The math doesn’t lie and it’s not on the Suns side.
As many of you know, I’ve been spending my days trying to solve the puzzle that is the Phoenix Suns. This offseason presents options. It’s a dizzying web of possibilities, paths to take, buttons to press. But none of them seem to lead where we want to go. None of them scream contention now. And even fewer offer financial clarity.
The Suns are so far above the salary cap — over $60 million to start the summer — that getting under it isn’t just difficult, it’s virtually impossible. You can’t simply slice off that chunk and still expect to compete. I’ve run the simulations, done the thought exercises. I’ve imagined trades from Kevin Durant to the Knicks for Karl-Anthony Towns. I’ve weighed the fallout of a Bradley Beal buyout. Every scenario loops back to the same conclusion: we’re still over the cap.
This is how the NBA works. You can’t trade a $50 million player for a $20 million one and pocket the savings. The rules won’t allow it. And staying over the cap, whether it’s the first or second apron, chains you down. You can’t chase mid-tier free agents. You can’t fill out a roster with impact role players. You’re stuck.
That’s the part I didn’t fully acknowledge when I published my “Fixing the Suns” piece on Sunday. I was so focused on escaping the first apron — on dodging the harshest restrictions — that I forgot to look around and ask, “And then what?” Even if you clear that line, you’re still not flush with cash. You’re just less restricted.
I keep trying to reconstruct the right direction. I keep hitting the same wall. There’s no version of this offseason where the Suns magically become financially flexible and more competitive. Want to trade Devin Booker? Fine. But incoming teams will need to stack bad contracts just to make the math work. That’s not a one-year fix. That’s a multi-year reset.
I believe that buying out Beal helps the long-term structure. I still do. But even that’s a half-win. The dead money lingers. The cap space never truly clears. And the door to something fresh and hopeful? It never quite opens.
At this point, I’m done hypothesizing. I’m tired of piecing together fantasy front-office moves that get undone by collective bargaining fine print. I’m not in the driver’s seat. I’m not even riding shotgun. I’m in the back row of a Dodge Caravan, knees to chest, peering out the window, hoping the ride ends somewhere peaceful.
Jesus, take the wheel.
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