Chesshire Cat's, greatest vanishing act, the Wizards went 19-63. Off with their heads! The guillotine fell, and Eddie Jordan's head was sent in a duffle bag to Philadelphia, and the scene was set for Gilbert to reappear in full health--a Queen of Hearts on his DC throne.

The Queen's reign did not get off to a strong start this season. Prior to Gilbert Arenas' suspension (sentencing before a verdict?) for not taking life serious enough and mocking David Stern--"all the ways about here belong to me"-- the Wizards' record was 11-21. During the course of Arenas' suspension, the Wizards have gone 1-5. The dismissive way in which Gilbert handled getting caught having brought firearms into the locker room made him seem as indifferent and dismissive to the world as a Gryphon mocking the sorrows of the Mock Turtle; after all, Gilbert Arenas plays basketball in a city that is regularly listed in the top five or ten cities for murder per capita, a fact that prompted the Pollin family to change the team mascot from a Bullet to a Wizard. While a cosmetic change in mascots may have little to no impact on murder rates, the change does recognize the harsh environments in which the District's citizens live out their everyday existence, which is something the Gryphon in Gilbert failed to do, and it is this arrogant obliviousness that is so distressing about Gilbert Arenas' self-made tragedy. He knows better.

One of my favorite basketball writers, Bethlehem Shoals, has cited this incident as a microcosm of Gilbert Arenas' being, at some point asking a question akin to "isn't this Gilbert at his most Gilbert." Shoals also wrote a piece claiming that Gilbert should not be judged based on moral principles because Gilbert is merely a basketball player and, therefore, should be judged according to his role, his purpose. Well, I fear Shoals fails to see, because of his love for Arenas and the NBA, that Gilbert Arenas is foremost a human being and not a basketball player. While I respect Shoals' willingness to wait on the facts of this story and agree that this story must be put into perspective with the hundreds of athletes who are good role models, I can not agree with his statement that, "We don't watch sports to gain moral instruction..." because I do not see how one can separate how one plays sports from how one conducts himself morally.

Sports create a crucible where personalities are put to the flame by intense scenes of drama. The reason people believe Tiger Woods can recover from his infidelities off the course is because he is capable of such pristine order on the course. His ability to find balance in his backswing should help him to eventually find balance in his own life, and the manner in which Tiger plays golf gives me far more hope that he turns his personal life around than Gilbert does. Gilbert Arenas plays basketball the way he lives life, which supports Shoals' claim that "this is Gilbert at his most Gilbert" but simultaneously erodes the idea this ordeal is not a lesson in morality. When Eddie Jordan told Gilbert Arenas he was shooting too much, Gilbert responded by not taking a shot for a whole half, making Gilbert's most selfless act one of selfishness. Essentially, Gilbert's insistence to be a dam in the offense instead of letting it flow through him like a river is parallel to how this gun situation shows how out of touch he is with those who stand down river from him. Gilbert Arenas is a role model, and Gilbert Arenas knows it, having written in The Macrophenomenal Pro Basketball Almanac, "Now, that I'm in the NBA, I realize that fans are following every little thing we do as players....I'm thinking, 'Oh, man, I didn't know kids actually paid attention to stuff like that.'"

Shoals believes that fans through their obsessions heap the role of the hero and savior onto the athletes they not only root for but worship. I agree with this idea, but I also feel that athletes either reject or accept this idea; and if they accept it, then they are indeed accepting the role of playing the hero, not just on the field but in life. Gilbert and Tiger accepted the role. Tiger walked on water in commercials and produced an image of perfection in every aspect of his life. And even Gilbert acknowledges, kids are paying attention, so when Gilbert utters statements like "I don't want to have a fist fight with you...I'll burn your car up or shoot you in the face" know that the students teachers deal with everyday come into the classroom bragging about how hard Gilbert goes and use Gilbert as an excuse as to why they need not do their work or abstain from a fight in the hallways. Gilbert knows he is looked up to as a role model, having patterned his foul shot routine for kids to mimic, which is why I find it so hard not to judge him as Agent Zero when he lays four guns down in front of Javaris Critterton and says, "Pick one." Will children not mimic that decision also?

Gilbert is through the looking glass now, facing an extended period without basketball, and one must hope that his suspended adolescence comes to an end, that he finally becomes a man, because, at age twenty-eight, he is too old to be unleashing the Jabberwockeys of his imagination on the rest of the world.