Welcome to Pat Riley’s rightful final rush for relevance

The tales all run together now, especially those about anything prior to 2010, which is all anyone still seems to vividly remember. But, back in 2003, before he pulled off the greatest coup in free agent history, the one that every other franchise has spent the past decade trying to replicate, Pat Riley pulled one over on Donald Sterling that even Sterling’s shady girlfriend couldn’t top.

The Heat were coming off an anomaly in Riley’s tenure to that point. They had experienced some euphoria, notably the fortune-altering acquisition of Alonzo Mourning, and some excellence from the teams that Mourning anchored. And they had experienced agony, whether those three playoff series losses to the lower seeded, ultra obnoxious New York Knicks, or Mourning’s horribly timed kidney disease, right when Riley had reshaped and refreshed the roster for a real run.

But they had not experienced irrelevance. Never. They were not boring. They were not forgotten.

Those 2001-02 and 2002-03 seasons were different however. Different, as in dull. The first featured a collection of castoffs on close to their last legs, the Kendall Gills and the Jimmy Jacksons and the Travis Bests and the Cedric Ceballos’s, with the latter’s most considerable contribution coming in the form of the messy Cheetos he shared with teammates in the pre-game locker room. By the next season, Riley had turned most of those relics to dust, replacing with some younger pieces like Caron Butler. But the Heat won just 25 games and the Dolphins, of all things — with Ricky Williams rampaging and Jason Taylor terrorizing — were far more compelling. That, however, was just seen as a bridge period by the fans who still trusted him to build again.

They always believed he had a plan — and plans after the plan.

And this one was a doozy, preying upon the penurious nature of the Clippers’ repugnant owner and the vagaries of restricted free agency. He went after Elton Brand. When he might have really wanted Lamar Odom. Riley extended an offer sheet to the Clippers’ smart, skilled big man, knowing Sterling, to save face, might actually match that one. Brand wanted to be here, and was disappointed when he — having left his phone by his belongings on the beach — returned to the device to learn that he was heading back to the Sterling sweatshop. That’s when Riley swooped in and offered a contract to Odom, a versatile forward he had coveted since the draft.

Sterling didn’t match that one.

Odom resurrected his reputation in that good old Heat culture, enough that he became the key piece the Lakers — and specifically Kobe Bryant — wanted when their situation with Shaquille O’Neal soured. And so Riley fast-tracked the Heat not merely to relevance but, in 2005-06, a parade. That parade on Biscayne Bay he had promised.

So here we are again. The Heat are not as irrelevant as they were after that 2002-03 season. But they’re not especially interesting either, and this has gone on longer, ever since the Heat exchanged the likes of LeBron James for Danny Granger and Josh McRoberts and Shabazz Napier in 2014. With Wade retired (we think), there’s no star, nothing close, no one who is at a higher level, or even projects at a higher level, than the most productive or promising player on any other team in the league. Not one. Go through it. And this is coming from someone who likes The Kids quite a lot. And now, unlike then, faith in Riley among the fan base is shaken. The Twitter reaction not just to the Tyler Herro selection but especially to Riley’s roster explanations afterwards was strikingly strident. Many just want him to go at this point, not caring or even aware that this organization was going nowhere before him and not clear on who will make it go after.

Is everyone spoiled? Sure. But he made them that way. That’s his fault. The Heat’s youngish fans are his children. He made basketball matter here, matter way too much in their lives, simply through the cavalcade of players and personalities he introduced to this area, and now it doesn’t matter anything like it did, and he bears some responsibility for that too. The Heat botched much of the 2016 and 2017 summers, no matter why they say they made some of the moves they did. Nothing justifies granting four lucrative seasons to James Johnson after four good months in a career of largely unremarkable achievement. The Heat have done plenty of good in the interim, with smart extensions and creative additions. But they should be major free agent players now, for everyone who likes the beach and a lower tax rate, and they’re not, and that’s why.

And so, in the national conversation about the NBA, the Warriors matter, the Raptors matter, the Sixers matter, the Nets matter, even the freaking Knicks matter, until they overpay two role players because no one of note wants to come to the Mecca.

The Heat have not mattered in that discussion. Not like they should. Not like he should.

That’s why Riley has to get Jimmy Butler now.

For relevance.

Is Butler the star who I would choose to reset the course of the franchise? Hardly. He will be 30 this season, but may be 35 in Thibs years. He doesn’t shoot the three all that well, which is a concern as he ages and other actions don’t come as easy. He is a notoriously difficult teammate, though the Heat may need one of those — and they will welcome his absolute insistence against taking the slightest bit of shit. He’s going to be crazy expensive by the end of that deal, unless the salary cap nearly doubles.

But he’s a starter star, and the Heat need that.

Now.

He’s the star who may attract another, because no one on this roster is doing that. In fact, it’s Dwyane Wade — now free of the NBA’s inane tampering restrictions — who is the draw for Butler, who seems to see himself as the natural heir. Butler wants to be here. That’s clear. That’s been clear. Houston makes no sense, not with the two egos and ball-bouncers already in play there. Philly only makes sense if the 76ers offer a fifth year, which they seem disinclined to do when they have two mercurial max talents on the roster.

Butler may not be a lead guy on a champion.

But he’s not a third wheel either.

Here he would be first, until he is second, and his presence may help the Heat get the guy who supplants him. He would re-energize the fan base. He would re-energize Riley. He would re-energize Erik Spoelstra, who has appeared worn of late, and it can’t just be the baby. Maybe it’s the roster. If it is, that’s understandable.

But really, this is about Riley. It always is. This was Dwyane’s house, but he sits high in the castle.

Why the hell do you think he is still there, when there are capable replacements in the front office?

To watch a bunch of B-plus talents grow on their own?

Don’t we know better by now?

Riley told me, after LeBron left, that his plan was to win one more championship and disappear before the champagne even spilled. Just sprint out of the arena with his wife Chris, over to a plane, off to France, into solitude, and self-imposed irrelevance. Not the kind the Heat have now. By choice. Not by mistake.

Butler may not deliver a title, but he will deliver hope. He will deliver anticipation. He will deliver ticket sales. He will push the Dolphins back to the background, Manny Diaz back to the transfer portal. He will get an occasional ESPN crew out here. He will be an attraction. Not LeBron. Not Shaq. Not Zo. But something.

And the Heat have always been something under Riley.

Something to be seen. Something to be emulated. Something, at times, to be feared.

Not something to be ignored.

So this is it. They’ve been setting up for this. You can see it. They knew Butler wanted to be here. They have the best cap guy in the business, in Andy Elisburg. Jimmy just needs to say the word. If the Heat’s pitch moves him, money can always be moved. Chairs can be rearranged. Roles can be filled. This is the Riley way. Get the star. Figure it the f— out later. This is who he is. This is what he does. This is why he’s still here, even if some of you would rather he scram.

He has been an NBA prince and kingmaker, but he is still a Schenectady scrapper, told by his father to plant his feet and make a stand. This is the last stand, at least in this arena. This stretch of three offseasons. This is a role he seems to relish, as much as jostling with Jerry West in a practice, when he was little more than a sparring partner. He’s an avowed Republican who remains clinically obsessed with a famously liberal songwriter, someone who made sure that “The Rising” was playing as often as possible in his arena, even though few of his players thought of anyone but him as The Boss or would ever go to Asbury Park.

“Lost track of how far I’ve gone
How far I’ve gone, how high I’ve climbed
On my back’s a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile of line”

This situation isn’t nearly as important as what that song references. It’s not life and death. But for Riley, this is the calling. The climb back to relevance. The rising starts with Jimmy Butler, even if it can’t end there. Go get ’em, Pat. Close the deal. Sell what you’ve done, and what you can still do, to Butler. Sell some of your assets to Brand if necessary, now that your former free agent target could now be your trading partner, as the 76ers general manager. You’ve been around that long. But since you’re still here, time for one last rightful rage against the dying of the light.

Ethan J. Skolnick is the host of the new Five On The Floor podcast, and will be writing regularly about the Miami Heat for this site.