The Cleveland Cavaliers entered this past summer determined to address bench weaknesses, specifically a lack of backcourt playmaking and size. Their solution came via trade with the Chicago Bulls, sending Isaac Okoro out and bringing veteran point guard Lonzo Ball in. The front office envisioned Ball as an ideal complementary piece—a savvy facilitator and versatile defender who could elevate the second unit alongside the team's star core.
Ball arrived with a strong pedigree. His passing vision and defensive instincts had made him a valuable contributor when healthy. The Cavaliers' brain trust drew parallels to Oklahoma City Thunder's acquisition of Alex Caruso, another savvy move for a franchise with championship aspirations. Adding a high-basketball-IQ role player to a contending roster often provides the final ingredient for a deep playoff run.
Unfortunately, the Lonzo Ball experiment has failed to deliver. What looked like a clever reclamation project has become a financial burden, with Ball's on-court contributions falling far short of his salary. Rather than serving as a key rotation piece, he's become an expiring $10 million contract that teams view as a bookkeeping liability rather than a basketball asset.
The numbers paint a stark picture. While Ball has shot 41.7% from three-point range over his last ten appearances, he's averaging just two assists per game in a severely reduced role. Head coach Kenny Atkinson has grown increasingly cautious with Ball's deployment, handing out DNPs when matchups don't suit his skill set. This selective usage reveals a coaching staff that no longer trusts Ball to consistently impact winning basketball.
The on-court struggles pale compared to the financial crisis Ball's contract creates. Cleveland currently sits $22 million over the luxury tax's second apron, triggering severe penalties. According to ESPN's Bobby Marks, the Cavaliers face a staggering $164 million luxury tax bill this season, a sum owner Dan Gilbert must personally cover.
While Gilbert has historically spent heavily during championship pursuits, the current roster's status as a solid Eastern Conference contender—not a proven favorite—makes this spending difficult to justify. Ball's contract offers a potential escape route. Trading him before the February 5 trade deadline could reduce Cleveland's tax liability to approximately $102 million, creating $60 million in total financial relief.
This windfall comes with major complications. As a second-apron team, Cleveland cannot aggregate Ball's salary with another player's contract in a larger deal. They must trade him alone, forcing them to find a partner willing to absorb his full $10 million salary without sending money back—a narrow field of suitors.
Only a few teams possess enough cap space or a large enough trade exception to take on Ball's salary. Among those, even fewer want to help a conference rival save $60 million. Rebuilding teams might consider the move, but only if Cleveland attaches draft compensation. The Cavaliers' asset pool isn't bare, but surrendering picks to unload a contract stings.
The alternative—keeping Ball—locks in that $164 million tax bill and pushes tough decisions to summer. Cleveland holds a team option on Ball's contract for next season, allowing them to decline it and avoid future salary. However, that does nothing to address this year's tax disaster. Worse, operating as a second-apron team this summer would hamstring the front office's ability to improve the roster around their core of Donovan Mitchell, Darius Garland, Evan Mobley, and Jarrett Allen.
The second apron's punitive measures extend beyond the immediate tax hit. Teams above this threshold lose access to the taxpayer mid-level exception, face restrictions on sign-and-trade transactions, and see reduced trade exceptions. Cleveland would enter the offseason with one hand tied behind their back, unable to make marginal upgrades that separate good teams from great ones.
Ball's recent improvement might actually complicate matters. If he continues shooting well, emotional attachment could cloud the financial calculus. Front offices sometimes convince themselves that a player's late-season surge justifies patience. But the $60 million question cannot be ignored. A handful of decent games doesn't erase the fundamental reality that his salary represents an opportunity cost too large to bear.
The ticking clock adds pressure. With the deadline approaching, Cleveland must quickly identify a willing partner and negotiate terms. The ideal scenario involves a team with available cap space willing to accept a second-round pick or two. The Cavaliers might need to get creative, potentially involving a third team to facilitate the transaction.
Some argue that roster stability matters more than financial concerns for a team with championship aspirations. Chemistry and continuity outweigh monetary savings when pursuing a banner. This perspective holds weight in a league where title windows are fleeting.
However, this ignores modern NBA economic realities. The second apron was designed to punish excessive spending and force difficult decisions. Teams that ignore its constraints often find themselves locked into expensive, inflexible rosters that age poorly. The Cavaliers' core four players are all under long-term contracts. Preserving flexibility to build around them isn't just smart—it's essential for sustained contention.
Trading Ball now accomplishes multiple objectives. It saves $60 million immediately, preserves future roster-building tools, and demonstrates front office discipline. Yes, it requires admitting the Lonzo Ball gamble failed. But in a league where self-awareness separates good organizations from great ones, such honesty is a virtue.
The decision crystallizes to a simple cost-benefit analysis. Does Lonzo Ball's on-court value—measured in spot minutes and inconsistent production—exceed his $60 million off-court cost? The answer grows more obvious with each DNP and luxury tax calculation. The Cavaliers invested in a comeback story; they've received a masterclass in the risks of acquiring damaged goods.
As February 5 approaches, Cleveland's front office faces a defining moment. Execute the trade, absorb the short-term embarrassment of acknowledging defeat, and save a fortune while preserving future options. Or stand pat, watch the tax bill climb, and explain to ownership why a bench player merited a $60 million investment. For a franchise that prides itself on intelligent moves, the path forward seems clear—even if walking it requires swallowing hard truths about misjudging a player's recovery and fit.