In retrospect, the decision of the Los Angeles Clippers to play game four of their Western Conference playoff series against the Golden State Warriors seems obviously like the wrong one. Their protest gesture of turning their warm-ups inside out and then tossing them at center court at game time looked like an ineffectual gesture, if only because they were about to wear their actual uniforms the right way and play for an owner whose long-standing racism had finally been given the widest public berth. Years later, in 2020, when the NBA was finishing out its pandemic-shortened season in “the Bubble” of Disney World, the Milwaukee Bucks refused to play in their own playoff game against the Orlando Magic in protest of the shooting of Jacob Blake, a Black man shot by a police officer in Wisconsin. Other teams followed suit, and there was no basketball that day.
And yet it isn’t fair to criticize the Clippers players for whatever they decided to do that day because it was truly a no-win situation for them. In the lead-up to tonight’s episode, Clipped has done well to put this historic moment in context for Doc Rivers and his team. The most important thing to remember is that Sterling’s racism was baked into the entire situation long before the infamous TMZ tape blew up. He was the subject of multiple housing-discrimination lawsuits over his distaste for non-Asian minority tenants, the architect of a franchise that Elgin Baylor once referred to as “a Southern Plantation–type structure,” and a solicitor of “hostesses” for various events who were subjected to harassment and demoralizing behavior. Peter Keating’s ESPN: The Magazine piece from 2009 dug into Sterling’s history, but nothing affected his ownership of the Clippers or his chronic mismanagement of the team or its players.
From the very beginning of Clipped, Doc has accepted the devil’s bargain of again working under Donald Sterling in exchange for the opportunity to coach a team with championship aspirations. It would be a truly historic achievement for the league’s most “cursed” team to win a title despite an owner whose penny-pinching and toxicity has lead to a losing culture for years. Doc stands willing to tolerate Sterling while protecting his team as much as possible, and his players are expected to live in that bubble with him, focusing on their routines and shutting out the noise. And let’s be honest: It’s not as if Sterling was the only dogshit owner in the NBA. (Another notorious owner, Robert Sarver, was forced to sell the Phoenix Suns less than two years ago after reports of his own serial misbehavior.) In fact, this episode includes the clip of Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban, a relatively progressive-minded NBA billionaire, worrying about the Sterling tape being a “slippery slope” because it was recorded in private.
It’s telling that Doc, after hearing the tape, anticipates a punishment for Sterling far more lenient than the one that’s ultimately handed down. There’s even a blueprint he expects Sterling and the league to follow: an apology from Sterling, followed by a six-month- or year-long suspension from the new commissioner, Adam Silver. But “Let the Games Begin” shows proper sympathy for his willful naïvety, both because nobody could be expected to have a perfect response to such a compromising situation and because it’s obviously unfair for his team to have to carry the burden that Sterling’s behavior has placed on them. The solution he presents to them is to make a statement through their play, like Jesse Owens winning four golds in front of Adolf Hitler or Tommie Smith and John Carlos raising their fists on the podium in Mexico City 1968.
The episode shrewdly juxtaposes reaction to the tape from three circles: from Doc and the players, who are agonizing over a season upended by a “distraction” that cannot be ignored; from the Sterlings, who are in various stages of denial; and from V. Stiviano, who is trying to capitalize on her 15 minutes. The contrast works in the team’s favor, to say the least. The players and their coach may differ in their opinions over what to do, but they are united in their disgust and scrambling to figure out a solution. DeAndre Jordan’s instinct to join others in posting a black square on Instagram and initially refusing to play seems — again, in retrospect — like the best response to an owner who “is literally saying that I’m a piece of property.” But he agrees to the compromise solution to stage a protest and move forward, which winds up feeling so wrong that Doc predicts the drubbing they’re about to take before the game even tips off.
The Sterlings are an incredible case because they’re both not on the same page and, weirdly, simpatico. Donald knows his voice is on the tape, but rather than apologize, he issues a ridiculous non-apology apology through the organization that questions the authenticity of the tape and expresses sorrow for “anyone hurt” by what was said on them. Shelly doesn’t necessarily question the tape but blames V. for setting her husband up, which is, of course, beside the point. In a funny precursor of things to come, Shelly sits down with NBA officials and starts talking about V., but all they want is confirmation that her husband’s voice is on the tape. No other context is necessary. Together, the Sterlings are so oblivious to the gravity of the situation — it seems likely that former commissioner David Stern would not have taken the step that Silver opted to take — that they try to attend the actual game. It takes Doc screaming into a phone to drive Donald away, but Shelly sits obliviously in the crowd (away from her courtside seats) and hops on the team bus afterward.
As for V., she’s gone off the deep end. Her friend Deja advises her on a possible pathway to PR victory, based on Kim Kardashian turning infamy into entrepreneurship. However, V. and her hastily assembled team make all the wrong moves. She seems to like the idea of being a “trending topic” and catches press for her bizarre antics, like manufacturing “V. Stiviano” hats and appearing outside in roller skates and a face-covering visor. But what she doesn’t do is respond with any indignation over the racism on the tape, suggesting her continued erasure of her own Blackness, or anticipate the long-term damage she’s done to herself. When the dust settles and the press goes away, the Sterlings will still be billionaires with a credible lawsuit against her. You can’t stay a trending topic forever.
Olowokandies
• The series has been tough on Blake Griffin for taking the situation too lightly. One clunker of a line to Jordan (“Dude, I’m down to destroy this racist system we work for right after it buys me some crêpes”) seems downright unfair to him.
• “You’re only supposed to have oysters in months with an R,” Shelly tells Doc on the elevator down the hotel lobby. Doc feels sorry for Shelly, who’s trying to find her way through a terrible situation. The show feels sorry for her, too. They’re being overly generous, frankly.
• “You can’t stand the thought that beautiful young girls want to suck me off day and night.” Donald Sterling was notorious for bragging about getting blowjobs, even when asked about his handwriting in court.
• The best argument for playing in the team meeting comes from Matt Barnes, who points out the obvious about Sterling: “Why’s it on us? Shit, Donald been treating Black men like racehorses since he bought the team in ’81. Wanna know where I was in ’81? In a fucking high chair. So don’t ask us to make a statement about something nobody gave a shit about for 30 years.”
• Another scene-stealing turn from Harriet Sansom Harris during Sterling’s birthday dinner, when she talks about his habit of eating off other people’s plates: “You know that it’s called ‘feseling.’ It’s an attention-seeking behavior. Toddlers do it. That summer I spent with you, he took a cherry Yoplait right out of my hands just because I didn’t want to chat at the breakfast table.”
• It is really plausible that Doc Rivers takes meditation tips from David Lynch?
• “The Sterlings are going to teach you what real power can do.” The convenient thing about writing a fictional character like Deja into a fact-based show like Clipped is she can see the future clearly.
• Yes, the turtle thing was real.
