Los Angeles Lakers: 4 predictions for 2021-22 you can take to the bank
2. Malik Monk will garner Most Improved Player votes
The Most Improved Player typically morphs from a solid competitor to an All-Star. In 2021, Julius Randle was a first-time All-Star, and he ended up winning the MIP. The year before, Brandon Ingram was also a first-time All-Star who won the award.
Sometimes an MIP doesn’t get voted on as a member of the All-Star team. Instead, he drastically improves his scoring average like the 2018-2019 winner, Pascal Siakam, who jumped his average from 7 PPG to 17 PPG the year he won the award.
Malik Monk averaged 12 points per game last year for the Charlotte Hornets. There’s no way he’s going to hurdle up to over 20 PPG this season on a loaded Lakers team. Similarly, he has no chance of supplanting Stephen Curry, Damian Lillard, and Devin Booker to make his first All-Star team.
Malik Monk will not be the next MIP, but I predict he’ll start for the Lakers this year, he’ll up his defensive intensity, and in the end, some of the savvy award voters will recognize his overall improvement.
Most folks in Lakerland aren’t as high on Malik Monk as I am. They don’t expect Monk to start for the Lakers. Kent Bazemore’s the front runner. He’s a proven veteran who plays solid defense and can spread the floor.
Talen Horton-Tucker’s the second runner (is that a phrase?). He just signed a three-year, $30 million contract, and at 20-years-old, he’s already a plus defender and a force driving to the rack. All he needs to do is show he can hit at a decent rate from deep during the preseason, and the starting gig could be his.
Malik Monk, 23, turned down much bigger contracts from other squads to sign a one-year, $1.8 million deal with the Lakers. Think about that for a second. The former Hornet is coming to La La land for next to no (NBA) money without a guarantee of even cracking the rotation.
He’s coming to a place where the lights shine brighter and where lesser men’s careers die (if you think I’m exaggerating about the whole NBA death thing, try to find Lance Stephenson, last I heard, he was playing in Northeast China, or look at the $80 million-plus, Dennis Schroder lost this offseason).
In my head, here’s what happened with Malik Monk and his agent, Jeff Schwartz, this offseason:
Malik Monk closes his eyes and leans back on his sofa, sucking in the freshness of another calm Arkansas morning. He pushes last season out of his mind and focuses on the cool morning air and the family of birds chirping in his backyard. His cell phone blasts him out of his reverie. He sighs, looks at the caller ID, and answers.
“Malik, I’ve got some big ideas for you, buddy,” Jeff says. “I think we can get the Kings to give you three years and $30 mil.”
“Nope. I’m not interested in Sacramento,” Monk says, pulse even. “I wanna play for the Lakers.”
“The Lakers? I haven’t heard anything from them. Let me call Pelinka and get back to you.”
“Sounds good,” Monk says as he heads over to the kitchen to prepare breakfast.
Malik Monk rounds up five eggs, tomatoes, and spinach. He gets to work on an omelet when his cell phone rings again, crashing through his breakfast routine. “What’s up, Jeff? What did Pelinka say?” Monk asks.
“Sorry, kid,” Jeff says, inhaling deeply. “Pelinka said all he can give you is the minimum.”
Monk’s eyes light up. “Pelinka said he’d sign me? Dang, I didn’t think I had shot.”
“Yeah. He’ll sign you for the minimum,” Jeff rasps.
“I’ll take it.”
“What do you mean you’ll take it?” Jeff asks.
“I’ll take the minimum.”
“Kid, don’t be crazy.”
Monk flips the spatula in his hand and smirks like a little boy. “I’ll take it.”
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“Stay there. I’ll be at your house in two hours.”
*****
Jeff hops out of the cab and mops his sweaty forehead with shaking hands. He takes a deep breath, composing himself, and walks up to Monk’s front door, knocking three times. Monk opens the door. “Come in,” he says, leading him to the dining table.
The two sit down across from each other. “Malik. You don’t know how many times I’ve had a player I represented just fall out of the league,” Jeff says, hands clenched on the table. “Just take a deal worth more money.”
“I appreciate you, Jeff, but naw, I’m gonna play for the Lakers. I’m gonna play next to LeBron for a chip.”
Jeff clears his throat and looks out the window. “Be reasonable, kid. You know Vogel’s a defensive coach, and you ain’t played even a little D since you got in the league.”
“I know. But that don’t mean I can’t play D. I’m gonna show Vogel what I can do on defense.”
“Pelinka told me he can’t guarantee you a spot in the rotation. You’re gonna have to earn that.”
“A spot in the rotation,” Monk says, eyes shining. “I’m gonna start.”
End scene.
I love Malik Monk’s confidence. He’s 23-years-old, and he’s betting on himself. He’s betting he’ll play so well and be such an integral piece of the Lakers’ post-season run that this one-year flyer he’s taking will up his value across the league to something like three years, $50 million. I predict it’ll work out for Monk, and he ends up starting and averaging something like 15 PPG on 42 percent from deep while playing solid D.