What are the ingredients that turn NBA players into superstars?
They have to be really good at basketball, obviously. It doesn’t hurt to play in a market that provides a platform for them to regularly showcase their abilities to the nation. A little showmanship and being in some national commercials likely help as well. There are more spices, juices, and seasonings which are needed in a superstar-stew, but those seem to be some of the core components.
Nevertheless, only one of those things actually matters — you know, the whole being good at basketball thing. It wouldn’t really matter if a potential superstar was in every Nike commercial this side of the Mississippi if he averaged 6 points per game.
There are some rather obvious superstars in today’s NBA. We have established ones such as LeBron James, Steph Curry, and James Harden. For older, declining stars, see Tim Duncan (we should all “decline” the way he has, of course), Kobe Bryant, and Dwyane Wade. Finally, there’s the list of soon-to-be or “budding” superstars. Young studs like Kawhi Leonard, Jimmy Butler, and Andrew Wiggins are all in position to one day find themselves being regularly labeled superstars by fans and the media.
We didn’t even mention the more than a handful of other, already deemed stars (Durant, Westbrook, etc.). Long story short, being an NBA superstar isn’t exactly an elitist term we reserve for only four or five guys. If a guy could ball in the league, generally speaking, he is considered all sorts of awesome.
Which makes me wonder: Why isn’t Atlanta Hawks’ big man, Al Horford, considered a superstar? To get that answer, though, we might need to look at our history of how we look at teams.
Atlanta is considered starless by most, much like the Larry Brown-led Detroit Pistons of the 2003-’05 seasons. Those teams were comprised of ultra-talented players such as Chauncey Billups, Rip Hamilton, Ben Wallace, and Rasheed Wallace. Much of the banter back then, a narrative still used today when we talk about this team, is how they won an NBA title — and went to another — without having a superstar… because, according to NBA by-laws apparently, teams without superstars are not allowed to win titles.
Um, yeah… about that. While we all like to pretend that team won without a star, revisionist history might be a forced necessity. Rasheed Wallace was always a top-five talent in the NBA. He may have irregularly performed, but there were few power forwards in his day as versatile or as good; Ben Wallace was a defensive marvel, one that was regularly in contention to win Defensive Player of the Year awards. Rip Hamilton was a mid-range assassin who made three All-Star teams; oh, and Billups is a borderline Hall of Fame player.
At worst, Detroit had at least one superstar. However, because many of the key parts to that team were leftovers from other squads who seemed like failures before being led by Larry Brown, the narrative solidified into the idea that the Pistons had players fit well together because all had specific roles. That is kind of fair, but it doesn’t mean they were without stars. It was just easier for everyone to accept that idea, though, since they had no idea how a once-bust prospect like Billups, a headcase like Sheed, an unknown commodity in Ben Wallace, and others could create a team of consequence in the NBA.
Our default as humans is to get an idea or definition stuck in our heads. Things are not allowed to change from that default setting because we make it that way. All of those players on the Pistons were already good athletes, but it took them awhile to find their NBA footing. By the time they did, though, it was too late in terms of the “name game.” We labeled them all a certain way, and there’s no changing that after we made our mind up.
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Back to Horford and Atlanta. Because the Hawks are, well, the Hawks, we can’t trust them. There’s no reason to. While the San Antonio Spurs will forever be given the benefit of the doubt, the opposite holds true for the Hawks. We don’t believe in them, because history says not to, so we look for reasons to dismiss them — as is evident by how few are picking them to even have a shot against the Cleveland Cavaliers or how many buried their entire regular season’s worth of success because they have thus far struggled in the playoffs.
Enter the “without a star” narrative.
Atlanta is similar to those Detroit teams in that “we don’t understand” way. Why are the Hawks good? Well, many reasons. You just haven’t been paying attention because they aren’t the Lakers, Knicks, Celtics, or a team which has been deemed more enjoyable to our senses.
They also have a roster filled with guys who perform specific roles. Kyle Korver is the “shooter,” Paul Millsap is the “veteran,” Kent Bazemore the “energy guy,” Dennis Schröder the “slight, undersized backup,” and so on.
That shouldn’t mean any of those guys are lesser players than other guys in the league who fit similar roles. However, we feel the need to peg them into very tight niches to help explain away the idea that this team does, in fact, have a superstar. Basically, people have been subconsciously doing to Atlanta what they did to Detroit 11 years ago.
Al Horford isn’t in commercials. He isn’t on highlight packages featured on ESPN, either. What he is, though, is a consistently impactful player who has been playing out of position for most of his NBA career. Unfortunately for him, he plays in Atlanta, a place where only diehard fans care to partake in watching them on the picture-box.
His entire career has been met with indifference. No one would ever tell you he is a bad or overrated player, but no one is saying he is a superstar, either. That’s mostly because not many people are talking about him at all. Or, at least, not as often as they should.
Only 28 years old, despite seeming like he entered the league when Vlade Divac was still flopping around the Association, Al Horford is this close (puts thumb and index finger one millimeter from each other) to being a real-life double-double monster. While we regularly throw out “he’s an 18-10 guy” all the time for points and rebounds, very few actually are. Horford, on the other hand, is a 14.2-9.2 player for his career (22-14 per 100 possessions).
He does that while averaging only 11 shots per game throughout his seven-year journey. Furthermore, he’s been incredibly efficient (a .541 shooting percentage from the field), and is a more than reliable defensive player night-in and night-out. Al Horford is, at worst, an incredibly consistent player, one the Hawks know they can rely on every single night.
It is vital to note he has done all of this while playing out of position for most of his career. While Kevin Garnett’s transition from power forward to center at the end of his career was met with much discussion, no one even mentions that Horford has done this almost every night of his basketball life. This is something that should be met with even more reverence, as well as adding to the majestic narrative that should already hover around all Horford-related discussions.
Even while playing out of position on such a regular basis, Horford excels. He might even thrive in this role. While it is incredibly fun to think what his numbers and individual successes may have looked like if he were given ample opportunities to play his more natural position, he is a matchup nightmare for opponents. Put a center on him? Fine, he’ll pull him away from the bucket and shoot 15-footers. Oh, so now a power forward? Awesome, he’ll post him up and bang him around until he is ready to tap out to the figure-four leg lock.
Remember all of this when Atlanta and Cleveland are battling it out for a spot in the NBA Finals. Your friends will tell you how Atlanta has no shot because the Cavs have LeBron and Kyrie Irving — both accepted superstars. They will sit on your couch — YOUR COUCH — to tell you things they have no actual knowledge of, because they are afraid. They are scared of things they don’t know or understand. They are scared of not knowing how to talk about Al Horford.
Maybe that is exactly who Horford will forever be in the public mind: a player who doesn’t play in a big market, isn’t plugging shoes all over the worldwide-interwebs, a power forward forced to play center, and a guy Larry from down the road will never appreciate until it is too late.
But there’s still hope for you. Don’t be Larry from down the road.
Appreciate Al Horford now, because he is what he is. What he happens to be is the most underappreciated supertar in the entire NBA.
