Shootyhoops Basketmakers: Tlaloc the Rain God

Tlaloc the Rain God

Nate Archibald entered the NBA in 1970 when it was in flux, full of weird teams bouncing around and still competing with the ABA.  Much of the league still put stock in the Old Gods, staging sacrifices and services before games in the hopes of calling down help from on high.  Rarely did this help teams, who continued to lose to the Celtics and their collection of terrifying robots over and over.  Teams began to lose faith in the Old Gods.  Soon many were nothing but names on the wind, forgotten by men and forever abandoned.

The Cincinnati Royals were among the last holdouts of the old ways, and rightly so.  In 1970, they were so undermanned that they attempted to summon Tlaloc the Rain God in hopes that he would bring monsoons down within their arena and force every game to be rescheduled until such time that they could fill their roster with real good players instead of real bad players.  They believed like no other team had before: this summoning was their last gambit, their only chance at success.

 It worked.

Nate Archibald, the human name for Tlaloc, appeared in Cincinnati in the worst rainstorm of the century.  Whole buildings were disintegrated by the fury of the rain: people were trapped within their home by the sheer wall of water falling outside.  After two hours of this, the storm abruptly stopped.  The only thing remaining was Nate Archibald, standing naked and wet in the middle of the Royals home court.

Bob Cousy, the coach of the Royals at the time, was amazed.  He had been one of the few in the organization who had not believed the summoning would work.  After all, Tlaloc had not been seen in ages, and even then all records of his existence were from southern Texas.  Tlaloc had never journeyed so far north in any of the myths, yet here he was.

Cincinnati was delighted to add Tlaloc to their collection of talent.  Cousy kept Tlaloc on the bench during his rookie year, allowing him to acclimate to his human body as Norm Van Lier ran the point.  Despite this, Tlaloc averaged 16/3/5.5 as a rookie, continually finding open jumpers thanks to his impossible speed.  Tlaloc regularly would melt into pure water, fly through the air and even flow over the bodies of opponents, before reforming far away, suddenly unguarded and with the ball.

Tlaloc's abilities were later adapted for law enforcement.

The next season, Tlaloc’s full powers blossomed.  Van Lier was gone, meaning Tlaloc had the reigns of the team all to himself.  He immediately bumped his scoring up to 28 PPG and still managed to dish out 9 APG, finishing second in the league in scoring and third in assists.  Tom Van Arsdale and Sam Lacey had grown accustomed to the strange powers of their new point guard.  Passes would come out of nowhere, as Tlaloc evaporated the ball and rained it down upon his bigs for easy buckets.

No one could figure out how to stop Tlaloc, the only thing that kept the Royals from being absolutely terrible.  Angry townsfolk chased the team out of Cincinnati after the 1971-72 season, as the region had become a marshy quagmire, constantly raining and destroying any hope of crops.  The team found a home in the Midwest, where they spilt their games between Kansas City and Omaha to avoid either city falling to the deluge of Tlaloc’s powers and disappearing into a new ocean.  This arrangement was agreeable to Tlaloc.  He was unsure why Cincinnati had reviled him so: they had called upon the Rain God, and so rain would come.  It was perfectly reasonable.

In his new home, Tlaloc made his first All-Star team.  The Rain God was not susceptible to human follies like fatigue and played 46 MPG that year.  He mastered his greatest move, one he had begun to use the year before: he would reform himself around an opponent, devouring them within his liquid body and drawing a foul.  Tlaloc would average 10 free throw attempts a game that year, taking 15 or more 14 times.  He scored over 40 15 times and over 50 three times.  He averaged 26 field goal attempts a game.  At the end of the year, Tlaloc was all that was left standing, the greatest point guard in the league.  He led the league in scoring and assists, averaging 34/3/11.  He remains the only player to accomplish this feat.

Tlaloc, seen here scoring over Tom Boerwinkle.

The next year, Tlaloc played just 35 games as he attempted to contend with his basketball career while still spreading rain across the globe.  He adjusted well, coming back the next year to average 40 MPG and play all 82 games.  He put up 26/3/7 that year, one of his five 20+ PPG years and one of his nine 7+ APG years.  Sadly, Omaha had gone the way of Cincinnati, running the team out of town.  One season in just Kansas City followed before the franchise traded him, lest another city force them out under a sea of rain.  Tlaloc spent a year in New York, scoring 21 a game but never feeling at home in the backcourt with John Williamson, the son of Tonatiuh who was constantly at odds with the Rain God’s watery ways.

It was off to Boston next, where Tlaloc would spend the next five years.  Sadly, Tlaloc’s human body was beginning to fade away, desperate as it was for the offerings of believers to sustain it.  Too many humans had been alienated by his ways: they had expected rain but nothing like what he brought.  His powers faded.  No longer could Tlaloc melt at will: occasionally, he had trouble reforming his body after turning to water as well.  He did his best to hold on to his powers but knew that if he did not leave that body soon he would forever be trapped as a mere human.  Tlaloc gave Boston 12 PPG and 7 APG in his career there, making three All-Star teams, but he was clearly no longer the powerful god he had once been.  Tlaloc would play 46 games for Milwaukee in the 1983-84 season before letting go of his human body and returning to the heavens to watch over his children.  Every rainfall is a testament to the powers of Tlaloc that remain, even today.

In his NBA career, Tlaloc averaged 19 and 7 while playing 36 MPG.  He dominated mortals but never again could reach the heights of his Kansas City-Omaha days.  Lost to Tlaloc were the believers that had brought him to Earth.  His rains were despised and cursed every time they came.

Today, the Old Gods are mostly forgotten.  Tlaloc is vaguely remembered by few, and even then only as “Nate Archibald.”  He was inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame, though no one has left offerings of drowned farm animals or shellfish at his altar for decades now.  One can only guess at what Tlaloc thinks, so high above us all, but his years of basketing balls were among the greatest in history.