Last week marked the re-entrance of another major sport back into the limelight and onto our TV screens. The return of the NBA was punctuated with solidarity with the Black Lives Matter movement, social messaging on players’ jerseys, and clearly rusty defense leading to ridiculously high-scoring games like this. The restart got me thinking back to the time I first began watching basketball and the player who got me to fall in love with the sport.
I had only grown watching cricket so the game of basketball was largely foreign to me. But by happenstance, as the 2004-05 NBA season began, I had access to all Phoenix Suns games and a lot of free time. My first memory is of him sliding past a seven foot giant on the way to the hoop, just about to lay the ball in, before whipping it away from an oncoming shot blocker and passing it behind his head, without looking, to an open man just behind the three-point line, who knocked down the shot with ease. I didn’t know much about the game of basketball, but I knew that there was this one guy called Steve Nash, and for me he was basketball.
The Phoenix Suns franchise was an afterthought in the crowded Western conference of the NBA, always packed with a bunch of talented teams vying for a scarce number of playoff spots. Nash began his career in Phoenix before he was traded to the Dallas Mavericks where he played for six years. It was here that he gradually matured into an All-Star caliber of a player, combining like peanut butter and jelly with future Dallas legend and NBA great Dirk Nowitzki to great success. But he re-joined the Suns in 2004, just as the team was dusting off an abject 29-53 win-loss season. His return led to the most successful years in Suns history and to the most exciting era in NBA history.
Nash’s style of play as a point guard was mesmerizing to witness, especially as someone entirely new to the game. He didn’t play basketball as much as he conducted basketball, directing his teammates like an air traffic controller. He made immeasurable calculations in real time and saw plays happen before they actually did in that computer of a brain. He grew up playing football and even contemplated a professional career; his instincts as a footballer were apparent in his vision and the decisions he made on the basketball court. A playmaker in the mold of midfielder Kevin De Bruyne, Nash pulled the threads like a puppeteer. Watching him play was an education, as he put on an offensive clinic nearly every night.
Basketball, I noticed, was a game all about space. Whether it was creating enough space between your defender to launch a shot or finding space to make a pass to a teammate, Nash thrived whenever he had the space on the court to work his magic. And all he needed was a tiny sliver of space. Many times he would be able to manufacture, out of thin air, just that small bit of separation between whoever was guarding him in order to set up the next basket. Weaving in and out of traffic, he had an uncanny ability to insert himself in the unlikeliest of spaces and positions while simultaneously planning and executing a play which more often than not resulted in a field goal. The man could find space in a Mumbai local train at rush hour.
Nash’s contribution to the game was best measured by the number of assists he made, a pass to a teammate in a way that leads to a made shot. He could have written a book called ‘The Art of the Pass.’ He perfected the no-look pass, the behind-the-back pass, and the no-look behind-the-back pass. If there was any humanly possible way of bending the ball through the air or off the bounce to an open teammate, he would find it. He would somehow ensure that the ball ended up in the hands of the person most likely to score. I swear he had eyes on the back of his head. In addition to his incisive playmaking and assisting others to make easy shots, he was a potent scorer himself. An inch of space meant he could dance his way to the basket for a straightforward, or if it demanded, an improbable circus of a lay up. And he could finish strong with either hand. On his day, which was more often than not, he was unguardable.
He was also arguably the best shooter of his time and one of the best of all time. His range extended to anywhere on the court. He could pull up from his dribble and create his own shot, or he could catch and shoot. He could shoot falling back, one footed, off-balance, fading away from the basket and still impossibly score. Mid-range jump shots and three-pointers from the corners or the wings were often daggers in the opponents’ hearts.
My favorite was when he would run full force at his defender, stop on a dime to throw the player off, and then use that space to bury the shot with an exquisite jumper. His accuracy at free-throw shooting is legendary (90.4% through his entire career, second highest all time behind Stephen Curry). Nash heading to the foul line was always considered as automatic points. A four time member of the 50-40-90 club (50% field goal percentage, 40% three point shooting percentage, 90% free throw percentage across an entire season), Nash’s reputation as one of the most effective shooters ever is indisputable.
However, it wasn’t just a flair for distributing the ball and an artistry of sublime shot-making that he infused the game with, the man was tough as nails. Nash was a modest, for NBA standards, 6 foot 3 inch, 80 kg player but in that lean frame he packed a surprising amount of fortitude and guts to withstand anything thrown at him. Elbow to the mouth, elbow to the eye, cut to the nose, dislocated nose, and body slams. The man has bled on the court like a basketball Rambo. His resilience and ability to bounce back from setbacks was remarkable.
I remember him keeping the Suns single-handedly alive in the game by knocking down three-pointer after three-pointer despite a profusely and constantly bleeding nose. I remember him shrugging off an egregious hip check from Robert ‘Cheap Shot’ Horry, crashing into the scorers’ table, getting back up on his feet to have a go at Horry, and willing the team to a crucial win with a 24 point, 15 assist outing. I remember him getting elbowed in his right eye, blood pouring out, eye swelling up, tape holding it back, him soldiering on and essentially playing the last quarter of the game with one eye, leading his team to a series-clinching victory. That all three of these iconic incidents occurred in the playoffs against arch-rivals San Antonio Spurs, a team that eliminated the Suns on multiple occasions and caused ineffable heartbreaks in Phoenix, says something about his fearless warrior-leader reputation who was willing to do anything to win.
At the same time, it wasn’t a one-man show upon his return to Phoenix. His teammates included explosive big men like Amar’e Stoudemire and Shawn Marion and skillful shooting guards like Joe Johnson and Leandro Barbosa. These guys could score, and how. Most importantly, in Phoenix, Nash found himself playing under a coach who was undoubtedly perfectly matched to fit with his playing style - Mike D’Antoni. D’Antoni’s high-octane, fast-paced offense relied on Nash to be the mastermind to make it all work. Those run-and-gun Suns teams from 2004 to 2010 espoused a style famously dubbed as ‘Seven Seconds or Less’ which was essentially a ‘shoot first, ask questions later’ approach.
He was the most fascinating player on the most fascinating team of that era. With Nash leading the charge, these teams were hugely successful and immensely fun to watch. And he made it all seem so simple, so effortless. Nash and the Suns made deep playoff runs but their frenetic brand of basketball wasn’t enough to earn them a title or even a spot in the NBA Finals. The fact that Nash never even got a chance to challenge for the biggest prize in basketball will always hurt a little. For me, he is one of the greatest players in the history of the league to not win the ultimate trophy.
But he is also a bit more than that. He is the face of the franchise of my beloved Phoenix Suns in their heyday. He is a two time recipient of the Most Valuable Player award. He is a battle-hardened fighter who had an insatiable desire to win, playing with unrelenting back pain for most of his career. He is an all around nice guy, on and off the court, unselfish with the ball and invariably making the players around him better. He is the reason why I started watching, playing, and loving basketball, and somehow still the reason I watch, play, and love it today.