Caleb Wilson played his first preseason game with the Bulls, against the Suns. Chicago won. He was in the starting five. First points after four minutes, on a fadeaway. I note the minute, it’s the only thing that interests me in a first basket.
Final line: 15 points, 4 rebounds, 6 of 16 from the field, 0 of 4 from three. That, it’s on the sheet. It fits the columns, every figure in its place, in blue pen.
Then he gave himself a grade. He said: “I’d certainly give myself a B. I made mistakes, but that was expected.” I got out my folder. I looked at the six columns. Points, fouls, time-outs, nothing that looks like a letter. At the table, we don’t grade players. We write down what they do. Grades are for Monday, at the office, and that’s not me.
He also said: “Preseason doesn’t count statistically.” I read it twice. At our place, a friendly, I still keep the sheet. The clock runs the same, the buzzer sounds the same, and the parent on the shot clock gets it wrong the same. Whether it counts or not, somebody writes it down.
He says he must improve his defence. The NBA, he says, is more physical and asks for more communication. Communication, I know about that: it’s the coach shouting for a time-out during a live ball. I don’t answer. I don’t have the column yet.
He has four preseason games left, starting with the Grizzlies on Friday. A table somewhere will keep the sheet. It won’t put down a B.
Sheet line: fifteen points, four rebounds, grade in the margin, not validated.
It’s true, we checked: Basket USA.
