What If Tre Johnson Is Better Than Advertised?
The emotional investment I have on a rookie from Texas would make my ancestors question me.
This is a part of a five-piece series of five questions surrounding the Washington Wizards entering the 2025-26 season.
Question #1 - Is Bub Carrington a Point Guard, or Just a Guard Who Brings the Ball Up?
Question #2 - Should We Be Talking More About Bilal Coulibaly Being Thrown in a Trade Package?
Question #3 - Why Can't Washington Figure Out Alex Sarr?
Question #4 - Is Brian Keefe Building the Wizards’ Future or Just Passing Time?
Question #5 - What If Tre Johnson Is Better Than Advertised?
If you are of a certain age, success and Washington DC sports never really mixed.
For the majority of my life, I have had to live off of the fables described by my elders, the lore of Joe Gibbs’ Redskins teams. They spoke of Sundays when RFK Stadium would shake, when The Hogs carved out running lanes like a tank through mud, and when the defense hit with the kind of force that made you feel it through the television set. Those stories were gospel—passed down with reverence, as if we were inheriting something sacred rather than merely hearing about a football team.
But for those of us born after the glory years, our inheritance was mostly heartbreak. We grew up watching an ever-revolving door of coaches, quarterbacks, front office missteps, and—perhaps most memorably—hope squandered on draft day. There was always a reason to believe that maybe this year would be different, only to see that belief collapse by midseason. It wasn’t just the Redskins—later the Washington Football Team, then the Commanders—it was a city-wide condition.
I promise, this is a basketball blog.
When the team would select Robert Griffin III in 2012, it was truly the first time in my life I had experienced excitement — not cautious optimism, not passive curiosity, but full-blown, heart-thumping anticipation. RGIII wasn’t just a quarterback; he was a phenomenon. He brought charisma, speed, and swagger to a franchise that had long felt like it was stuck in black-and-white while the rest of the league moved in high-definition.
They went 9-6 in the regular season and lost in the first round of the playoffs.
But again, that was my happiness, only to realize how foolish I truly was. Last season, Jayden Daniels would produce a performance I could never truly have ever hoped for. He played with a calm fury, a kind of surgical confidence that made it feel like—for once—the football gods might actually be smiling on Washington. He turned broken plays into highlights, pressure into poise, and for a few fleeting Sundays, it felt like we were watching the beginning of something. Not a mirage. Not a one-hit wonder. A foundation. It broke the impression that I had when it came to talent, not fully realizing what a truly sensation player would offer.
And in less than three minutes of Summer League basketball, Tre Johnson rekindled that magic in a way that only a guard, 6'4” from Kentucky ever made me feel when it came to Wizards basketball1.
And we should talk about that.
Johnson was a pick that fell into Washington’s lap, a series of events trickling in a manner that lined up to near perfection. Charlotte’s interest in Kon Knueppel and Utah’s lack of willingness to see Ace Bailey strong arm his way to his preferred destination meant Tre Johnson would be a Washington Wizard — despite being in the conversation for top three best prospects.
Prospect rankings and draft selections rarely align in a clean, one-to-one fashion. And for much of this past season, it was argued that Johnson was not just one of the best freshmen, but one of the top overall prospects in the class. His 19.9 points per game, 39.7% shooting from deep, and distinction as the only freshman named to an All-SEC team all speak for themselves. But it wasn’t just the numbers—it was the context. Johnson thrived in a system that often felt like it was holding him back. Nowhere was that more apparent than in the backcourt dynamic with Tramon Mark, which felt less like a partnership and more like a tug-of-war—between a sixth-year senior and a freshman whose emergence couldn't be ignored.
To say Johnson’s brilliance was lost in the draft process would be quite the understatement. In a college basketball year with so much attention drawn towards the conference that cannibalized itself, one of the best freshman in the country was holding his own despite having Rodney Terry as a head coach. People preferred the defensive floor of VJ Edgecombe, which always felt like the odd decision given just how much time would be required to flush out that offensive skillset.
Then again, I’m not complaining.
Washington also had not tipped their hand when it came to their draft leanings. There was the rumored trade to acquire the second overall pick, presumably to draft Dylan Harper. Outside of that, there was not much discussion. Jeremiah Fears had been an inkling — one of the few named public workouts the Washington Wizards completed prior to the draft. Murmurings were beginning of Washington being a preferred destination for Ace Bailey as previously mentioned.
However, this was a front office that has been incredibly good about keeping their hand a secret. After the draft, Will Dawkins would appear on The Sports Junkies and provided some insight into the pick:
“We were not certain he would be there. We were very fortunate when we got him for sure[….]He was one of our top targets for a lot of reasons. Obviously, he is a very good player in terms of being able to move scoreboards and shoot but he’s got the right work ethic and mentality so once we got him in our building and had a feel for him, he was someone we had on our top five of our board all season long. And when he fell to six, it was nice to have someone that you had someone rated so high.”
You have to wonder who was 1-4.
Later in the interview, when answering a question surrounding Washington’s strategy with the draft selections, he would also offer this valuable tidbit.
“I would say that with the guys that we drafted before this, you could tell that we’re going to find guys that we feel have a chance to be NBA players and NBA players for a long time and guys who have qualities that we feel would be able to play in NBA playoff games because again, that’s the goal. So, right now, we’re taking best available player who fits a playstyle that we want to have and I wouldn’t see it as asset play or position need. Right now, we just want to bring in a bunch of guys that want to compete.”
There’s an interest dilemma that emerges as a result of that process: what if one of those players is truly special?
Tre Johnson does fit incredibly well in what Washington currently has — which is truthfully not much. It is more a matter of what he will be able to fix.
For example, isolation scoring. Washington recorded the third worst points-per-possession when it came to isolation scoring — 0.83—while also recording the third lowest isolation possessions a game. They would also record the second highest turnover frequency in isolation — turning the ball over 12.4% of the time. One could argue that this is systemic issue but it is important to recognize the value when it comes to being able to generate in isolation.
What made Jordan Poole incredibly valuable at times was his ability to create a shot of his own off the dribble. While he may not have made said shot, the ability to create space time and time again late into a shot-clock was a saving grace that will be sorely missed in his absence. Then again, maybe that can be filled by Johnson.
It is easy to forget that with a team so reliant on pace, quick decision-making, it often felt like Washington was running just to run, not necessarily running with purpose. The pace masked a lack of half-court structure, and when the game slowed down—whether by opponent design or playoff environment—the Wizards simply didn’t have a player who could bend the defense on command. Johnson, for all of his youth, projects as the kind of player who can change that equation.
The word that keeps surfacing when describing his offensive game is control. He’s not just a scorer, he’s a scorer with an economy of motion. He doesn’t waste dribbles. He doesn’t force himself into traffic without a plan. He uses pace, angles, and patience in ways that belie his age. Johnson plays like a guard who knows he can get to his spots, and more importantly, that he can make the defense pay once he does.
This is what separates him from so many guards who pass through Washington, guards who put up points but never elevated the team’s offensive baseline. It’s one thing to hit shots when the ball swings your way—it’s another thing entirely to dictate the rhythm of possessions, to own them. That’s the gift Tre Johnson brings.
We saw it pretty early in Summer League when Washington would begin to get him involved. A play breaks down but there isn’t a panic with Johnson. He doesn’t speed himself up just because the clock is winding down. He shifts, surveys, and manipulates defenders into giving him what he wants. That poise is what made the first few possessions with him on the floor feel so different from the typical “young guard figuring it out” chaos we’ve grown accustomed to in Vegas. Johnson wasn’t overwhelmed by the moment—he was orchestrating it.
That orchestration is what gives the Wizards something they haven’t truly had since Bradley Beal’s peak years: a perimeter creator who tilts the defense before the shot goes up. For too long, Washington has relied on reactive offense—swing the ball, hope a lane opens, or pray a contested jumper falls. Johnson flips that order of operations. His presence means the Wizards can play on the front foot instead of constantly responding to the defense’s terms.
Against Brooklyn, he would have this amazing execution against fellow rookie Egor Demin, alone at the top of the key. Not only was he able to shift pass Demin, split a second defender but he also lifts the ball just above the outstretched hand of Danny Wolf for the two. It was the kind of sequence that felt routine in execution but rare in meaning. A rookie guard, barely a week into his professional career, calmly dissects a defense with balance, timing, and just enough creativity to leave you wondering: what else is in the bag? There was no flinch, no bail-out pass, no settling for a contested jumper. Johnson simply took what the defense gave him—and then took a little more.
That little more is what makes him fascinating. It’s not just that he can score in isolation or that he can manage a possession with patience—it’s that he layers those skills together in a way that hints at scalability. The hardest thing to project with young guards is whether their efficiency and decision-making will hold when defenses sharpen, when the windows close faster and the help rotations arrive with real violence. Johnson’s answer, even in these earliest glimpses, is that he doesn’t need the game to slow down for him. He’s already playing at a tempo that bends opponents into his orbit.
And that raises the central question of this piece: what if Tre Johnson is better than advertised?
Not just “as good as expected.” Not “a solid starter with upside.” But genuinely better—someone whose trajectory isn’t bound by the polite ceilings analysts place on teenage guards, someone who might force Washington’s rebuild to accelerate whether they’re ready for it or not.
Because here’s the truth: teams can plan for development timelines, can design multi-year arcs of growth and patience. But special players blow those timelines to pieces. They collapse windows, they change priorities, they demand urgency. If Johnson really is that level of player, the Wizards won’t have the luxury of meandering. They’ll have to shift into a mode this franchise hasn’t known in years: protecting and building around a centerpiece.
Of course, there are hurdles. He’s still yet to play a game of real professional basketball, yet to adjust to NBA physicality. His reads out of pick-and-rolls are promising but not yet sophisticated. Defensively, his attentiveness will have to catch up with his offensive polish. But when you watch him command possessions in Summer League—when you see the unteachable calm, the unforced shot creation—you start to wonder whether those are developmental footnotes rather than defining obstacles.
My mental sanity this season will highly be dependent on Tre Johnson. The utter adoration I have for him already is something that I cannot quite explain. Maybe it’s reckless to pour this much into a teenager who has yet to play an NBA game that counts, but Washington sports fans aren’t wired for restraint. We live in the margins between myth and misery, and when a player even hints at the possibility of being the former, we cling.
Johnson represents more than just a promising rookie guard—he represents the idea that basketball in this city could feel alive again. That Capital One Arena might someday hum with the same energy my parents described about RFK, that we might finally get to stop living off inherited stories and start telling new ones of our own.
What if Tre Johnson is better than advertised? What if he’s the kind of player who doesn’t just fit neatly into a rebuild, but redefines it? What if—after years of wandering through drafts and trades and false dawns—the Wizards actually stumbled into something real, something special, something worth building around with urgency?
That’s the hope. That’s the danger. That’s the thrill.
And if history tells me I should be cautious, if it reminds me of how often I’ve been burned before, I can’t help but ignore it. Because in a city starved for joy, even the glimpse of a foundation feels like a feast.
Tre Johnson might just be that feast.
“What about Gilbert Arenas?” — Gilbert Arenas was special but not in that immediate impact way. When John Wall stepped on the floor, I questioned if there actually was a god. Shoutout to Abe Pollin for making it happen.