Jason Collins Just Proved He's Still the Biggest Flop in the NBA
Alright, settle down, sports fans. I know you’re all still weeping into your commemorative jerseys over the retirement of the man who once averaged a blistering 3.6 points per game. Yes, that’s right, Jason Collins—the guy whose entire legacy is being the first openly gay active player in the NBA, not for, you know, playing basketball—has decided to grace us with his presence again. And by “grace,” I mean he’s basically doing a victory lap on a court he hasn’t mattered on since the Bush administration.
For those of you who somehow missed the circus, Collins announced he’s coming out of retirement to do... something. Maybe he’s signing a 10-day contract with a G-League team that’s desperate for a warm body to foul out in the fourth quarter. Maybe he’s planning to guest-coach a youth clinic in Sacramento. Honestly, the details are fuzzier than his post-up game, but the media is already treating this like LeBron’s second coming.
Let’s rewind the tape, shall we? Jason Collins’ career highlights include: being traded more times than a used Honda Civic, setting a record for most “veteran presence” quotes in a single locker room, and throwing the worst ceremonial first pitch in baseball history. Wait, no, that was 50 Cent. My bad. Collins’ actual highlight was being a 7-foot-tall dude who could somehow still get bullied by guys six inches shorter. He was the human equivalent of a participation trophy—except the trophy at least has a shiny finish.
And then came 2013. The man announced he was gay, and suddenly, he was the Rosa Parks of the hardwood. Look, I’m not here to dunk on someone’s sexuality—that’s a cheap shot, and even I have standards. But let’s be real: the NBA didn’t throw him a parade because he could shoot. They threw him a parade because he was a walking PR stunt. The league patted itself on the back, ESPN ran a 47-part documentary series, and Collins got a book deal, a speaking tour, and a lifetime supply of “courage” labels. Cool. Good for him. But let’s not pretend he wasn’t a backup center who peaked in a 2007 Wizards uniform when he averaged a whopping 6.8 rebounds a game. That’s not a legacy; that’s a footnote with a rainbow flag.
Now he’s back, and the sports world is acting like it’s the second coming of Michael Jordan. Newsflash: MJ didn’t need a coming-out party to be relevant. Collins is trying to turn a 15-year career of mediocrity into a second act of “inspirational icon,” and honestly, it’s exhausting. The guy is 45 years old. His knees have more miles on them than a Greyhound bus. The only thing he’s “coming back” for is to remind us he exists before the WNBA draft picks up his scraps.
Let’s talk about the actual basketball implications, because there are none. If Collins signs with any team, it’s purely for locker room vibes and to sell jerseys to people who think “first gay player” is a skill set. He’s not going to block shots. He’s not going to hit a three. He’s going to sit on the bench, look intense, and maybe high-five a rookie after a timeout. That’s it. That’s the whole comeback. But the media will eat it up like a starving dog at a barbecue, because God forbid we have a boring sports day.
And the worst part? He’s probably going to get more coverage than actual players who are, you know, good. There are dudes in the G-League right now averaging 25 points a night who can’t get a sniff of the NBA, but Jason Collins gets a press conference? That’s the kind of woke capitalism that makes me want to throw my remote through the TV. He’s not “breaking barriers” anymore; he’s breaking the concept of meritocracy.
Let’s also address the elephant in the room: the guy retired in 2014 because no one wanted him. He was a free agent for months, and not a single team called. Not even the Knicks, and they’ll sign a literal chair if it has a pulse. But now, a decade later, he’s suddenly relevant again? Please. This isn’t a comeback; it’s a cash grab. He’s probably got a memoir to sell, a podcast to launch, and a Netflix documentary in the works. The “comeback” is just the trailer for the real product: his brand.
I get it. Representation matters. Kids need role models. But there’s a difference between being a role model and being a mascot. Collins is the latter. He’s the gay version of the San Diego Chicken—fun to have around, but you’re not putting him in the game when it matters. And if you’re going to make a comeback, at least be honest about it. Call it what it is: a nostalgia tour for people who want to feel good about themselves without actually watching basketball.
So go ahead, Jason. Take your victory lap. Sign that 10-day contract with the Austin Spurs’ practice squad. Smile for the cameras. Just don’t expect me to pretend it’s anything other than what it is: a washed-up player trying to stay in the spotlight because he never had the talent to earn it in the first place. The NBA might be inclusive, but it’s not a charity, and neither am I.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go watch highlights of players who actually mattered. You know, like that guy who hit the game-winner in 2016. What was his name? Oh right, Kyrie. At least he’s got a ring. Collins has a participation medal and a therapist.
Final Thoughts
As a journalist who's covered locker rooms long enough to know how the game really works, Collins' announcement wasn't just a headline—it was a seismic shift in the unspoken code of professional sports. He didn't just come out; he did it on his own terms, forcing a league built on hyper-masculinity to confront its own hypocrisy, and proving that a player's value is measured by his ability to guard the paint, not his sexual orientation. The real victory here isn't the applause from the stands, but the quiet normalization it represents for every kid in a high school gym who now knows the door isn't just open, it's been kicked off its hinges.