If you regularly peruse social media, there’s a good chance you’re familiar with the viral Netflix documentary meme that’s persisted throughout the summer. These clips have a formula: Frenzied violin strings play as someone attaches a fake mic to their shirt, takes a sip of water, and sits down for a confession of some kind.
Last week, when I first heard that the Denver Nuggets had sent Peyton Watson to the Cleveland Cavaliers in a multi-team trade that returned zero established basketball players back to Denver, it took about a minute before I imagined Nuggets owner Josh Kroenke walking toward an empty chair, fidgeting with a cuff link, and then defiantly staring into a camera. The caption reads: Seated for my Netflix doc about casually squandering Nikola Jokic’s prime, even though we’re somehow the only team in the second apron LOL.
In recent months, a surge of the petulant, self-serving, totally bankrupt behavior that’s long been associated with those who are wealthy enough to own a professional sports franchise has echoed, loudly, around the NBA. From the wickedly frugal to an alleged criminal undertaking, greed grows under a CBA that’s designed to preserve the richest’s riches. But of all the mandates delivered this summer, none are harder to forgive than what’s happened in Denver, where the Kroenke family accelerated their march away from respectability, steadily sapping the type of help every all-time great needs to maximize his own ability.
Whether directly or otherwise, what we have here is an increasingly depressing, devastatingly mismanaged partnership that officially reached its “saxophones getting louder” crescendo with the Watson deal. Magnificently bleak stuff.
By itself, this was not the most debilitating transaction in league history. But throw in the context of every other underwhelming move the Nuggets made this summer, foregrounded by a first-round loss to the laughably depleted Timberwolves and Jokic’s decision not to sign a long-term extension as he enters a contract year (coming off another MVP-caliber season), and it’s shameful.
There’s a chance that Watson won’t live up to the four-year, $88 million contract Cleveland was willing to pay him, but that’s beside the point. In addition to being only 23 years old, having an ideal, transportable skill set, and playing well enough last January to win Player of the Week in the Western Conference, Watson has pretty much exactly what the Nuggets were missing in last year’s playoffs: elite athleticism, additive spontaneity, and the ability to stay between their man and the basket. Jaden McDaniels and Ayo Dosunmu would not have cooked Denver as thoroughly as they did in the first round if Watson had been there to bother them. On that trajectory, he had the potential to dramatically raise the Nuggets’ ceiling. Instead, he’s gone, continuing a trend of offseasons that, in hindsight, have been peppered with digression.
More in the NBA
Now, question marks spoil what could have been a confident trek back to the Finals. Even though they shed Watson and, separately, traded away their own first-round pick in this year’s draft to save a ton of money, the Nuggets are still in the second apron, with repeater tax penalties that may nudge their payroll to $300 million. It’s a strange contradiction. Denver technically isn’t cheap: It was in the tax from 2023 to 2025, a period that includes a combined $310 million investment in Jamal Murray and Aaron Gordon, plus a five-year, $125 million contract for Christian Braun.
But that spending led to losses elsewhere. The Nuggets have been in cost-cutting mode, waving goodbye to Kentavious Caldwell-Pope, Michael Porter Jr., Tim Hardaway Jr., and Watson. They ducked the tax last year, then proceeded to execute a team-building strategy this summer that was the equivalent of throwing a wine-stained button-down into a washing machine, deciding not to add soap, and then praying it’d be spotless 30 minutes later.
Even with some notable names in the mix, Denver’s incoming players amount to a shoulder shrug. DeMar DeRozan just spent his 17th NBA season doing typical DeMar DeRozan things for the Sacramento Kings, where he preserved his reputation as one of the sport’s most reliably anachronistic scorers. Let’s start with a positive read: The Nuggets are better with DeRozan than without him. Best-case scenario, he’ll thrive as a Sixth Man of the Year candidate who props Denver’s offense up when Jokic and Murray are on the bench. He is self-sufficient, rarely turns it over (a big plus for the Nuggets), and won’t be rattled in crunch time. When beside other starters, the six-time All-Star will be another button for David Adelman to press. He’ll run some pick-and-roll and find cracks off the ball. (Sneaking a cutting teammate by Jokic is like trying to slip daylight by a rooster.)
The downsides are obvious, though. DeRozan is 37 years old, is an awkward fit who won’t space the floor, and doesn’t address any concerns about the defense, which ranked 21st last season. Speaking of not addressing any concerns about a defense that ranked 21st last season: Marvin Bagley III is Denver’s new backup center. A 27-year-old who’s still widely recognized as one of most disappointing draft picks of his generation, Bagley most recently put up solid numbers on a couple of teams that weren’t trying to win games—he led the league in half-court efficiency last season!—and has logged a grand total of 28 playoff minutes in his career. Alpha Diallo (the reigning EuroLeague Best Defender) and Trevon Brazile (a 23-year-old rookie who was drafted from Arkansas in the second round) are also climbing aboard. To put it politely, expectations that all of the above will have a positive impact in Denver’s playoff rotation should be heavily tamped down.
But even with, um, questionable soil beneath it, Denver is far from a wasteland. Jokic makes all things possible, including a title run this season if a few health- and shooting-related breaks fall the right way. During its humiliating series against Minnesota, Denver saw its 3-point percentage fall off a cliff. Some of that was due to the Timberwolves’ stingy defense. Some of it was crap luck.
The foundational bones remain solid. When healthy, Murray and Gordon can still unlock everything around Jokic on both ends of the court. Cam Johnson and Braun are primed for more consistent campaigns. But the margin for error here is slimmer than the world’s best player deserves. In a league where depth is essential, Zeke Nnaji, Spencer Jones, Julian Stawther, DaRon Holmes, and Tyus Jones are a collection of names that leave you wanting more. And the broader view remains damning. Last year was the first time one of Jokic’s teammates was an All-Star. Nobody of his caliber, short of Moses Malone and Kevin Garnett before he was traded to the Boston Celtics, has ever been surrounded by a less accomplished supporting cast. One ring is fantastic, particularly when it’s the first in a franchise’s history. But Jokic should be on track to decorate his entire right hand. That obviously hasn’t happened.
Sometimes, a superstar’s talent, skill, and ability to accentuate everything they touch are so overwhelming that unreasonable assumptions are made. For nearly a decade, Joker has solved more problems for his team than any other player in the league. When he isn’t on the court, Denver’s identity has been a never-ending journey toward the true limit of what it means to be hopeless. It’d be unfair to say that the Nuggets have failed him since they, you know, won an NBA championship. But we’ve reached a point where it’s hard not to acknowledge that they’ve also taken his greatness for granted, slapping Band-Aids from a clearance shelf on a problem that requires more medical attention. Russell Westbrook and DeRozan aren’t the answer. It’s regrettable for Braun to get paid nine figures for a job that essentially boils down to “run, catch, score.”
The thing is, if you put just about anything around Jokic, he’ll not only make it work. He’ll also design, conduct, and consummate some of the most efficient offensive attacks the NBA has ever seen. For this reason, it’s a smidge too soon to start up the trade machine and seriously ponder a league-altering breakup. (When I say a smidge, I mean that there's a decent chance I'll be writing a "Five Fake Jokic Trades" column before Christmas.) The Nuggets should still be very good. They have a juicy first-round pick to dangle before the trade deadline, and Jokic has repeatedly stressed his desire to spend the rest of his career where he is now. But that doesn’t mean other organizations around the league won’t have their eyes glued to a situation that could take a left turn much sooner than a more competent ownership group would’ve allowed.
I understand how much money Watson would’ve tacked onto Denver’s tax bill, know how devastating Gordon’s hamstring injuries have been, and realize that things aren’t that bad compared with other situations around the league (hello, Milwaukee). Winning it all is an excruciating challenge, especially under this CBA. But, in Jokic, we’re discussing a once-in-a-lifetime superstar. If, as stewards of his legacy, you aren’t willing to do everything in your power to maximize his excellence, why own a team in the first place? What are you waiting for?
I remember standing in the Ball Arena’s home locker room on the night the Nuggets won the title, talking to coaches, players, and members of the front office, my suit damp with Champagne. It felt like the beginning of a special run. Instead, it might very well be the capstone of an era that will leave Nuggets fans wondering, forever, what more could have been.
