Chris Paul is always playing the game at his own speed

Chris Paul is a master of time and space, bending teammates and opponents to his designs. It’s made him one of the greatest point guards ever and has the Phoenix Suns on the verge of a title.

A professional basketball game officially lasts 48 minutes, though that is a relative figure. The game, of course, takes much longer when stoppages and breaks in play are taken into account. But the actual passing of game time ebbs and flows as well, with some moments feeling like eternities while other periods quickly pass without recognition. How often has an announcer said, as a losing team inbounds the ball from the sideline, that seven-tenths of a second is actually quite a bit of time? It’s a statement that would sound absurd at any other point in the contest, but makes perfect sense there; for that moment, seven-tenths of a second might as well be an eternity. It’s difficult to navigate this flow, yet there are few who not only manage it but manipulate it, shifting the ostensibly objective nature of time to their own ends.

You can watch Chris Paul do this as he surveys the court, bringing the ball up as he dribbles with one hand and points with the other, waving his arm like an impatient conductor. His teammates move accordingly, adapting to his will.

Paul is both thoughtful and tenacious. He possesses one of the highest basketball IQs in the league today, toying with opponents so that the floor opens up where and when he wants it to, while also being aggressive enough to pounce the precise moment such a crack in the defense appears. Watching him, the game slows down. He does not want the simple arithmetic of a fast break; instead, he wants 10 men in a condensed area with himself in charge, improvising a situation to whatever problem confronts him, drawing on 16 years of NBA experience in the process. He dribbles, looks, and waits. As he does, everyone on the court and in the audience waits as well. Then he attacks.

No one in the NBA controls time and space like Chris Paul

Since Chris Paul joined the league, he has become a throwback without ever losing any of his effectiveness. Around the time he entered the NBA 16 years ago, the role of the point guard started to shift. Instead of merely initiating the offense and being the team’s lead playmaker, the league’s best point guards were also among the league’s most proficient scorers. Allen Iverson, despite often playing alongside more traditional one guards like Eric Snow, helped lay the groundwork before Gilbert Arenas briefly flashed further signs of this coming revolution for a few glorious seasons in Washington. In the 2010s, with the emergence of Russell Westbrook, Stephen Curry, and Damian Lillard among others, it was no longer enough for a point guard to fulfill the traditional requirements of the position. One needed to do more.

Throughout all these shifts, Chris Paul has remained true to the blueprint laid down by legends who suited up decades before him. He has functioned as a traditionalist, a living archetype. You can always tell a Chris Paul team. Through force of will, Paul imposes himself not only on the defenses unlucky enough to face him but also on his teammates. His teams are uniformly intentional, calculating, and purposeful. Dynamic as they may be at points, excitement is a byproduct of these less ornate qualities rather than something inherent — the workmanlike, utilitarian quality of Paul’s game opens up the possibility of artfulness without ever prizing it for its own sake.

Despite being one of the best point guards in the NBA for the entirety of his career — and the unquestioned best for a while as the 2000s became the 2010s — Paul never won a title or made the Finals. He was consistently on good teams, but ones that were never quite good enough. While the Lob City Clippers and the 2018 Rockets were often great, you’re rarely going to be the favorite when you’re sharing a conference with the 2014 Spurs or the Warriors of 2015-2019.

He still had chances to break through, but injuries kept getting in the way. Every year from 2015 to 2018, Paul or one of his teammates missed multiple games in the playoffs, contributing to their defeat. When he injured his shoulder in the first game of this postseason, it felt like he had again been touched by a fateful (and vindictive) hand. He was able to heal quickly, only to then miss multiple games due to health and safety concerns. Barring something unexpected, Paul is now healthy for the most important stretch of games of his career (I am now knocking on every wooden surface in the room).

When the Phoenix Suns traded for Chris Paul, it made sense for the Suns — when you have the chance to add one of the greatest point guards ever, you do it. Though looking at it through Chris Paul’s eyes, the motivation was less immediately clear. He was already 35 years old and if he was going to complete his Hall of Fame career with a championship, wouldn’t it have made more sense for him to join a team that looked more primed to win a title in the next year or two rather than one that had not even made the postseason in a decade? That concern, though, neglected the fact that Chris Paul, by himself, has the ability to take any team and elevate them far beyond their ostensible capabilities, maximizing every bit of talent surrounding him. Making space and time subject to his will, he chips away at opponents and empowers his teammates by manipulating the game in a way few ever have.

If Chris Paul and the Suns do win the championship this year, it will not make his previous achievements any more impressive. The past iterations of Paul do not retroactively become better because of what he achieves years later; he was already one of the greatest point guards ever. A title would only be the capstone of an already brilliant legacy. Chris Paul does not need to win a championship this summer to become a better player than all-time greats like Isiah Thomas, Jason Kidd, or John Stockton: he already is.