Damian Lillard returns to Portland and reminds us what loyalty looks like

It’s a reminder that loyalty like Devin Booker’s is rare and worth keeping.

Damian Lillard is headed back to the Portland Trail Blazers. Three years, $41.6 million. For a player coming off a torn Achilles who won’t even suit up next season, he’ll still earn $14.1 million. Some scratch their heads. Some scoff. Others laugh. But me? I see the poetry. After all, the Phoenix Suns have their own guy who is draped in loyality.

I see the romanticism in a city and a player choosing each other…again. I see the loyalty. The understanding. The shared history. In a league where titles are the only currency some fans respect, Portland is choosing something different. Something harder to measure, but no less real. A connection. A reason to keep showing up even when the odds are long and the trophies elusive.

Winning a championship is brutally hard. Especially in the Western Conference, where contenders rise and fall like tides. Most seasons will end in disappointment. But if you’re going to endure that heartbreak, wouldn’t you rather do it with your guy? Someone who means something to the city, to the jersey, to the fans who’ve lived every step of the journey with him?

There’s beauty in that kind of loyalty. It doesn’t fit in a trophy case, but it fits in the soul of a franchise.

Watching sports can be brutal. Only one team wins it all. And somewhere along the way, we convinced ourselves that anything short of a title is failure. But I’m reminded of what Giannis Antetokounmpo said after his team fell short in 2023.

“Every year you work, you work towards something, towards a goal, right? Which is to get a promotion, be able to take care of your family, to be able to provide the house for them or take care of your parents,” he said after losing to the Heat in the first round. “You work towards a goal. It’s not a failure; it’s steps to success.”

“There’s always steps to it,” Antetokounmpo continued. “Michael Jordan played 15 years, won six championships; the other nine years was a failure? That’s what you’re telling me?

“There’s no failure in sports,” he added. “There’s good days, bad days. Some days you are able to be successful, some days you’re not. Some days it’s your turn, some days it’s not your turn. And that’s what sports is about. You don’t always win; some other team’s gonna win. And this year, somebody else is gonna win. Simple as that.”

Some applauded his point of view, others believed it was a loser mentality. “I can understand and respect his explanation,” Shaquille O’Neal said of Antetokounmpo’s statement. “But for me, when we didn’t win, it was always my fault and it was definitely a failure.”

You play to win the games. Of course. That’s the goal. But it’s not that black and white. There’s nuance. There’s texture. There’s beauty in the struggle, and meaning in the moments that don’t end in confetti. There’s appreciation born through pain, connection forged in the waiting, and value in the loyalty that outlasts the standings.

It all depends on how you choose to perceive sport. And that lens? It’s as unique as every person reading this. Some chase only the destination. Others find something sacred in the journey. Neither is wrong, but one lasts a little longer.

I’m a Devin Booker loyalist. Not a Stan. There’s a difference. I’ll criticize aspects of his game. His “I’m chillin’” demeanor can be maddening. I question what his true ceiling is, especially when the stakes rise.

But I remain loyal to him because he’s been loyal to this team. It’s the fan in me. I know I am biased, and I’m not afraid to say it. He’s endured every iteration of heartbreak and hope, stuck with the franchise through dysfunction and reinvention. And in today’s NBA, that means something.

Maybe it’s because that kind of loyalty feels rare now. Or maybe it’s because it reminds me of my youth, when players didn’t change teams like tabs on a browser. Back then, loyalty felt baked into the game, though some of that, in hindsight, was more about front office control than actual commitment. Still, it made rooting for a team feel stable. You could invest year after year without needing a spreadsheet to track roster turnover.

The player empowerment era has changed that. And honestly? Good for the players. I don’t fault anyone for chasing their bag or controlling their path. It’s their career. It’s their life. But there’s a difference between empowerment and entitlement. I only get annoyed when someone signs the dotted line, gets the perks (like a no-trade clause), and then turns around and leverages it like a second-rate poker player bragging about a bad hand.

Booker hasn’t done that. He’s stayed, grown, endured. And in a league full of movement, that kind of stillness feels like something to hold on to.

When I see Damian Lillard return to Portland, I don’t feel frustration. I feel understanding. It makes sense. The Blazers want their guy back. He wants to be where he’s comfortable, where his roots are. And honestly, why not? In a league obsessed with movement, there’s something grounding about a player finding his way home.

It also invites a moment of self-reflection for Suns fans.

How do you engage with this team? What fills your cup as a fan? If you enter a season knowing a championship likely isn’t coming, would you rather ride it out with a player who’s still there, still trying, still wearing your colors with pride? Someone who can still perform at an All-Star level? Or are you more of a cap sheet purist, where if the numbers don’t line up, it’s time to hit reset, move off contracts, and roll the dice with youth and flexibility?

From my perspective, there’s no heart in the latter. No poetry. It’s purely transactional. And that’s the thing. I prefer interactional over transactional. Every time.

In today’s world of professional sports, where loyalty is a luxury and analytics rule the discourse, we’ve been conditioned to think like general managers. Social media echo chambers amplify it: not “what have you done,” but “what have you done for me lately?” I’m guilty of falling into that mindset too. I’m not above it. I’m not here to virtue signal or pretend I’m a better fan than you.

But I’ve watched enough basketball, felt enough heartbreak, and seen enough seasons end in silence to know there’s beauty in the struggle. There’s something deeply human in rooting for someone who’s still standing there, season after season, trying. And the mercenary mindset? The all-in, all-the-time philosophy? It hasn’t exactly been kind to the Phoenix Suns.

I’ve posed the question before, most notably when weighing whether or not the Suns should blow it up as it relates to Devin Booker. And the truth is, it’s an impossible question to answer. There’s too much uncertainty, too many variables, too many branches on the “What If” tree.

But I’ll pose it again anyway, because it still lingers in the background like a quiet hum.

If you knew — not guessed, not feared, but knew — that the Suns wouldn’t win a championship over the next seven years, would you want Devin Booker on your team during that stretch or not?

There’s no clean answer. Maybe we don’t win because his salary limits roster flexibility. Maybe we don’t win because we let him go, tried to rebuild, and ended up chasing ghosts. The mental gymnastics go on forever. So for a moment, let’s push all that aside. Let’s step outside the cap sheets, the trade simulators, and the theoretical rebuilds.

And ask something simpler: Would you rather have his loyalty through the losing?

That’s what Portland is doing with Damian Lillard. And if it came to that, I’d do the same in Phoenix.

Because I’ve been a Devin Booker loyalist. Not blindly. Not without critique. But because I like having him on this team. I like the connection he’s built with the city. With the fans. With our identity. That type of player, that type of relationship, is rare. It’s Larry Fitzgerald rare. And to have another one here, in the Valley of the Sun? That means something.

Give me the loyalty. Give me the flaws. Give me the fight. Because at the end of the day, I’m here for something deeper than numbers on a spreadsheet. I’m here for the story.

So good for Damian Lillard. Good for Portland. And, as things stand right now? Good for us.

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