<div class="quote_poster">Quote:</div><div class="quote_post">In big, block letters, "DENVER" is printed across the front of their uniforms. But throw these players together on the basketball court, and the Nuggets look like strangers with no clue what to do. All the disjointed Denver locker room has in common is 44 victories. For a team that captured a division title, a number of Nuggets make the startling admission there is a lack of cohesion and too few clear-cut roles. The first word that comes to mind for Denver general manager Kiki Vandeweghe when he tries to describe the vibe of a team for which the only certainties have been nagging injury and the scoring of forward Carmelo Anthony? "Disruptive," Vandeweghe said. Coach George Karl finally let slip on Sunday what had been a dirty, little secret for months. This team, which often seems more committed to whining than winning, taxes his patience. Eighty games into the NBA season, the Nuggets have picked a fine time to have an identity crisis. "We need to figure out the way we want to play basketball. Whether we're a running team, a halfcourt team, whether we're going to be a defensive team or let teams score," Nuggets forward Kenyon Martin said. Funny that it was Martin who had the gumption to broach a difficult subject ignored for too long. Because this team's identity crisis begins with K-Mart. Until the Nuggets decide what to do with Martin, the franchise will be chasing perpetual mediocrity until everybody gets so dizzy we all fall down. There are 90 million reasons the Nuggets are a frustrating riddle, and all of them begin with the dollar sign on Martin's contract. He wants to lead the Nuggets to glory in the playoffs, defiantly citing a strong history of solid postseason statistics. His heart is in the right place. But his duff has sat on the bench far too often this season, with joints so creaky it's legitimate to wonder if the 28-year-old veteran is growing old before his time. Fact: Denver wins more often with Martin in street clothes than in uniform. The Nuggets have lost trust in Martin, with the notable exception of Vandeweghe, whose own future with the franchise seems tenuous at best. It is not Martin's fault he signed a seven-year, $93 million contract, a deal I warned long before pen hit paper would prove to be Denver's most costly mistake since center Dikembe Mutombo was allowed to walk away from the Nuggets for nothing. Basketball has always been more about machismo, dunking and scowls than touch and skill for Martin, who seems like a boxer trapped in a power forward's body. While doubts about his game have always gnawed at me, I admire his guts. But every time I applaud Martin's toughness, there invariably are whispers from within the Nuggets organization that suggest I have been duped by a player who has used injuries as a crutch to avoid practice. The odds are better that Denver will trade Martin than he becomes an all-star for the Nuggets. With the same intimidating glare that fills his eyes when blocking a shot, Martin leaves no doubt he would feel insulted to come off the Denver bench during the playoffs. "Against certain teams and certain players," Vandeweghe said, "you are going to struggle without Kenyon Martin on the court." </div> Source
