SLAMonline Mock Draft: John Wall, No. 1
A whole new kind of firepower.
Poor James Johnson. When I look back at the last year’s SLAMonline Mock Draft, a sour chuckle always jumps across my lips. Thirty picks came and went, and not a single person took the projected Lottery pick. At the time, Johnson’s omission had me salty because I pegged the Mock as the most realistic on the ‘Net. Accuracy? Gone.
It could have been joke; it could have been stark ignorance. But, considering damn near 25 basketball writers purposely passed on James, it probably meant dude wasn’t much of a hooper. Hate to say it, but Johnson’s biggest highlight last season was this. Right…
Who will get Johnson’d this year? We’ll find out in 30 days if we begin this project now.–Ed.
The following is a copy of an entry from Wizards general manager Ernie Grunfeld’s journal. The entry is dated on Tuesday, May 18, 2010 at 11:30 p.m. It is being printed without his permission.
Oh, John Wall, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.
He was John, plain John, in the morning, standing 6 foot 4 with a 6 foot 9 wingspan. He was a point guard at Kentucky. He might be a point guard in the NBA. (It depends on if we cut this combo guard we have who really likes guns and jokes.) But in my arms he was always a Wizard.
You’ll have to forgive me. Maybe I’ve gotten a little verbose, a little deep into my classics. But I’ve been out celebrating, indulging.
Let’s just say this: I haven’t not played some boo-ray with Critt tonight. I haven’t not had a glass of Merlot or two. So, not to let this dampen the sincerity of it all, here’s just two more quotes, Future Self. If I may:
1. To quote the lips below the lustrous, flowing locks of Bryan Adams, “It could only be you.” Remember, this is Ernie Grunfeld. I’m 55. I like this s–t.
With the first pick in the 2010 SLAMonline Mock Draft, the Washington Wizards select…
John Wall from the University of Kentucky.
Do you hear those words? Those sonorous, beaming words? They sound like flowers wrapped in chocolate delivered by adorable cats.
I will look forward to opening the paper tomorrow and reading the news. Others will too. Do you know what that means, Future Self? Want to know what the legitimate highlight of the late-‘00s was for Wizards fans? It’s when Wizznutzz won that Church’s Fried Chicken box that was signed by both Manute Bol and Spud Webb on EBay.
That had nothing to do with basketball whatsoever.
And now you’re here, John Wall, not a Church’s Fried Chicken box but a Golden God, or close to it. I’m sitting here, tonight, watching Rajon Rondo win Game 2 over Orlando and he’s doing it all by himself without a jumpshot.
To think: You’re Rajon Rondo with a jumpshot. You’re not there yet defensively, no, Johnny, but you will be. You’re tall enough, long enough to guard either guard position. You’re athletic enough, quick enough to stay in front of anyone. I’ve seen you slap the floor and yell for defense in crunchtime. I know how that’s contagious.
We’re going to make sweet, sweet Eastern Conference Finals appearances together, John Wall.
“Call me Ishmael.” No, call me savior.
Thank God you’re not DeMarcus Cousins, John Wall. Thank God. We don’t know what we would’ve done with him, but it definitely would’ve involved one room, seven weapons, and Andray Blatche. It would’ve been a lot like a Saw movie.
With you, there are no problems. There will never be any problems.
I remember I first saw you with six seconds left in your first college game against Miami of Ohio. Someone had just hit a shot to tie it and you just decided to stroll at half-speed — gliding, really, like a hawk in a very patriotic nature documentary on Discovery — until you reached your spot. Then, fifteen feet out, a hand in your face, you hit a game-winner. In your first game in college. Did I say that already? I get forgetful when I’m giddy.
I know what you’re thinking, John Wall: I should’ve been scouting you before then. That’s what GMs are supposed to do. But I was busy at the time. I was busy winning all the time. I apologize. You probably sympathize deeply.
Wait, you don’t own any guns, do you, John? Tell me you don’t own any guns.
Of course you don’t.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
No, it was the worst of times. This is the best of times. I get forgetful when I’m giddy.