Julius Randle’s metamorphosis is a lesson for all of us in how little we know

Julius Randle is off to an All-NBA start to the season that nobody saw coming. Should be adjust our expectations for what we “know” and “don’t know” going forward? Jack Huntley looks to the great philosopher Socrates for inspiration.

If only Socrates was alive, and a Knicks fan, and on Twitter in the dog days of 2020, right? 

One of the founding fathers of modern philosophy, he’d probably have been a Julius Randle sympathizer, dropping fire emojis like Julius has dropped dimes so far this season. Socratic fire emoji’s everywhere, punctuating tweets chastising a fanbase that was sure they knew everything there was to know about the artist formerly known as “The Big Apple Turnover.” Through seven games, Randle is averaging a humbling 22 points, 11 rebounds, and seven assists, on his way to leading the Knickerbockers of New York to a 4-3 record.

“The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing,” Socrates said, many years ago, at some point between 470-389 BC, the last time the Knicks were above .500. 

Smart bloke, that Socrates, as it turns out. 

For as fun as the Julius Randle metamorphosis has been, there is a lesson here. A lesson in how confidently wrong we were about the value and limits of that Randle, the impossibility of this Randle, and the unknowable middle between the two. There is, and always has been, wisdom to be found in a recognition of the limits of stuff we capital-K Know, and it’s possible that this wisdom can apply to marginally more important topics than a 26-year-old New York Knick power forward’s Most Improved Player candidacy. It’s possible, I suppose. I’ve heard rumors non-Knicks phenomena is a thing.

Forget real-life wisdom though, that’s equal parts boring and scary, and far less pressing than well-informed blue and orange feels. Any rational application of newfound wisdom, obviously, starts with Knicks Twitter. That cozy cesspit of opinionated digital distraction. We missed big on this one. In the humbling aftermath of this ultimately glorious Randle-shaped miss, it’s worth asking — what else are we missing on?

There are a few candidates: 21-year-old Kevin Knox? 22-year-old Frank Ntilikina? And at the blasphemous extremes of scientific Knick certainties, 22-year-old Dennis Smith Jr.?

All three of these guys endured more of the developmentally-skewering mulligan year-and-a-bit of David Fizdale than Randle, who only had to spend 22 games in the developmental darkness. Knox and Frank were born in the darkness, shaped by it, stunted by it; still trying to shake the stench of it.

I’m not saying to disregard and ignore the alarming feedback of our eyeballs, watching this version of DSJ. But I am saying any confident declaration of what Ntilikina emphatically is or isn’t should be handcuffed to a shipping container of salt. I am saying that any buying or selling of Kevin Knox stock is by default a premature bet. These guys are NBA babies, with NBA scars, and unknown NBA futures. It’s fun and smart and necessary to talk about what we think, but let’s pump the brakes on closing the book on what we know.

Not convinced? Socratic Julius would like a word. 

This man is unrecognizable. Tentatively LeBronian. Channeling his inner Boris Diaw. Busting out nightly Nikola Jokic knock-off impersonations and somehow not getting laughed off the court. Playing inspired defense in the guts of fourth quarter nail-biters. Snatching wins from so-called better teams. Punching heavyweights in the jaw. Leaving opponents and onlookers dazed and reeling. Waxing lyrical in postgame interviews about the primacy of the team like it’s the summer of ’70. Honing and harnessing his top shelf combination of Hulk-like bulk and lightning bolt speed. Like a chiseled Greek god. Wowing humble worker folk with imperious triple-doubles. Masterful little pearls of box score wisdom.

It’s easy to point to the coaching chasm between Fizdale and Tom Thibodeau as the cause and catalyst for the transformation; but that would only be partly true. Thibs has Randle making decisions, and playing a style, that Fizdale either wouldn’t or couldn’t. But one of the interesting things about new Randle is that his improvement is almost exclusively between the ears — a general maturity, a decision-making upgrade — rather than any single on-court skill. It’s not his jumper, it’s not his handle, it’s not even his passing, really. He could always pass; he’d just rather score.

The praise we lavish on Thibs should at least in part be given to Mike Miller, who got 21 points, 11 rebounds, three assists and only two turnovers out of Randle on his way to a 17-27 record as interim head coach. Randle probably learned from his failures under Fizdale, consolidated his game under Miller, before taking off now under Thibodeau. Failure is a harsh teacher, and the big man’s fumbles under Fizdale can’t be discounted as positive ingredients to his growth under Thibs, who didn’t conjure LeRandle out of thin air — however much he seems like a sideline sorcerer.

There are coaching breadcrumbs to follow in tracing the emergence of this early-season surprise, which if it sustains — and it’s only been seven games — will be a wonderful and welcomed reminder of how dumb we are. Who knows, maybe this is just the beginning of the ascension of top-shelf platinum-coated Randle. His offensive exploits have so far come against a murderous schedule that has seen the Knicks play almost exclusively competent defenses thus far. Randle has feasted on the first-, second-, eighth- (twice), 12th-, 13th-, and 18th-ranked defenses in his scorching start, with the 16th-ranked Utah Jazz visiting tonight.

What can Randle do once he gets his teeth into some of the weaker outfits of the NBA herd? I have no idea. Ignorance has been bliss so far, and maybe in this upside-down NBA season, the best is yet to come for post-Fiz infinity Randle. 

For now, we should sit back and channel our inner Socrates. Embrace the ignorance; enjoy the bliss; dial back the NBA certainties a smidge. We can start with January. Monthly bitesize wisdom. Humble us Julius, we now know we know nothing.