The notion of Heat Culture is that of all-in commitment, cult-like in many ways.
For many, it endures, Udonis Haslem as the current example.
For others, it comes with an expiration date, some not by choice.
Because Heat Culture often still means Pat Riley looking for something better.
For P.J. Brown, who spun Charlie Ward like a top after being worked into a Riley-motivated lather, it meant being cast aside to the Charlotte Hornets in August 2000 after another Heat playoff failure.
For Caron Butler, whose affection for the franchise had him returning for playoff games long after his Heat tenure, it meant being dispatched to the Los Angeles Lakers in July 2004, as the price of the acquisition of Shaquille O'Neal.
And then last offseason, with the Heat in all-out pursuit of Jimmy Butler, it meant discarding Josh Richardson to the Philadelphia 76ers.
Understand, in October 2017, with the opportunity for a far more lucrative contract down the road, Richardson accepted a four-year, $42 million extension from the Heat _ or basically what the league these days calls mid-level money.
At the time, Richardson, fully invested in the Heat mantra of sacrifice, noted, "Let's be real, $42 million is a lot of money. So I can live on that forever."
So he took the deal rather than wait for free agency, "because I knew where I wanted to be at. I know I wanted to come back here and go back to war with my brothers. I grew to love these guys last season, so it's hard to just up and leave 'em. I'm a very loyal person."
Then the realities of the NBA's one-way street, even amid Heat Culture, hit home.
What followed this season, including the 76ers' four-game first-round sweep at the hands of the Boston Celtics, was an ultimate reality rebuke.
Heat Culture is not easily exported.
"I don't think there was much accountability this season, and I think that was part of our problem," the 2015 second-round pick out of Tennessee said as his fifth NBA season came to a close.
At about that same time, Butler was talking about a Heat culture that embraced conflict as a means of producing tangible change and improvement.
During Richardson's career, even before, and certainly during this playoff run, Heat coach Erik Spoelstra has preached the value of being uncomfortable. It was not unusual, even as he counted him as a friend, for Richardson to call out Hassan Whiteside in the Heat locker room, just as others, with constructive criticism, would make points to Richardson, mentors such as Haslem and Dwyane Wade.
But with the 76ers, Richardson found something less candid, and, ultimately, more toxic.
"People aren't going to be comfortable, but that is what championship teams do," he said. "If guys aren't doing their job on or off the court, there has to be some kind of consequence. Not consequence, but we have to be able to talk to each other and listen and not listen to say something back, but actually hear."
The NBA is replete with stories of Heat culture guys who went elsewhere and never recaptured the chemistry, from Ike Austin to Anthony Mason to Eric Murdock to Tyler Johnson to Keyon Dooling. It also certainly was not the same for Wade in Chicago or Cleveland, or Alonzo Mourning in New Jersey, before those two worked their way back.
With Richardson, this was not like Justise Winslow wanting more of a role than the Heat could/would offer, or Mourning or Wade getting caught in financial differences. This also wasn't Mike Miller or Mario Chalmers victimized by the luxury tax.
This was the Heat swapping out one culture guy for another, with Richardson left to learn the realities on the other side, a move not made by choice.
"I have seen good teams," Richardson said in his season-ending exit statement, "and I know that conflict and accountability is a big part of that."
