Chris Paul is not in control

For Chris Paul, basketball is an exercise in control. He is a masterful orchestrator moving defenders with his body, his dribble, his eyes. Paul has a variety of tools — the step-back jumper, the stutter-step, the pocket pass, the floater — the power of each is not in the tool itself but in the way the proper one is selected and applied precisely when the situation demands it. Paul may not be the best point guard in the league or the one with the biggest impact, but no one else in the league accomplishes as much with intentionality as he does.

This was one of the finest seasons of Paul’s career and it will likely end with him in street clothes watching his team, once again, eliminated from the playoffs. Whether it is the Portland Trail Blazers or the Golden State Warriors who do the deed doesn’t matter much in the end. The hand fracture Paul suffered in Game 4 against the Blazers will likely keep him out for a month or more, in the best-case scenario. Given that Blake Griffin is also somewhat less than 100 percent and that Paul’s backup is the infamous Austin Rivers, it’s reasonable to assume that this is not going to end well.

Paul is inarguably one of the greatest point guards to ever play in the NBA. He is also relegated to a lower tier of historical significance because of his lack of playoff success. If this is as far as he ever goes, that relegation is likely to be permanent. The weight given to playoff performance in general, and championships won specifically, is probably not fair when evaluating the legacy of a player. It does a great disservice to Charles Barkley, Karl Malone, John Stockton, and many others. It ignores context and circumstance, teammates and opponents, luck and physical health — all of which are factors just as significant to winning a championship as they are to not winning one. Life isn’t fair, but it seems especially cruel to Paul.

The most painful aspect of all this is the way it relates to the specific nature of Paul’s brilliance. Barkley was never powerful enough to break through. Malone and Stockton were never talented enough to break through, at least that’s the way those narratives are shaded. For Paul, who derives so much of his basketball id from control, it’s heart-breaking that he may come to be defined by the things that are completely outside of his control.

There is no argument that Paul’s broken hand is anything but a fluke, and it will almost certainly be the demarcation point between what the Clippers could have done in these playoffs and what they actually do. Last season’s playoff run ended with a staggering three-game meltdown to the Houston Rockets, but Paul’s play was typically immaculate — averaging 26.3 points, 10.3 assists, 4.7 rebounds. 1.7 steals over the final three losses, shooting 50.9 percent from the field. If he hadn’t hurt his hamstring at the end of their first round series with the San Antonio Spurs, and had been able to play in the first two games of the Houston series, things could have very well ended in a sweep for the Clippers.

Paul’s personal playoff story is littered with these moments, when fate put its finger on the other side of the scale and lifted him off his feet. He could have made more shots, turned the ball over less, but the idea that these playoff losses are reflective of his inability to rise to the occasion has it backwards. He has consistently risen but circumstance has made sure that he is always pursuing a moving target, just outside his grasp. Wrong place. Wrong time, again and again.

There is, I suppose, an argument to be made that this is Paul’s essential failing and why he will end up with the legacy he deserves. The random and chaotic is an inseparable part of sports and any player whose greatness is predicated on holding things tightly enough to squeeze it out is fighting a losing battle. A basketball game, at the most fundamental level, can not be controlled. Attempting to do so is folly. And yet, Paul has accomplished so much by doing exactly that. As the saying goes, he’s playing chess and everyone else is playing Chutes and Ladders, or whatever. His ability to move pieces, to puppet his opponents and teammates, to lead actions and reactions to a place of his choosing has probably squeezed as much of the randomness out of basketball as anyone we’ve ever seen play the game.

But it’s not enough. The completeness of his control is an illusion and, in the end, chaos always wins.

Who knows exactly how we’ll remember Chris Paul or where he will settle in future meaningless and hypothetical arguments about basketball greatness. I know how I’d like to remember him though — bravely riding off to do battle with chance, still optimistic that this will be the time the universe bends itself to his will.