Poor Derrick Rose’s NBA career may have just ended today—not with a bang or a thud—but with a murmur.
Less than a day after notching just three points in seven minutes for the Cleveland Cavaliers on Wednesday, the former Bulls superstar was the offal in a three-way deal that shuffled six players between the fading Cavs, Sacramento Kings, and Utah Jazz. Rose got shipped off to Utah with Jae Crowder.
But here’s the rub: the Jazz will release him before he can limp his way to the barren high desert of Salt Lake City, NBA know-it-alls say.
It’s not shocking. He’s only 29, but Rose’s skills have dried up and blown away like tumbleweed. He’s a dreadful shooter, shaky defender. He’s averaged a paltry 9.8 points and 1.6 assists this season. He’s only played in 16 games, and not just due to injuries. Rose took personal leave from the Cavs earlier this season due to the “mental toll” being hurt all the time takes.
The self-proclaimed Englewood All-Star said he wanted to “re-evaluate his NBA future.” Who knows what that means? Maybe he’s talking about hitchhiking alone across the country, duffel bag over his shoulder, while a piano plays mournfully in the background.
Everybody knows Rose leaves a mixed legacy—and that’s being generous. So many injuries—both knees, an ankle and his wrist, among other things—have sapped his athletic ability. Surely, that’s not his fault.
He didn’t ask for broke-ass ligaments and noodlelike tendons. But that’s not why Rose is washed-up. Off the court, he’s been a basket case. He’s disappeared (twice with two teams) to take strange midseason sabbaticals and refused to mentor young players. And then there’s pre-#MeToo era allegation of gang rape. He was cleared of a sexual battery allegation in civil court. But no one should ever forget that Rose testified under oath that he didn’t know what the term “consent” meant.
As things turn out, Rose wasn’t Chicago’s savior. He’s our tragic hero.
Don’t feel sorry for him.