Head’s up, Jimmer.
The crowd is closing in now and they’ve begun kicking and screaming, now that you went down shooting.
They say you don’t play defense.
They say you shoot too much.
They blame you for the loss to Florida in the Sweet 16.
No handle. No hops.
Tune it out, because, dude, you can shoot.
It’s increasingly rare, really, that someone can shoot like you do. It’s like watching the Jordan versus Bird McDonald’s commercials.
“Off the scoreboard, off the floor, nothing but net.”
They can pick holes in your game, that’s fine – frankly, I agree with most of the widely held qualms about your style of play.
But they are missing the point.
This wasn’t ever about defense, or dropping dimes, or a floor-slapping defensive possession.
This was about a kid who once played at the New York State Pen, dropped 40 and got a standing ovation from the prisoners. At the age of 10. With armed guards surrounding the court.
There’s far more wrong with the media than there is with your game. They don’t get it – it’s about the show.
You’re playing for every has-been gunner, every Y-League and open gym average Joe who thinks he can fill it up. Every guy who’d rather catch a blow on defense as opposed to fighting throw another screen. Just makes you more tired on offense and who needs that, really.
If you played for anyone but BYU, maybe you’d have to play more D. Truth is, you’re the only offense that team had. And they know it.
Sure, I wondered why you didn’t take the Tyus kid to the hole off the ball screen switch late in the Florida game like you had throughout the year when the bigs switched on you at the top of the key, but there was something strangely and perfectly poetic about a gunner going down, well, gunning.
From deep water. From downtown. From where the dust settles on the court.
You emptied your gun, and from a former has-been gunner, I tip my hat.
They want to point to your lack of defense and overall quickness as an NBA sin, something that you’ll pay for down the road.
Maybe.
Or maybe you’ve just solidified the legend of Jimmer Fredette.
We will talk about you for decades, long after Nolan Smith, Kyle Singler and Harrison Barnes have been forgotten, including what team they played for. There’s nothing different or discernible about everyone else’s game – except yours.
The deep ball.
You dropped 40 on teams who double teamed you as effortlessly as a newspaper being dropped off on a doorstep every morning.
So what if you can’t, won’t or haven’t played any defense? What does that matter? Why does your game have to fall into some finely printed stat sheet? Not everyone can be Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant or Rajon Rondo.
Stat sheets are meant to be filled, right? Who said you had to fill every category?
The media decided it would be nice if you did, I suppose. And now, they’ve recently decided that since you only fill up the points column, there’s a problem with you.
No, no, Jimmer, the problem is with them.
In today’s game, nearly every player can jump and put their head on the rim, every guy is quick. Seven-footers take threes, point guards grab a dozen rebounds.
But you, you my friend are an old soul – you shoot and shoot and shoot.
And then, you shoot some more.
What’s ironic is that same 7-footer who can shoot a three can’t make a drop-step power move and shies away from physical contact down low. The point guard who grabs 15 rebounds and dishes out 10 assists? He can’t shoot a pull-up jumper to save his life – or hit a free throw.
So what’s their problem, these haters? They salivate over those guys, but snub their nose at you?
What’s wrong with a 6-foot-2, curly haired, stocky guard filling it up for two straight years and firing from 30-feet?
What’s wrong with a college athlete who is polite, smart and reads the Bible in their hotel room and doesn’t have tattoo sleeves?
Nothing.
There is nothing wrong with you. Don’t let them tell you otherwise, either.
You bring something to the game that no one else can: the wow factor.
Out of all the basketball that’s seen in our house, your 28-foot three-pointer, from just inside the American ribbon on the floor, with about five minutes to go last Thursday is the only play all year that made my 9-year-old son completely freak out.
I mean, laughing, jumping, arms waving, did-you-see-that-dad, freak out.
Who else has a catch phrase (You Got Jimmered!)? Who else would be described as having “Jimmer Range”?
Am I crazy, or isn’t that meant as a compliment?
Apparently, because your team lost, you played little defense and you uncharacteristically shot the ball like every other college player for once, it’s a bad thing to them now.
Maybe they should pay attention to the other factors at play – like the fact that your team’s second best player was booted off the team and, against Florida, a real contender until they hit Butler’s Tournament Magic (someone copyright that, pronto), you were BYU’s only chance.
Did anyone mention that Florida’s team was taller and vastly more athletic at every position? That Florida was filled with Billy Donovan’s five-stars while BYU had one star – you? That you had your chin busted open and were dealing with a calf strain?
Anybody touch on the fact that you played all 44-minutes with said calf strain and busted chin? That you had to put up more trick shots than one would at a Harlem Globetrotters tryout?
Wait, you were supposed to pass to the open man, right? Yeah, the same guys who, when they did get an open look, blew an assortment of layups and 10-footers that most third grade teams would make?
Don’t apologize for that.
Your teammates should be grateful that you dragged their carcasses around for the last two years and for allowing them to be a part of it.
Instead, you get this, from teammate Nick Martineau:
“The weird thing is, [his defense] has gotten progressively worse over the year. From the start, he’s never really been accountable to it, but it’s just gotten looser as the year’s gone on. But he can play defense. He really can. He’ll definitely tighten it up for the NBA.”
Allow me to retort for you, Jimmer.
Hey Nick, your offense has gotten progressively worse and you’ve never been accountable for it. But we’re sure you can play it. You’ll definitely show your game at local Provo Y-Leagues and BYU Alumni games.
See, it’s easy to be critical of others. The point of basketball, aside from outscoring the other team and winning, is to compliment your teammates as best you can.
Looking back, to prove these ungrateful people wrong, they should have taken a couple games and just ran the offense through your teammates, Jimmer. Then, we would see how well the Cougars did. Watch those ESPN headlines roll in, right? Think they still beat a top ranked team twice in conference and secure a 3-seed in the NCAA Tournament?
Please.
Without Jimmer, BYU doesn’t even sniff the tournament. Without Jimmer, they win only a handful of games.
Without Jimmer, we all suffer. We suffer from watching the same mindless ball screens, pick and rolls and motion offenses where every player scores between six and 16 points a game.
No one says “Give me more Wisconsin basketball!”
No one’s watching five passes and then a shot from 14-feet. This isn’t 1955 and we’re not wearing nut-huggers anymore. You have to do something different, something special.
You were and are different, Jimmer. Don’t ever change.
When you get your NBA tryouts with various teams over the next few months, give ‘em Jimmer Range. If they ask you about your defense, tell them your offense is your defense.
Keep living the dream, on behalf of gunners everywhere.
Keep shooting, kid.
Empty your gun, if only because nobody else will.
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