Let's talk about Vin Baker. The question on everyone's mind, at this point, is whether the Sonics' loping, loopy, soft-touch power forward has truly shaken his two-season psycho-physical slump. That certainly looks to be the case. In the first three games of the season--the Good (vs. Denver), the Bad (vs. Portland), and the Ugly (vs. Vancouver)--Baker, along with the unvanquishable Payton, has been the only starter to consistently prove that his head is fully in the game. With the gargantuan presence of Ewing now on the floor for 25 to 30 minutes a game, magnetizing nervous defenders, Baker shakes off the hovering threat of a double-team lockdown, the nightmarish sandwich-factor that for two years running has squelched his prized ability to function under the hoop. Taking the ball down low, Baker's been displaying some impressively nimble footwork; his drop step and spin to the hoop looks better than it has in a very long while. (Though Vin absolutely, positively must STOP DRIBBLING THE BALL!) Baker has also been sinking some rangy jump shots. He's got great form, very smooth, and routine accuracy from outside should continue to bust open his game. What's more, Baker's hitting his free throws. I repeat: Baker's hitting free throws. The importance of this fact cannot be overstated. Free throws were the only thing that prevented the Sonics from being completely blown away in the Portland game.The real wild card with Baker, however, is mental endurance. That, and focus. Recall the first few games of the regular season last year, when it appeared that Baker, while still not in the best of shape, had at least partially emerged from his deep and disarming psychological funk; he rolled out strong, with seemingly newfound confidence and acuity, and hopes were temporarily revived. Temporarily. All too soon there commenced a sort of elliptical unraveling of Baker's talents, compounded by a narcoleptic inattention that was almost too painful to behold. As his game fell apart, a corrosive scrutiny--by fans, teammates, media--further eroded his confidence, trapping him in a cycle of self-defeating paralysis. Baker started really beating himself up; he'd sit hunched and hangdog-looking on the bench, sometimes with a towel draped over his head. On the court, a dark, dense fog enveloped him--a miasmic effluvium of doubt through which he schlepped with heartbreaking difficulty. The anger this aroused in fans was curious, mixed as it was with an unmistakable sense of pathos. Baker became the Sonic's tragic figure. His long slide into despair incited as much frustrated pity as it did righteous indignation.

Listen: There's already some better news this season (though it's doubtful that Baker will ever completely elude the merciless scrutiny brought on by his prolonged nose-dive). First of all, with the aforementioned acquisition of Ewing's wizened, leaning "tower of power," as well as the increased playing time of a maturing Rashard Lewis, Baker needn't shoulder so much of the burden, either offensively or defensively. The Sonics--by bolstering and broadening the front end in the off-season--have exponentially increased their options in the low post. This has already had a noticeably positive impact on Baker's game.

And on a more subtle and yet more salient note, I wish to draw your attention to the fact that Baker is now 28 years of age. Yeah, he's survived his 27th year, the notoriously brutal trial of Saturn's return. Weird? I don't think so. For someone in possession of such delicately balanced psychic faculties as Baker, a passage like this is tantamount to personal triumph. All you have to do is consult the historical record to discover how many MOODY, PRECOCIOUS, FAMOUS people didn't survive the circular crash-and-burn of being 27. Enough said.