In A Year Of Great NBA Rookies, Stanley Johnson Is Getting The Business

In his rookie season with the Detroit Pistons, Stanley Johnson hasn't been shy about sharing his opinion. He's called out superstar Kevin Durant as "disrespectful," chimed in on teammate Reggie Jackson's complaining to referees, and has been uncommonly open about the struggles that both he and his team have faced this season. "If you ask me a question," Johnson shrugs, "I'm going to answer it."

All of which makes what Johnson said—and didn't say—last Wednesday night so unusual. That night's game, against the Magic, was a must-win for the Pistons in their quest to clinch a playoff berth and the chance for a first-round date with either the Cleveland Cavaliers or the Toronto Raptors. Detroit would come away with a victory, but Johnson wouldn't play that night, as head coach Stan Van Gundy inserted journeyman Reggie Bullock into the lineup as the last guard off the bench. Two nights later, the trend continued as Johnson stayed glued to bench. Detroit would pick up a win over the Washington Wizards and, in so doing, lock onto a spot in the postseason.

Perhaps sensing that his grasp on playing time had become even more slippery, Johnson told me before Wednesday's game that, "It's a business. You don't know what's going to happen. Go with the coach's vibes, see what he does, who he plays and whatever, so … It's my job as a professional, just to be ready to play. When my time comes, if it comes, I'll go ahead and do my thing."

Since returning in mid-March from a shoulder injury that sidelined him for seven games, Johnson has had a terribly hard time doing his thing, or much of anything. In the 14 games since, Johnson has shot just 28 percent from the field and, as Van Gundy noted after the win over the Magic, he "has more turnovers [23] than assists [22]."

"Stanley has been really struggling and I think, because he is struggling, he's pressing a little bit," added Van Gundy, "I don't know what it is. Confidence … injury … something."

It's not quite the effusive praise that Van Gundy, as Detroit's President of Basketball Operations, heaped upon Johnson when the team chose him eighth overall in the 2015 NBA Draft. "We thought he was the best player on the board," Van Gundy said back in June. "That's the simple answer."

It hasn't been simple for Johnson since, and his frustration was evident even before being benched in favor of Bullock. When asked about what he's learned about himself this rookie year, Johnson replied, "Just about the business of basketball. That's pretty much it."

The oft-repeated mantra of "basketball is a business" is usually a lamentation, a moment of clarity when things haven't gone a player's way. It's no coincidence that the phrase is heard most often following an unexpected trade, when an individual realizes that they're not as good as had been previously believed or that their former team didn't want them around.

But it's even more telling that a rookie like Johnson, once considered a key part of Detroit's potentially bright future, referred to the business of basketball so frequently, even when questions didn't seem to justify that as a response. "We think we have a good young core group of guys," Johnson said of the team's future building blocks, "but it's a business. For me to sit here and say that I know the future, I don't. I can be out of here soon. Anybody can be out of here soon."

This is the other side of the cliché—besides paying employees, businesses also decide if and when you work. "As a rookie," he said, "you're only as good as your opportunity." He mentioned the right things about being able to compete in the postseason as a rookie, but his role, as he put it, as "a sort-of contributor" clearly has Johnson feeling disillusioned. Even as a lottery pick in just his first season, Johnson clearly senses the clock ticking. If he had a vague understanding of the need to make an impact sooner over later, Detroit's return to the playoffs without getting much from him effectively drives home the point.

Johnson took a foam tray of food from one of the team's trainers and turned his back to the rest of locker room. As his teammates continued to chat with reporters, listen to music, or talk amongst themselves, Johnson quietly ate by himself, a virtual world apart.

Even hunched glumly over his pre-game meal, it's easy to understand what the Pistons saw in Johnson. At 6-foot-7 and a chiseled 245 pounds, Johnson was, at least physically, the most NBA-ready player in the draft. He was expected to be an imposing defender, as quick as he is strong, and an occasional scorer; that he shot 37 percent from beyond the arc in his sole college season at the University of Arizona suggested the possibility of a tremendous all-around profile. He was part of the team's bright future, a complement to the explosive pick-and-roll combination of Jackson and Andre Drummond, who Johnson supplanted as the team's youngest player, and a player whose approach recalled the glory days of Deeee-troit basketball. With each missed shot and opportunity, that future has grown harder to read.

This season's rookie class has been more productive than any in recent memory, which makes Johnson's struggles stand out all the more sharply. While Johnson is not incorrect in bemoaning his lack of opportunity, he's also struggled while less-accomplished players have begun to realize their potential around the league. For players like Johnson, who have succeeded without exception throughout their young careers—he was a McDonald's All-American and four-time state champion in high school, and the best player on Arizona's Pac-12 championship team—learning how to struggle is the toughest pill to swallow in the NBA.

Johnson is a big talent and a hard worker. The consensus is that he'll be fine, and will eventually enjoy a solid career. Until then, he'll have to push on through the NBA's first, loneliest lesson: that this is a tough, even cruel business. That much, at least, Johnson already knows.