Calvin Barrett is a writer, editor, and prolific Mario Kart racer located in Tokyo, Japan. Currently writing for SB Nation and FanSided, he has covered the Utah Jazz and BYU athletics since 2024 and graduated from Utah Valley University.
“I TOLD YOU we shouldn’t have taken a left back there.” The once internalized thought breaches my verbal security. “This van isn’t built to tackle a 10-degree incline, let alone a Swiss cheese dirt road.”
Darting left, swerving right, the brake pedal stands against
his core principles. As do maps, or so the course of this journey would have one believe. Maps? Who needs ‘em? Any knucklehead knows how to follow a road. Seatbelts are for people who crash — I don’t crash.
Through gritted teeth, the driver doesn’t so much as blink. Rigid. Assured. His eyes unblinking; swallowed in absolute concentration. His muddied John Deere trucker cap casts a shadow over his face as his brow digs lower. His upper lip stiffens. The steering wheel whips sharply to the side, his hands to the other as the vein in his forehead pops for an impromptu tug-of-war. Man v. Machine.
But this driver’s name isn’t John Henry (his Uber profile says Walter), and this is a losing battle. Entering the headlights’ beam is a crater. Control is torn from his calloused grip: contact.
The vehicle goes airborne. The atmosphere plummets. A hula dancer clings to the dashboard, her painted smile replaced with an expression of sheer panic. I may as well have been looking into a mirror. My internal organs are playing a game of Twister, and seem to be losing.
When the end seems imminent, one’s mind operates outside of time. With a lifespan yet to reach its intended maturity, all consciousness is occupied with making the absolute most of the few fleeting moments that remain. Remembrance is a common response, as many people will witness life in its final desperate flash.
Glancing outside the hopeless vehicle, I take a final moment to absorb my surroundings. The few blades of grass invading the pothole-riddled path, a jagged stone that would’ve been far preferable to the ravine that the right tire clipped. Eyes panning to the left, I see the driver, who... blinks?
Wait a minute.
“Are we dead?” he breaks our trance.
“I’m wondering the same thing,” I admit in complete perplexity. “But I can’t quite explain anything at the moment.”
Gently, the car’s flight reverses course until it’s set back on the road. Standing triumphantly in the center of the road is our savior. His frame towering equal to that of the surrounding trees. The number 19 was stamped on his purple uniform. Absolutely glowing.
The Utah Jazz are ... a lot of things
Young. Since Ryan Smith’s acquisition and subsequent demolition of the Donovan Mitchell-Rudy Gobert core, Utah has been content on starting fresh. And by fresh, I mean sealed in an incubation chamber. No windows. Blast doors vacuum-sealed. Kenny G’s Songbird flows gingerly from the ceiling and cooly washes over its listeners.
By the end of the 2024-25 regular season, Utah’s kindergarten was stuffed to capacity, with an average age of 24.1, the second-lowest in basketball. And this is clearly by design.
Experimental. Yellow was bad. Yes, it was very bad. But could the horrific highlighter redesign saga be analogous to Utah’s quantitative trajectory? We’re talking wins and losses. We’re talking accolades. We’re talking hardware.
From a complete and all-encompassing branding overhaul springs a blank canvas, and from a cosmetic standpoint, the eventual product has become very appealing (the incoming white uniforms may be the best basketball uniform I’ve ever witnessed). And though I don’t think the Utah front office’s original intention was to create an ugly brand, they’ve certainly succeeded in creating an ugly on-the-court roster.
Tearing a competitive roster down to the studs has been a grueling and time-consuming process, finally reaching the base of its natural valley this offseason with the offloading of Clarkson, Sexton, and Collins. From this point on, the only way to go is up. Unless they plan on finishing with the worst record in basketball once again. AJ Dybantsa sure seems the natural fit, no?
Hypothetical. Accepting the fact that Utah has never and likely will never become a premier destination in NBA free agency, the Jazz front office dove head-first into an internal growth model. Claiming talented rookies with potential through the draft, and developing the standouts into all-stars, MVP candidates, etc.
But three years into the rebuild, those aspirations have only become more intangible and theoretical since Lauri Markkanen’s lone All-Star appearance as a newcomer in the Beehive State.
In previous years, Utah has approached youth development much like I approach a game of Battleship: selecting grid points at random and blindly mashing the glowing red launch button. Too often, it feels as if Will Hardy is a parent tossing his kids into the pool with a sudden sink-or-swim dilemma. Figure it out, or die trying, kid. The Jazz are loaded with youngsters — stuffed with routes and options — but poor recon and worse strategy could be fatal to their individual survival.
You and I ... What Are We?
But the state of the Jazz is amorphous. It’s intangible. At the moment, the future of the Jazz isn’t even an idea: it’s the idea of an idea. An embarrassment of draft capital? Got it — this team has plenty of shots at a game changer, or enough assets to make the right trade should the moment arise.
But here and now, who can we say are Utah’s strongest pieces? The players that we project to lead the charge come the postseason. The alpha dog who the entire world knows will be walking the ball down the court with the clock whittling down: the master commander.
To this day, we still can’t be sure who that will be, or if that day will come at all.
But stepping up to center court is one stretchy wing named Airious.
Bailey slipping to Utah was a phenomenal stroke of luck for a front office desperate for something — anything — to point towards as fruits of positive momentum toward the rebuild.
Picking 9th and 10th in subsequent seasons was disheartening. Coming away with two more “what if” prospects hasn’t exactly altered Utah’s fortunes, and I say that as one of the endangered Cody Williams optimists. Landing fifth overall with the NBA’s worst record was an absolute gut-punch; there’s no way around that.
/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/26064004/uhhhhh.jpg)
But Ace Bailey’s arrival feels notably different. He’s not just the stereotypical long-and-athletic-player-could-become-the-best-basketball-player-ever-because-Giannis, though being 6’9” (or 6’10”, the jury is still out on this subject), long, and athletic are positives. No, this kid radiates star confidence and the rare ability to drop a steak on the grill as he dishes meal upon meal over helpless defenders.
Instinctual defense to clean up mistakes at the other end, and a reasonable assumption that he can reach an all-star level if he meets even 75% of his potential (don’t fight me on the numbers, this is such an unquantifiable figure).
Just as with my near-death experience (which was a real event that actually happened. You were there), Ace Bailey serves as a beacon of hope for a better future for the Utah Jazz. An icon representing a spring of basketball brilliance that is begging to unearth itself beneath the Salt Lake valley.
Change has arrived within the walls of the Delta Center. Directed upwards with a plan now finally beginning to take shape, Austin Ainge and company are moving in the right direction. That’s all we can ask for.
More from slcdunk.com:
- Chicago Bulls 85 Utah Jazz 77 Game Recap
- Utah Jazz vs. Chicago Bulls Game Thread
- Utah Jazz vs Chicago Bulls Game Preview
- Utah Jazz: Favors has bone contusion
- Utah Jazz vs. Chicago Bulls: Five Things to Watch For
- For the Memphis Grizzlies the Vinsanity Continues
- Utah Jazz vs. Chicago Bulls Overtone: Deja Vu Anyone? Bulls at Jazz on National TV
