Verrier’s new Ringer article on Davis

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. Whether what he desires coheres with reality is another story. For all the expectation that Davis would be a brand name—including from, say, a national website that sent a writer to cover him full time—his résumé has never quite fit. Davis is no Personality—that much was made clear when he used All-Star Weekend as an opportunity to see how many feet he could fit in his mouth. And his game? The blocks and alley-oop dunks and one-man fast breaks are legitimate thrills, but the shot-to-shot experience is much closer to Tim Duncan. You admire Davis, like a sculpture in a museum, more than you obsess over him. Perhaps that’s why it’s easier to drum up scorn for Davis rather than full-throated support—the former is purely visceral; reaching the latter requires far more nuance. DeMarcus Cousins, by contrast, crashed onto the scene like a monster truck rally; a week after being traded to New Orleans two years ago, the erstwhile Pelicans big man showed up on top of a Mardi Gras float with a pair of panties on his head and a bottle of Hennessy in his hand. What’s not to love?

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