I wonder if Dwight Howard saw it coming. When Charles Barkley asked him on Inside the NBA -- "Why don't people like you?" -- was it an agreed-upon line of questioning, possibly even one rehearsed in advance? Or was he, like the viewing public, caught entirely off-guard? Either way, it was the perfect way to open an interview with Howard, who in his own perfectly benign and grating way, is one of the game's most controversial players. And for some reason, it worked.
Suppose Barkley and Howard did discuss the question beforehand. For Howard to cooperate would require a sky-high level of trust in Barkley and a surprising degree of self-awareness from a player frequently accused of being fake or phony. In this version of things, Howard would likely have been motivated by his upcoming free agency. Certainly, there was an element of opportunism to the interview. It afforded Howard the chance to explain himself and address concerns that teams might have about him heading into the summer.
Still, this was a calculated risk that could have backfired. Howard could have easily burnished his image without exploring the isolation of the big man or admitting that sometimes all the talent in the world can't make up for a lack of on-court chemistry. It speaks volumes that I'm disappointed that Dwight Howard, of all people, didn't delve into why "you smile too much" is an especially loaded criticism of an African-American public figure.
Howard using Inside the NBA as a platform for self-discovery (or at least self-disclosure) is a testament to why, even after all these years, that program still matters. As slapdash and unfounded as it can be at times, Inside the NBA takes a warts-and-all approach to covering the league that's athlete-centric without feeling watered down. Active players view that studio as a safe space even though they're frequently skewered in absentia. If they want to show up, audition for a future in broadcasting, and answer to Barkley's occasionally slapdash criticisms, they're always more than welcome.
Then there's the way it more likely went down, where Howard was ambushed by Barkley, much like the audience, who probably let out a collective groan when the big man first appeared on set. Howard's unexpected candor -- his vulnerability -- wasn't a conscious choice, it was an instantaneous reaction. Barkley cut to the quick and Howard, rather than shut down or act defiant, was left raw and exposed. The real talk that ensued wasn't contrived and certainly wasn't taken for granted by Barkley. It was a fight-or-flight response that tells us a lot about Dwight Howard's character, passion and intelligence.
Athletes -- especially not those as seemingly superficial as Dwight Howard -- rarely speak this freely during interviews, which is why I'm inclined to believe that Barkley didn't give him the heads-up. There was simply no good reason for him to open up to the degree he did. As the interview progressed, you could see Howard relaxing, and Barkley getting more and more inquisitive -- as well as noticeably impressed. Howard never had to answer another question as tough as "why don't people like you," because that is the single toughest question you could ask Dwight Howard. It set the tone.
(Fun diversion: Come up with that question for other notable players in the league and leave them in the comments section).
However unintentionally, for 15 minutes Dwight Howard gave us a window into not only his own experience but that of NBA players. In particular, the very, very good ones. Howard seemed relieved to speak this way. Obviously he knew before that night that he has an image problem. That he decided to talk about it publicly and be so frank around other issues in the sport was the breakthrough. In its wake, you could imagine any number of players waxing eloquent on the subject if given the chance. To assume otherwise says more about us than it does them.
I've seen the interview referred to as an intervention but it was more like therapy done right. Howard wasn't flummoxed or defensive. Instead, he went in headlong and owned his answers. And in doing so, he turned the camera back on everyone watching at home. We complain that athletes never really say much of anything. Why don't athletes regularly open up like this? Because they're afraid that we won't really hear them. And they're probably right.
Shockingly, Charles Barkley is a great listener. It's not just that he evidently gained a newfound respect for Howard, to the point of identifying (and trying to assuage) their shared ringless-ness. He wasn't going for shock value, or so he could hang Howard out to dry. He wanted to draw out the real Dwight Howard and did so the only way he knows how: By cutting to the quick and hoping his directness is responded to in kind. When it is, it's because the subject knows that Barkley isn't out to get anyone in interviews. He really just wants to understand these players.
It's hardly a given, though, that everyone who consumes sports wants to view athletes in this light or get a full picture of their experience. For many, exactly what makes players compelling is their cartoonish aspect. Reducing Howard to a whiny, unmotivated clown makes for more succinct storytelling around him. He becomes a character, and an especially convenient one at that. But the best fictional characters aren't one-dimensional or even two-dimensional. They present themselves as nuanced; it takes entire novels or movies to fully depict them.
If you like bad art or think that high school English papers are the height of literary criticism then congratulations, you were probably bummed out to learn that Dwight Howard has a soul. If not, then you should take away more from that conversation than just what Howard said. That he said it at all -- and that it found a sympathetic audience -- is encouraging. And if we're ready to really hear from players, we have to accept that we might not always like what they have to say, especially when it concerns unfair public perception. Otherwise, we might as well tell them to sit down, shut up and let us selectively put words in their mouths.
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