From the Ashes: A Phoenix Tale

[trekfan]

System/Game: PC/NBA 2K18
Mode: MyLeague
Rosters: 2K official (with slight edits) as of June 2018
Sliders: Superstar default -- injury frequency set to 22, severity to 25. Will adjust as needed.

Quarter Length: 12 Minutes
Sim Quarter Length: 12 Minutes


Player Progression: 50
Player Regression: 63
In-Season Training Effects: 62


Trying something new with the progression/regression/training, may change as I go along depending on how things look.



Draft Class Quality: 47


I've set the quality to 47, may lower or raise it depending on what the league needs.

The classes themselves will be Auto/user created -- I'll be avoiding using actual players in the 2018/19/20 classes, and instead give 2K's draft class generator (and other users) a shot for the first time in many years. I know the CAP system, in terms of features and sculpting, has taken a step back, but I've largely been impressed with the diversity in the auto-generated draft classes.

Ages are skewed too high, but it's easy to edit that in quick edit mode and drop everyone to 18/19/20.

Season Length: 82 Games
Regular Season Rules: 20-24 played, rest simmed.
Playoff Rules: 2 playoff games (randomly determined by number generator, one must be in first four games) per series.
2 games allowed in NBA Finals (randomly determined by number generator, one must be in first four games)
Playoff Format: 7-7-7-7
Injuries: On (Frequency for both CPU and User at 22, effects at 25)
Progressive Fatigue: Off (seems to be too much this year, so I've taken it off -- with chemistry and injuries still on, I anticipate the league will be fine, but will adjust accordingly as we go).
Team Chemistry: On
CPU Trades: Off
CPU Trade Approval: Off
Trade Override: Off
Control: 30 Teams, CPU automation for lineup/coaching tasks on every team but my primary; total control otherwise (roster moves, drafting, free agency, etc).

Welcome to my newest dynasty thread! My last one, You Don't Know Jack: A Pacers Story (linked in my signature below), was concluded just a short while ago and I've had this one sitting in the oven for nearly a year.



The basic idea of this story was going to be the original idea for my previous dynasty, but real world events made it seem inappropriate. Over the many months between last September and now, I've had time to fine-tune this idea and have something I quite like.



Once more, I've revisiting a team I tried to dynasty with back in 2K13 but only got so far due to a corrupt save file -- this dynasty will focus on the Suns, a team I've always liked a lot but have never won a title. Getting out of the West has been near impossible for them, historically, and with the recent moves in the West this summer (LeBron to the Lakers notably), it's going to be even more difficult for poor Phoenix to get anywhere.



Add in the challenge I'm throwing at them in this story and ... well, this is definitely going to be a hard dynasty to win with. But I'm up for the challenge, I have a draft class I've customized for some fun, and I like the characters I have in this.



This dynasty will be told in the traditional 3rd POV, past tense (returning to my roots) and will feature three main characters whom we'll see events unfold through.



As always, any and all comments are welcome. I hope you guys enjoy.

Now, with all that out of the way ... let's begin.
(Disclaimer -- all this is FICTION so don't assume any of it is real in any way, other than the game results anyway.)

[trekfan]

2017-18 Awards+Final Standings


Awards:

Final Standings:












Retirements:

[trekfan]

Ch. 1


April 24th, 2018

The pattern for the Phoenix Suns was the same it had been for the last eight seasons – miss the playoffs, bemoan the blown games, prepare for the draft, and hope against hope that the next season would be different. The Suns were a miserable franchise at this point, blessed with young talent and a front office that knew not how to use it.

“Incompetent,” Sam Gray mumbled to himself as he banged away on his keyboard. He would like to call the front office many things, many terrible, insulting, cathartic things. They were bad at their jobs, they criminally underperformed, and they were constantly getting excused by someone.

“The team is young,” people said. “The franchise is rebuilding,” NBA experts proclaimed. It was all bull *hit.

The fact of the matter – no, the truth of the matter – was that the franchise was run by imbeciles. Sarver was happy to own the team and reap the many benefits of depriving the fans of their hard-earned cash through keeping a cheap payroll; the front office was happy to oblige him so they could keep their jobs.

It was all a vicious, sickening cycle that seemed to have no end in sight.

Or, at least, it seemed that way when Sam woke up that morning. Now, eight hours later, there was something in his heart that had been missing since Nash was traded to the hated Lakers; hope. Robert Sarver, the bane of Suns' existence, was selling the team … if rumors were to be believed.

And Sarver was doing nothing to dispel those rumors. In fact, he had assembled the entire team – every member of the Suns roster – and was flying them to an island resort to announce the news and introduce them to their new mystery owner.

“Who's the poor *astard?” Sam asked himself as he chewed on his favorite pen (which had run out of ink months ago but it still served a purpose as a chew toy). His years in the newspaper business made having connections and sources easy.

But those connections and those sources were just as much in the dark as he. The league office was tight-lipped, unusual for this time of year, and no one from the Suns was answering his calls.

He scratched at his stubble, stood from his chair, and stretched; his back cracked louder than a firecracker on the fourth of July and he grimaced momentarily before letting out a sigh of relief. Age is the great equalizer, he reminded himself. He wouldn't haven't tightened up like this ten years ago, but now – approaching 50 and decidedly not in his prime – even sitting for a few hours at a time caused his body to ache.

He was old. Maybe that was why Sarver was pulling out now, maybe the guy wasn't going to waste his life waiting for a Phoenix title that always was just beyond reach. How close had they come to making the Finals in the Nash years? Just a few plays away, a few calls, a few whistles … always next year.

He stood there for a moment, contemplating his mortality and the futility of investing so much into a sports franchise destined to be less than the Lakers or Celtics.

“Some Barkley highlights,” he said to the empty room. Watching Sir Charles unleashed in a Suns uniform was always good for his soul, even if Charles – like himself – was old and getting older by the day. As he searched for the remote to his TV, he came across his phone buried under what was left of his feast of leftover Chinese. “uck.” He had left it on silent and the blinking, blue notification light flashed annoyingly at him, begging him to activate the display and be flooded with all the important “news.”

News that was likely to do with Twitter notifications he forgot to turn off or texts from people he rather wished didn't have his number in the first place.

He picked it up, unlocked the phone, and found he had fifty-nine new notifications. His heartbeat accelerated as he scrolled through them, working his way back to the event …

With speed he didn't know he still had, Sam crossed the room and manually turned on his TV and switched the input to cable.

There, in full view of the world and history, was the breaking news that would forever haunt his memory.

Phoenix Suns plane crashes, death toll unknown

****

May 1st, 2018

She removed the black hat from her head and tossed it casually upon the office chair — her office chair. It was all hers now, the team, the arena, everything …

Including the deaths of those people. The entire roster of the Phoenix Suns decimated in one, fell swoop — God’s sick sense of humor at work. She had bought the franchise for the team, the youth, the potential, the ability to make a statement: That was gone now.

Instead, she was left with tragedy. Pity. Death. Sadness. Grief. Guilt.

The Suns future had become cloudy, much like the weather.

A rumble of thunder echoed and the sky — poignantly enough — opened up and poured out its tears … whether it was tears from sadness or tears from something else, she wasn’t sure.

“Poetic,” her right-hand man, John Weaver, said from behind her. The ginger, freckle-faced and sporting an infectious smile (most days), was dour today. His mood, much like hers, was dark. It was hard not to be.

“I’m glad the funeral is over with,” she relayed to him, not for the first time since the entire affair had ended. The team ceremony for those that passed was … eerie. The families and friends of those that perished were there and she felt nearly every one of them had, somewhere in their mind, affixed the blame for the tragedy to her.

They were coming to see you, to meet you, she heard in her mind. The thought had tortured her for weeks. The funeral had only confirmed that her thinking, wrong as it might have been from a rational standpoint — the odds against such a crash were high — had been right emotionally; those people did blame her on some level. The entire fanbase did.

It was irrational and illogical, but her years in the business world had taught her that people were those two things above all else; to expect rationality and logic was illogical all on its own.

John cleared his throat, his hand fumbling in his pocket — a tic of his. “Regina … this isn’t going to be what we thought it would be.”

She stared at their combined reflections in the window, the pouring rain battering against it. “It isn’t. It’ll be harder … but we can’t let it be the defining moment of our tenure.” She turned to face him, her gaze unrelenting. “I didn’t buy this team to get buried with the people who died.”

John offered a nod. “Agreed. We had plans, we can still achieve those plans … if we play our cards right.”

“Then let’s see what we’ve been dealt.” She kicked off her heels and strolled across her office barefoot, a small comfort she could afford — she noted mentally to have the rugs replaced, they weren’t particularly soft. She sat on the lounge couch and got comfortable. “I assume you have news from the league?”

John loosened his tie and offered a nod. “The owners have approved the purchase, of course. Silver has communicated to me that the NBA will be instituting a disaster draft immediately after the end of the Finals … so sometime in early June.”

“A disaster draft? I didn’t know they had such a thing.”

John pulled out a small notebook and pen from his jacket pocket — he was amusingly attached to writing his own notes that way instead of using a tablet — and found his notes. “Every team will be allowed to protect five players, we’ll be allowed to select one player from the unprotected pool from each team — one player per team, no doubles — and those players can either be under contract or not for next year. We’re basically selecting their rights if they don’t have a contract.”

She absorbed the information silently for a moment. “And our cap sheet?”

“We will be responsible for honoring the contracts of the players that we lost, but in terms of the league … we have a clean cap sheet; those contracts won’t count against us ever again.”

A fresh start, good. “John, I want a memorial for those players. Cost is unimportant. A marble wall with their names inscribed in it, at the front entrance to the arena and a smaller plaque version at every entrance into the seating area. I want their names in the rafters on a banner, large and prominent.”

He took down the notes and tapped his pen against the notebook. “And their numbers?”

“Do you want the nice answer or the real answer?”

“Real,” he said without hesitation.

She allowed a small smile. She could always count on him preferring the truth over what sounded good. “The numbers of the players that died, cold as it may seem, are also numbers that are highly marketable. Someone else, down the line, may decide they want that number and I want them to have that opportunity.”

He winced. “Long-term, I agree. Short-term, people are going to be angry.”

“Anger is natural in this situation. We’ll get through it.”

He jotted some more notes down. “The NBA has also guaranteed us the first pick in the draft.” He looked up. “There’s no doubt who we’re taking, right?”

She flashed a smile. “No doubt.”

****

June 12th, 2018

“OP, it’s J-Dog!” His cousin came bursting through the sidedoor to their house and clapped his hands excitedly. “Where’s my boy at?”

Omar Pope exited from the nearby bathroom and clutched at his chest. “Jesus, man, you about gave me a heartache.” They exchanged their customary handshake — so complicated it took them three weeks of practice to master it in seventh grade — and Omar nodded towards the kitchen. “Yo, you eat yet?”

“Nah, I mean … well, I kinda did … but I really didn’t, cause I had to leave halfway through, so nah,” J-Dog said with his usual flair.

“Your mom ran you out of the house again, huh?”

J-Dog shook his head and rolled his eyes. “She’s trippin’ man, she’s trippin’. You need to get your mom to talk her down, she’s freaking out about you getting drafted; she’s all up on me and I don’t mean in a good way.”

Omar winced and grinned all at once. “God, don’t put that image in my brain.”

J-Dog waved his hands; if he was playing defense, this was the part where he was backpedaling in fear … Omar had seen that look a lot during his lone college season. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned his attention to his first love in life — his stomach — and started rummaging through the household fridge, filled with J-Dog’s favorite thing in existence: Leftovers.

“*hit, you guys had lasagna and didn’t invite me over? The *uck man, you know I love your mom’s Italian.”

Omar sat himself on the kitchen barstool — his 6’8” frame making it look ridiculous — and took out his phone. “Aunt Briana cooks.”

“Not like your mom,” J-Dog shot back. He popped open the lid of leftover lasagna, inhaled deeply, and nodded. “This is mine.” He pulled out some Parmesan cheese while he was in the fridge and, with one deft movement, closed the fridge with his foot while opening the microwave with his other hand.

“You should have displayed that move in high school, coach would have played you more.”

“I would have had to blow that *ss to get on the court.” J-Dog pulled a plate from the dishwasher, stared at it for a moment, shrugged, and dumped the entire container of lasagna onto it. He stuck it in the microwave, covered it with a paper towel (Omar’s mother had gotten on to everyone about the state of the microwave over the years) and nuked that thing.

The microwave started doing its work. “What you up to?”

“Texting Max.”

“Super-agent Max,” J-Dog said with thick dose of sarcasm. “He’s a tight*ss, you know that?”

“He’s my agent. I’m fine with him being a tight*ss, as long as he’s a tight*ss who does his job well.” Omar finished responding to Max’s most recent text — basically asking him what his mindset was — and tossed his phone onto the counter. “Look, there’s a lot of *hit to handle, man. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but my parents hired Max to guide us and he’s guiding us right to the top.”

J-Dog held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa, OP. I wasn’t getting on you or your folks, I’m just sayin’ … your agent is the whitest white dude that ever whited in the history of white folk.”

They both laughed at that for a good minute before the microwave interrupted them, letting them know J-Dog’s food was done — well, the Pope household’s food that J-Dog was scarfing down. Truthfully, Omar’s mom didn’t mind J-Dog disposing of the leftovers; it was her husband and Omar’s father who insisted they be saved (”Leftoveritis, he got it from you grandmother,” his mother had told him a few times) but his father never really ate the leftovers.

J-Dog blew on the steaming hot lasagna, dug his fork into it and took a measured bit. “*uck, hot,*uck,” he half-whispered, half-yelled as he took a deep drink of his bottled water — which amazingly he had grabbed from the fridge before and Omar hadn’t even noticed. J-Dog always had quick hands … he also had a very short attention span too.

J-Dog held out his fork like a mic. “So, my man, Pope Omar the twenty-fifth, tell me what it feels like to be the first overall pick in the NBA draft?”

Omar found himself drawing a blank. What did it feel like it? He wasn’t sure. He still was having difficulty wrapping his head around it all … the Suns team going down in flames, the NBA granting them the first overall pick, the absolute certainty that he was going to be picked first — because the Suns called him and told him over a month ago.

J-Dog held the fork a little bit closer. “Mister Pope, Earth to Omar, you there?”

Omar slapped the fork away. “Don’t blow smoke up *ss, Ned.”

J-Dog dropped the fork onto the plate and grimaced. “*uck, don’t call me that.”

“It’s your damn name.”

“My mom was so hopped up on drugs she didn’t know what to put — it’s just a technicality, I’m getting that *hit changed when I move out, you better believe that.” He picked up his fork again and dug into the lasagna. “I ain’t Ned.”

Omar’s stomach growled, the smell of hot food waking it from its slumber. “I think I’m gonna get some food myself.”

“I saw some pork chops in the back left of the bottom shelf, they looked good too,” J-Dog said between mouthfuls.

Omar gave a nod of acknowledgment. No matter how crazy his life was about to get, he knew three things:

One, he was a damned good basketball player.

Two, his parents would always have his back.

Three, J-Dog would look out for him … especially when it came to food.

[RMJH4]

Yess! Great start, disaster draft! Gonna be good I can feel it. Love to see the Sun's good again. Ran with them back on NBA2K10.

Your own fictional drafts?! Love those, too difficult to keep accurate real drafts.

Good luck man. Im sold already, following.��

[trekfan]

Quote: Originally Posted by seaboh

Yess! Great start, disaster draft! Gonna be good I can feel it. Love to see the Sun's good again. Ran with them back on NBA2K10. Your own fictional drafts?! Love those, too difficult to keep accurate real drafts. Good luck man. Im sold already, following.��

Much thanks! Yes, the almighty disaster draft -- first revealed to the world by Bill Simmons in his "The Book of Basketball" in the "What if?" section about the 1960 Lakers plane crash that almost was (pg 204, I have it permanently bookmarked).


When I first read about it, I was stunned I had never heard of it before then. It immediately set my mind afire with possibilities and I've been working, off and on, for nearly a year on this idea.



As for fictional drafts -- yeah, this first class is me (wanted to set the table with a cast of characters in the NBA of my own making) but after that, it's either user created or CPU generated (and truthfully a good portion of my first class was just user generated by 2K, I had no real issues with a lot of the players it beyond visual looks and ages).



It's gonna be fun I hope.

[Stout]

The Suns needing to start over after a tragedy. Sounds familiar, Trek.

Really exited to see how this unfolds. The disaster draft concept has always been, in concept, fascinating to me. Hopefully, we won't have to actually encounter something like that in any sports league.

I like the idea of using the created/fictional draft classes. Just give me a game or two with those 2000's purple Suns jerseys and I'll be a happy camper!

[trekfan]

Quote: Originally Posted by Stout

The Suns needing to start over after a tragedy. Sounds familiar, Trek. Really exited to see how this unfolds. The disaster draft concept has always been, in concept, fascinating to me. Hopefully, we won't have to actually encounter something like that in any sports league. I like the idea of using the created/fictional draft classes. Just give me a game or two with those 2000's purple Suns jerseys and I'll be a happy camper!

Yes, another tragedy for the Suns ... I apparently have issues with them subconsciously?



And, yes, the jersey's -- you bet we'll be getting those mid-2000s jerseys (NASH) as well as my own rebrand (as I can't stand the current iteration -- so boring and plain). Will be showing those off shortly.

[trekfan]

Suns Disaster Draft Recap

By Sam Gray

For Phoenix Suns fans, the last seven weeks have been filled with the lowest of lows — the franchise suffered one of the most tragic events in pro sports history as the entire roster from last season lost their lives in an accident no one could have predicted.

But the NBA had a plan in place in case this ever happened and that plan was enacted earlier this morning, as the Phoenix Suns participated in the first — and hopefully last — disaster draft. Per NBA rules, every NBA team was allowed to protect the rights to five players (either under contract or not) and the Suns were given the chance to draft one of the players from the unprotected pool — Phoenix was only allowed to draft one player from one team, no more.

At the helm for this draft, and for the actual NBA draft merely days away, was the Suns’ new GM David Griffin. Griffin officially assumed the role of GM two weeks ago and made it clear he understands the nature of his job.

“Right now, we’re all hurting … there’s not a person I know, in the league or in Phoenix, who isn’t feeling some form of anger or grief about the loss of those people. We’ll never get them back and they can never be replaced … but I believe the community and the league will rally around this organization and those families who suffered. We’re starting from scratch and it’s going to be difficult in ways that I can’t predict, but we will get through it together,” said Griffin.

New owner Regina Culver — only the second African-American to own a pro sports team in the NBA and the only woman to fully own her own franchise in the NBA — echoed Griffin’s statements.

“We’re committed to building the Suns back up and we’ll do that one brick at a time,” Culver said. “We’re not starting from square one, we’re starting at square zero, and it will be challenging … but it is not a challenge I or anyone in this organization will shy away from.”

Griffin’s draft strategy was apparent from the jump: grab players that can develop but also help build a winning culture.

C Harry Giles (SAC)

C Nerlens Noel (DAL)

PF Juan Hermangomez (DEN)

PF Serge Ibaka (TOR)

SF Terrence Ferguson (OKC)

SG Dante Exum (UTA)

SG Cedi Osman (CLE)

PG Derrick White (SA)

PG Terry Rozier (BOS)

The Suns had the ability to select up to fifteen players but settled on only nine, the minimum amount required by the NBA.

“We had players we wanted to target and got those players; we’re really looking to save cap space to allow future moves,” said Griffin.

The most notable name selected by the Suns would have to be Serge Ibaka — he will immediately be the highest paid player on the team and was left unprotected by the Raptors, who are giving indications that they’re looking to change the core of their squad during this offseason.

“Leaving Ibaka unprotected was a clear signal to everyone across the league that the Raptors are finally ready to move on,” said one league executive. “They can’t get to the Finals with that squad.”

The other names — Noel, Exum, Rozier, Osman — are all younger players (each under the age of 25) whom have all struggled to show their best at one point or another. Rozier is the only one out of the bunch who has proven to be successful with a winning team, albeit as a bench player for the Celtics.

Multiple sources throughout the league are also convinced the Suns will make another big move in the draft. Phoenix, as part of the NBA’s catastrophe rule, was automatically guaranteed the first overall pick of the next draft and the Suns have made no secret of their intentions.

“His name is Omar Pope and he’s going to be a Phoenix Sun on June 21st,” reiterated Culver. “We will not trade the pick and we will not entertain any trade offers for it or Omar. Period.”

Phoenix also possesses the eleventh overall pick, thanks to trading Dragic to the Heat in 2015. That pick could be used to make another move, though what moves are being considered are unknown at this point; Phoenix could swing the pick for another veteran player who needs a new home (think Kevin Love) or the Suns could use the pick to move up into the top-ten, though whom the target would be is also a mystery.

Whatever the case, the Suns objective is clear: There will be no bottoming out for another top pick next season. Phoenix will at least try to compete this season and their best player will likely be the one they will draft first overall in nine days.