Got me wondering earlier if Westbrook’s 2015 MVP buzz was all hype or backed by legit craziness. Started digging into that wild triple-double run everyone keeps yapping about.
The Slog Through the Stats
Sat down with my cold coffee and booted up the laptop. Grabbed a notebook – old school style. Searched for “Russ 2015 stat leaders” and holy moly, pages upon pages flooded the screen. Numbers jumping everywhere.11 points, 10 rebounds, 11 assists… then another… and another. Felt like a blur after a while.
Jotted down maybe ten games worth in my notebook before my hand cramped. Names like Kings, Pelicans, Timberwolves kept popping up. Needed a better way. Opened a spreadsheet and started pounding keys. Dates. Opponents. Points. Rebounds. Assists. Had to double-check each entry against box scores ’cause some sites looked sketchy.Made dang sure Durant and Ibaka were sidelined for those games – that context matters.
- Hunting down missing steals or blocks felt like detective work.
- Highlight reels bombarded me every few searches – dude just exploded past everyone.
- Kept muttering “how is that even possible?” under my breath.
Spreadsheet got messy fast. Columns overflowing. Ended up with like 15 rows of triple-doubles staring back at me. Just for 2015. Didn’t even hit playoffs yet. My jaw kinda hung loose looking at the final count.
The Personal Gut Punch
Seeing those numbers sparked something else. Made me think about 2015 for me. Was hustling hard on a freelance gig back then, trying to build something real. Money was tight, way tighter than Russ missing a rebound. Remember sitting on my busted couch eating ramen while watching him drop another trip-dub on a grainy stream. Felt worlds apart.
Putting this post together today? It’s like reliving that year. The hustle. The frustration. The sheer impossibility of what Russ was doing night after night while I was just scraping by. Poured that coffee cold twice.
Checked the stats again this morning. Yeah. 11 triple-doubles in 2015 alone. Monster. Numbers don’t lie, even if my bank account back then felt like it was. Never watching those Jazz or Knicks games from that year again, though. Trauma flashbacks.
