HOW MANY TIMES in the past month have you thought, "Not again -- not another postseason injury for Chris Paul"? At least three: When he hurt a shoulder against the Los Angeles Lakers; when he contracted COVID-19 ahead of the conference finals despite being vaccinated; when he and Patrick Beverley collided in some starburst of boundary-pushing physicality -- resulting in Paul landing hard on his back and wrist.
We were on the verge of ill-timed injuries entering the first or second paragraph of Paul's career obituary.
And then: a 41-point masterpiece to propel the Phoenix Suns to their first NBA Finals since 1993 that doubled as the perfect distillation of Paul's ethos and style.
Paul flopped; he stirred up confrontations; he busted out the Smitty fake spin and his patented yo-yo dribble; he committed zero turnovers, and a preposterously low turnover rate has been maybe the least-discussed ingredient in Paul's hyper-calculated maximizing of every possession; and he hit so many snaking midrange jumpers from the right elbow -- the shot that has defined Paul's career, and made him (yes, the Chris Paul who just made his first Finals in Year 16, playing under a contract Houston Rockets governor Tilman Fertitta labeled perhaps the worst in sports history) one of the great crunch-time players of the past 20 years.
He even untucked his jersey after the last of his seven 3s, and if the referees had any sense of humor, they would have hit Paul with a technical -- a callback to last season, when Paul browbeat officials into whistling the Minnesota Timberwolves for a last-second delay-of-game technical because Jordan Bell checked in with his jersey untucked.
The only thing missing was Paul grifting his way to free throws in the bonus -- conning suckers with rip-throughs, sideways dribbles designed to create collisions, and other dark arts.
But the Paul tic that made me smile widest was a subtle one midway through the third quarter, when DeMarcus Cousins missed a 3-pointer. Patrick Beverley leapt for the offensive rebound, whiffed, and stumbled toward the baseline when Torrey Craig snared the ball. Paul, standing next to Craig, downloaded it right away: If we get moving while Beverley is behind us, we have an edge. He extended his hands for the ball, and by Paul standards, he was calm and measured.
Paul must be the all-time leader in demanding referees kindly give him the damned ball on inbounds plays so he can exploit some advantage he sees but they don't. He bounces on his toes, vibrating with excitement and impatience: Do you not see this? What are you waiting for?
Craig handed Paul the ball, and Paul rifled it ahead to Devin Booker -- the type of co-star perimeter shot creator Paul never had until his short partnership with James Harden. Booker sped up the left sideline, and in the chaos, two Clippers converged -- leaving Craig open for a trailing 3 that put Phoenix up 15. Almost invisibly, from thin air, Paul conjured three points.
A lot of players don't notice those little advantages after rebounding scrums -- tiny windows of space and time that close fast. Some pause too long figuring out how to leverage them. Some notice but don't feel the urgency to capitalize, at least not in ho-hum regular-season games.
Paul feels that urgency every second of his existence.
In the summer of 2017, Houston's coaches were taken aback when Paul in a casual pickup game in Las Vegas screamed out flare screens and stopped play to ask how the Rockets preferred to defend one action. "Chris is a militant," Jeff Bzdelik, then Houston's associate head coach, told me in 2017. "And I mean that in a good way."
Paul's perfectionism is not for everyone. But those who have been around Paul agree on this: His nitpicking suggestions are not about maximizing his points or touches -- not about anything other than what he sees as the best way to win.
He cannot stand to see any edge wasted. It is what makes Paul an irritant, and to some a grating teammate, but it is also what has driven this undersized point guard to historic greatness. The obsessive desire to win every possession is what makes the "Point God." He is a basketball junkie's basketball player.
And now he's in the Finals, with a chance to rewrite his place in basketball history.
BY HIS THIRD season, 2007-08, Paul was an MVP candidate leading a New Orleans Hornets team with legitimate Finals hopes. He closed out the Dallas Mavericks in the first round with a 24-point, 15-assist, 11-rebound triple-double.
The Hornets then lost in Game 7 to the San Antonio Spurs; Paul averaged 24 points and 11 dimes on 51% shooting. Paul today is all slithery guile, but holy hell could young Paul blaze. He had hops. He could somehow change directions in turbo gear without slowing down.