WHEN THE NBA selected Mike Conley as an All-Star in February, CJ McCollum became the likely answer to a dubious sports bar debate: Who is the best NBA player without an All-Star appearance? In Portland, where McCollum is in his eighth season with the Trail Blazers, the question is beside the point.
His teammates love him for his professionalism as one of the best high-degree-of-difficulty shot-makers in the league. The Portland Trail Blazers management loves him for his undying commitment to the franchise. Coaches love him for his competitiveness and what drives it -- life as the 5-foot-2 high school freshman who was ignored by recruiters, then played four years for an unheralded mid-major school, where he suffered a season-ending injury as a senior.
Prior to fracturing his foot in January, McCollum was playing MVP-level basketball for the perennially playoff-bound Trail Blazers. His tantalizing performances from early this season -- not unlike his Game 7 road masterpiece in the 2019 conference semifinals against Denver -- prompted onlookers to wonder whether that luster could ever form into transcendence. Even if it doesn't, there's a lot to be said for reliable production as a fringe superstar on a fringe contender. Twenty-nine other NBA teams would gladly hand 34 minutes per night to a player of McCollum's creativity and class.
"What more can CJ McCollum bring?" is the operative question for the eight-year vet and the Trail Blazers. As breathtaking as McCollum's best outing, the answer to "what more" isn't necessarily more Game 7s. With Damian Lillard as one of the game's premier closers, the Trail Blazers rarely need someone else to claim the last half-dozen possessions of the game for personal consumption. Quite often the Trail Blazers need McCollum to be more arsenic than assassin -- quiet lethalness alongside Lillard's unconscionable destruction.
Though big moments always seem to be defined by big plays, the Trail Blazers' path to title contention might just rest with McCollum getting better in the margins -- which is the hardest thing to do in the NBA. The Trail Blazers' run to the conference finals in 2019, along with Lillard's perennial MVP candidacy, has only reaffirmed the notion that contention shouldn't be too far away should they stay healthy (a condition they haven't enjoyed in recent seasons).
As much as they tinker with the composition of the supporting cast by swapping perimeter threats for defensive specialists or bringing in additional creators, McCollum still represents the fulcrum of Portland's success: If peak CJ is a new normal each spring, there's still time.
But what happens if McCollum, who by every measure of potential was never supposed to sniff the NBA, has squeezed out every drop of talent?
AS PORTLAND CHIPS away at the deficit with a series of free throws late in the second quarter of Game 7 of the 2019 Western Conference semifinals, McCollum turns to Lillard, "Yo, if we can cut it to 10, we're good."
Even as Denver stretches its first-half to 17 points, CJ McCollum senses the Nuggets are never quite sold on their dominance. Even as Nikola Jokic and Jamal Murray are tossing driving floaters through the net, the Nuggets' post-bucket celebrations seem to McCollum more like expressions of relief than exuberance. A few minutes after McCollum expressed his reassurance to Lillard, Rodney Hood drains a leaner in the lane on the Trail Blazers' last possession before the horn, slicing Denver's lead to nine.
McCollum's first half is a natural extension of his body of work throughout the series. In Portland's four-overtime win in Game 3, McCollum had scored 41, including a teardrop to extend the game after scooping up a loose ball at the end of the first overtime with the Trail Blazers down two. In Game 6 with the Trail Blazers' facing elimination, McCollum had scorched Denver for 30. His output in Game 7 further affirms a popular belief both inside the organization and in the larger basketball world: As CJ McCollum goes, so go the Portland Trail Blazers.
In the second half, McCollum cooks. He had success in the first half exploiting Denver's pressure on the high pick-and-roll. Now, entirely convinced the Nuggets are helpless, he does it again -- and again -- even unleashing a rare slam at the rim. "I don't dunk a lot," McCollum says now, amused at the memory.
"He took over," says Enes Kanter, who was on the floor for 40 minutes of the do-or-die game. "I've witnessed this twice: Dame in Game 5 against OKC and CJ that day."
Acrobatics in the paint. A fall-away 3-pointer in the left corner. A lurching floater to vault Portland into the lead to end the third quarter. Chasing down Jamal Murray on a fast break like a cornerback, a LeBronian swat at Murray's layup attempt that is now known in Blazers' lore as "The Block." At several instances when the ball lands in the hands of Lillard, a man with unrivaled stage presence, Dame promptly returns it to McCollum, as if the MVP candidate is a fifth option.
"When you're in the backcourt with somebody that's capable of doing what he was doing in that game, you've got to step aside and allow him to do it," Lillard says. "I saw that look in his eyes. My confidence in him is at a level where I know he's going to close them out."
In the final three minutes, McCollum takes up residence in his office -- the left elbow. He rubs Torrey Craig off a high screen, then wiggles his way for an off-balanced, one-legged wonder. After a Nuggets' 6-0 run, he splits a pair of defenders and fades away again from McCollumville to push the lead to three. Inside of a minute with the Trail Blazers up three, McCollum has the chance to unleash the dagger. He busts off a screen from Evan Turner near the half-court logo. With a long runway, he darts forward, then leans into a three, but draws only air. After the Nuggets answer to shave the lead to a single point, the Trail Blazers huddle on the sideline to devise a strategy for the franchise's most important possession in years.
Those high screens for McCollum have been exceptionally effective, but such a strategy isn't without risk with the game on the line.
"I said, 'I don't need no screen,'" McCollum says, "'He can't check me. I'm going to score and the game's going to be over like that. I'm going to send us home.' And [Stotts] is like, 'Alright, Bring it in.' And that's how we ended it."
Seconds later, McCollum's prophecy manifests in real time.
The Blazers flatten out -- four teammates dispersed far and wide across the court, all eyes on McCollum working up top against Nuggets' stopper Torrey Craig. Hunched over, mano-a-mano, McCollum uncoils a crossover dribble, then drives left -- as is his preference -- slams on the breaks at the elbow, steps back and falls away.
The Trail Blazers advance to the conference finals for the first time since the Clinton Administration.
McCollum is the unequivocal answer for Portland that afternoon, but his performance also poses a question, one that's suffused the Trail Blazers for several seasons:
How frequently can McCollum summon this brilliance?
By all accounts, McCollum's ability to replicate that production won't be a function of preparation or confidence -- he's already a league-leader in both categories. The Trail Blazers feature one perennial All-NBA superstar in Lillard, but the height of their ceiling might be set by McCollum's capacity to capture whatever force propelled him and his team for those two weeks in May 2019.
But the defining characteristic of peak performance is peak -- it's the manifestation of an athlete on his very best day. If every day were his best, it wouldn't be peak. None of this will stop McCollum from chasing whatever it is that possessed him in Game 7. Even if the variable is impossible to define, it's one that he's forever trying to identify and fulfill.
A FEW WEEKS after his return from his eight-week recovery, McCollum sits with Portland assistant coach Jon Yim to solve a problem. Just prior to breaking his left foot while playing the best basketball of his career, McCollum was generating a ton of quality 3-point attempts early in the shot clock -- a factor that was nudging his overall scoring and shooting numbers to career highs. Yet since his return to the floor, his attempts had been few and far between -- only one each in wins over Detroit and Toronto to end March, neither successful.
Sitting in the Blazers' film room, McCollum and Yim look to identify why, searching for opportunities to get back into the business of finding and nailing early 3-pointers. They work on the practice floor to the same effect. In the days following the meeting, the film lesson begins to take shape. He gets up a couple of clean looks against Milwaukee -- hitting one -- then drains two against OKC the following game.
Over the past six seasons, McCollum hasn't averaged fewer than 20.8 points per game, including a 39.8% clip from beyond the arc.
Even as the Trail Blazers struggled to find consistent producers in the frontcourt, McCollum's steady contributions have enabled Portland to qualify for the postseason every season since he was drafted in 2013. Presuming Houston misses the playoffs next month, Portland is the only team to accomplish that in an uber-competitive Western Conference.
From the opening tip this season, McCollum put up MVP-level numbers -- 26.7 points, 5.0 assists and 3.9 rebounds per game, with a true-shooting percentage of 62%. For 13 games, McCollum delivered Game 7 production as a matter of course. Then, on January 16, he drove left with Atlanta Hawks center Clint Capela in pursuit, then twisted right for a scoop off the glass. Upon landing, Capela's foot landed on McCollum's, sending McCollum to the inactive list with a hairline fracture.
"I was just thinking, 'This is not the right time to go through this,'" McCollum says. "I'm having a career year. The team's playing well. I was starting to sustain an elite level of play for a full season where I'm hitting four 3s and getting five assists a night. I'm impacting the game in ways I haven't impacted it before. Then it was kind of taken away."
What was taken away from McCollum was a dogged pursuit of his next career milestone -- a transformation from a very good player to an ascendant one. With the advice of his brother Errick, a professional player in Moscow, McCollum came into the season with a targeted to-do list.
"You go to a blue-chip school, you blend in, just kind of float through the season, do your six months and go to the league. At a mid-major, you have to learn to lead ... You have to carry the responsibility of the team -- and literally the entire program."CJ McCollum
McCollum had studied film of James Harden and Lillard, and not merely the footwork, but the actions that precede the shot attempts. For the past several seasons, McCollum has been a member of a rare group of NBA players for whom the maligned midrange shot has been a decent bet. Yet even an efficient midrange shooter -- especially a career 40-percent shooter from 3 -- can become more efficient by relocating the worst of those midrange attempts to behind the 3-point line, with the step-back as a vehicle for doing so. So with Yim, McCollum reevaluates his entire shot diet.
"More 3s, less midrange," McCollum says. "I can still get to my 'middies,' but also try to get to the free throw line a little bit more. But a big thing is to be more efficient around the rim. Shoot the middies when I have to, tighten up the floater, but really get high-value 3s up. Since I can shoot over 40 [percent], I should be shooting 10 threes a game. And if I can get four catches, shoot six off the dribble, I can hit it. So we just tried to break down my shot profile to make sure that I'm taking the most efficient approach possible while staying within my game." As of April 15, McCollum is averaging a career-high 9.8 attempts per game.
This is the trial of any player looking to crash through his ceiling: changing his game while staying within it. McCollum's "spot," where he buried the Nuggets, is his spot for a reason, but he knows that the growth margin resides elsewhere on the floor. McCollum wants to reach five assists per game this season -- he's currently at 4.7 -- but those transition 3s mean fewer passes on the break. He wants to get to the free throw line more frequently, but floaters and 3s tend to be non-contact shots. The game never stops throwing puzzles at its practitioners; the more ambitious the player, the more complicated the puzzle.
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THE SOURCE OF McCollum's competitiveness is revealed in the first answer of his walk-off interview after dispatching the Nuggets that Sunday afternoon.
"I got it out the mud," McCollum tells ESPN's Doris Burke. "I went to Lehigh University."
A player of McCollum's profile as an amateur is an NBA anachronism, let alone among star-level players. Older players are projected by front offices to have more limited growth potential, and some scouting departments often look with a jaundiced eye at prospects who competed in only a handful of games during college against the highest-level competition. Yet in successive years, the Trail Blazers passed on the phenoms of college basketball's royal finishing academies and instead drafted Damian Lillard out of Weber State then McCollum out of Lehigh.
McCollum's pride in the affiliation is derived not just as a triumph of the 5-foot-2 freshman in high school who went unrecruited, but from a belief that the specific demands of his time at Lehigh equipped him with the balance to excel in the NBA, as it did for Lillard.
"You get a lot of stuff that you can't be taught," he says. "The grind and hunger of a mid-major athlete is just different. Ice baths in trash cans. You go to a blue-chip school, you blend in, just kind of float through the season, do your six months and go to the league. At a mid-major, you have to learn to lead, to empower guys who may not have confidence in themselves. You have to carry the responsibility of the team -- and literally the entire program. The NCAA tournament is on your shoulders. If you don't do it, it's not happening."
McCollum's arrival to Portland was bumpy. Just months after the draft, he fractured his foot in training camp and missed several months of his rookie campaign, then suffered a broken finger, which cost him a month in his second season. Slotted behind Wes Matthews on the 2014-15 team that won 51 games, McCollum played fewer than 16 minutes per night, and averaged 6.8 points per game.
The speed of the Trail Blazers' five-minute rebuild after breaking up their veteran core in 2015 can be attributed in large part to McCollum's breakout third season, when he won the NBA's Most Improved Player Award while averaging 20.8 points per game and starting 80 games. Lillard solidified his superstar status, and Portland reached the conference semifinals in 2016 in McCollum's first season as a starter.
The present-day Trail Blazers belong to a species of NBA teams with an enduring identity, consistent regular season success, likeable stars and a fan appeal that combine to infuse the organization and market with goodwill. Think the Memphis Grizzlies grit-and-grind squad and the Indiana Pacers of the early-teens, for whom there was no shame in being very good for a very long time.
But in a perimeter-focused league, a dynamic backcourt of Lillard and McCollum invites greater ambition. For Portland, there's little consolation in sustained competence of the small-market variety. McCollum and Lillard know the NBA Playoffs aren't a big dance -- and there are no engraved invitations to titlehood.
FIVE YEARS AGO, McCollum was asked to what extent, as a year-round resident of Portland, he took advantage of the region's natural beauty. He squawked. As much as he liked the city, he said, there was no good reason a person needed to drag himself up a trail with a view that could be enjoyed on a monitor from the comfort of home.
Today, approaching 30, newly married, and now a happy dog-owner, McCollum has gone full Bureau of Tourism. "When the mountain reflects off the water, it's one of the prettiest things in the world," he says. McCollum is a fixture on Portland's food scene, where he's achieved legendary status among the kitchen staff at Departure, a restaurant in The Nines hotel, for scarfing down an entire duck following a game a few years back. He knows the deep cuts in the Willamette Valley wine region just outside the city, and has relationships with some of the best boutique Pinot producers.
Portland is his, just as it is Lillard's. The two share the backcourt effortlessly, and defer to the other's instincts. McCollum and the team agreed to a 3-year contract extension less than a week after he became eligible for the deal. Even in a world with expedited player movement, it's difficult to pinpoint a mainstay player -- even most of the superstars -- more identified with a market and organization than McCollum. It's also difficult to pinpoint a player and team that are inseparable if that player isn't all-NBA and the team hasn't reached a Finals in nearly 30 years.
"You meet very few people in any walk of life that you know would've been successful in whatever endeavor they chose to pursue -- and that's CJ," says Trail Blazers president Neil Olshey. "It happened to manifest itself through the game of basketball."
When Kawhi Leonard became available in the summer of 2018, front offices across the NBA pored over their rosters with one question in mind, "What would we give up?" Just about every organization does constant scenario planning, but a development like Leonard recasts hypotheticals into reality. Initially a dark-horse, the Toronto Raptors ultimately landed Leonard by surrendering four-time All-Star guard DeMar DeRozan, a high-volume scoring guard who shares similarities with McCollum, and is only two years older.
In a league where the price for dislodging a disgruntled superstar is future assets and "young franchise cornerstones," McCollum would have been precisely the kind of player around whom such a deal would be constructed. In conversations with several executives, McCollum is a popular answer to the question, "Who is the best player on a solid playoff team whom you perceive to be potentially available?"
However tantalizing it might be to imagine a second fully credentialed superstar alongside Lilllard, Leonard exposed two truths about McCollum's value to the Trail Blazers -- one practical, the other more human.
Had they wished to, the Trail Blazers had the means to assemble the most attractive package for Leonard, one that could've included McCollum (who had three remaining years on his contract), Zach Collins and a first-round pick, among other assets. Had they executed such a deal, the counterfactuals are fascinating to consider. Perhaps a Kawhi-Dame Blazers could've upended a Warriors team without Kevin Durant. Or perhaps they'd reach the conference finals -- a feat they managed to accomplish with McCollum.
In either case, Leonard let it be known before talks between San Antonio and Portland reached a substantive stage, that he would not re-sign in Portland. By the summer of 2019, Lillard would have been alone in Portland absent Leonard or McCollum, the team's best prospect, and with no first-round pick to provide reinforcements.
Gaming out the scenario doesn't account for larger, more complicated considerations that are as vital to Portland as any team in the NBA: When you have a player of that caliber who has committed passionately to the franchise and embraced the market as so few stars have before, what would trading him away for a one-year trial with a mercenary say to the community of players, both inside and outside Portland?
The depth of the commitment is a source of pride and reassurance for both McCollum and the Trail Blazers. So long as he and Lillard are healthy and holding down the backcourt, the Trail Blazers figure to be very good for a very long time. But stability isn't without its hazards.
If the Trail Blazers want to improve, the growth will have to come from within. The Leonards, Davises and Hardens aren't coming to Portland, and very good teams don't pick very high in a draft system that rewards failure, not consistent winning. The specialists and role players are helpful, but not pivotal, while a big man like Jusuf Nurkic has natural limitations in a small-ball league. Injuries are cruel, but also part of a team's fortunes. And little more can be asked of Lillard, a future Hall-of-Famer.
Which leaves McCollum, working on the margins, turning 19-footers into 23-footers, floaters into layups, and heaves into assists. McCollum's margin for growth is now the Trail Blazers' margin for success. He's the player they'd trade for if they could.
Why CJ McCollum is the most underappreciated superstar in the NBA - ESPN Philippines
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