December sits heavily in the Rocky Mountains.
Dense, rich banks of snow burden the crumbling cliff faces. Evergreens don a coat of white without the jostling presence of their warm-weather avian tenants. The air is vacuumed from the very atmosphere; thin, delicate wisps remain the only fleeting taste of oxygen. For many, Winter’s welcome is ushered with thick coats, locked doors, and indoor heating units notched well beyond room temperature. Steady now, thermostat, we can’t afford to brave the outdoors in this state.
The natives are all too familiar with this time cycle. They’ve seen it before, they’ll see it again. One’s first Utahn winter can be a harrowing experience, but the second, third, and fourth all become easier than the last. A tighter bundle. A hotter cocoa. Standing within the blast zone of a Will Hardy timeout eruption. In some places, such actions would be irrational — borderline overkill. Under the shadow of the Wasatch Mountain Range, these adjustments are necessary for survival.
Kevin Love arrived in Utah on business, expecting a hasty departure soon after getting his feet on the ground. “The Beehive State is named after a flying animal for a reason,” he surmised, taking his first oxygen-poor gulp. “This is a flyover state if I’d ever seen one. Wake me up when it’s time to board a flight to Los Angeles.”
Clocking into his first day, the offices were lively, energetic, and borderline frenzied. The energy of youth, he assessed. In his Miami offices, his closest-knit companions had been around the block a time or two and were likewise lining up the dominoes to topple toward retirement. It was beautiful, comfortable. A man and his work in love? That’s more than most are able to build through a full lifetime. Yet here he stood in Salt Lake — once again a meager crew member of a startup. Untouched territory since the days of his youth in Minneapolis. Now at 37, with salt and pepper dusting his hair, Love began anew. Fresher legs sprang with greater elasticity than his during workouts. The young gazelles pranced in circles around the dizzied and declining lion. This bunch had no off switch. They had no limit.
Spinning, flying, waving, launching, it was all too much for one set of eyes to monitor. Were his shoes caught in a tar pit? Was the meteor already on the way to wipe out this basketball dinosaur? He had to get out of here before his joints turned to Jell-O. An escape before he loses all sense of self — yes, that would do it.
Fortunately for Kevin, the ski resorts of Park City called to him, as they had in years past. Melt your cares away, the wind muttered. Clear your head, carve the slopes. There was no ignoring nature’s voice. Skis slapped on the top of his SUV, Kevin darted to the mountains, slalomed through the canyon, and exhaled only as he sat upon the lift.
Suspended in the air, he contemplated his future, his place in the world of basketball. Was he a washed-up has-been? Had he played his final minutes of meaningful competition? Was the very world he lives within passing him by?
After all, in Miami, his minutes had plummeted to just a hair shy of 11 per game. 2024-25 was the lowest points per game total of his entire life. And that was when he played at all. His vision began to spin. Rigid trees in his periphery developed rapid-onset scoliosis. Snowflakes waved from right to left and back again. White, flashing spots popped before his eyes like fireworks on the sun. “Steady now,” he bargained. “Just let me get to solid ground.”
Barely holding to consciousness like a pilot grappling with gravity through every climbing inch of altitude, a vision appeared before his eyes. Will Hardy’s face floats above the snow like Ben Kenobi in The Empire Strikes Back, a scowl weighs on his brow, and fire from his eyes reveals patches of grass below.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” he groaned. “You’re playing this year. You have played this year. You will continue to play this year. You’re not old, you’re a vet. You’re not washed-up and spit out, your sage wisdom and on-court demeanor will elevate this team, and no, that’s not a joke about mountains.“
Plastic met snow, and from the peak, the outside world felt so small, so insignificant. Hold me tight, Kevin, he could hear his poles swooning over the howling wind atop the Earth. The Utah winter can be so cold, but with you on my team, anything can happen.
“Even reaching the playoffs?” Kevin’s eyes lit up and were quickly dimmed as he realized he had spoken aloud to an inanimate object. Nearby skiiers tilted their heads in confusion. Mothers quickly ushered their children to a safer distance. One man, wearing a “Rocky Mountain High” coat, nodded knowingly — that was a bummer. But the truth of a prolonged lifespan was too great to stifle. A toothy grin cracked through his grizzled exterior: Utah was home.
In his first year with the Jazz, Love has seen higher minute totals than in his last with Miami. 16 minutes sound good to you? His role with the team is one of a leader; Kevin was a man of stature and one capable of elevating his teammates as men, not just as performers. A pillar for mental well-being, and a man who’s seen the NBA from the top, as well as from the bottom, Love is a one-of-one contributor in the modern age of professional basketball.
No, definitely not the playoffs, are you serious? The voice within his subconscious mind snapped him back to reality, or whatever defined his current state. But I love you. The people of Utah love you. And Kevin, you’ll need to Love yourself to find your true purpose in Salt Lake City.
His frigid exterior evaporated at the surface of his radiating exterior. Kevin Love, the Jazzman. Never too little, nor too late to meet his destiny.
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.