PHILADELPHIA — Part of the reason everybody thinks they can be a general manager is because they can. That’s the problem with most general managers. They think like most people. In fact, it’s one of the main reasons why most general managers get and keep their job.
They do things that appeal to a critical mass of people, which means they end up winning headlines and press conferences. Most people would have traded for Andrew Bynum, and signed Ryan Howard to a massive contract extension, and traded up to draft Markelle Fultz.
This alone is often a good indicator of a general manager’s shortcomings. After all, a general manager is paid good money with the thought that his time and expertise will result in optimal moves. But if the moves a GM consistently makes are the same ones that would be made by people who have devoted a fraction of the time and expertise to their consideration, there are only a couple of conclusions one can draw.
The Sixers’ Daryl Morey has never been this sort of general manager, a fact that became doubly as clear on Thursday afternoon when he signed off on a deal that would prompt more than a few comparisons to the old rabbit and the hat.
One year after his failed pursuit of James Harden laid the groundwork for a holdout that left the Sixers staring at a potentially disastrous dead end, Morey both ended that holdout and landed the Nets star, trading disgruntled point forward Ben Simmons and an eminently endurable package of lesser assets a couple of hours before Thursday’s trade deadline.
In doing so, he reinvigorated the Sixers’ stagnant dreams of an NBA title run, pairing one of the greatest isolation scorers in NBA history with one of its emerging greats at center, with Harden opting in to the final year of his contract to set the stage for at least two shots at a long-elusive birth in the Finals.
Morey’s handling of the situation was a master class in the patience and market instincts necessary to build a winner in a league where superstars call the shots. From the moment Simmons’ camp indicated a desire for a trade at a summer meeting in Chicago, the Sixers president let it be known that he would only make such a deal if it improved the Sixers’ chances of contending.
As potential suitors balked at the asking price, Morey resisted round after round of public pressure to accept the best available offer. Later, as Harden’s dissatisfaction in Brooklyn became evident, he steadfastly refused to listen to calls to dangle sophomore phenom Tyrese Maxey in a deal.
Throughout the six-month ordeal, Morey balked at the notion that he was detached from reality. Where others saw desperation, he saw only pragmatism. The Sixers were in the market for a championship. That meant they were in the market for a superstar.
In Simmons, they had a rare commodity, a 25-year-old All-Star with four years remaining on the second contract of his career. He knew that the market was more liable to change than Simmons was to depreciate. He was guaranteed to be right. But the cost-benefit was strongly in his favor.
The fact that Morey was proven correct is far less important than the fact that he put himself in a position to be so. For years, the Sixers have been plagued by myopic thinking in the front office, their treasure trove of assets whittled away by moves that begot worse moves that begot a roster with little direction to pivot.
Whatever you think of the state of play in the modern NBA, Morey has consistently shown a key understanding of it, and a determination to work within its bounds.
That he has the political capital to do so is equally important. More often than not, owners are little more than very rich members of the impulsive masses. It is not easy to spend six months telling your boss that you know what you’re doing.
The Sixers hired Morey because they knew it to be true. They paid him to make them look smart, and that’s what he did.
