Ricky Rubio seemed, as the passage of time compresses the finer details, like he was always peaking brilliantly or in the midst of a lull from which he might never emerge, but he was also a consistent presence.
Ricky Rubio retired from the NBA as the calendar was turning over. This was not exactly a surprise. He'd played thirty-odd games in each of the past two seasons and hadn't yet participated in the 2023-24 edition due to vaguely defined mental health issues. His, him bending back in alarm as he terminated a drive, had a final feeling about it. Rubio's career had been pulsar-like, increasingly fragile as he aged into his conspicuously creaky thirties.
Those are Ricky Rubio's career highlights, and the blank spaces between them. He seemed, as the passage of time compresses the finer details, like he was always peaking brilliantly or in the midst of a lull from which he might never emerge, but he was also a consistent presence. He played with a literal generosity, and had a generous personality. You can imagine certain basketball players—Kobe is the example that comes to mind—as great individual athletes, tennis players or golfers.
Watching Rubio, you had the sense of a person who had either been blessed with a cheerful disposition, or who had figured a few crucial things out. Perhaps the latter. That famous-among-League-Pass-dorks