As a longtime member of the Devin Booker Is Empty Calories club, I must announce, through gritted teeth, that our days are numbered, if we have any days left at all. The Suns guard began to immunize himself to our slander in the spring, with one of the best shooting performances in postseason history: Through nine games, he averaged 37 points on 62/51/87 shooting splits. Those last two games, played on a bum foot against the eventual champion Nuggets, dragged those numbers down just a hair, but the overall takeaway was inarguable. Booker’s scoring wasn’t just a high-volume, low-efficiency sideshow for those gnarly bygone Suns teams; it was a diverse arsenal that could shore up a good Suns team under postseason pressure.

Similarly, the best night of Booker’s career is no longer an anonymous 70-point eruption in a 10-point regular-season loss. It was Game 3 of their second-round series against Denver, where he scored 47 points on a supremely ethical 20-of-25 from the field, with only two free throws. It’s not often that someone sharing a basketball court with Kevin Durant makes his shotmaking look ordinary. Booker’s handle is tight enough to probe what ever gaps the defense allows him, and it flows so smoothly into his jumper. At 6-foot-6, Booker’s already got an advantage over most backcourt foes, and he really pops off the floor to get into his high release. He can lean and drift and fade with all the studied comfort of a Gen Z-er who overdosed on Kobe mixtapes in his formative years. A defender can do everything right and still end up completely at the mercy of Booker’s own accuracy.