Clippers Did Chris Paul Dirty: How a Midnight Send‑Home Turned a Future Jersey Retirement into a Stain on the Franchise’s Treatment of Its Legends

At 2:40 a.m. in an Atlanta hotel room, one of the greatest point guards in NBA history learned his second stint with the Los Angeles Clippers was over.

No in-person meeting.
No honest phone call.
Not even a man-to-man conversation with his head coach.

Just a message.

Chris Paul, 40 years old, 12-time All-Star, future first-ballot Hall of Famer, opened his phone, processed the news, and then told the world in seven words on social media:

“Just found out I’m being sent home. ✌🏾”

Seven words and an emoji that sent shockwaves across the NBA—not just because of what happened, but because of who it happened to, and who did it.

On the surface, this is an aging star on a struggling team. Look a little deeper, and it’s something worse: the latest chapter in a pattern of how the Clippers treat the very players who built what little history they have.

A “Farewell Tour” That Lasted Five Months

This was supposed to be a victory lap.

Last season, with the San Antonio Spurs, Paul quietly put together one of the most impressive “age 39” campaigns we’ve seen. He started all 82 games. He averaged 7.4 assists per contest—7th in the league. His on/off differential was +9 points per 100 possessions, ranking in the 92nd percentile across the NBA.

That’s not what “washed” looks like.

So when Paul signed with the Clippers in July on a one-year, $3.6 million veteran minimum deal, it wasn’t some ceremonial contract for a guy who couldn’t play. It was a compromise: he’d accept a small role and small money to finish his career where he’d become a star.

At his introductory press conference, Paul didn’t hide how much it meant to him.

“If I’m really honest, I wanted to get back and play here by any means necessary. I didn’t even care what the team looked like. I just wanted to be home, be here with the Clippers.”

Any means necessary. For a player who’s earned over $400 million in salary alone, that means he wasn’t chasing money. He was chasing closure.

On paper, the Clippers were built to compete. They traded Norman Powell for John Collins. They signed Bradley Beal. They brought in Brook Lopez. It’s easy to mock those moves now, but in July they signaled one thing: Steve Ballmer was still going all-in.

On November 22, before a game in Charlotte—Paul’s home state—he made it official: this would be his final season. He posted:

“What a ride. Still so much left. Grateful for this last one.”

Six days later, at Intuit Dome, the Clippers played a tribute video for him during a game against the Grizzlies. Fans stood and cheered a franchise icon. It felt like the beginning of a proper send-off.

Five days after that tribute, in the middle of a road trip, he was told to go home.

A Team in Crisis – and a Scapegoat in the Locker Room

To understand why this exploded, you have to understand the state of the Clippers.

They were 5–16—second-worst record in the West. They’d lost 14 of their last 16. Bradley Beal, one of the big summer additions, was already out for the season with a hip injury. Their picks were already owed to, or controlled by, the Oklahoma City Thunder. Every loss hurt twice: in the standings, and at the draft board.

According to reporting from Shams Charania and Chris Haynes, the relationship between Paul and the coaching staff had broken down weeks earlier. Paul and head coach Tyronn Lue were reportedly not on speaking terms. Not that they were arguing—they simply weren’t talking.

For a 40-year-old point guard with 21 years of NBA experience and a championship-level basketball IQ, being iced out by his own coach is more than unusual. It’s unheard of.

When Paul heard whispers that he was being labeled a “negative presence” in the locker room, he did what professionals are supposed to do: he asked for a meeting. According to Haynes, he requested a sit-down with Lue to address the allegations and clear the air.

Lue refused to meet.

Instead of handling the situation privately, directly, and with basic respect, the organization chose a different route. President of Basketball Operations Lawrence Frank flew to Atlanta to deliver the message that Paul was being sent home.

Not to discuss a reduced role. Not to map out a quiet exit. To tell a 12-time All-Star on his farewell season that the team didn’t want him around anymore.

Hours later, Paul’s Instagram post did the rest.

“Holding People Accountable” Becomes a Problem

The stated reason for this drastic step, according to Shams, was that Paul had been “vocal in holding management, coaches, and players accountable,” and that this had become “disruptive.”

Let’s pause on that.

The team is 5–16. Underperforming. Outworked. Outclassed. Their picks belong to another franchise. The pressure is rising.

And the player they decide is “disruptive” is the one openly demanding more professionalism, more accountability, more urgency—from everyone, including the front office.

This is Chris Paul’s entire brand.

For nearly two decades, teams have brought him in specifically for that reason. In Oklahoma City, he transformed a presumed lottery team into a playoff squad. In Phoenix, he helped take a young, talented core to the NBA Finals. In Houston, he helped push the Kevin Durant–era Warriors to the brink.

You don’t sign Chris Paul if you want vibes. You sign him if you want standards.

The Clippers knew exactly who they were bringing back. They wanted the leadership, the accountability, the culture-setting—until it started pointing at them.

That’s when leadership becomes “disruption.”

A Pattern of Disrespect, Not a One-Off Incident

If this were an isolated situation, it would still be ugly. But it isn’t. It fits a pattern of how the Clippers have handled some of the biggest names in their history.

Blake Griffin: “Clipper for life” (for seven months)

In the summer of 2017, Blake Griffin hit free agency. He had options. Instead, he sat in an empty Staples Center and listened to Steve Ballmer, Doc Rivers, and the front office pitch him on being a “Clipper for life.”

They held a two-hour presentation celebrating his career, literally raising his image up into the rafters as if to symbolically retire his jersey. Griffin was moved. He told the room he wanted his legacy to be that of a lifelong Clipper. Then he signed a five-year, $171 million contract.

Seven months later, he was traded to Detroit.

Griffin didn’t ask out. He didn’t cause a scandal. He did what the organization asked: committed his prime to them. They sold him on loyalty and legacy, then flipped him at the first opportunity.

Others who felt the same

Blake and Paul are not alone.

Eric Bledsoe was traded in February 2022 after just half a season back with the Clippers—and never played another NBA game.
Russell Westbrook, having picked up his player option and expressed a desire to remain with his hometown team, was traded to Utah in 2024.
P.J. Tucker was told to stay home in February 2024, then again in the following preseason. After the trade deadline, he posted on Instagram: “All this is a joke.” He, too, was eventually traded.

These aren’t just transactional moves. Every team trades players. This is about how it’s done: promises made, then broken; reputations used when convenient, discarded when they aren’t.

Blake Griffin wanted to retire a Clipper. He was out in seven months.
Chris Paul wanted to retire a Clipper. He didn’t make it past December.

It’s a pattern. And around the league, people have noticed.

Who Chris Paul Actually Is

Part of what makes this so jarring is how quickly the Clippers seemed to forget who they were dealing with.

Let’s put the résumé in one place:

12× All-Star
11× All-NBA
9× All-Defensive Team (as a 6-foot point guard)
NBA 75th Anniversary Team
5× league leader in assists
6× league leader in steals (an NBA record)
2nd all-time in assists (12,532)
2nd all-time in steals (2,727)
First player ever with 20,000 points and 10,000 assists
2 Olympic gold medals with Team USA
8 years as NBPA President
Career averages: 16.8 points, 9.2 assists, 4.4 rebounds, 2.0 steals on 47% shooting

From 2011–2017, during his first Clippers stint:

All-Star every year
All-NBA every year
Top-7 in MVP voting five times
Took the Clippers from a punchline to a perennial playoff team

Before Chris Paul, the Clippers were an afterthought. During his prime, he turned “Lob City” into must-see TV and transformed the franchise’s reputation. For many, he is the modern Clippers.

That’s the player they just sent home via late-night text on what was supposed to be his farewell tour.

Lawrence Frank Speaks – and Says Very Little

After the backlash, Clippers president Lawrence Frank issued a statement:

“We are parting ways with Chris and he will no longer be with the team. We will work with him on the next step of his career. Chris is a legendary Clipper who has had a historic career, and I want to make one thing very clear: No one is blaming Chris for our underperformance. I accept responsibility for the record we have right now.”

On paper, those are all the right words. Legendary. Historic. Responsibility.

In reality, they’re empty.

If you truly believe a player is “legendary,” you don’t refuse to meet with him. You don’t let your head coach ignore his request for a conversation. You don’t inform him in the middle of a road trip at 2:40 a.m. and leave it to him to tell the world he’s been sent home.

Actions always speak louder than statements.

Former Clippers like Lou Williams and DeMarcus Cousins have already pointed to Frank as the common denominator in these situations, describing him as egotistical and overly ruthless with veteran players. Williams recounted being told to “relax, you’re not getting traded,” only to be traded 15 minutes later.

Steve Ballmer, by contrast, is rarely targeted in these criticisms. Former players go out of their way to praise him as loyal and genuine. But no matter how well-intentioned an owner might be, culture is enforced by the people making day-to-day basketball decisions.

In Los Angeles, that’s Lawrence Frank.

Does Chris Paul Have One More Chapter?

Technically, Chris Paul is still on the Clippers’ roster. Because of hard cap and apron restrictions, they can’t simply waive him and sign a replacement right away. Once he becomes trade-eligible on December 15, the Clippers are expected to explore their options.

Possible destinations have been floated:

1. Los Angeles Lakers

The most cinematic outcome. Paul and LeBron James are close friends who have long dreamed of playing together. New head coach JJ Redick has a strong relationship with Paul from their Clippers days. The Lakers have an open roster spot but are limited by cap rules until January.

Basketball-wise, the question is whether they need a 40-year-old Paul in their rotation—or whether this would be more symbolic than substantial.

2. Oklahoma City Thunder

The sentimental pick. Paul spent the 2019–20 season mentoring Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and helping transform OKC’s culture. He was in the building cheering when they won the 2025 title.

Joining them now would be more about narrative than minutes. The Thunder are deep, young, and already loaded at guard. Paul would essentially be a “player-coach” in uniform.

3. Phoenix Suns

Paul led the Suns to the 2021 Finals and has proven chemistry with Devin Booker. They have an open roster spot. But Colin Gillespie has surprised at point guard, and Phoenix is playing well. It’s unclear whether they’d want to reshuffle their rotation to accommodate Paul this late in his career.

4. Houston Rockets

Houston just lost Fred VanVleet to a season-ending ACL injury. They need a stabilizing playmaker. Paul has history there—most notably the 2018 West Finals, where a hamstring strain derailed their 3–2 lead over the Warriors.

This could be the “unfinished business” chapter—for both player and franchise.

And yet, there’s a fifth possibility: no one calls.

At 40, averaging 2.9 points and 3.3 assists in 14 minutes per game this year, and with teams increasingly wary of midseason disruption, there is a real chance Paul has already played his final NBA game—without knowing it, without a goodbye, without the send-off he spent 21 years earning.

What This Says About the Clippers—and About the NBA

This is bigger than one player and one team.

The Clippers have spent the last decade trying to shed their reputation as a cursed, mismanaged franchise. They built a new arena. They invested heavily in players, staff, and infrastructure. They tried to present themselves as a first-class organization.

But first-class organizations are defined in moments like this.

They’re defined by how they treat their legends when the numbers no longer justify the name on the jersey. They’re defined by whether “family” is a branding slogan— or an actual standard.

Right now, the Clippers look less like a model franchise and more like a cautionary tale: a team that uses stars to legitimize itself, then discards them the moment they become inconvenient, often in the most graceless way possible.

Chris Paul is not blameless for any tension that may have existed. Strong personalities create friction. Leaders rub people the wrong way. That’s part of sports.

But there are ways to handle that friction that preserve dignity on all sides.

The Clippers chose not to.

The Legacy Conversation

In the long run, Chris Paul’s legacy will be judged on his total body of work, not on one ugly exit. His numbers, his impact, his leadership across five franchises will stand.

What may be lost, however, is how that final chapter felt.

We celebrate farewell tours because they give players, teams, and fans a chance to acknowledge what they’ve meant to each other. They give closure. They humanize a business that so often insists “it’s just a business.”

By sending Paul home in the middle of the night, refusing to meet with him, and then issuing a boilerplate statement after the fact, the Clippers didn’t just end a contract.

They squandered an opportunity to honor one of the few truly great players their franchise has ever had—and, in the process, told every future star exactly how much their word is worth.

Whatever happens next for Chris Paul—whether it’s one last run with a contender or an unannounced retirement—the way this ended in Los Angeles will linger.

He deserved better.
His career deserved better.
And if the Clippers actually believe he’s a “legendary Clipper,” they have an awfully strange way of showing it.