Adam Morrison was odd.
Not a bad guy, not a selfish guy. Just odd, in a way I'd never before encountered in two decades covering the NBA.
When an NBA player acts odd, it's usually an over-abundance of arrogance or boastfulness. Those guys think so much of themselves, they stop listening to what anyone else thinks.
Morrison was just the opposite; he listened too much. His rookie season, he was so conscious of the crowd screaming “Shoot!'' that he did so every time the ball hit his hands. He knew that wasn't his game – he was more a creative scorer than a pure shooter at Gonzaga – but he tried pleasing everyone and instead pleased no one.
The problems were numerous. Morrison had to be a prolific scorer just to keep pace with everything he gave up at the other end. Teams would target him relentlessly (did you notice Marvin Williams' 20 free throws Friday?), forcing teammates to take fouls once Morrison's man dribbled past him.
The strange thing (one of many) was, Morrison never addressed his weaknesses. He was often the first player off the court after practice, despite all of his liabilities. It was as if he'd accepted this fate, rather than fighting through it.