The issue with Andrew Wiggins is he’s good at basketball

Andrew Wiggins has continually disappointed for the Minnesota Timberwolves, but the most disappointing thing about him is the fact that he’s good.

At every stage of his basketball career, Andrew Wiggins has disappointed. As a recruit, he fell short of lofty comparisons to the game’s greats. As a No. 1 NBA Draft pick, he failed to deliver the Minnesota Timberwolves to relevance. As a max player, he’s proven unable to impact winning.

Without a doubt, Wiggins’ greatest feat of disappointment flows from an unexpected truth: he’s really good at basketball. I don’t mean this in the sense that each NBA player is one of the (give or take) 450 best at his profession in the world. Wiggins is good at basketball for an NBA player.

You’re probably thinking I’ve made this needlessly confusing. If I’m going to make the assertion that Wiggins is a good NBA player, I should say it plain English. The problem with that is that Wiggins is not a good NBA player.

Andrew Wiggins is good at basketball for an NBA player, yet he’s a bad NBA player. It seems like a pedantic and nonsensical distinction, I know, but bear with me.

Wiggins’ questionable jumper has always been one of his most damaging flaws. Raw shooting percentages, however, need context. Wiggins underwhelms as a pull-up shooter, but his catch-and-shoot returns have always been solid:

In 2017-18, Wiggins placed in the 61st percentile among all players in half-court catch-and-shoot efficiency, per Synergy. He’s not elite, but he’s a dependable outlet for shots when Jimmy Butler gains dribble penetration or Karl-Anthony Towns collapses the defense with a hard roll to the rim.

Wiggins’ true off-ball talent is as an elite cutter, though:

Wiggins sells cuts well, exploding out of designed actions like the shiftiest of running backs. Despite his reputation as a low-IQ player, he even demonstrates some instinctual cutting, darting to the rim when inattentive defenders create openings:

Wiggins’ explosiveness, opportunism, and acting chops enabled him to score 1.52 points per possession as a cutter in 2017-18, placing in the 91.4 percentile among all players. There are few better cutters in the league.

Yet, it’s hard to consider Wiggins anything but a disappointing cutter. Last year, 51 players finished 94 or more possessions as a cutter. Wiggins placed 50th in cut frequency. He’s great at cutting, but as a fraction of his offense, he doesn’t do it nearly enough.

Conversely, he uses far too many possessions on other play types, notably ones that involve him creating offense for himself and others. Wiggins’ most common play type is pick-and-roll ball-handler, and he’s bad at it (49.7 percentile in per possession efficiency):

The Wolves want to get the ball into Wiggins’ hands, and I cannot fathom why. When handling, Wiggins looks like Stanley from The Office. He has an occasionally-effective crossover and seems to be developing an in-and-out dribble, but he has a clumsy handle that slows him down immeasurably. Using him as a ball-handler is like bringing a car without tires to a drag race.

Wiggins’ handle serves as an immense limiting factor. If he has a straight line to the rim, he can probably blow by his man thanks to his special explosiveness and long strides. Otherwise, he’s forced into the inefficient mid-range pull-up that has become his trademark.

The Wolves clearly believe in Wiggins as a self-creator. In the pick-and-roll, where his handle is exposed, that faith is misplaced. Wiggins does, however, offer creation the typical 3-and-D player does not:

Wiggins punishes defenders in the post. He loves going to that turnaround jumper, and he’s shockingly efficient doing so. He also makes use of his superior length and jumping ability, which render contests a mere annoyance:

Wiggins has good touch around the rim, and that little push shot is a staple of his post arsenal. The diversity of Wiggins post game is a major plus, as he possesses some aptitude creating for others out of the post:

Including passes, Wiggins generated 1.08 points per possession (87th percentile) in the post in 2017-18, per Synergy. Deploying Wiggins in the post when Minnesota’s stars occupy the floor would be inadvisable, but he could certainly anchor bench units, creating efficient (enough) looks for himself and others when they’re hardest to come by.

There are other ways to utilize Wiggins’ elite skills to differentiate him from the average 3-and-D player:

The Wolves used Wiggins as a roll man during just 1.5 percent of his possessions last year. I’d like to see that number increase, because operating as a roller gets Wiggins the ball in advantage situations near the rim, where his transcendent leaping ability shines (he’s always been a strong finisher at the rim, too).

If the Wolves insist on putting the ball in Wiggins’ hands and letting him dribble, they should probably put more emphasis on handoffs than pick-and-roll, so he receives the ball with momentum and headed toward the rim, where he’s at his best.

Wiggins’ offensive game does not need fundamental changes, but rather simple shifts in usage. I don’t want to absolve him of blame entirely, but teams do legislate usage. When the Wolves accept that Wiggins is an off-ball starter and second-unit anchor rather than a ball-handling star, his offense will be so much less disappointing.

On the other end, Wiggins is far more culpable.

On-ball, his high points are really high:

You’ll see Wiggins mirror anyone from Chris Paul to Russell Westbrook to Paul George, but he’s maddeningly inconsistent. He rarely gets into his man, typically affording him far too much space. He has the necessary foot speed to stay in front, but his effort wanes, and he’s blown by much too often for as physically capable as he is.

Off-ball, Wiggins’ struggles are more pronounced. His recognition of help situations has improved during his time in the NBA, but he tends to make incomprehensible decisions. His individual off-ball defense is even worse:

Wiggins has a habit of losing his man. He gets beat on backdoor cuts, surely, but his most inexplicable tendency is to notice but not react to movement of his man, so he’ll be an extra step behind guarding a handoff or concede a pass to a spot-up shooter or cutter. It’s a tick that symbolizes his general apathy well.

Nonetheless, physical tools matter, sometimes more than effort. Wiggins is a bad defender, but his sometimes outstanding on-ball defense elevates him above the territory in which he’s often unfairly grouped (his awareness is also better than the Jabari Parker level of nuclear disaster defender). While it’s endlessly disappointing that Wiggins is not the elite defender he could be, he’s not horrific.

Andrew Wiggins will never stop being a disappointment. He simply does not have the requisite skills to fulfill his draft pedigree or salary. Inarguably, Wiggins is at fault for some of that. In all facets of the game, he fails to apply himself. His approach is poor. His expectations seem divorced from reality.

There is, however, a good NBA player within Wiggins. He’s too good at basketball for there not to be. That player being wasted is the biggest tragedy of the Andrew Wiggins saga, and I assign a substantial portion of the fault there to the Timberwolves.

The franchise has enabled Wiggins’ worst tendencies both on and off the court. The Wolves signed him to an extension he hadn’t earned and they continue to force feed him on-ball touches he hasn’t earned. At every turn, they foster the sense of entitlement that has plagued his NBA career.

Andrew Wiggins needs to be better going forward. He needs to apply his truly special physical tools. The Wolves, however, are empowered to optimize what he already does at a high level. The franchise’s conception of who he is must shift, because nothing would be more disappointing than Minnesota continuing to waste a good basketball player.