He did an admirable job of trying to camouflage his feelings, really. But what looked like the sharp-dressed man was actually one majorly irritated power forward, desperately hoping his knee would catch up with a healthy body.
Rookie Blake Griffin was not designed to be the sharp-dressed man on the sideline watching everyone else block shots and dunk. Yet there he was at almost every Clippers home game last season, in his suit, watching and waiting, an endless loop of hoop purgatory.
"After a while, it was like, 'This is horrible,'" Griffin said the other day after practice. "There were plenty of times I didn't want to necessarily be there. It was rough. Some days were bad, worse than others. It could be one little thing. I tried to control it as much as possible and be aware of it. Make sure you're positive."
Staying positive in an ocean of negativity was close to impossible after Griffin suffered a stress fracture of his left kneecap in the Clippers' final exhibition game last year. The injury ended his rookie season before it began and later required surgery.
It has also put him in a fascinating, and odd, position on the eve of the NBA's regular season.
Rookie, redux.
Someone not in close touch with the NBA, glancing at a season preview before the Clippers' opener Wednesday, might be wondering how Griffin could be favored for rookie of the year . . . again.
Not that Griffin is overly concerned about ROY sweepstakes.
"I would, in a heartbeat, give up that trophy for a playoff run," Griffin said.
He added, for emphasis: "In a heartbeat."
Negativity almost cast a spell on Griffin, challenging and angering him at the same time along the rehabilitation trail. There was, and is, a push-pull thing going on in revealing introspective moments.
Griffin mentioned he didn't like being sent a link to a story saying he was forgotten last season. Still, he acknowledged he wanted to read it and to know what was being written, realizing motivation is motivation, no matter where it comes from.
This discussion somehow put the interview on a different track, winding around and leading to the late Michael Jackson. Griffin has been thinking about the King of Pop, who died the day Griffin was taken No. 1 overall in the 2009 NBA draft.
"You have to take what people say with a grain of salt," Griffin said. "[What] society really does to somebody like Michael Jackson. They basically tormented him, followed him around and all this stuff in the later years in his life.
"He passed away and he's remembered as like the greatest thing. People are crying in the streets. It's almost hypocritical a little bit. People will try to tear you down as much as possible and when something like that happens, it goes away."
Put it this way: Griffin is not likely to forget one-liners about the Clippers should they emerge from the basketball abyss any time soon.
"I take that personally," he said. "I take that very personally. I couldn't stand last year, having to sit and hear all these jokes about Clippers this, Clippers that."
That is what endeared him immediately to teammates and long-suffering Clippers fans. Griffin walked into the gym sans noticeable swagger or artifice, showing up early and staying later than anyone else, and that hasn't changed.
He endured a long season of rookie hazing without the benefit of playing, toting around the pink Dora the Explorer backpack without complaint. (A blowup of Dora hangs in the window above the practice court as a reminder, and Griffin joked about feeling like someone is watching him shoot free throws.)
