Basketball Hall of Fame: Carmelo Anthony belongs to the game more than any franchise

It’s a good thing the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame isn’t like baseball, where the players who are enshrined must select a baseball cap to go in with, designating which team he wants to be most associated with. Because there’s no way to categorize Carmelo Anthony as he enters the Hall this weekend, at least in a team concept.

Being one of the best scorers of all time almost feels limiting to him, especially in the manner in which he produced — a tight handle for someone his size, a silky smooth jumper from all parts of the floor and the capability to bully even bigger defenders when it came time to box.

But when picturing Anthony operating in a phone booth — jab-jab, pivot, bump — which jersey does one see? It’s probably not definitively any jersey, unless one considers his one-year domination at Syracuse, where all he needed was a freshman campaign to deliver a national title and be listed as one of the top prospects in the historic 2003 NBA Draft.

It’s probably not a single jersey, which is the way it should be, considering Anthony belongs to the game more than any franchise. It was that game at that time Anthony nestled perfectly into, before the ball movement and spread offenses took over as Anthony was beginning his exit.

Carmelo Anthony: NCAA champion, NBA superstar, Olympic gold medalist — and, now, Hall of Famer. (Photo by Jean Catuffe/Getty Images)

(Jean Catuffe via Getty Images)

It could be the New York Knicks, the place Anthony forced himself to in 2011, after his relationship with the Denver Nuggets soured after seven seasons. At a time when the Knicks were routinely spurned by the league’s marquee stars in free agency, Anthony wanted the spotlight and stage — having been born in Brooklyn before moving to Baltimore for most of his youth.

But this was a time for superteams and SuperFriends, spurred on by LeBron James teaming with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh in Miami, turning the league upside down for the next few seasons. Anthony, Wade and James have posited the notion of those three playing together in the original plan they laid out years before, but Anthony demurred, wanting the security of a guaranteed contract over opting out when that draft class extended their deals in the summer of 2006.

The Knicks never produced much success with Anthony, advancing only to the second round in 2013 before being ousted by the Indiana Pacers in six games. That was the year Anthony led the league in scoring and had the lone first-place MVP vote James didn’t get, preventing his friend from a unanimous win.

It always felt like Anthony was fighting uphill with that franchise, as admirable as it might appear in hindsight. He never got the full credit for taking on all the weight of being a Knick, and given the franchise’s seemingly high standards for retiring one’s jersey, there hasn’t been a rush to put him in the rafters of Madison Square Garden.

Eight players and one coach are up there now, given the fact the Knicks haven’t won a title since the NBA/ABA merger, with only two Finals appearances to show for the past 50 years. The last number to be retired for the Knicks was Patrick Ewing, who last played in a Knicks uniform in 2000.

But Anthony doesn’t feel like a Knicks legend any more than he feels like a Nuggets legend. That’s where he began his career, helping turn around a moribund franchise. But he never could shake the label of being a chucker, of someone who couldn’t lift his teammates and carry them beyond their capabilities. It was held against Anthony that he needed the right point guard and teammates around him to bring the best out of him.

It was held against him that he wasn’t James, or Wade — players who starred in June.

To some degree, it was held against him that he couldn’t replicate the success of 2009, when the trade of Allen Iverson for Chauncey Billups turned an entertaining but ultimately nonthreatening team into one that could at least sniff the Finals.

Not being drafted by Detroit in 2003 might’ve been the biggest element in his fate being sealed — something totally out of his control. The Pistons had Billups, Richard Hamilton and a burgeoning swingman named Tayshaun Prince to flank Ben Wallace. And the franchise ultimately decided against crowding the position, passing on Anthony for Darko Miličić in one of the biggest draft blunders of all time.

For his money and a lot of other folks’ too, Billups believes Anthony could’ve fit in immediately, even under the notoriously tough-on-rookies head coach Larry Brown. Could he have fallen in line as a rookie who would have seen James, Wade and Bosh having full reign over their franchises, or at least being allowed to make mistakes without severe repercussions? It’s hard to tell, and almost unfair to hold Anthony, who was 19 years old as a rookie, to such demanding standards. And who knows if the Pistons go and acquire Rasheed Wallace at the trade deadline to complete the championship puzzle if Anthony had shown plenty of promise in the meantime.

The only version of Anthony that was fully actualized was Olympic Melo, as he held the all-time Olympic scoring record before Kevin Durant took it over. But when he was in that setting, his efficiency was off the charts, a critical element of the also-being-honored “Redeem Team” in 2008 and gold-medal winning squads in 2012 and 2016 — the latter of which included none of his draft mates.

He didn’t look dour or weighed by the expectations of being the franchise torch-bearer, but the Olympics still came with plenty of pressure. Anthony was just able to rise with it in ways that made you squint at times and wonder if he was the equal of Wade, James and Kobe Bryant.

Anthony being defined by misses and glimpses, though, almost misses the point of everything he’s done to get to this point. In today’s game, isolation-heavy scorers are almost frowned upon.

The term “real hooper” is met with nods on one side and a snobbish disregard on the other. But there’s a purity in his game, or at least a simplicity. The hardest thing to find is someone who can get a bucket. The essence of the game is that, too.

That’s the first thing someone learns, beyond dribbling. Well before defensive slides, moving off the ball, rebounding, passing or any other critical element that’s necessary to make a complete player, you first learn how to get a bucket.

And it’s more than just the selfish thought of it. Anthony’s peers respect him in a way that’s hard to measure if you’ve never had to compete with him.

It’s the way players talk about Bernard King, Mark Aguirre, Adrian Dantley, Paul Pierce and others in that ilk. It’s a hard day against those big bodies, and that relentless attitude. Anthony played in the toughest iso-era to score in, with the physical rules lightening up toward only the beginning of his prime.

No, he wasn’t a champion and his jersey isn’t retired anywhere. But perhaps it’s fitting because he belongs to history, as a direct product of the time, in ways very few players of his era ever will.

Because he could get you a bucket.

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