Just past the quarter pole of the season, most teams around the league know who they are. This is typically the time of year in which identities have been forged through the flame of competition.
The offseason
is where general managers sketch the blueprint. They shuffle assets. They build the vision board. They convince themselves that this version of the roster can chase something real. Every team talks championship. Only one gets it. The rest try to stay relevant, while a handful already know they are playing the long game. The goal is winning. The goal is direction. The goal is execution.
Now the season has made the first turn on the track, and a quarter of the way in, the league is starting to hand out truth serum. Some teams are winning and their vision is starting to breathe. Some teams are losing because the plan never took shape or because injuries blew holes in it.
The Phoenix Suns know this feeling well. They know what it feels like to have delusions of grandeur and the come-to-Jesus moment when reality dictates otherwise.
When the vision starts to wobble, that is when the recalculating begins for the remaining 75% of the ride. You tweak rotations. You hope health can rescue the plan. You open the trade machine and start asking uncomfortable questions. In the same breath, you are deciding if this roster still has competitive oxygen left this season, or if the real adjustments are being penciled in for the next offseason.
Look at a team like Milwaukee. If they were winning right now, nobody would be whispering about a Giannis trade. Other franchises would not be rummaging through their cupboards trying to see if they have enough shine to pry him loose. Winning quiets all of that. Losing turns the volume all the way up.
Then there is the Clippers. A full-blown mess. Harden questions. Kawhi questions. And the way the Chris Paul chapter ended still feels grimy. That is what happens when the vision board collapses in real time. You are forced into uncomfortable conversations about who you are and who you thought you were going to be.
The reason I bring all of this up is simple. It is refreshing to be on the right side of the vision board.
We are not hammering the trade machine every night. The fan base is not spiraling through mock deals and panic rotations. Coming into the season, that felt inevitable. What is Grayson Allen worth? Could Royce O’Neale fetch a pick or two? What do you do with Nick Richards?
Those were real questions back then because none of us knew what this team was going to look like. We hoped they would compete. We hoped the rookie general manager and head coach would change the temperature of the room. We did not know if it would turn into wins. It has. And that changes everything.
Ask around right now. Nobody is racing to trade Grayson or Royce. The mood is different. The lens is different. Now, yes, the trade deadline is still two months away, and a lot can change between now and then. At that point, the front office will have to hold the roster up to the vision board and decide what still fits in the short term and what fits in the long term. That is when the transaction conversations will earn their weight.
For now, there is no rush. The Suns are building a foundation of who they want to be. That matters more than any one move. It helps define what type of players belong here moving forward. They are in a strong position right now. And it feels good to say that out loud. It is nice not to be lumped in with the Kings, the Hornets, the Nets, teams still rearranging their identity on the fly.
This is a team with direction. And as long as the wins keep stacking, the good energy will follow. Still, long-term thinking never sleeps. Even when things feel good, you keep staring at the vision board. You keep asking where you can grow as a franchise, whether that is through real talent or future draft capital. That part never goes away.
Right now, the Suns are not chasing ghosts or bargaining with maybes. They are stacking proof. Proof that the vision has a pulse. Proof that the culture is changing. Proof that direction matters when the nights get long and the schedule gets cruel. The work is far from finished, but this is what progress feels like. Steady. Honest. Earned.
The vision board is no longer a wish. It is a mirror. And what is staring back finally looks like something worth building on.
