If only Dwight Howard had listened to the sage advice of Orlando Magic owner Rich DeVos, he'd be a legend right now instead of a leftover.
He'd be a Central Florida icon instead of an NBA journeyman.
Howard has become such a basketball drifter that not even his hometown team _ the Atlanta Hawks _ could stand having him on their roster for more than one season.
The Hawks traded Howard to the Charlotte Hornets Tuesday night for $24, 10 beaver pelts and some glass beads. Actually, Charlotte sent a bunch of spare parts _ Miles Plumlee, Marco Belinelli and the 41st pick in Thursday's NBA draft _ to Atlanta for Howard and the Hawks' 31st pick.
That's right, the Hawks are giving up Howard and a better draft pick just so they can get rid of him. The Hawks are akin to a frustrated car owner driving an old jalopy to the junkyard and junkyard owner saying, "Give me a $100 disposal fee and I'll take it off your hands."
This is what Dwight has become since leaving Orlando. He's gone from one the elite players in the NBA to a salary dump. Since leaving the Magic five seasons ago, he is on his fourth team.
DeVos tried to warn Dwight. He tried to tell his franchise player that if he left Orlando he would likely regret it because he would be giving up a special bond that would be difficult to replicate elsewhere.
"Dwight is in a good place, and when you're young, sometimes you don't realize that," DeVos said then. "The loyalty you develop in a community is always remembered. But if you leave, you don't pick it up in the next town. It's not an add-on because you lose what you had. Maybe you gain some new (love), but maybe you don't. Maybe the net gain isn't as good as you think."
I wrote it when Dwight left and I'll write it again now: There's a reason the grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence. It's because it's been fertilized with a bunch of horse manure.
Dwight Howard had it all when he was in Orlando. He was an MVP candidate. He was on a championship contender. He was the three-time defensive player of the year. He was beloved and revered.
I still remember when Dwight was plotting his exit from Orlando, some friends of mine in a local band recorded a song and video professing Orlando's love for Dwight and begging him to stay.
Now, every team Dwight goes to is begging him to leave _ as quickly as possible. He's become an unwanted, unloved basketball gypsy.
The other day, a friend of mine's girlfriend snapped a photo showing a bunch of No. 12 Dwight Howard Magic jerseys in a discount bin at the Oviedo Goodwill.
Sadly, Dwight's entire career is now in the discount bin.
Except there's no goodwill.
There's no love or loyalty like he had in Orlando.
As DeVos so wisely pointed out, you don't pick that up in another town.
Not even in your hometown.
Atlanta dumped Dwight just like Dwight dumped Orlando.
Close your eyes and try to remember when Dwight was a hero here; when his bigger-than-life image would flash on the scoreboard Jumbotron before big playoff games and he would fire up the crowd by saying loudly and proudly, "Blue and White _ Ignite!"
And the fans would roar and the fireworks would go off.
Now, there's only silence
Now, there's nothing left of that dominant, dynamic Dwight.
Now, he's just a fading memory and cautionary tale.
Blue and White _ good night.
