I See You, Rasual Butler

When it comes to the 2014 Eastern Conference Finals, I have a horse in the race.  I want the Miami Heat to win, and ultimately to prevail in their quest to win a third consecutive title.  It's no secret that I admire the way LeBron James plays the game.  But one player I might like as much as I like LeBron James happens to play for the Pacers.  That player is Rasual Butler, and when he checked into game two and knocked down a pair of triples, I couldn't help but smile.  Truthfully, I'm not sure I wouldn't have smiled had he drilled a game-winner, despite that such a dagger would've put my horse in dire straits.  To see Rasual connect on those two significant shots, it was special, because it took me back to a time when NBA basketball basically flowed through my veins.  Despite that Butler's Pacers failed to close out tonight, I wanted to share the following.

My fanhood of Rasual Butler first developed as a byproduct of my fanhood of his Hornets teammates.  When I got League Pass in fall 2005, I watched the Hornets often, especially during one mid-season stretch when the Rockets' Stromile Swift was sidelined by injuries.  2005 happened to be Chris Paul's rookie campaign, and the season the team had been displaced by Hurricane Katrina.  Wearing New Orleans across their chests and with the support of some zealous Oklahomans, the Hornets ran the Ford Center floor with an appropriate degree of passion.  Desmond Mason had been one of my original childhood favorites, and it was his spectacular slams that initially drew me to the team.  I also enjoyed the lightning-quick point guard combo of the aforementioned Paul and Speedy Claxton.  A young JR Smith added some spice to the recipe, and Chris "Birdman" Andersen quickly became a hero of mine.  Later, when Andersen was banned from the league for a positive drug test, I was devastated.  I watched the Hornets a little less after that, but I continued to keep an eye on them.  Looking back on it, I recall the team as having adopted Chris Paul's fiery, competitive personality.

Rasual Butler appealed to me because he was smooth.  Though he didn't play above the rim like Mason, or flashy like Paul, or explosively like Smith, I liked him instantly.  His stroke was butter.  His moves were fluid.  His demeanor was cool and constant.  It was Butler's fourth NBA season, his first with the Hornets after spending three with the Heat.  Though Butler's steady-going style contrasted with that of his teammates, he adjusted well under coach Byron Scott, setting new career highs in minutes and points per game.  Butler started occasionally, but his primary role was to provide a spark off the bench.  For a team that relied so heavily on a bunch of young players --- leading scorers David West and Chris Paul had virtually no NBA experience between them --- the Hornets performed well, finishing with a record of 38-44 despite playing in the association's unforgiving Southwestern Division.


Rasual played another couple seasons with the Hornets, whom he helped to the Playoffs with his 11 PPG in 2009.  Next, he signed on with the Clippers, who would rely on him to play 33 minutes a night.  The burden weighed on him, and it showed in his 40 percent shooting from the floor.  Despite the Clippers' flaws, Butler had some excellent games, including a 33-point explosion against LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers.  But none was as explosive as a second half he posted for one of my customized teams in NBA Live.

Every couple weeks, my step brother would visit and we would break out the XBox and go the full 48 minutes.  We always drafted our own teams.  My typical starting lineup was Rafer Alston, Jamal Crawford, Carmelo Anthony, Stromile Swift, and Kenyon Martin, while his squad never took the floor without Chris Kaman.  Clearly, rather than picking the best players, we chose our favorites.  Rasual Butler was a fixture on my bench.

I was getting obliterated at halftime, which was not the norm.  My step brother and I were very competitive at NBA Live; I might even have had an edge because it was literally the only game I ever played.  This time, though, I was down twenty, and frustrated.  Normally, I seldom substituted, but my frustration led me to bench a couple of my starters for the opening of the third quarter.  I inserted Rasual Butler and looked to run-and-gun.  Video game Rasual had a bit of a hitch in his jumper, and I hadn't ever used him much before.  It took me a minute to adjust my button pushing to his release, but I stuck with it.  I knocked a couple down, and I fed the hot hand. 

Rasual Butler finished the game with, if I remember correctly, 76 points, all of which he scored in the second half.  He was totally en fuego, and thanks to his marksmanship I had stormed back to take a two-point lead with only a fraction of a second to go.  I had already begun to bask in the thrill of victory, which Rasual Butler and I had stolen from the jaws of defeat.  Except we hadn't stolen it just yet.  Somehow, my step brother found, off the inbound, an open Peja Stojakovic in the near corner.  A three-pointer left Peja's fingertips, and the buzzer blared.  The ball arced across the television screen as I watched, helpless, frozen in mortal fear.  Peja's shot ripped the cord.  My step brother went nuts.  But then, Marv Albert explained that the officials would need to go to the replay to confirm that the shot was good.  Neither my step brother nor I had known this was a possibility.  Shocked by yet another unforeseen development, we waited for the call.

No good.  The shot was too late.  Rasual Butler and I had won the game.