The game had already moved on from Chris Paul long before he decided to step away from it for good. Still, the timing mattered to him, as it always did, on and off the court, and across eras. Which was why, when he announced his retirement late last week, the declaration came across as an exclamation point.
Paul leaves after 21 seasons as one of the most accomplished playmakers the National Basketball Association (NBA) has ever known: second all-time in assists and steals, a 12-time All-Star, and a fixture on All-NBA and All-Defensive teams through two decades. True, he failed to secure a championship that could well have ended any debate about his place in history. Then again, it can likewise be argued that a title is mere icing on the cake for a career that was all about orchestration.
Paul arrived in the league as a conductor among soloists. Even as offenses sped up and spacing widened, he insisted on control: of pace, of angles, of accountability. Coaches trusted him because he saw everything. Teammates trusted him because he demanded everything. And opponents respected him because he weaponized everything. NBA commissioner Adam Silver described him as “a true steward of the sport,” essentially capturing both his authority and his burden. He was not just running plays; he was enforcing standards.
Considering Paul’s contributions to the pro scene, it’s fair to consider the closing stretch of his career as largely undeserved. His return to the Clippers was supposed to signal a celebration. Instead, tensions escalated, and his relationship with principals deteriorated in full view of the public. He was sent home midseason, traded, waived, and ultimately orphaned. No doubt, the sharp contrast between the turbulent sequence and the precision with which he had hitherto imposed led him to formalize his exit.
Perhaps Paul was fated to experience a messy departure. After all, he had always resisted tidy framing. He willed the Hornets into relevance, pushed the Rockets to contention, got the supposedly rebuilding Thunder to thrive, and steered the Suns to the Finals. Everywhere he went, competence became a staple. Stability followed. Rings were far more elusive, but consistent competitiveness met expectations all the same.
And so Paul leaves with gratitude. By his own reckoning, he is relieved, fulfilled, and ready to settle down. For two decades, he mastered the art of arriving exactly when and where he was needed by the game. Now, for the first time since he was drafted fourth overall in 2005, the game will have to figure out where to go without him.
Anthony L. Cuaycong has been writing Courtside since BusinessWorld introduced a Sports section in 1994. He is a consultant on strategic planning, operations and human resources management, corporate communications, and business development.