Come on into Dr. Feelgood’s office, Mr. Gobert, punch up a pillow, get comfy, lay yourself down on the couch, the doc will be right with you.
Merci beaucoup. I need to take a load off — my feet, my ego, my mind.
Ahh, Rudy G., how’ve you been? Life treating you OK?
It’s a little better now than it’s been over the past few weeks.
Winning makes everyone, everything seem whole again, eh?
Oui. So does getting 22 points and 21 boards in a game.
In psychology, we call that the 20-20 boost effect. Works every time.
I’ve needed it, Doc. We have a great group of guys. But we’ve lost more than we should. We play good, we play bad, sometimes inside the same game, blowing enormous leads, and we’ve sunk in the West … you know, like the sun’s setting.
I thought the Suns were rising in the West. Not to mention … what, three or four other teams?
I know, I know. As we say in the old country … Bon sang! Oh la vache! It feels like rebounding against Jokic, as he kicks me in the kneecaps, slaps me in the jaw, and the refs swallow their whistles. For me, it’s called Tuesday. Make it stop, Doc. S’il vous plait.
I would if I could, Rudy. But I’m not the one losing the games, I’m not out there, fumbling the ball out of bounds down the stretch.
Hmm.
I’m not the one jacking up deep shots and seeing them carom off the back of the iron, all wampus-flampus, as the clock runs out.
Hmm.
I’m not the one giving up 25-point leads.
What’s going on around here, Doc? What?
It’s a psychological condition known as “learned helplessness.” It’s what rears its ugly head when a good team can’t hold double-digit leads, loses its mojo, just plain loses. It’s a phenomenon that is a shared kind of communal constriction around the throat, also known as … choking.
I’m familiar with that last term, Doc. You know … Nuggets and Clippers in playoffs past.
Indeed. It’s a hard vexation to beat once it takes hold.
We’re better than that. What can we do to get rid of it?
Hold your breath and spin in circles hopping up and down on one foot, repeating together, “I hate Luka Doncic, I hate Draymond Green, I hate Devin Booker,” until … Nah, I joke. Do this instead: Always remember that in order to blow gigantic leads like you guys have done that you were good enough to build those leads in the first place.
What about for me, personally, Doc. What can I do? I have the feeling that my teammates sometimes don’t trust me.
What makes you think that?
Well, D-Mitch on average, I read on Twitter, has thrown me, like, two passes each game while we’re on the floor together, which has been around 30 minutes a night.
Two assists?
No. Two passes. Deux.
Didn’t I see that your coach said that stat is misleading?
Yeah, I suppose. But, whoever’s handling the ball, I want it more. I need it more. You saw what I did against the Grizzlies the other night.
When you don’t get fed, how does that make you feel?
Hungry, Doc. You try doing all the work that’s necessary to post up down on the low block, busting your hump to establish that position, defenders jabbing you in the kidneys, and then …
Then, what?
Then somebody waves me off and fiddle-faddles with the ball, while I start chasing down jacked shots, left to clean up the mess.
So, you occasionally feel ignored? Invisible? Abandoned? Under-appreciated? Disrespected? Useless? Banished?
Hurt.
What you’re saying is, you feel like Rudy Gay, not Rudy Gobert.
Precisely. Now and again, Mike lobs me up a pass, but that’s pretty much it. I must tell you, Doc, I miss Jingling Joe. As for me, I’m a bit jangled.
Can you get over it, can you rebound?
I’m the only one on this team who does rebound.
What I’m hearing is that you think that T-word, trust, is the first casualty of the Jazz’s fourth quarters.
Oui, Doc, oui, oui.
Have you considered the possibility that perhaps if on important possessions you didn’t handle the ball as though it were filled with nitroglycerin they might be more willing to trust you with it?
You might be onto something there, Doc. But it’s so frustrating.
From your vantage point, but think about your teammates and how frustrated they might be. You’ve been in the league since 2013, and you still haven’t developed any kind of reliable go-to post-up move.
I did have a finger-roll the other night.
We all saw that.
It does feel, at times, as though my mitts are coated in Crisco. But unlike when I try to catch it, the ball does stick sometimes. And I’m shocked when it actually comes my way. There is no ball movement at the offensive end. It’s not Jazz basketball, Doc.
Bummer, man.
I’m troubled, Doc. Troubled. And not just by that.
What else?
Too often, I get no help at the defensive end. I have to do everything, guard everyone at once. It sucks. C’est naze.
Let it out, Rudy.
On bad nights, that’s what I do in postgame interviews with reporters, and everybody gets mad at me. I’m just being truthful.
The truth hurts and destroys team togetherness. Rule No. 1 in NBA basketball is, whatever you do, don’t tell the truth in public. Guys might get their feels rankled.
It happens too much. Why can’t anyone else play defense?
Here’s the thing. It’s because they know you’re back there. Your teammates are actually complimenting you by not playing a lick of D. That screams: Rudy Gobert is the three-time DPOY!
I feel strangely better now.
Do you still feel as though you can win a championship in Utah? I mean, before Danny Ainge sends you and your $200 million contract to Houston or Orlando or Cleveland or … I dunno, to French Guyana?
Of course. We can if we trust one another, if we move the ball, if somebody passes me the rock when I’ve got my man pinned.
Who knows? Maybe it will be OK, after all. People were moaning and groaning about the Bucks last year before the postseason, and look what they did. Just kick butt in the playoffs.
We’ll try, Doc. We’ll try.
OK, OK, Rudy. The meter beeped. Your time here is up.
I hope not, Doc. I hope not.
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