A Breath-Taking Work of Frenetic Genius

He's about to orchestrate the offense.

It usually starts with the arm waving. There is a lot of it. And the pointing. Lots of that, too. That stuff tends to be what catches my attention when watching the Hornets. If I happen upon a New Orleans game, I just wait for a dead ball, or maybe a slowly developing offensive play, watch for the guy waving his arms, and then I'm all set. That's how I find Julian Wright.

Why am I looking for him? A more appropriate question would be, Why aren't you? A quiet story of this NBA season has been Wright's emergence as one of the league's most fascinating players. And I don't write that trying to sound all you-should-be-up-on-this cool. It's not an affectation. I am completely serious. Watching him is mesmerizing.

I suppose that describing how he plays might begin to validate my argument. I've begun taking notes when I watch the Hornets because Wright is unique. Here's a sequence I jotted down from a game against the Nets played a little more than a week ago. I think it's instructive:

Julian sets a pick at the top of the key; sprints to the elbow to whiff on a second pick; catches the ball and rifles a pass; then he runs down across the lane just to elbow a defender who is trailing another Hornet; then he leaks out to the corner before sprinting and leaping to crash the boards.

Please think about those words. Do you realize how much energy he expended on that single play? And for the record: he was looking for contact the whole time.

Some more, from the Rockets game last weekend (as in, not the two days just past, but the previous weekend):

- Hornets on offense. Out at the top of the key, hurriedly waving a teammate to come through a screen; shot goes up and he dashes into the paint; misses board and sprints back down court.

- Hornets on defense. Meets Scola at the three-point line, throws an elbow to feel for contact; switches onto McGrady through a pick; ball is passed to one side of the floor, Wright shades that way; skip pass to opposite corner; Julian sprints to close out; runs underneath to look at who rebounds (Chandler); seems happy and inconvenienced.

- Timeout. Grabs Pargo around waist and points no fewer than six times while discussing broken offensive play; can't tell if he's asking questions or dictating.

- Hornets on offense. Standing in corner looking for kick out; motions for Peja to run somewhere; very focused on action; leaning in.

- Hornets on offense. Spends possession in corner; just dashed in for a tip.

- Close talker. Always in someone's face, but not aggressively; might be the headbandl wears it like earmuffs; probably hard to hear.

- Hornets on offense. Passes ball with a motion as though he finds it offensive; good passer, nonetheless; horrible mechanics; backpedals after miss; runs like his limbs are too long.

- Hornets on defense. As Rockets come down, he stands at top and points out defensive assignments. I think.

- Hornets on offense. Dribbling. Catches the ball and squares up; 20-feet from basket; stares at shot; fakes with jab step; dribbles behind his back; passes to teammate; runs across lane and sets pick; spins into lane and jumps for rebound.

Hopefully, an image begins to emerge. If not, let me help: picture a smart but inexperienced rookie. Make him about 6' 8" and gangly, with arms that never end. Give him your favorite video-game aesthetics--headband over the ears, knee-high socks. (Leave out the goggles because, well, no one wears them--except Marcus Landry.) Now, throw in an impressive skill set. He can shoot it from twenty feet fairly well. He can leap. He can run, albeit with an odd form, his legs churning, his arms waving, and it all seeming a little disjointed. He is a willing passer and a good one, throwing a soft ball even when he looks as though he's hurling something too hot to hold. He's energetic, he's hungry, and he is always trying. He jumps, he flails, he sprints, he dives. He is constantly doing something. And most importantly, he never stops orchestrating. He points and he waves and he directs. He'll hold the ball at the top of the key and wait for his point guard to spot up on the wing. Or he'll dribble around the arc and throw an entry pass. Or he'll seemingly carry out an entire offensive set all by himself. It's a melange of disarming activity and idiosyncratic behavior, ultimately manifesting itself in something ill-defined but highly effective. You can't really explain it, but you know it when you see it.

That's Julian Wright, the assertive, goofy, unofficial floor general. The point forward in his own fucking mind. Never has a rookie seemed so at ease bossing around his teammates. Wright is admirable, exciting, effective, ascendant, hilarious, unwitting, deliberate. And much like the The Kramer, I can't look away. Let's not forget this insightful musing from our man Shoals back in December:

I can't even begin to describe how jarring his time on the floor is. He's so active it's silly, without ever submitting to the indignity of hustle: guarding three people at once, going for the steal just long enough to run after rebounds, altogether amped about making the entry pass. Wright's also the most bossy, or maybe just cerebral, third-string rook I've ever heard about. On offensive possessions, he shouts out directions and points furiously about spacing. During free throws, he earnestly confers with guys who actually touch the ball, or even pow-wows with Byron Scott near the bench. True to the scouting report, Wright carries himself like a key player who doesn't even need to matter.

I've always been a Julian Wright fan. Almost two years ago I fell in love () with a flawed Kansas team largely due to Wright's varied skills and prototypical frame. At the time, I remember thinking he was a new-age big man, the sort who would play a role in the continued evolution of post play thanks to his perimeter skills, selfless attitude, and talent around the basket. I didn't realize he was instead some other kind of archetype, transitioning into the professional game as a perimeter forward. (Or maybe he's not a replicable model in any way. He might just be a dicrete entity with a singular style.) And I never realized that after Chris Paul, he would be the Hornet who most carried himself as a floor leader, conductor, and on-court Vitruvian resource. Yet here we are.

So please join me in taking a moment to salute Julian Wright, a league leader in serendipity, unintentional humor, and endless intrigue.