No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day. This is the final installment.

Today: Amare Stoudemire. Your author is Bethlehem Shoals. After the jump.

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There's really not much to say about Amare Stoudemire's '05-06. He ended the 2005 playoffs on the cusp of immortality and then, very suddenly, was no more. His Suns did just fine without him, thank you, implementing an elegant version of small ball that all but erased the memory of his megaton presence. For most inspirational basketball fans, STAT existed merely as a medical chart, measured periodically against history and anything resembling an expert opinion. His two games back revealed only that this monster would not come roaring back without a pause; the funny thing is, I don't think any of us thought this was an unreasonable expectation.

By now, we all know the ugly precedents. Chris Webber, rendered irrelevant and immobile by the dreaded microfracture procedure. Shawn Kemp, an impossible mix of speed, strength and terror whose game made him seem more meteoric than he actually was. Len Bias, whose legend was etched in what could have been. And Shaq, cast out of the very paradise that grew up in his powerful footprints. If ever there was a perfect storm of unfortunate comparisons, surely we gaze into it now with Amare. At the same time, that Stoudemire can be compared to C-Webb, Kemp, Bias and Shaq without denting your monitor is more than a little remarkable.

On paper and in the scout's eye, this might seem foolhardy. For anyone who watched him in '04-05, though, no one was more central to the New NBA's vibrancy than Amare. With every gargantuan burst and murderous highlight, he affirmed the joy that makes us watch in the first place. LeBron's ongoing treatise on basketball perfection and Wade's heroics might grab the headlines, but it was Stoudemire's ability to ignite this fuel with faith that made a banner era for the game into an ecstatic one. James is pure Old Testament, D-Wade the kindly upstart. . . and Amare, he was the wailing prophets, Holy Ghost and headless nightmares rolled up in one. While I worry that we might never again witness the Stoudemire of old, I know that, on some level, he awakened in all of us the key to appreciating the next decade of the Association.

No one knows what will happen in the realm of the real. The Suns now reek so strongly of Nash's soft-spoken Marxism that there be no place for an outsized dynamo. Raja Bell, whose importance to their playoff run was greatly exaggerated, has gone so far as to suggest that Amare needs to earn his way back in. Since, you know, Kurt Thomas was such an integral part of last year's surprise, and possibly flukish, experiment. Thus far, coverage of The Comeback has vacillated between Barbaro-like scrutiny and almost resigned disinterest. When Amare shows signs, all of a sudden his every springy dunk becomes an ESPN feature; if he hits a stretch of malaise or discomfort, the media politely mentions it and then holds their breath until the next spot of sunshine.

Heading into this season, Amare is without a doubt the league's biggest question mark. Yet his team and the Association in general have moved on, honoring his name with the assumption that his mark has been made. As someone who genuinely wishes Stoudemire the best of luck, I hope he can fight his way back to prominence. But as someone whose heart will be shredded by the sight of a less than profound Amare, I would almost rather not pay attention until I can be sure he's back. Until that day, his spirit lingers on in each and every one of us.

No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day, up to tipoff next Tuesday.

Today: Dwyane Wade. Your author is Dr. Lawyer IndianChief. His words are after the jump.

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In the 2005-06 season, Dwyane Wade crashed needlessly into TV cameras, skidded across hardwood floors and carried a collection of misfits, headcases and self-aggrandizers on his back on the way to winning the NBA championship. As Heat teammate Shaquille O'Neal showed true signs of aging, Wade played the role of the anti-Kobe, balancing late-game takeover skills with enough "aw shucks" shoulder shrugs and million-dollar smiles to grace the pages of magazines ranging from Esquire to GQ to People. Wade, as much as his 2003 draft counterpart, LeBron James, became the face of the New NBA last year, and in some ways even surpassed 'Bron-Bron in terms of giving Commissioner Stern a hard-on for purity: Wade (with high school sweetheart, Siohvaughn Funches) named his son Zaire Blessing, campaigned for Penguin Classics by pimping out Pride and Prejudice and was touted as proof of what the new NBA age limit could do for the league. Short of pulling out front row tickets to the latest Okayplayer concert, Wade played the perfect college graduate.

The problem with Dwyane Wade, as has been documented ad nauseam by the Freedarko brass, is that his excellence is boring. Furthermore, the dullness of 50-Most's game is a specialized case, as this boring-ness does not actually stem from a mundane repertoire of moves or a generally unintense on-court demeanor, but rather from a surplus of greatness, and to a certain degree, style. Wade's crossover dribbles and Spiderman dunks (of which we have seen a decent variety) have simply become tiresome, and he is in need of a personal Renaissance. Whereas Jordan reinvented himself with perfect tempo, chameleoning seamlessly from dunker to scorer to defensive stopper to world champion team leader to clutch-shot-maker, Wade is at an unfortunate point in his career, in which he has done too much all at once, and hasn't had a chance yet to traverse through such varying roles. Furthermore, we don't really know what he can do without Shaq garnering so much attention on the court. In Wade's Shaq-less rookie year, I would argue that he was an entirely different player altogether, and a more compelling one as well.

The intrigue surrounding Wade during his first year largely concerned the fact that so much ogling had been devoted to Lebron and Carmelo, despite Wade putting on equally promising display of talent and advancing further into the playoffs than either 'Bron or 'Melo. Until the playoffs, even Bosh and Darko had more buzz surrounding them. Something about the Wade-Butler-Odom combo taking form in South Beach was so refreshing — a bizarro "Big 3," with each player playing slightly out of position, and possessing the capability of pulling off any move, from a huge rejection to a three-pointer, at any point in the game. Whatever luster existed surrounding this promising trio of stylistic geniuses, Wade seemed to lose with the arrival of Shaq, and then Riley. Wade went from enigmatic, to simply expected to win it all. And when he did indeed win it all last year, none were too shocked. The largest question surrounding Wade, then, is: Can he intrigue us again? Can he surprise us and show us there is more to his player persona than "he who was groomed to win the championship?"

In order to fulfill this plea, Wade must exhibit a hunger like never before and win the whole damn thing all over again. Shaq and Riles, despite their lip service about repeating, have now solidified their legends by proving they can win "wherever they go." White Chocolate and 'Toine are now off-the-hook as career egotistical fuck-ups, and Glove and Zo are now redeemed, shedding the label of guys who were always great but never won the "big one." This general sense of complacency across the board is what will make Wade's job so difficult and will serve as the true test of his hunger. That is, the question that should be asked: Can Wade overcome his own teammates to inspire them to defend their title? We haven't seen a repeat champion since 2002, and no one seems overly inclined to pick the Heat to win again. Wade's task is monumental, but if he succeeds, he can recapture that element of surprise that made him such a delight to watch three years ago.

Aside from 50-Most's will to win, the greater worry concerns his physical sturdiness. \No player has played more games over the past three years than Dwyane Wade. From a second-round playoffs exit in 2004, to the ill-fated Athens Olympics, to a Eastern Conference Finals strained rib muscle in 2005, to going all the way in 2006, to voluntarily participating in the ESPN's nationalistic propaganda-laden reality series, Team U.S. "K," Wade has to be exhausted. The guy has constantly seemed to battle various bumps and bruises in his first three seasons, and if he keeps doing the fall-to-the-floor routine, he is destined for severe durability problems. Given that so much of his game relies on sheer athleticism, it will be interesting to see if fatigue affects D-Wade at all, in his quest for another title. If Wade succeeds, then you can call me a believer; and if not, I hope he at least cultivates some new flashes of brilliance, to convey the same spontaneity he showed as the J.O.-posterizing, undersized off-guard out of low-profile-Marquette we saw three years ago.

No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day, up to tipoff next Tuesday.

Today: LeBron James. Your author is Dr. Lawyer IndianChief. His words are after the jump.

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LeBron James entered "Stage 2" of the Jordan Narrative last year, as we watched him finally make the playoffs, actually win a series, give the Pistons a scare, and then exit. As the Pistons virtually imploded and as Mike Brown quietly outcoached Flip Saunders, many of LeBron's playoff late-game missed free throws and turnovers were swept under the rug. We let him momentarily shed the "un-clutch" tag that had shadowed him all season, and we all patted him on the back and gave each other high-fives. We were happy he made it, and we knew what was to come. Upon the end of the Pistons-Cavs series, Commissioner Stern turned to Lebron and said, "Son, next year is the year that again the Pistons eliminate you, bring you to tears, frustrating you to the point that you just can't take it any more ... and then you push even harder, winning the title in 2008 (of course once we arrange for Rashard Lewis to join you via sign-and-trade)." Nipping at his fingernails, LBJ nodded quietly.

Jordan Narrative and playoff intrigue aside, LeBron's numbers were the most impressive since MJ, and I have extreme difficulty in understanding how Nash was deemed more important to his team than Bronzino. [I seemed to be the only one not doling out praise to the moves Danny Ferry made last year. Um, does any part of Damon Jones, Larry Hughes and Donyell Marshall scream "championship" to you?]

LeBron James is not a businessman — "he's a business, man." From Sprite to Nike to Bubble Yum, 'Bron's face is ubiquitous. Apart from the mere marketing blitz, and in addition to establishing himself as a brand name a la Jordan, LBJames is positioning himself to become a one-man empire. MJ had traditional Joe Namath/Wilt Chamberlain aspirations of athlete coolness. Shaq went the entertainment route, going for juvenile Denzel-meets-Biggie status. Lebron, in an unprecedented manner, wants to be Donald Trump: surrounding himself with a personal business team (AKRON FAMILY), pioneeringly rejecting a maximum contract extension in favor for waiting for a new NBA Labor deal (so he can cash out even bigger), and publicly proclaiming his hopes to become the world's first billionaire athlete.

One has to wonder the degree to which these financial goals (in addition to the man's standard super-endorser workload), like Shaq and his ill-fated music and film attempts, are providing any sort of distraction to 'Bron's quest for his pre-destined Larry O'Brien blingometer. We famously remember (Del Harris playing the fall guy) Phil Jackson telling Shaq to abandon his Hollywood exploits in favor of focusing exclusively on winning a championship. Who will be around to get Bronzino's mind right? Everyone is tiptoeing around E.1999 Eternal so shook that 'Bron might flee Cleveland that nobody wants to say a word. 'Bron's grip on the league has grown too strong, too quickly. His power within the Cleveland organization ultimately undermines the authority of Mike Brown, the best young coach in The Association next to Skiles, which eventually will pose major problems for the team's championship aspirations. LeBron can't do it alone, and he can't do it with so much more on his mind than the game itself. As with Jeters and Mannings, the league marionette-masters will do everything in their power to assure LeBron gets is L.O'B. That LeBron seems all too aware of his destiny may provide some unforeseen roadblocks in his path.

Oddly enough, the solution to 'Bron's predicament is that he must use his power for further evil instead of faux-good. Instead of this hokey peace-keeping/"I like Larry Hughes and think he can be my Pippen" bullshucks, I would like to James stronghold the organization. Make them recognize that everyone from Daniel Gibson to Daniel Gilbert is an employee of LeBron James Enterprises. If 'Bron gets sick of Damon Jones yapping, chucking up shots and playing zero defense, he should force the team to trade Jones away. The next time Larry Hughes goes down with a pinky injury, LeBron should rip him to shreds. If 'Bron doesn't get 20 shots a game, he should throw a fit. The Cavaliers already cater to his every wish (for subtle examples, see: signing Drew Gooden, firing Paul Silas), so he might as well use his pull to get his team playing like dawgs. Also, it would give him a chance to wipe that creepy deliberate perma-smile off of his face.

Bronzino's mental state aside, one has to wonder whether his game can actually sustain its unmatched 2005-2006 level, or furthermore, if 'Bron's game is suited for winning a championship alongside a supporting cast that now rates below that of Miami, Detroit and even Chicago. No player in recent history has single-handedly dominated a playoff run from the small forward spot. One could argue that Larry Bird did exactly that, but even Bird was backed up by a hall-of-fame frontcourt. One has to worry that 'Bron's hybrid/Magic-at-the-3 position is not conducive to league domination, without being complimented by some serious co-stars (see: NOT Larry Hughes). Commissioner Stern's biggest fear should be that LeBron turns out to be nothing more than KG with a better developing three-point stroke, which at this point remains a possibility. The solution to this problem of plagued anti-positionality, which would ultimately solve the problem of Cleveland's PG situation as well, would be stick LBJ at the 1. That way, the Cavs, and the league itself get to see the ball in the hands of the man who already holds their future in his palms — and what a show he would run.

No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day, up to tipoff next Tuesday.

Today: Carmelo Anthony. Your author is Brown Recluse, Esq. His words are after the jump.

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The '05-06 season was a breakthrough of sorts for Carmelo Anthony, who upped his scoring average nearly six points (to 26.5 per) and led the Nuggets to the top of the Western Conference Northwest Division. Yet, whatever advances 'Melo made during the regular season were soon forgotten after his scoring dropped back down to 21 ppg in the playoffs, as Denver went down 4-1 to the historically woeful Clippers in the first round. The haters in the media began voicing the same doubts about whether he was a truly elite player, whether he belonged in the same class as his homies Bron Bron and D-Wade, both fresh off virtuosic playoff performances, with Wade's garnering him both the Larry O'Brien and Finals MVP trophies.

Enter the Land of the Rising Sun: the birthplace of sushi, Hello Kitty, my grandfather, and Phase 2 of Melo's career. It may be a bit hyperbolic to state that, at only age 22, the man's career was already in need of resuscitation, but with all the hype surrounding 'Melo, it's easy to forget that he has yet to make an All-Star Game or lead his team out of the first round of the playoffs. Going into the FIBA World Championships, Anthony's stock was lower than anyone else on the squad, relative to expectations. Would anyone trade Carmelo Anthony for Shane Battier? Of course not, but no one's ever expected Sugar Shane to carry an NBA team either. Although Team USA fell short of the gold medal, Anthony emerged as the team leader, being selected a tri-captain, then leading the Americans in scoring and making first team all-tourney.

While he has often suffered in comparison to his 2003 Draft classmates, 'Melo has always been the People's Champ, rocking cornrows, getting in bar fights and appearing in hood documentaries while the clean-cut James and Wade carefully cultivate their off-court personae. His minor scrapes with the law (and, really, they've been very minor, barely requiring a Band-Aid, no Neosporin needed) have only served to make him appear more human and more relatable to the jersey-buying set. Fresh off his summer success, Anthony looks ready to become a genuine NBA folk hero, with his newly mature game paired with that million dollar smile. It's a prospect that must have opposing coaches drawing up new defensive schemes and his agent test driving Maybachs.

But, let's be real. Even if he's a new 'Melo, they're basically the same Nuggets. He's still got to do battle with the giants of the Western Conference playing with an oft-injured frontcourt, no proven shooting guard and for a notoriously moody coach. Winning with this crew should prove a substantially bigger challenge than playing with a group of All-Stars, as he did in Japan. I realize it's pretty absurd to criticize a 22-year-old (did I already mention he's only 22?) for failing to lead his team to postseason riches when he won a NCAA championship as a college freshman and then carried Team USA to what would have been a gold medal, had it not been for a Herculean long distance shooting display from the Greeks. Still, the fact remains that 'Melo has yet to take over in big games on a consistent basis. Until he does, he'll always be in the shadows of Lebron James and Dwyane Wade. Maybe just slightly obscured, but in the shadows all the same.

The harsh reality of today's NBA is that Anthony might have failed by succeeding. If he can't follow up his impressive performance in Japan with at least a spot on his first All-Star team and an appearance in the second round of the playoffs, the same old doubts will come creeping up. It'll be like going from being the Bird to Lebron's Magic (or was it the other way around?) back to those hated Glenn Robinson comparisons all over again. The flipside is that if Anthony does finally fulfill his potential and emerge as a mature, dominant player, will he lose his populist appeal in the process? You can't please all the people all the time. Buena suerte, 'Melo, buena suerte.

No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day, up to tipoff next Tuesday.

Today: Kobe Bryant. Your author is Bethlehem Shoals. His words are after the jump.

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Eighty-one points, the most ungodly run of scoring proficiency since MJ, a late-season belief in the team concept, a classic tussle with the heavily-favored Suns in which he hit new highs and lows of basketball character — unless you've been living beneath the wrong sky, you know all about that. Bean Thousand may never live up to the impossibly high standard he's taught us to hold him to; while he has so much poise it's uncomfortable, his judgment and ego are still Achilles-like ironies. But there's no way that, especially during that seminal Round 1, a sane man could watch Kobe and not suspect he was watching absolute offensive perfection. Anyone who says otherwise has no one but their own arrogance to blame.

Remember when debating Iverson was pretty much synonymous with talking NBA? I do, and I know now that not many people bother with it anymore. Yes, Iverson has reined in his game a tiny bit over the years, which mostly means he mans the one and lets an assist fly now and then. What really happened, though, is that the Association's landscape morphed, new stars shone, and all of a sudden Iverson just wasn't as important. Although AI remains a polarizing figure, now the world can accept that one loves him or hates him, and that what fuels these fires is emotional, personal, and in no way a matter of universal law. Last season began with the usual senseless smears and paeans, but by the end, more and more people had no problem admitting that Kobe was not the Antichrist. Their lives would no longer be tarnished for it.

So suppose the trial, Shaq, the smirk, the rock and Nutella are now soggy embers. Kobe may be finally getting a chance to merely be a transcendent basketball player, rather than the Next Jordan or public enemies Nos. 1-5. Heading into this season, 24's dealing with less burden than ever, and thus needs to get down to business and author that second act. What we all want to know is whether Kobe can (as weird as this sounds) harness his mastery of the game instead of getting pretentious about it. Whether we can see him execute the triangle with that efficiency that makes Phil's beard drip. And to feel that, demons or no demons, Kobe Bryant can step on a basketball court and comport himself like an honest grown-up.

Kobe Bryant just needs to play ball. Of course, that's impossible. If you caught his "Inside the NBA" guest spot, you have some sense of how cerebral the man is. It's only in the last quarter that he slips into anything like a groove or a trance, and even there it's more like a demonic lockstep of the will. He's a constant strategizing, psychologizer and trickster, not unlike the Zen Master over on the bench. You'd like to think, though, that Kobe could once and for all make this a part of his game, rather than making it a distraction from getting things done.

The addition of Vlad and Farmar certainly haven't made the Lakers worse, Odom will build on his triumphant last couple of months, and Kwame, Bynum, Smush and Turiaf aren't the kind of young players who pose more of a problem as they age. Ultimately, though, improvements around Kobe won't mean shit unless he gives them some round. This doesn't mean fewer shots, less fanfare or a more balanced attack. Really, it's about Kobe letting basketball just be basketball, since a lot of the world finally seems ready to let him do that. He needs to recognize that's he got that freedom.

If he can't? Then eff it, the rest of y'all have been right all along.

No site captures this feel more than the great Free Darko, which we read like a doctor's chart every day during the NBA season. They understand the dichotomy between individual achievement and collective glory, and how those are not mutually exclusive. And they've got a way with letters too.

Therefore, we've asked them to look at the arcs of certain players going into this season, what 2006-07 means to them, their teams and their legacies. They'll be previewing a player a day, up to tipoff next Tuesday.

Today: Gilbert Arenas. Your author is Bethlehem Shoals. After the jump.

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In '05-06, Gilbert Arenas was putting up a wondrous 28.2 points per game at the break, but failed to make the All-Star team. Indignant and emboldened, he got in on a technicality the week of, and then looked jittery and out of place the few times he touched the ball. He propelled his Washington Wizards to their second straight playoff visit, only to have LeBron's shadow bury this accomplishment. In a scorching six-game series, the Mad Cuban went blow-for-blow with The King, only to choke on a pair of late game free-throw misses so strange they were almost forgivable. Team USA? Came, saw, impressed, offended ... and was cast out under a cloud of right wing conspiracy. Revenge has been promised.

Arenas has claimed that he's not quirky, and no athlete today does as much to confuse — and charm — us fans as Agent Zero. Maybe there's a reasonable explanation for all of his legendary pranks and habits, and maybe the press has gone out of its way to paint this interesting guy as a nude maniac. But the bottom line is ... well, there is no such solid thing. How exactly do you make sense of the NBA's most eccentric figure asking a reporter what eccentric means? A borderline superstar so underrated he becomes a scrappy underdog? A reckless, streaky performer who logs endless hours in the gym? A shoot-first point guard who's virtually impossible to dislike? Calling anything "Zen-like" should be avoided at all costs, but at this point Arenas is more bottomless riddle than one-note lightweight.

The question lingers, though, if Gilly Gil can indeed raise up and hit that rich note required of true franchise gawdz. FreeDarko is all for the uniqueness, and certainly the NBA could use a few more full-fledged personalities like His Zeroness. Still, it's hard for a leader to rally others if his emotional logic makes sense only to him, or requires extensive rationalization. Even if he cedes the veteran wisdom responsibility to the distinguished Antawn Jamison, his cohorts still have to be able to trust his game, feel the power, if they're going to strap their fortunes up on top of his back. Arenas may not have as many flaws as Iverson, but the Answer sets a clear tone for others, while Arenas-as-motivation is like getting your Scripture through a translation engine.

Not surprisingly, it's anyone's guess what a "mature" Arenas would look like. While he's rarely given the same harsh treatment as some of his peers in combo-dom, his critics would probably suggest fewer shots, a move to the two, better discipline, and so on. I can't imagine Coach Jordan wouldn't like to have a little clearer idea of what Arenas is doing, thinking, or planning from second-to-second. And as a fan, I would like to see the guy find a middle-ground between good-natured insouciance and dead-eyed fury. The truth is, whatever Gilbert does, it won't resemble the usual clich s of "putting it all together" or "getting with the program." If Arenas can turn his unpredictability into flexibility, and the rest of the Wizards can undergo the counseling necessary to see things his way, the NBA's holy fool might be hailed as a visionary in a season or two.

Then again, it might be that, like Iverson, Arenas is an incandescent gamble that can only pay out so much. Stifling or grooming this cheery vortex might backfire; we might be forced to admit that Arenas is what he is, is what he is because of how he is, and will only go as far as that will take him. At this juncture the man is such a high-profile enigma — try wading through recent NBA coverage without bumping into a piece on him — that the world might not allow him to change. Especially if the shift is more subtle, come May, you still might be bombarded with Gilbertology 101 even if real observers can smell the difference. Dismal as all this sounds, it's the perception Arenas will be up against this coming season, as he tries to shed some of the same reputation that's now starting to make a household name out of him.