The NBA is a world defined by expectations—a relentless, unforgiving, and often impossible standard where potential must meet production immediately. For more than a year, the Los Angeles Lakers organization, led by the undeniable gravity of LeBron James’ presence, tried to manage that expectation regarding his son, Bronny James. They preached patience, framed his early struggles as natural “growing pains,” and insisted that the moment for the 21-year-old guard, drafted 55th overall in 2024, would eventually arrive.
But now, the whispering among fans has become a blaring siren within the franchise’s walls. The truth—that Bronny James is simply not ready for the NBA—is finally being confronted. This realization is not just a basketball matter; it’s a profound collision between brand and reality, played out under the most intense media scrutiny any late-round pick has ever endured.
The cracks in the optimistic narrative began to show as Bronny’s G-League numbers flattened, his on-court confidence wavered, and the bright, brutal lights of the NBA exposed every flaw. The franchise, focused on immediate title contention with a closing window for its superstar duo, has officially pivoted from hopeful indulgence to a cold, necessary realism.
The Numbers That Don’t Lie
Bronny’s sophomore season began with hope, particularly from a fanbase desperate to see the historic father-son duo materialize. The Lakers, however, entered the season with real, title-or-bust expectations. The tension between these two narratives was immediate and palpable, and it quickly fractured.
Bronny’s initial stint in the NBA was brief, choppy, and brutally revealing. In 10.2 minutes per game, he managed to shoot just 28.6% from the field. More concerning than the misses was the evident hesitation. Often, he’d pass up wide-open three-point looks, giving the opposing defense nothing to guard and stagnating the offense. He looked, at times, visibly overwhelmed by the pace and pressure of the top league. Head coach JJ Redick, initially confident in giving the young guard spot minutes, soon looked like a man attempting to justify the unjustifiable.
His demotion to the G-League’s South Bay Lakers was predictable; in the context of a championship contender, it was necessary. What followed, however, turned concern into deep alarm.
In his games with South Bay leading into the recent weekend, Bronny’s shooting remained profoundly shaky: 38.1% overall and a worrying 23.1% from beyond the arc. Optimistic fans often cling to the idea that a high-profile draft pick will dominate the G-League, asserting themselves quickly. This has not been the case.
The advanced metrics paint an even bleaker picture. Bronny’s Win Shares, a statistic used to credit a player’s contribution to their team’s wins, hovered at a devastating 0.0. His Win Shares per 48 minutes (WS/48), a measure of efficiency, was just 0.033. For context, the league average is generally around 0.100. These numbers are not just disappointing; they are a stark, undeniable signal that the player requires significant time and development away from the NBA court.
The Weight of the Last Name and the Crisis of Confidence
The latest evidence of this struggle arrived on Saturday night during a game against the San Diego Clippers. Bronny was given the opportunity the fans craved: starter minutes at point guard, ball-handling freedom, and the chance to dictate the offense.
The result was a painful déjà vu. Early possessions saw him pass up open three-pointers, attempt off-balance mid-range jumpers, and exhibit uncomfortable decision-making. He barely looked at the rim in the first quarter and finished the first half with a stark stat line: two points on one-for-six shooting, three rebounds, one assist, and one turnover. There was no rhythm, no comfort, and zero momentum.
He tried to adjust in the second half, attacking the rim more aggressively, but the perimeter shooting, a non-negotiable trait for a modern NBA guard, remained non-existent. He ended the night with 10 points, five rebounds, four turnovers, and a demoralizing zero-for-five from three-point range.
The Lakers lost the game, 124-113. While it was not all his fault, Bronny’s struggles were impossible to ignore. A 6’2” guard who cannot consistently stretch the floor or reliably defend will inevitably struggle to stick in the NBA. This reality is now the elephant in the Lakers’ room.
From the moment he entered the draft, Bronny James was burdened with the spotlight of history: the chance to be the first father-son duo to play simultaneously in the NBA. Drafted by his father’s franchise, he was surrounded by scrutiny before he played a single minute. Year one offered glimpses of promise but no real traction, with his scoring barely reaching 2.3 points per game and shooting splits below 40%. In the NBA, hope is a finite resource, and it is rapidly depleting.
The Pivot to Realism: Time for a Full-Time Reset
The Lakers’ hybrid approach in year two—short NBA stints interspersed with G-League assignments—has failed. When he did see the floor recently in the NBA, it was for one minute against the Clippers and zero minutes in the following game against Dallas. The message was unmistakable: he was not earning his minutes; he was not forcing the coach’s hand. He simply wasn’t ready.
The decision to reassign him full-time is an organizational doubling down on development over optics. South Bay offers what the cutthroat, championship-focused NBA environment cannot: time, touches, the freedom to make mistakes, the ability to build rhythm without national media dissecting every dribble.
Inside the Lakers organization, the evaluation has decisively shifted. Bronny is not going to lead an NBA offense, not with the ball securely in the hands of superstars like LeBron James, Luka Doncic, and Austin Reaves. He is not a defensive stopper, not yet, not at 6’2” and with average lateral quickness. And critically, he is not a knockdown shooter, hitting a collective 31% from three across both leagues.
On a team focused solely on a championship, there is simply no margin for error or space for a developing guard who cannot adequately space the floor or apply pressure on defenses. The coaches know it. The front office knows it. And, most poignantly, Bronny himself knows it.
Facing reporters after the South Bay loss, Bronny appeared subdued, almost guarded. His answers were short, honest, and heavy with frustration. “I just need to keep working and find my rhythm,” he admitted. “The shots will fall with time. Today wasn’t my best.” He wasn’t defensive, nor was he delusional. He was a 21-year-old athlete attempting to grow up on the world’s biggest stage while carrying the overwhelming, historic weight of his last name.
If Bronny were a late-round pick for a rebuilding team like the Hornets, Magic, or Jazz, his struggles would barely register as national news. He would play through mistakes, spend a year straight in the G-League, and develop quietly. But Bronny James is not allowed the luxury of anonymity. He is LeBron’s son. He was drafted by the Los Angeles Lakers. He is expected to justify a narrative he never created. This is the tragic consequence when brand and basketball collide.
The Seed, Not the Tree
There are glimmers of hope in his game—the “seeds” that could one day grow into an NBA player. In his early G-League games this year, he showed strong instincts, smart cuts, solid two-point shooting (62.5% entering Saturday), and a willingness to defend even when physically outmatched. He possesses real leadership qualities that teammates respect.
But NBA teams need “trees,” not “seeds,” and the Lakers, operating within LeBron’s rapidly closing championship window, cannot afford to wait five years for a backup guard to bloom. The solution, finally clear to all involved, is simple but demanding: Bronny James needs to remain in the G-League full-time, without interruption.
He needs to shoot eight to ten three-pointers a game. He needs to run pick-and-rolls until his decision-making is instinctual. He needs to learn when to attack and when to distribute. He needs the reps he will never get playing six minutes behind superstar guards. His confidence must return, his shot must stabilize, and his physicality must sharpen.
Only then—when the development is complete, when the confidence is rebuilt, and when the numbers finally force the issue—will the Lakers consider building him into the rotation. Only then will JJ Redick fully trust him. Only then will Bronny be able to finally exhale and begin to forge a legacy truly his own. Bronny James turns 21 this season. He has barely scratched the surface of who he can become as a player, but the story of his career was never going to be written in his first two, turbulent years. This is merely the uncomfortable beginning, and sometimes in the NBA, the players who struggle the hardest early are the ones who fight the strongest later.
