Blake Griffin’s comeback is unbelievable … and unwatchable

Blake Griffin is performing like an All-Star and the Detroit Pistons are in the playoff race. Why doesn’t the culture care about this comeback?

Detroit Pistons forward Blake Griffin was delivered from a faraway place and there have been whispers ever since. The whole thing could’ve been one of those movies they don’t make anymore. You know, with Seth Rogen.

A fading phenomenon scoring more endorsements than buckets … A lover leaving for another, younger ballplayer… And an anthropomorphic package of hotdogs overnight the face of the franchise to Detroit …

… But it wasn’t. The people of planet earth don’t want to watch the Detroit Pistons. The people of planet earth want to watch the stoner bro battle frat bros for the seventh time. I can’t blame them, but it’s a shame. Because Blake Griffin is back. He’s really, really back.

The problem is that the celebration of Griffin’s spectacular performance has been kept to a polite volume through 60-something games. He’s still talked about in the hushed tones of a hospital room and, I mean, he’s no stranger to mid-season surgery.

The reminder is right there, a single legging that makes Griffin look like a Jedi with a mechanical limb. It’s the same leg that’s been trouble before, all the way back to his redshirt season in 2009-10. But some dude is massaging Griffin’s muscles this season, and sure enough, the 29-year-old has only missed a couple games – both on the second night of a back-to-back.

Even though the health thing is going well, it’s obvious that something’s gone wrong to get here. Griffin made sense in Los Angeles, playing for the Clippers. But Griffin does not make sense in Detroit, playing for the Pistons. He remains a Herculean image on the court – marble-worthy, commercial-ready – and now he has Herculean deeds to match.

The Pistons are a post-apocalyptic landscape where cap space is scarce and assets don’t exist. This is the franchise that paid Josh Smith $54 million to play small forward in 2013. This is the franchise that is paying Josh Smith $5.3 million in 2019. This is the franchise that will be paying Josh Smith $5.3 million in 2020. And Josh Smith isn’t even on the team. Or in the league. Or overseas. Josh Smith is brunching with T.I.

So, yeah. It’s not that Griffin is challenging the league, alone, like an outlaw. It’s that Griffin is challenging the league burdened by dead weight. Andre Drummond is always trying to do too much, Reggie Jackson is still the worst, but slower, and Jose Calderon has played 621 minutes for some reason.

(But hey, there’s hope! The Detroit Pistons actually resembled a basketball team in the month of February.)

This isn’t about Griffin doing the impossible, and somehow, lifting the Detroit Pistons to a championship. Or even lifting the team to some place of consequence. This is about Blake Griffin doing Blake Griffin things. Whatever that means these days.

The reinvention is real and the long-gun is legit. Griffin has risen from his own ashes with a step-back 3-pointer that can catch fire at any moment, like that time he hit five in a row in five minutes against Houston. He’s an all-powerful play-maker, and even though those powerglides to the rim are rare, he can manufacture pretty good looks for this no-good offense because he’s so skilled and so smart.

The craft and the handle and the vision are as good as advertised, but that doesn’t mean that Griffin’s game isn’t mostly sludge. He’s a butt-head and a bully – the absolute best. He talks trash to the wastoids on the other bench while he’s bludgeoning two or three defenders with cartoonish glee. He roasts the referees for utter corruption, then drives for an undeniable and-1. He embellishes contact, but only one player has drawn more charges this season.

Yes, the Detroit Pistons’ offense is an insult that must be seen to be believed, but at least Griffin gets the ball a lot. The same guy who dunked over a midsize sedan has become the engine of a car on cinder-blocks. Like, take another look at that 50-point performance against Philadelphia. He’s pure, petty muscle in the middle of everything – there are collisions everywhere around him. Demolition is the only option.

And really, it’s sweet to watch a thick lad go to work in a league that looks like Laffy Taffy. Bite-sized highlights have replaced the box score – and it might be Griffin’s fault – but it’s too bad because Griffin’s box scores are bananas. 37/9/7 against New Orleans. 32/11/9 against Miami. 44/8/5 against Steve Ballmer. This isn’t complicated stuff. Just watch the lone star shoot through the night sky – and imagine how many more assists he’d be averaging on an average team.

Yesterday, the grocery store was out of Wild! Berry Pop-Tarts. So I don’t know if Griffin is the author of his own fate. But that doesn’t mean his story is a tragedy. He’s charmed and cursed, like always. Like all of us. It’s just odd that the intelligentsia and the hot-take artists respond to this iconic, infamous character with a shrug. Such a big name with such little noise.

Don’t watch the Pistons, but don’t miss Blake Griffin. He’s playing in Detroit tonight.