Raptors Rising: A Toronto Raptors Alternate History

[trekfan]

System/Game: PC/NBA 2K14
Mod: UBR
Rosters: UBR Historical Roster (with a few edits by myself, here and there)
Sliders: Custom
Quarter Length: 12 Minutes
Sim Quarter Length: 12 Minutes
Draft Class: UBR
Season Length: 82 Games
Playoff Format: 7-7-7-7
Injuries: Off (will be randomly chosen as the sim engine makes them far too frequent)
Progressive Fatigue: On
Player Roles: Off
Team Chemistry: On
CPU Trades: Off
Trade Override: Off
Control: 30 Teams


Well, here we are once again. As some of you may be familiar with, I recently put together Saving Seattle: A SuperSonics Dynasty which explored the NBA if Seattle had managed to find success and not move. I loved the alternate history angle and the characters within, but the storyline went off the rails (my fault) and I became frustrated with the franchise. Things just were too easy, too fast, and too dramatic -- I wasn't having fun.

I decided to do another alternate history franchise but this time I wanted to look at a recent event -- the 2010 Free Agency madness which led to LeBron, Wade, and Bosh forming the Miami Superfriends (among other things).

The question is ... what if the Miami Heat hadn't gotten all three?

And ... How would the NBA have changed?

Now, this isn't JUST about that. Oh no. I wanted to tell this story from one viewpoint (making that a first for me) -- a story that one person tells to another, an oral history of sorts that shows just how this strange universe unfolded. This is as much a story about a character as it is about a league and a somewhat forgotten franchise.

So, follow along with me down this rabbit hole as we explore an NBA where the Big Three of the Heat didn't unite, where the league itself played out in a whole host of other ways, and where the Toronto Raptors become a terror to the basketball world...

[trekfan]

The Many-Worlds Theory of quantum mechanics states that any action that has more than one possible result produces a split in the universe, producing a whole new reality that coexists with all the others.

In 2010, the NBA watched as the most talented free agent pool in history hit the open market, resulting in the formation of the Big Three — Chris Bosh, Dwayne Wade, and LeBron James — all on the Miami Heat, an unprecedented event for three of the league’s biggest stars, all in their prime. The Heat would go on to be contenders for the title for the next four years, making the Finals four times straight, winning twice and losing twice.
But, what if those three stars hadn’t come together in Miami? Where would they have gone, what would they have done and, most importantly, how would the NBA look today?
Welcome to that world.

July 7th, 2010

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. No one could. ESPN was carrying the story and running with it, and I couldn’t stomach it. I was sick to my stomach with it, actually. That day, in July, was the most sickening day of my life as a basketball fan of the only team left in Canada.

That’s right. I’m a *ucking Toronto Raptors fan. I said it. I admit it, fully, that I’m one of those guys. I was born in Ohio, hailed from Youngstown, grew up there and endured the miserable winters and the miserable summers. Let me be frank: Ohio sucks. It sucks massive, massive balls. The kind of balls that belong to overweight garbage men who sweat profusely and eat garlic. Every. Single. Day.

That’s how bad Ohio sucks and that’s about as good as the Cavaliers — yes, those ones from Cleveland — have ever been. I was born in 1991, right at the end of the Cavs best years. They were sunk in ‘91 by “The Shot.” They faded into mediocrity after that, eventually becoming horrible.

As a kid, I didn’t care for them. At all. I was all about one thing — dinosaurs. In 1995 the Raptors hit the NBA and I was taken in. I was given a team with a dinosaur as a mascot … between that and my love of the Jurassic Park movies, I was hooked. For life.

I was never a kid who jumped from thing to thing. I was the type who latched onto something and didn’t let it go until it died. Dinosaurs were — and still are — a favorite thing of mine. Along with peanut butter and celery, because I’m a freak I guess.

In all my years as a Raptors fan, I saw a lot of heartbreaking things. I saw Vince come and go ( to the Nets, of all damn teams, good riddance to them) and saw Chris Bosh grow into a star before our eyes.

And that day, in front of my eyes, I watched Bosh leave us and I felt like puking.

I swore a lot at the TV that day. Bosh had left me and I took it personally as a fan, and as a fellow player of basketball. I remember what ESPN said exactly as they reported the story — photographic memory sucks, too, by the way.

“If you’re just joining us, Chris Bosh has announced where he’s playing next — and it’s not in Canada. Bosh has agreed to sign with the Chicago Bulls and the Bulls have also signed away Dwayne Wade from the Miami Heat, dealing a blow to two of their conference rivals.

‘I really felt strongly I wanted to play for a winning organization and do it with a star,’ Bosh said in a press release. ‘Dwayne and I both agreed that Chicago is the place to do that … we both grew up watching the Bulls and Michael Jordan win championships, and we want to get them back on top of the league.

Leaving Toronto is a tough and I love my teammates and the that city, but what I want can’t be achieved there right now … we need to go our separate ways so we can both be happy.’”

Those words burned themselves into my mind that day. Bosh was supposed to be the guy. Vince was a freak, an athletic phenom, but he never got help. The Raptors tried with Bosh and they screwed up, yeah — Bargnani was (and still is) a player I hate. He’s the epitome of soft.

But the way Bosh said “winning organization” stuck in my craw. As a Raptors fan, I knew my team wasn’t that. I knew it. And that day Bosh told the world that the players knew it, too. That type of thing doesn’t just come out of nowhere, it grows and thrives until it finally gets released for all to see.

And Bosh let it out.

“I’m going to fix it,” I said to the TV, Bosh’s highlights playing as ESPN barfed up all the things the man would bring to the Bulls. All my life the Raptors had been just curiosities, a case of a Canadian team that was there for the occasional surprise, a few laughs, and a lot of crappy seasons.

I promised myself I would change it that day. And to change it, I had to be in it. I had to be there on all levels. And I could be.

It didn’t take long to shoot my agent a text that day. My guy, Ray Rudolph, was a pain in the rear to NBA teams. He could get anyone a tryout and I had experience; I played ball for two years overseas (graduated high school early, went to Europe for the money). I made a good amount of coin over there, invested a lot of it back in the US (which made more coin), and had come back home to relax for awhile.

Life wasn’t hard for me then. I was a 19-year-old kid who had made a few million dollars thanks to playing overseas and investing money. Was I rich? Sure, compared to some. Rich enough to buy an NBA team? Hell no. I wish I could.

But I was — and still am, mind you — damn smart. Smarter than anyone ever gave me credit for. People looked at me then and saw a lanky, tall kid who liked to dye his hair red (my favorite color — another reason I love the Raptors). They thought I was a punk.

And that was just fine, because when people make an assumption about you, you can use it to get what you want. That day, I knew what I wanted — for the first time in my life, I had clarity about that. I didn’t want to be rich or famous, I didn’t want to be the king of the world, I wanted to take my favorite basketball team and make them winners.

“A winning organization,” I mumbled to myself as my agent got back to me.

Sure, they’re interested — but they got plenty of point guards, Boomer.

I smirked at the screen. Yeah, but they don’t have me, I texted back.

My tryout was in one week and I was about to rock the Raptors to the core. A week was plenty of time to study up on their finances, on their personnel, and on their ownership. Little did they know what was coming.

And you know what? I had no *ucking clue what I was about to start.

[AC]

Excellent. Subbed.

[trekfan]

July 14th, 2010

Sweat poured down my brow as I stared at the bench, the talent scouts and evaluators all looking at me like I had just pissed on the Canadian flag. They were in shock — they should have been. It’s not often one guy owns two players at once, but I did that.

“It’s not a fluke!” I yelled at them, a smile on my face. I glanced over at Jose Calderon and Jerryd Bayless, both of them not quite sure what happened.

Let me tell you what happened: they thought I was a joke. Some punk kid who walked into the gym with a few years of overseas experience, a lot of confidence, and height. I was 6’6” and a lanky guy, but not without muscle — I was lean, not weak. People get that confused even now.

The Raptors drilled me one and one first, of course. Standard crap, shoot this, run that … boring stuff. Preschool *hit. But then they stuck Calderon on me, told me to go against him — no fouling, no dirty stuff, just get to the rim.

Fine. Didn’t take longer than 25 seconds for Calderon’s rear to meet the floor. I dunked the ball with ease, screamed at them to send me someone else.

So they sent Bayless at me. He was much younger, a better defender (definitely — Calderon isn’t as good, but the man has got a sweet stroke), and he was looking to defend his teammate’s honor. I was cool with that.

Bayless took a little longer to deal with, he was aggressive, he was forceful, but he gambled, I blew by him and slammed home a tomahawk jam — wanted to make sure they knew I had a lot of tricks.

And then I told them to both come at me. They looked at me like I was crazy, but they didn’t need prodding — I had just owned them, it wasn’t like they had any real pride left to speak of. So I played them both, split them and took it past them to the hole.

Easy as pie.

The talent scouts all sat there, talking amongst themselves, as I sat on the bench at the other end of the gym. My agent was right there with me, shaking his head like I had screwed up.

“You’re telling me you could always do that?” Ray was in disbelief. His face, usually one of the happier one’s you’d see, was dark. “You know how much money you could have made? We could have made if you had just done that during the draft evaluations!”

“And get stuck with a *hit team or in a place where I’ll get buried on the bench for years?” I shook my head at him. “I can pick my own destiny here. I command my path, Ray. And you know what? I want this. I didn’t want to get drafted, I didn’t want to end up on the Lakers or the Knicks.”

Ray laughed darkly at that. “I can understand the Lakers, they’re smug. But the Knicks got LeBron. LEBRON, Boomer.”

I took a swing of my water, nodding. LeBron announced a few days ago that he was heading to New York, crushing the hopes of Cleveland — poor SOBs — and every other team that held a pipe dream of getting him. LeBron was heading to a bigger market, playing in a legendary arena, and word had it he was being given ultimate control.

LeBron wasn’t just getting paid — he was getting paid and he was running the team, according to reports. LeBron told Dolan that if he signed there, he’d need that and Dolan, desperate to get him, agreed.

“The Knicks should just rename themselves ‘LeBron and friends’,” I said with a laugh. “He got Boozer to sign with them — a *ucking waste of money — traded for Billups, then ended up getting Big Z too.”

“And you don’t want to be part of that?”

I flashed him a smile. “Ray, why do I want to be on LeBron’s team when I can run my own?”

Ray only stared at me. “You’re insane. They’ll give you a spot after this, hell, maybe they’ll make you the starter but you can’t wield the power LeBron does!”

“You sent that stuff to the ownership group, right?”

Ray frowned. “The mystery envelope? The one that screams ‘don’t send me or the authorities will arrest you’?”

“Yes, that one.”

A sigh. “Yes, I sent it.” He glared at me. “I’d like to know how many years of prison I’m up for now. What was it? Blackmail? Extortion?”

God, Ray was a character. Quick to leap to the worst conclusions if he didn’t have the answers. He was never good about being out of the loop, which is why the two of us butted heads sometimes.

“Ray,” I said to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze, “I’m not looking to go to prison. I sent along valuable — very valuable — information. Stuff that the ownership group should really know but hasn’t quite come across yet.”

“And now they have?”

I nodded. “And now they have. Do you know what I scored on my college entrance tests? SATs, ACTs, all that crap?”

Ray shook his head.

I smirked. “High. As high as you could get, Ray. Could have had a full-ride anywhere. Hated the college system, told them to *uck themselves and then have a burning building collapse on them. The college system is so broken, so corrupt, that it makes our government look like boy scouts.”

Ray put his head in his hands. “I actually believe you.”

I winked at him. “And so will the ownership group. Truth is truth … especially when it comes to money.”

The scouts came over soon after that and told me I was under serious consideration for being signed. They’d get back to me within the week, which was fine. I knew I had my spot on the team.

But that was only part of the deal — I could do the on-court stuff, but if I was going to make this team matter I had to have the ownership group back my play for control. I was taking the biggest gamble of my life at that point.

It wouldn’t be the last with this team. Not by a long shot.

[Gensi2k]

I follow this with lot of interest

[trekfan]

July 19th, 2010

Boardrooms were not my favorite place. They smelled too corporate, too clean, and the atmosphere was far, far too thick for me. It was like stepping into a gas chamber and knowing that you were either going to be killed or spared at the last second.

I hated boardrooms and, usually, the people in them. But I could make exceptions if the cause was good enough and this day, I made an exception: everyone in the room was a friend (until they did something so colossally stupid that I couldn’t deal with them). I need them to understand what I was, what I represented and what we could do together.

The head of the Raptors’ ownership group, Tom Anselmi, was someone I took an immediate liking to: instead of being dressed up in a suit, he was just in a pair of khakis, some boots, and a decent looking flannel shirt. He was laid back in comparison to the rest of these guys but he had a stern look on his face.

I couldn’t blame the guy; he had just been told by a 19-year-old kid that his company was bleeding money and making moronic moves as it concerned one of its sports teams.

“You got the mail I sent you.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. I leaned forward in my chair, my eyes focused only on the head honcho. “You saw the data. You saw the numbers. You know it’s right, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Anselmi scowled and slapped his open palm upon the table. “You can’t expect us to agree to your terms.”

I smiled at him. “You reviewed my proposed trades included in the packet and you know those will work.”

“Our people said they have a good chance,” the older man conceded. “But how the hell do you know that? How do you know anything?”

“It’s 2010: people talk and usually it’s on the Internet.” I leaned back in my chair, mildly annoyed at how everyone seemed to think I couldn’t possibly know anything. Being treated like I was stupid was a surefire way to get me pissed. “The Raptors are a losing team and have been for years. Your GM just lost another franchise player; Vince got traded away for stale cereal and Bosh left us.”

“And we received assets for Bosh leaving,” Anselmi pointed out. “A first round pick in 2013 and a young center are nothing to sneeze at.”

“Omer Asik is a backup at worst and a fringe starter at best. And that draft pick is likely to be in the 20s, barring some major injury — the Bulls have the most talented team in the conference. Rose, Wade, Bosh, Noah, Deng … that starting five makes any team look like chumps.”

Anselmi snorted like a bull about to run over someone. “And your potential moves don’t help us!”

“Not this year.” I crossed my arms. “But I’ll be out there, every night, on the floor putting down buckets, putting people in the stands, getting ratings, getting credit, and pitching our team as a place to be. We can’t climb back in one year, no one does that — no one not named the Lakers anyway.”

“And you expect us to lose for how long?”

“A year at least, two likely. But by that third year, we’ll be ready to make noise,” I told him with confidence. I knew it would take time, we would have to start from the beginning, we’d have to bet on youth and build through the draft. The only free agents we’d get would be the guys looking to have a good year on a bad team, and then jump back into the market to sign with another team.

Veteran free agents were just going to use us like a rebound girlfriend; *uck us until we made them feel better, then go find someone hotter.

Anselmi looked down at the table for a long moment. “Everyone else out. Now.”

The other people in the room hesitated for only a second before shuffling out. It wasn’t until the door shut that Anselmi looked up, the scowl on his face replaced by something else … sadness, I guess. Disappointment, definitely. “Son, I only want to give this town a title. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He slumped back in his chair, visibly looking tired, the stern exterior gone. “And what have we got to show for our efforts? A few playoff appearances and a lot of heartbreak.”

You know that feeling you get when you’re in a big moment? That tingly feeling in the front of your brain that says “Hey, this is going to be something you’ll remember for the rest of your life.” That feeling was making itself known to me right then.

I stood from my chair, crossed over to the other side of the table, and sat down right next to the guy. “Give me a chance to do this. I can have us competitive and building towards something greater in two years, three tops.”

Anselmi met my eyes and I knew he was measuring me. He had the look of someone who wanted to make a choice and just needed a little pushing to do it. “My scouts said you wowed them — blew them away, actually. They weren’t sure how you slipped out of the draft, how you went unnoticed.”

“I wanted it that way,” I answered truthfully. “The draft is a crock and I don’t give a *hit about any other NBA team except this one. I’ve been a fan of this team since its creation.” I pointed at my hair. “Got this dyed partially because it’s a team color.”

Anselmi ran his hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the door. “The rest of the ownership group, the executive board … they’re all looking for an excuse to send me packing. The loss of Bosh, the setback of the team …”

“Vultures that are circling,” I concluded. We could both smell the blood in the water it seemed. “You’ve seen the data — Colangelo is losing you money. I can’t officially be a GM and a player at the same time, but all you have to do is hire someone to say ‘yes’ to my proposed moves.”

Anselmi tapped his fingers on the table, eyes locked onto that door. “My contract runs out in three years, son.” He turned to face me, eyes burning with desire. “I want to leave this team primed for a run at relevancy … perennial playoff contender.”

“I can make that happen.”

Anselmi held out his hand. “Then that’s how long you got. If you can’t do it, then when I go, you go.”

I held my hand back for a second. “And if I do it?”

Anselmi smirked. “Then you’ve got the job for as long as you want it.”

Three years. 2013.

I knew I could do it. I took his hand and we shook. “Count on it.”

[trekfan]

July 29th, 2010

The roster was done. The trades worked out, approved, and completed. It only took me ten days to move the players out — it wasn’t like anyone thought for a second I was the guy coming up with all the trades. Anselmi had fired Colangelo the next day, hired an old GM to take his place — a guy who was just there to put his name on the moves, collect his checks, and move on. It was a shrewd move, the old GM, Peter Kebb, had been out of the league since the early 90s. He was there for money, plain and simple, and he was getting paid next to nothing compared to Colangelo.

I had accepted a small contract with the team, barely making 500K a year — perfect for me. I didn’t need the money and I wanted Anselmi to keep me around. Being the lowest paid player on the team made me easy to keep. It also made it seem I was the lowest on the totem pole — which, technically, I was.

I didn’t plan to be for long. I knew what I had to do to make this team good, what I had to accomplish in order to earn their respect. Part of that would happen in training camp, where the veterans — what few were left — would run over me, beat me, try to own my soul and make me their slave.

I would own them like I did Bayless and Calderon, no doubt of that in my mind. But the real work would be during the regular season. Our team was going to suck this year, that was without question the only result to expect. I hated losing — still do — but I knew it was necessary to get a good draft pick. We’d have to suck, but not suck too hard; it was a tough line to draw, but I was going to show everyone that I was the real deal.

Every franchise — at least every one trying to be good — had a legacy player, someone the common man associated with them. For the Knicks it was Ewing, for the Nets it was Jason Kidd, for the Celtics it was Bird (along with Russell and a ton of others), for the 76ers it was Dr. J and Allen Iverson, but the Raptors only had Vince — and only had him for six years.

Six years. That was a third of the team’s existence, yes, but it was also pathetic. Part of that was due to management issues — something which I had taken care of for the moment — and another part of that was a lack of loyalty. Vince wasn’t loyal at all to Toronto, he wanted to be a star and couldn’t lift the team.

I could lift any team, I believed that, but I couldn’t carry them alone — not even Jordan could do that. You had to have help and now that I was controlling the management side of things, I could get myself that help.

The door to my house burst open and Ray waltzed in, his face a few different shades of red. “Are you serious?” he asked as he stomped on into my empty living room.

I had just bought it, too. Well, rented it — I’d buy it eventually once I became a citizen of Canada but that would take awhile. Sitting on the floor, laptop in my lap, I didn’t bother turning around. “Relax, Ray.”

“Relax?!” He was incensed — as he had a tendency to do. He hated being out of the loop. “What are you doing to the team?”

“Gutting it, mostly,” I admitted nonchalantly. “We needed to get rid of some people and we helped facilitate a blockbuster deal. Everyone won.”

“You helped send Carmelo to the Nets!” Ray stood behind me and bent down, his upside down face in mine. “Their in our division!”

“And they’re gutted, too,” I said with a laugh. “The Nets sold the farm to get Melo — they have no draft picks in 2011 and 2013, their big free agent signings were Nate Robinson and Travis Outlaw.” I watched as Ray’s face grew a shade darker and laughed some more. “Relax,” I said again as he huffed a huge sigh and sat down beside me.

“They’re not devoid of talent. They drafted Favors, they have Lopez and Robinson isn’t a scrub.”

I nodded along. Personally, I liked Robinson but he was better suited as a bench player, not a starter. Still, the Nets were desperate so they got him. They struck out on Felton (who signed with the Lakers) and it wasn’t like they needed a ball dominating guard. Melo was going to dominate the ball enough for everyone. “We’re okay, Ray. We’re not going to be legitimate until next year at the earliest.”

“And what about Triano? The coach of this team, your coach, Boomer? What do you do about him? You gutted the roster and you expect him to play you?”

“I didn’t gut the roster,” I reminded him. “Kebb did, the fossil who’s here for the money and serving as a placeholder.”

Ray closed his eyes and covered his face. “This is a horrible idea. We’re dead. We’re both so dead.”

“We’re fine, Ray.” I gave him a pat on the back. “This has never been done before, not quite so blatantly, but we’re okay. Nothing we’re doing is illegal.”

“You’re running the team through a patsy GM!” Ray threw up his hands. “How is that legal at all?”

“It’s legal because it isn’t illegal.” I smirked. “Duh.” Admittedly, it wasn’t exactly allowed but all the moves were the GMs. I just made suggestions and the trade ideas were phrased in such a way as to back that up. Anselmi and I had a deal that existed in words and a handshake only — officially, it didn’t exist. There were no papers, no emails, just two men in a room and some promises.

Anselmi was desperate to make the Raptors respectable. He was desperate to prove the rest of his peers wrong and he was desperate to make the organization matter. I was his way to that, his last ditch effort. The leverage — at least for that moment — was mine.

“Triano won’t be a problem, anyway. I suggested to Kebb to tell the coach he has one more year left and then he’ll be ‘reevaluated’ at the end of the season.” I shook my head. “I’m afraid the evaluation won’t be great.”

Ray frowned. “That’s cold.”

“Triano is trash. Hot garbage with a side of suck.” I smiled. “He’s made his money, he’ll move on quietly. He doesn’t have a stake in this franchise. He’s just a guy.”

“And who do you get to replace him?”

I shrugged, turning my attention back to my laptop. “At the moment, I don’t know. I have some ideas, but we’ll see how the season shakes out.”

Ray groaned and laid out on the floor. “I hate you.”

“I got you through calculus in high school.” I smiled at him. “And I was just ten. We’ll be fine.”

Another groan.

[AC]

What's the roster looking like?