The Way We Play Here: Searching for Howie

If the Jazz can get everybody on the same page, they have the talent to make some noise. (Rick Bowmer via The Salt Lake Tribune)

Scoring an invitation to Monday night hoops in the gym on my Brooklyn block was a really big deal. I had figured out that the Jewish temple had a court in the basement because I had seen guys coming and going with basketballs the whole time I lived on Garfield Place. I was always desperate to figure out how I could get involved in these games that took place about 20 steps from my front door, and then I randomly met a guy at a friend’s party who knew the organizer of the Monday night run and got me connected. When I finally got invited to fill an open spot, I was anxious to prove myself so I could become a regular.

The first time I caught a pass on the left wing, I must have subconsciously thought: here’s my chance to show what I can do. I backed up, dribbled the ball through my legs a few times and tried to hezzy my way inside to show the fellas I belonged. Except that I was a 30-something, slightly-out-of-shape non athlete (who was never that great to begin with). So instead of wowing everybody with my over-dribbling, left angle drive, I did all that only to have the ball knocked away and out of bounds.

That’s when Howie pulled me aside.

Howie was one of the oldest guys in those runs, but universally respected. It wasn’t technically his pickup game, but he had been playing in that gym for years and people listened when he talked. While we were waiting for play to resume, Howie grabbed me and said, almost under his breath but with real purpose in his voice, “The way we play here, if you move the ball, you’re going to get it back.”

That’s all he said, but I immediately knew what he meant.  He was saying, in the nicest way possible: Yeah, don’t do that. But he was also telling me the key to getting invited back. He was giving me the key to, quite literally, “the way we play here.”

What happened next was — to be honest, I have no idea. I don’t remember. Because it wasn’t about me anymore. After Howie politely schooled me on The Way We Play Here, I just went back to playing smart, fun, team basketball. And I got invited back. And then I started getting invited to the Thursday game. And the Tuesday game. And the Sunday game. I played hundreds of hours of great basketball in that gym, in large part because someone took me aside and, in 16 words, reminded me what good basketball looks like.

Teams need a Howie. Someone who can occasionally remind guys about The Way We Play Here, including by saying in one way or another, “cut that shit out” when someone does something out of character. Whenever I showed up to a run and saw Howie doing his extended stretching routine against the wall at center court, I knew we were going to have a grown-up game. He quickly curtailed stupid arguments, he kept things copacetic, and he quietly insisted on having a certain kind of game. He had everybody’s respect despite not being the best basketball player in the gym, and he wielded that respect in a way that made everybody’s experience better.

If the Utah Jazz’s season ended today, the prevailing storyline about this year’s team would be the constant swirl of interpersonal drama and the sheer number of times they have fallen apart because of an apparent lack of trust in each other.

On talent alone, the Jazz have what they need to compete with anybody. That talent, coupled with a system based on generating smart advantages, powered literally one of the best offenses in league history. And their defense was also plenty solid when the main rotation guys were involved.

But far too often, the Jazz abandon their principles and their trust-based advantage offense when things get tough, like when they’re playing from behind or when an opponent ramps up the intensity late. Sixteen of their 33 regular season losses came after leading by double figures, including six games where they blew a double-digit lead in the fourth quarter. They underperformed their expected win total (based on efficiency differential) by a league-worst 8.5 games, per Cleaning the Glass, partially because of a bottom-10 clutch record and an abysmal 2-20 in games where they trailed after three quarters.

The late collapses followed them into the postseason, too. They weathered a Dallas run in Game 1, but in the second game of the series, they got outscored by 13 in the final eight minutes as the connectedness that had gotten them a fourth-quarter lead vanished.

On offense, the ball just stopped moving. In the final eight minutes, while Dallas was surging with a 24-11 run, the Jazz had five trips without a single pass after they crossed midcourt, and five other one-pass possessions. That’s 10 of their final 14 trips with minimal ball movement. Hardly advantage basketball. Instead, guys rushed uncomfortable attempts and flung shots across their body while running out of bounds.

“There were a few times we did some things that were a little — I did as well — kind of out of character. Just wild shots, or certain possessions where we didn’t get into things on time or where we turned it over where we shouldn’t,” Donovan Mitchell admitted after Game 2. “I don’t think any of us are too concerned about the offensive end. I think really what changed the game is defense.”

They were just as disconnected on the defensive end. On the play where Dallas went ahead for good, Danuel House Jr. momentarily lost Jalen Brunson, and Rudy Gobert immediately sank all the way down to the baseline to help. Except that House recovered nicely and never let the Mavs guard turn a corner, so by the end of the play, Gobert was guarding exactly nobody. Should he have trusted House’s recovery and stayed home on the shooter? Should Bojan Bogdanovic have rotated more aggressively across the top? Either way you diagnose this one, it’s an example of Jazz players not being on the same page — a common theme in multiple late-game collapses.

That’s just the on-court part. The bigger fear is that what is happening inside that rectangle is actually just the symptom of far deeper culture issues.  

For a couple of tense years now, we’ve heard Mitchell and Gobert insist that they don’t need to get along perfectly off the court in order to accomplish special things on it. Mitchell told a Yahoo! Sports podcast in February that it’s not necessary to “be the bestest of friends with people you work with.” Fine. But the pair’s icy relationship HAS made its way onto the hardwood.

Take a couple of plays in the collapse in Golden State on April 2, for example. Most Jazz fans remember the image of Gobert standing under the rim while Mitchell dribbles the ball 25 feet away with no intention of passing it to him — a viral moment that launched coach Quin Snyder’s 19-minute diatribe defending his players’ psyches.

Well here’s a less controversial image from just minutes earlier, basically the inverse of 45 not trusting 27 with the ball.

Another play from GSW-Utah.

Gobert sees Mitchell trailing on a cut, so he sinks all the way down into the paint. But now he’s nowhere in the vicinity to show on a dribble hand-off for one of the best shooters in league history. He instinctually assumed Mitchell couldn’t take care of business without his help, and it cost him a chance to impact the real action on the play.

Mitchell not giving Gobert a chance to succeed on offense. Gobert evidently wondering if Mitchell would do his job on defense. It’s sort of the same thing.

It’s not just these two, either. For as talented as they are, the Jazz are capable of playing tight, joyless, disconnected basketball for long stretches. That becomes contagious on a team that doesn’t have the right personalities to change the emotional energy. Far too often, it feels like the trust, joy, and execution that once made the Jazz look unstoppable are absent at the worst possible moments. And as of right now, that feels like the defining narrative of 2021-22.

But here’s the good news: the season doesn’t end today. The Jazz still have a chance to write the end of their own story.

“It’s all stuff we can fix,” Mitchell said Monday. “We’ll be better.”

To do so, they’ll need to refocus on their principles and and restore the trust in the collective execution on both ends. In other words, they could use a jolting, authoritative reminder of The Way We Play.

Now more than ever, the Jazz need someone with credibility to stand up and say, “This isn’t us.” Not just about the losses, or the stretches where they stop moving the ball or forget what team defense looks like. Not just about the myriad ways they’ve been finding to lose basketball games.

They also need someone to speak up about their culture. The finger pointing, the locker-room campaigning, the sniping with reporters… those aren’t winning behaviors. Teams with far more talent at the top — like Shaq and Kobe’s Lakers or the KD-era Warriors — can survive some amount of behind-the-scenes drama and still hoist trophies. For the Jazz, there’s a requisite level of connectedness that just doesn’t exist at times, and there seems to be a leadership void in terms of insisting on what a winning culture looks like.

The Jazz had a “Howie.” Joe Ingles had been in Utah for the entirety of Snyder’s tenure and consequently had a deep understanding of the coach’s principles — The Way We Play Here, if you will. He also was unafraid of speaking up, but did so with his disarming wit so as to take the edge off. That’s not to say he never rubbed anybody the wrong way, but generally speaking he was a prominent, respected voice and a steward of the Jazz’s identity and values.

One guy doesn’t keep a locker room in check by himself, but he can definitely tilt the balance. Once Ingles was gone, there was one less respected voice in the room to keep the Jazz centered on their values. 

In a perfect world, Mitchell could become the vocal leader who stands up for The Way We Play and puts an end to locker room bullshit. But that’s a big burden to carry for someone whose face is on the billboards and who already carries the offense. Plus, Mitchell can sometimes be the guy who needs those little cultural and basketball reminders himself. If it’s fully Don’s responsibility to steer the Jazz’s on-court and off-court identity, who’s going to correct him the next time he lobs zingers at a teammate or puts the blinders on in a game? 

Mike Conley is as respected as veterans come, and has tried to step up and fill the leadership void. He has spoken pointedly at times about the need for late execution, sometimes in terms that make it clear he’s addressing the Jazz’s main offensive creator. But he has also admitted that it’s not necessarily his default position to be overly vocal in his leadership style.

Gobert often speaks publicly about Utah’s on-court principles and also has spent virtually his entire career with Snyder, synching him spiritually to the Jazz’s tenets. “We just have to keep playing the right way, the same way, for 48 minutes,” he said after another late season collapse, this one to the Clippers.

But he has to be extra cautious about what he says and how, given his fraught relationship with Mitchell. Every time he speaks up, he has to balance the benefit of doing so against the possibility that he’ll rub someone the wrong way, intentionally or otherwise.

Jordan Clarkson is universally loved in that locker room, but precisely the easy-going personality that makes him a clubhouse favorite also makes him an unlikely candidate to call anybody to repentance. To a degree, the same is true for the likable Royce O’Neale and Bogdanovic, both high-effort players whose respective specialties have helped them flourish under Snyder, but not really the type to speak up in that way. House and Hassan Whiteside are on one-year contracts, and most of the rest of the guys are trying to battle their way to regular NBA minutes.

Rudy Gay could be an authoritative voice: he’s been in all kinds of situations in his 16 NBA years, and he’ll be with the Jazz for at least another season (barring trade), so he should be invested. Indeed, Gay has occasionally sounded like someone trying to remind his struggling team what they stand for as a unit.

“I think this is a team that is really talented, and can do a lot of different things. Sometimes, we can get away from who we are as a team and that shows,” Gay told the Tribune’s Andy Larsen after a loss in Brooklyn. “We’re a good team, but we have to stick to our principles, stick to what coach Quin teaches: ball movement, defensive versatility, but for the most part, playing for each other.”

That sounds pretty Howie-ish, doesn’t it? The only problem is that, barely a week later, Gay was making sideways comments about a teammate’s bank statements. That’s quite a journey to go from “we have to stick to our principles” to “he makes $40 million” in seven days time. Besides, his moral authority is a little less secure now that he finds himself just outside the rotation, his minutes usurped by the hustling Juancho Hernangomez.

It’s not clear who inside that locker room can be the one to say, “Hey guys, this isn’t us.” Until they figure that out, it IS part of who they are.

Of course, there’s one central Jazz figure whose voice could make a difference who we haven’t discussed.

To call Snyder a player’s coach isn’t quite accurate. He’s intense and detail-oriented, with specific expectations on both ends of the court. That said, Snyder clearly has a strengths-based approach to coaching. Instead of harping on weaknesses and picking players’ flaws apart, he appears to focus on what guys do well and treat them like adults and professionals — because they are both.

That style has earned the eighth-year head coach a lot of loyalty and helped him untap the best versions of a bunch of players. Clarkson used to frustrate coaches with his quirks, but Snyder made it clear when the mercurial guard arrived in Utah that he wanted him to be himself. The faith he showed in Clarkson ultimately produced enough goodwill that the latter did open himself up to certain refinements in his game and shot chart, and later Clarkson chose to remain in Utah in large part because of Snyder’s believe in him.

Conley cited his relationship with Snyder as a big factor in his decision to re-sign, and Ingles and O’Neale both went from generic overseas prospects to real NBA difference-makers because they played with a coach who is more interested in magnifying strengths than he is in beating the weaknesses out of a guy. Hell, Mitchell was a rookie when he was handed the keys to a playoff team’s offense. Snyder’s style gives players confidence, and then they can build a foundation to ultimately strengthen other parts of their game, too. O’Neale, Ingles, Gobert and Mitchell have all grown tremendously, so it’s not that Snyder isn’t interested in developing against opportunity areas; he just starts by believing in what a player can bring to the table today. Guys appreciate that, as would any human in any work environment.

That style has been a positive for the Jazz overall. Fans calling for Snyder to be more in the face of players after mistakes need to remember that a lot of the player development that has taken place in the last eight years in Utah has come because of Snyder’s tendency to believe in and stand behind his guys.

When Snyder famously yelled at a very young Jazz team to “Wake up!” back in 2014, it was effective precisely because it was far enough outside his usual M.O. to get guys’ attention. A people manager as savvy as him knows that he can only play that card so often before it loses its effect. 

With all of that said… it certainly feels like the Jazz could use another wake-up call right now. If Snyder isn’t the one to deliver it, I’m not sure where it comes from.

That makes this a fascinating test for Snyder, who is universally lauded for his X-and-O brilliance, player development results, and clever game planning. All of those things are a huge.

In terms of leading a great team through turmoil, his résumé is less established. The 2014-2017 teams were young groups, free of major expectations. There were interpersonal snipes to be managed here and there, but none of it registered on the NBA’s broader Richter scale because the Jazz weren’t super relevant yet. The next phase — from Mitchell’s arrival through the bubble season — were mostly about a team playing with house money, rising to prominence far faster than expected behind a precocious and likable offensive star and perhaps the game’s premier defensive force.

It wasn’t until last season that much was really expected of the Jazz, and those pressures seem to magnify every bit of disappointment and drama the current team has offered up.

So here it is: the first major test of Quin Snyder’s leadership under duress. Most of NBA history’s great coaches were undeniable basketball minds and savvy tacticians. The truly elite ones stood out from the crowd because of their ability to manage big personalities (think Phil Jackson) and persuade guys to get over themselves (a la Gregg Popovich). X-and-O wizards will always find work in this league, but Hall-of-Fame coaches are just as much psychologists, conflict resolvers, and flat-out leaders as they are basketball strategists.

Getting this team through the turmoil and focused on the right stuff as part of a huge playoff run would be a huge accomplishment for Snyder as a leader — even if it meant employing a slightly different style than his default persona as a supportive, pro-player bench boss who steers away from conflict.

Maybe Dwyane Wade, Danny Ainge or Justin Zanik can get more involved, but this doesn’t feel like something that’s going to be solved from an office upstairs. If the call to repentance doesn’t come from Snyder or from inside that locker room, it may not be enough to save this talented roster from imploding on itself.

Maybe, just maybe, the Jazz can still figure this out and have a special postseason.

They have taken more leads into fourth quarters this season than literally any other team, and despite all the collapses, injuries and drama, they finished the regular year with the third best net rating in non-garbage minutes. There’s a lot of evidence that they can hang with literally anybody in the field — if they get back to being connected, to trusting each other, to having fun.

Maybe someone can do for them what Howie did for me back on Garfield Place: issue a polite but unmistakeable reminder of just how enjoyable it is to play the right way.