GQ Magazine Covers Chris Paul (Interview)
(This Story was bought to you by Steve Marsh of GQ Magazine)
Less than a year ago, CP3 was stuck in the basketball equivalent of a bayou swamp: the New Orleans Hornets, a franchise cursed with ownership that so resembled a confederacy of dunces that the league seized temporary control in 2010. Paul sought a trade out of town to the Lakers, only to have the deal vetoed by NBA commissioner David Stern, who felt New Orleans was getting too little in return for the game's best pure point guard. In the end, Paul still wound up in Los Angeles—only with the Clippers, the dysfunctional plaything of notorious cheapskate/slumlord Donald Sterling. But the Clips already had Blake Griffin on their roster, a real-life NBA 2K12 video-game character, and from the moment he was paired with CP3, the duo transformed the Clippers into "Lob City"—a nightly municipal incorporation chartered on a civic passion for three-quarter-court alley-oops. With CP3 as the mayor of Lob City, the Clippers won only their third playoff series in franchise history.
From his perch at the head table, CP3 assures me that he preferred the Clippers to the Lakers all along. "They had the better pieces," he says, "and winning with the Clippers would be legendary." He says he's surprised by how much he likes living in Bel Air, in a multimillion-dollar mansion formerly owned by Avril Lavigne. But there isn't much more talk of L.A. It's so obvious he loves being back home that it feels like a setup—inviting a GQ reporter to his parents' anniversary party, seating me opposite his wife, Jada, positioning me so that I can't avoid noting his adorable 3-year-old son, Li'l Chris, as CP4 runs around refusing to make his famous "Blake face" because Paul has taught him to only do it for a dollar. Like: I get it, dude. You haven't gone Hollywood.
Chris and Jada have been together since his freshman year at Wake Forest, and throughout the night, Jada will punctuate Paul's cutting one-liners with her textbook eye roll, equal parts coy and dismissive. They're a practiced comedy duo: CP3 to Jada, Jada back to CP3 for the bucket.
Like when he says that his infant daughter will not be allowed to date until she's 40 years old. (Jada eye roll.)
Or when Chris tells me how lonely he was during his sophomore year at Wake Forest due to an absentee roommate. "Oh, please, you were not lonely," she says, prompting Chris to explain that she's just mad because they were broken up that year. (Jada eye roll.)
Or when Chris overhears Jada telling me that she quit her track team in high school because she didn't like the coach....
"Is she blaming the coach?" CP3 interrupts. (Jada eye roll.)
"I'll tell you what," he goes on. "My wife's a quitter."
"My brother's a quitter, too." Now C.J. halts his own conversation and looks in his younger sibling's direction.
"Go ahead and ask him," CP3 says. "If the workout is getting tough? C.J.'ll quit. If you're playing spades and Jada gets the wrong cards? She'll quit."
There's no eye roll now—it's more of an awkward silence—but neither puts up much of a fight. Aunt Rhonda comes to the rescue.
"They're just very...elective," she explains.
Everyone at the table cracks up.
"Elective," Jada repeats, smiling as she explores each syllable. "I like that."
I first met CP3 earlier that day at the Wake Forest practice facility to watch him play some pickup ball. CP3 plays pickup like he's Peyton Manning anticipating a blitz: The gesticulation is ceaseless. He was talking to everybody in the gym: the guys on his team, the guys on the other team, even the guys waiting for next. The only person CP3 never talked to was the guy guarding him, because CP3 says he doesn't believe in talking junk. "I feel like I've worked so hard to get good," he would tell me later, "I'm expected to score on you."
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