STEVE

If there’s one thing Mike “Wooly Willy” Woodson was adept at, it was getting two good minutes from his bench, be it from veterans or role players. You rotate the man in, get him a couple of shots, and then send him back to the bench. This meant more than just economical use of his smaller figures, and it meant more than just making your team difficult to figure out. Switching up the pieces meant the development and recognition of certain crowd favorites. I, for one, can’t watch the “You Wanna Play Rasheed?” clip without tearing up a little bit. 

Moments like these made me love not so much the Knicks as that team at that specific moment, those guys, seemingly assembled from nothing, and most importantly, Steve Novak. I remember my college roommate hurling a chair across the room, Bobby Knight-style, as we both screamed, “STEEEEVE.” Novak, you see, is not the man who beats his man and creates offense out of nothing. He is the man who waits for you to under-guard him, at which point he delivers exactly the three you’d hoped for. We admire the player less than the perfection of the shot. There are the various internet profiles of his life in Wisconsin, and none of them ring terribly interesting. We’re drawn to Steve not because of his humanity. He does not have off-the-court drama. He does not have interesting tattoos. We watch because when he steps on the court, he is that one shot personified. The man disappears and only the shot remains. 

So we find him moving to the Utah Jazz, at a surprising 3.7 million annually, to deliver what will doubtless be a similar product. Because Steve Novak Does Not Change. Steve Novak chuckles at Lake Wobegon as he drives himself to games. Steve Novak eats exclusively wheat toast. Steve Novak thinks the US Postal Service is a miraculous thing. "How did this postcard from Shanghai make it to my mailbox?” he asks himself. A coin, hollow in the middle, with two dried grains of jasmine rice placed inside--a male and female figure painted on each, respectively--is taped to the card. Steve knows that the weight of the coin jacked up the price of postage. 

On the card is written a simple message: “Whatever happens, there will always be a home for you here. Love, Yao.” Steve places the card on his mantle, because Steve appreciates the kind gesture and because the message strikes Steve as a warning. 

Steve returns to his backyard half-court setup, shoots a three from the corner, and smiles to himself as he jogs for the rebound. “Not yet."