If you are reading this, it can mean just one thing: I am already dead. I was asking too many questions, I had stuck my nose into business other than my own, but most importantly: I saw the one thing that the Utah Jazz front office absolutely did not want unpriveledged eyes to witness.
I suspect Ausin and Danny Ainge, Ryan Smith, Will Hardy, or some combination of the four were the masterminds in this grand conspiracy, and as such were likely the architects of my inevitable demise. Perhaps Cody Williams finally dragged me to my hasty grave — it was only a matter of time, I suppose, though I always suspected that watching him play basketball would trigger a stroke or something along those lines.
So if you are, in fact, reading this now, I send you my final will and testament post-mortem: the Utah Jazz preseason did not happen, and I have proved it.
Day I: Wisdom is Curiosity
I’ve spent hours huddled over books, parchment, and files; the candle’s light is my only vision. I ignore the demands of both the librarian and the fire marshal alike that my blanket fort is a ‘fire hazard’ and that no adult man should be ‘playing fort’ in a public library. I ignore their dissenting voices, their disbelief, and their threats of arrest. Words cannot shake my conviction.
Just days into the NBA regular season, and a single stray mental monologue has sent me into a tailspin. Something is not right about the Utah Jazz this year. It’s not just that they’re winning. No, there is something far more sinister at play here. We saw Utah take the floor four times before opening night of the regular season.
Preseason /priːˈsiːz(ə)n/ noun: Empty, meaningless tune-ups for the NBA’s engineers to grease the joints, tighten the screws, and warm up their machines in preparation for the 82-game regular-season gauntlet stretching from late October to early April. Or so they’d like us to believe.
The results of these games carry no significance from the moment the final buzzer sounds. Scoreboards, box scores, and records are wiped clean from the moment the regular season begins, but all the same, these are showcases for the season to come. A taste of star power. A glimpse into offseason growth. A fleeting glance at the basketball equivalent of a Costco free sample — if you liked that, you’re going to love the real thing.
‘The real thing.’
The real thing? Wait a minute. For 48 minutes at a time, honest-to-goodness NBA basketball players, in an honest-to-goodness NBA arena (with the exception of the odd Brazil, Abu Dhabi, or Mexico City showcase). Shouldn’t that matter for something — anything? Can’t fans watch these games and recognize tangible progress? Can’t a player’s breakout night in a preseason battle reflect in their heightened confidence when playing in the regular season?
I’ll have to ponder these questions further as the season advances. The regular season tips off here soon, and I can better assess the Utah Jazz from this point onward.
Day II: I’m Not Crying, You’re Crying
As it so happens, librarians must have impressive memory and facial recognition ability. Perhaps my wheelbarrow full of blankets and candles tipped them off. It also could’ve been the fact that my picture had been posted on the wall adjacent to the entrance, and these devilish features are easy to spot from the check-out counter. I strategized that the horn-rimmed glasses sitting on her nose would serve to the guard dog librarian’s detriment. To the contrary, her senses were heightened, precise, and rapid. I would have more luck ducking the scanning eyes of James Dolan while attending a Knicks game.
The alarm was raised, and I was quickly and decisively removed from the premises by a surprisingly able-bodied library security guard — also donning thick-rimmed glasses. My face met the pavement. My not-to-be fort followed as it dolloped me in a crumpled heap.
I’ll be taking a ‘me day’ and plan to continue my research elsewhere.
Day III: Discovery
My Groucho Marx glasses served less as a disguise and more as a beacon on my third and final attempt to enter the library. My bus money has run dry, and I’d sooner squeeze lemons over my eyes than trek the mile-and-a-half journey back to that house of books and horrors. With conviction, I elect to advance my studies from the isolation of my own home.
In my first hour of searching, I discovered something harrowing. Perhaps it’s the bump on my head or the artistic boon that comes from depression and desperation, but I’ve made a breakthrough.
I had long suspected that somehow, somewhere, there was a discrepancy between the two periods, but what I’m uncovering may not just be a matter of statistical oddities. This is not a crazed lunatic’s ramblings about how he was fooled by a small sample size. This is evidence that a rift has been torn in the space-time continuum — the very fabric upon which our universe is held together. The regular season has not matched up with what we witnessed in the preseason, and it’s led me to a sobering truth: the Utah Jazz preseason did not occur. It never happened. Whether it was a shared hallucination, the power of suggestion, a complete fabrication, or worst of all, evidence that our timeline’s integrity is clung together by its final fibers, we’ve been lied to. And the repercussions could be catastrophic.
EXHIBIT A: Bailey, Airious, and Hendricks, Taylor
Can you recall the mania surrounding Ace Bailey during his only healthy appearance in the preseason? Donning a Utah Jazz uniform, Ace drove a stake through the heart of his naysayers with a mighty 25-point outburst. Jazz Nation was on fire; Utah had a star on the roster, and possibly an adversary to Cooper Flagg’s unopposed ROY campaign.
Since that day, knee soreness, mysterious illness, and a dark cloud have hovered over the head of Utah’s youngster. He’s shooting 29.6% from the field in his seven regular-season appearances, which is the lowest mark of anyone on the team and a far cry from the 58.8% he shot during the cautiously acknowledged preseason. To that effect, his points per game total has followed suit, plummeting from 16.0 to 4.7.
Taylor Hendricks is suffering a similar abnormality, as his scoring sum has taken a comparable, though less extreme, dive from 13.0 to 5.1. In both cases, both playing time and efficiency are utterly unrecognizable from the identities they revealed during the darkened period. Hendricks and Bailey saw 28.2 and 26.8 minutes per game, respectively, in the preseason, but one wouldn’t derive such knowledge from their regular-season splits of 16.1 and 17.4 minutes. Their production is exponentially inferior to that of their alternate reality selves, and it’s causing me to question what I once knew to be true.
EXHIBIT B: George, Keyonte, and Markkanen, Lauri
Flipping this coin, I’d like to call into question the characters of one Keyonte George and one Lauri Makkanen, both of whom carried preseason personas quite unlike what we’ve observed in seven regular-season appearances.
Since the barrier of meaningful basketball was broken, Keyonte George has become the very image of an exceptional modern NBA point guard: collecting assists like I collect stray insects in my home, detonating scoring explosions whenever he deems necessary (he just scored 31 points against the Celtics and is averaging 23.1 points through seven games), and actually putting heart and hustle into his soul when on the defensive side of the floor. During the preseason period of darkness, Keyonte displayed a body of work not drastically unlike his first two seasons of NBA production. Since passing the barrier, he has been reborn. The Keyonte George you know is gone; he was shed for someone far better.
Lauri Markkanen, a player who’s seen a production deficit in recent seasons, averaged less than 20 minutes of playing time in two preseason appearances and scored just 12.5 points, has ballooned into a basketball deity as he averages 31.1 points per contest in the regular season and stands high upon the pantheon as he looks down upon the common folk from his throne of luxury, the soothing sounds of saxophones, trumpets, and piano playing soundtrack to his benevolent reign.
The very fact that these two superhuman beings walked as humble mortals in the preseason is highly suspect.
EXHIBIT C: the Sensabaugh Scheme
Perhaps the most damning piece of evidence I can carry that would point to the non-existence of the preseason lies in the person of Brice Sensabaugh, a third-year player who played like an untouchable mechanism for scoring in the preseason — leading the entire team in points per contest — who now spends his days toiling at the end of the bench, burning entire 48-minute stretches without so much as removing his warm-up attire.
Some may attempt to rationalize his absence by pointing to his poor defensive effort or the fact that he may not be performing as his head coach, Will Hardy, has instructed. I cannot touch on these issues, I’m a crazed lunatic spouting conspiracy theories about the NBA preseason, not a fortune teller (as far as I can prove), but with the mountains of information backing my discoveries, a red flag has been raised, and my suspicions are too great to entertain fools’ resources like logic and reason at this time.
Brice Sensabaugh was poised for a breakout season, but the Utah Jazz are smothering him to protect their layered walk-in closet of lies. Rack after rack of superficial answers have been carefully positioned so as to dissuade anyone from sliding the barriers aside. I’ve looked past the walls. I’ve penetrated their security. I’ve found the truth.
The Utah Jazz preseason did not happen.
I document my findings, understanding the tremendous risk I’m putting myself before. If this is the last you hear of me, know that I was correct. If this is the first you hear of me, I understand that you’re likely severely confused (Hi, I’m Calvin. Nice to meet you). Regardless of the waves my findings sent across the basketball universe, the truth had to be published, no matter the cost. I have no regrets, come what may.
Calvin Barrett is a writer, editor, and prolific Mario Kart racer located in Tokyo, Japan. He has covered the NBA and College Sports since 2024.