"We're Like Peas and Carrots..."

Same shit, different place, same pay. I hope all of my readers come join me. I'd address the three of you personally if I knew your names...

Dear Summer...

Countless American lives literally revolve around sports. Throughout sporting fandom, calendars are marked in anticipation of the new year. Their acquaintance of old memories is never forgotten, but replaced by new moments to treasure-or lament-with the annual drop of not a ball, but a puck. Or a kickoff, a tipoff, or a first pitch. Many Americans new year doesn’t begin with Dick Clark, but with Dick Vitale. Amidst the streets of several metropolitan areas seasonal changes are revealed by hats and jerseys as if they were leaves or grass.

Me? I’m practically in hibernation until I hear Marv Albert. This is a particularly strange time of year for me as a sports fan. Because lately, this time of year reminds me of what kind of sports fan I really am. July is summer movie season. It’s concert season, six foot bird watching season, the flu season playoffs, practically anything but baseball season. Unless I’m there, it just bores the shit outta me. And I won’t go just anywhere either.

I've spent the past decade of my life in and out of Minnesota, which has a very respectable baseball team. The Twins don't exactly have deep pockets, but they remain competitive through cultivating one of the leagues most distinguished farm systems. Justin Morneau, Joe Mauer, Tori Hunter and Johan Santana are all homegrown talent and unsurpassable representatives of their respective positions. That's the MVP, the batting champion, the "nightly web gem" and only the fifth unanimous Cy Young winner, all within the last ten years. But the Twins bore the shit outta me. They play in a garage.

I spent my childhood in Chicago with two miserable baseball teams and never questioned my allegiances. I was a Cubs fan. I loved everything about the Cubs. The roster, the uniforms, and even then I recognized and appreciated the harmless fatalism that one could enjoy as a Cubs fan. "Well, we lost. Again. But that sure was fun!" I became obsessive about baseball. I had drawers, shoeboxes, bookcases and closets full of baseball cards. I'd watch alot of the games that I couldn't go to on TV, and in eigth grade I joined the JV baseball team. That's when I realized I didn't know shit about baseball and why I really loved the Cubs. They play in Wrigley Field.


I had never stood in front of a real competitive fastball. I never knew any of the intricacies that comprised the game. I just knew who was good and could only provide superficial reasons why they were good. I didn't even like baseball cards that much, I just liked the idea of how much money they were worth. I wasn't a baseball fan, I was just a Cubs fan. I was barely a Cubs fan, I was just a fan of Cubs baseball. I still am.

Whenever I make it back home I try to catch a game. The brick, ivy, and intimate residential neighborhood setting make Clark & Addison one of America's best places to spend a summer afternoon. But it's the retro scoreboard, the bleacher bums, and the seventh inning stretch that make it a unique sporting experience and a reminder of why baseball is still Chicago's pastime. Sitting along Wrigley's third base line on a hot day, with a cold brew, good friends and plenty of ladies are fond memories. Not just of mine, but countless others I've never met-many of a day in which I wasn't even alive. Despite a hundred years of futility, we are bound not by a woeful disdain, but by an appreciation of time well spent. See if you can generate that kind of warmth from four generations of Phillies fans.

However that leisurely pace doesn't make captivating television. I haven't watched an entire game in four years. It bores the shit outta me. The players stand still more than they move and the games last forever. The endless procession of foul balls, pickoff attempts, mound visits and pitching substitutions could cure even the most hopeless of insomiacs. Honestly, how many videos have we seen of adults slumped over and drooling at the ballpark? So I wouldn't stand a chance against the narcoleptic influence of midsummer baseball within the friendly confines of my living room. I'd rather rent a movie.

continued...

Better Than Sex...

...or at least better than her sex tape.

Update: Better than the Finals too.

Heaven Is A Closet.

fetish [fet-ish, fee-tish]
-noun
1. a form of sexual desire in which gratification depends to an abnormal degree on some object or item of clothing or part of the body; "common male fetishes are breasts, legs, hair, shoes, and underwear"
2. a charm superstitiously believed to embody magical powers [syn: juju]
3. excessive or irrational devotion to some activity; "made a fetish of cleanliness"

The Raging Inferno.

I'm speechless. Seriously.

"We Only Said Goodbye With Words..."

Congratulations. On the Stones cover and that new/old man too.

"...I died a hundred times. You go back to him and I go back to..."

When Will I See You Again?

"It's probably the biggest game of my life and the biggest game ever for this organization, and I have to go out there and recognize it." -LeBron James, before Game 3.



Maybe this was why so many have been critical of LeBron James performance this postseason. He has the potential for this every night, yet we only see it intermittently. And yes, he's only 22, but the number in question is 23.

We've all noticed the homages to Michael Jordan in his number, his pregame routines and even in his commercials, but it would be nice to see it more often in his game. Of course there's the familiar refrain of "He's more Magic than Michael.", but LeBron made his choice and he realizes the near impossible standard he's being measured against. Jordan was acutely aware of the heightened expectations his play garnered and he continually bounded over them. That is the only part of Money's persona James should be concerned with emulating.

Bron took a big step forward last night. Now he has to find a way to do it again.

Women I Would Settle For, Vol. VI, "Now How You Gonna Go And Do That?"

This is supposed to be the definitive list of sexies and she doesn't even make the Top 100, but Fuggie is in the Top 10?!

No wonder I don't read that shitty magazine.

Podoloff's Box? Part I.

val·u·a·ble [val-yoo-uh-buhl]–adjective
1. having considerable monetary worth; costing or bringing a high price: a valuable painting; a valuable crop.
2. having qualities worthy of respect, admiration, or esteem: a valuable friend.
3. of considerable use, service, or importance: a valuable player.
4. apparently not Jerry West. (But he got the logo, so it's all good.)


NBA greats are a unique breed in the sporting pantheon. No athlete can impose pure will on his respective sport like a basketball player. There’s no disconnect between offense and defense, which gives a player more influence over his teammates on both sides of the ball. They’re the only athletes who can make a play for the crucial score and inasplitsecond make a stop that seals the win. In fact, most times they are expected to. Basketball players carry a heavier burden than their contemporaries. This is what makes the NBA’s Most Valuable Player so special. A Podoloff Trophy is the mark of greatness.

How is greatness measured? By the media. Every year, 125 pen, pad and agenda carrying sportswriters and broadcasters-with legends to build and stories to sell-decide upon whom to bestow the game’s crowning individual achievement. Truth is, if you locked those guys in a room a until they could decide upon a criterion for the award, they’d die in there. The MVP is a popularity contest, an award for modern marvels and sentimental favorites. Analysis of voting totals over the past twenty plus years reveal neither rhyme nor reason. There are numerous instances of both personal and team improvement having been in vain, while post and perimeter players are alternately fawned over and ignored. Players in contention are expected to take their teams to the postseason, yet postseason play doesn’t factor in the award? Practically every year reflects a different rhetoric.

So what is the formula? Carpe diem. Since 1984 there have been a dozen different Podoloff winners. Three men laced ‘em up and forged their own destines. Others labored to receive their due recognition. There were a couple guys you couldn’t help but love, and a few just got fucked over. Using the playoffs as a litmus test, let’s reminisce...



Before him, when a player was trapped in the post by an aggressive double team, he either passed the ball into a corner, called a timeout, or forced a shot. He didn’t throw it blindly over his head and through the outstretched arms of the defense directly to a teammate under the basket for an easy bucket. Before Earvin Johnson the game had flair, but no Magic.

His lengthy 6′9″ frame inhaled rebounds, his vision and dexterity maneuvered the court in bullet time, and his immaculate touch blessed those passes which always found a teammates hands in the shooting position. But it was his smile that explained it all. It was that smile that said, “I didn’t go behind my back for a lookaway pass to show off, I did it cause the defender in front of the hoop was trying to deny me the left, and it was the best way for me to hit my streaking teammate on the right without the D being the wiser.”

Before him, when a 6′10″ forward attacked the baseline only to be met midair by the extended arms of the opposing center, he either got blocked or traveled. He didn’t toss the ball overhead off the backboard, box out the center during his landing, catch the pass-to himself-and finish off the play with an easy lay in. Larry Bird was pretty good his damn self.

His size made him a post presence and he only needed the smallest window of space to get his shot off thanks to those thick, strong, wrists but other than that, he played a game of athleticism with no physical gifts. Regardless, he dominated with an ease and confidence of men with twice his ability. Actually, calling it confidence is an understatement. “In your fucking face” might have been his middle name. Bird’s perpetual swagger was that of a man who had immersed himself in the game, a man who had seen and done it all. So whether he was tiptoeing the baseline-behind the backboard-or was trapped in a corner behind a double team, when he shot it over them, he knew it was going in. And he’d let you know too, before, and after it happened.

Their impact was immediate and widespread. They not only improved their respective teams, together they changed the game and saved the league.

It was almost cruel to choose between them, but from the beginning, to the powers that be Bird was the word. French Lick’s finest had bested Buck to capture Rookie of the Year in 1980, and finished fourth in that years MVP balloting. The winner? Magic’s supposed benefactor, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, whose scoring went up a point (23.8 to 24.8), but averaged two less boards and one less assist per game than the previous year (12.8 & 5.4 to 10.8 & 4.5). After replacing his injured center in an unforgettable Game 6, Johnson won his first Finals MVP, but wouldn’t crack the top five on the regular season ballot until 1983.

He was sidelined by an injured knee in ‘81 resulting in only 37 games, and was besmirched by scandal in ‘82 after demanding a trade. Instead, Jerry Buss fired coach Paul Westhead, who favored a more conservative offense over Magic’s freewheeling play, and entrusted another visionary in Pat Riley. The Lakers regrouped and won 57 games in(50-21 w/ Riley) ‘82, best in the West, but the damage to Magic’s image had been done. He missed a triple double average by fractions (18.6, 9.6, 9.5), jacked a lig leading 2.7 steals, and it didn’t matter at all. The man finished eighth. He’d have to settle for another chip, and another Finals MVP.

Since the addition of Robert Parish & Kevin McHale in ‘81 (Championship year), Larry Bird was the MVP runner-up for three straight years. He claimed his first Podoloff in ‘84 and promptly propelled the Celtics into the Finals for the second time. Magic Johnson had three Finals appearances, two rings and two Finals MVP awards when he collided with his nemesis in the 1984 NBA Finals, but Bird was still seen as the better-and more valuable-player.

1984 NBA Finals, Game 7, Lakers @ Celtics




Magic didn’t do enough to change that perception.

1984-85-The Celtics (63-19) and Lakers (62-20) marched through the regular season towards the inevitable Finals rematch. Haunted by the mistakes of last year’s Finals, Magic answered critics questions about his leadership with a healthier season of increased scoring(18.3,6.2,12.6) as the Lakers took the West for the fourth straight year. Bird responded with career highs in points and assists, (28.7,10.5,6.6) including a 60 point masterpiece-only the 10th player in league history to do so.



Terry Cummings (23.6,9.1,2.9), Moses Malone (24.6,13.1,1.6), and Alex English (27.9,5.7,4.2) led the Bucks (59-23,+9 games), Sixers (58-24,+6 games) and Nuggets (52-30,+14 games) respectively as the league’s only other 50+ win teams. What could have been a close race turned out to be a landslide for Bird.

• Four of the league’s top five clubs had teammates that received votes. Even the 24-58 Knicks squeezed two guys in. How is Bird the only Celtic? McHale (19.9,9.0,1.8) and Parish (17.6,10.6,1.6) were hardly slacking.

• Why wasn’t Magic similarly recognized as the de facto leader of the Lakers? Was it Bird’s scoring?

• English & Natt combined to make the Nuggets the league’s most improved team and won their division. Where’s the love? Especially when there’s two Bucks in the top ten?

• Bird probably should have won, but by so much? Magic gets only one first place vote? Even the rookie got two!

What happened when the immovable object met the irresistible force? Magic Johnson earned the first Honorary T.R.O.Y. Retroactive M.V.P.

1985 NBA Finals, Game 6, Lakers @ Celtics




Kareem Abdul-Jabbar may have been the MVP of this series, but he was also 37 years old at the time. His performance was certainly worthy, but primarily ceremonial. He became the playoffs all time leading scorer during the series and the cognoscenti were feeling nostalgic. The man was past his prime and everyone knew it. Magic was the driving force behind that team, he was Showtime. He was the one who had improved his already exceptional game, resulting in an eight game improvement in the win column. He was the one with demons to face. Who would’ve shouldered the blame if the Lakers lost again? So let him reap the benefits. The Memorial Day Massacre should have crippled their confidence. Instead they became the first-and only-visiting team to celebrate a chip in Boston Garden. Kareem was a workhorse, no doubt, but Magic (15 APG in the Finals!) was the glue that held the team together.

1985-86-Not much of a contest. Widely considered to be one of history’s ten best teams, the Celtics went 67-15 and after some minor hiccups…

1986 Eastern Conference Playoffs First Round, Game 1, Bulls @ Celtics



1986 Eastern Conference Playoffs First Round, Game 2, Bulls @ Celtics


…they cruised to their second title in three years.



Bird’s third consecutive MVP was legit, but there’s still a few lingering questions.

• Showtime went 62-20 and Magic comes in third? Not one first place vote?

• Dominique Wilkins (30.3, 7.9, 2.6) carried the Hawks to 50 wins and finished in front of Johnson wiht five first place votes. Granted, there was a sixteen game progression, but still a dozen wins less than Los Angele, a perennial contender. Are the voters saying ‘Nique did more with less?

• Again, why were Magic (18.8,5.9,12.6) and Cap (23.4,6.1,3.5) sharing votes when Bird (25.8,9.8,6.8) and McHale (21.3,8.1,2.7) weren’t? Because Cap was a legend and McHale was in his fourth year? They were both All Stars that year. Because Cap finished the plays and Magic only passed it to him? Despite all of his brilliance, Magic was a guard. Guards didn’t win MVP. Right?

1986-87-The takeover. This season was the first time in the history of the MVP award that the winner and the runner-up were both guards. It just didn’t happen. Since the game’s inception, big men-particularly centers-were deemed higher in the game’s pecking order than their counterparts. The big man’s ability to score from the interior with a high field goal percentage, in addition to an imposing defensive presence and steady rebounding was crucial to team success. Their overall impact on a game was greater than that of smaller players dependent on their jumpshots and ill equipped to battle in the paint. The name of the game was to put the ball in the basket, and the man at the basket controlled the game. From Russell to Moses, post players won championships, so they were inherently more valuable. Right?

The efficiency of the game was with the big men, but they had their limitations. They couldn’t handle the ball as well and their decision making in the open court was generally suspect. They were considerably slower than guards and more predictable due to their limited range and movement. Post players were chained to the basket and needed the ball fed to them.

The soul, the creativity, the artistry, the future of the game was with the guard.

Magic Johnson (23.9,6.3,12.2) had a statistical buffet, gorging on the competition in 65 Laker victories. Only the fourth guard to win the Podoloff in it’s 31 years, he certified his value in another iconic postseason.

1987 NBA Finals, Game 4, Lakers @ Celtics


Then there was Michael Jordan (37.1,5.2,4.6). A streaking explosion of coiled muscles. A barrage of pivots, pump fakes, reverse pivots, jab steps, pull ups and fallaways. A cavalcade of double clutches, up and unders, baby hooks, runners, reverses, teardrops and bankshots. Then there were the dunks. It was endless.

February 26, Nets @ Bulls


March 4, Bulls @ Pistons


March 24, 76ers @ Bulls


He only stopped because the schedule did. Jordan had torched the NBA for it’s first 3,000 point season in 24 years-from the two spot. Finishing second, he would have joined Kareem Abdul Jabbar and Bob Petit as the only players from losing teams (40-42) declared MVP. That year’s ballot indicated a changing of the guard.

• Dominique Wilkins (29.0) was the L’s second leading scorer and the Hawks (57-25) conquered a Central Division with two other 50+win teams and the Bulls. Atlanta had the third best record in the league and the next highest scorer on that team was Kevin Willis (16.1). He was supported by Doc Rivers (12.8), Randy Wittman (12.7) and Mike McGee (10.4). He took less shots (24.3 to 22.6), had less turnovers (3.2 to 2.7) and more assists (2.6 to 3.3) Drowned out by cheers for Jordan, he didnt get one first place vote, and even Kevin McHale finished with twice as many points as him (254/128). So was Nique rewarded for lifting his team the previous year, or just reaping the benefits of Jordan’s absence?

• Speaking of McHale, he did improve that year, but shouldn’t that be a testament to Bird’s influence as it was in the past? He only had three points last year, having played only nine less games. Did this mean the voters suddenly couldn’t tell who was responsible for the Celtics success?

• Bird (28.1, +2.3 on ‘86) was the Lig’s fourth leading scorer, and averaged a career high in assists (7.6). The Celtics (59-23) held down the Atlantic-and the East-again. How does anyone from a sub.500 team finish with twice as many points and a ten to one first place vote ratio? Isn’t this the reigning three time MVP?

• Isiah Thomas (20.6,3.9 & 10.0)? 52 wins? Anyone? Only 17 total points? Anyone? Anyone?

“It would have been tough, if not impossible to keep scoring like I did during the 86-87 season. I attacked from he opening tip until the last whistle for 82 games. That was my mentality. In terms of physical talent we probably has less on that team than any other Bulls team I played on. I knew I needed to score if we were going to be successful. I’m pretty sure Doug Collins felt the same way. I had one streak of nine straight games with 40 or more points. You have no idea how much energy it takes to score 40 points one night. The difference between averaging 32 PPG over an entire season versus a little over 37 is significant. Think of it this way: If I scored 32 one night then I had to score 42 the next night to get even. But that was a different era. Very few teams were as sophisticated defensively as they are today. And no team, with the exception of Detroit the next season, geared its entire defensive gameplan to shutting down one player…

In the early years I compared myself to Magic and Larry. What could I do to elevate my game past theirs?”


1987-88-The blueprint. He already left defenders helpless. But it was his defense that terrorized opponents for the breadth of the court. He was a one man press. His strength, quickness, leaping, anticipation and recognition made him a more intimidating defender than men twice his size. He filled passing lanes, blocked shots from the weakside, stripped penetrating dribbles, skied for rebounds and started countless fastbreaks-which he emphatically finished.



Michael Jordan recorded more than 200 steals and 100 blocks for the second year in a row, a feat never acheived by any other guard even once (236 & 125 in ‘87 to 259 & 131 in ‘88. ). This garnished him the 1988 Defensive Player of the Year Award. Silencing critics who claimed that he was a one man show, Money made a concerted effort to involve his teammates which resulted in a scoring dip (37.1 on 27.8 SPG to 35.0 on 24.4SPG), but also an increase in assists (4.6 to 5.9) and shooting % (48.2 to 53.5). Aside from a paltry 3P % (13.2), his game was utterly flawless.

The Bulls (Seriously, look at that roster. Now.) somehow went 50-32 only to be matched up against a talented Cleveland squad, far better than their 42-40 record after the addition of veteran Larry Nance in a midseason trade. Outmatched and unfazed, Jordan opened the playoffs with consecutive 50 point games against the Cavs, another first in NBA history.

1988 Eastern Conference First Round, Game 1, Cavs @ Bulls


1988 Eastern Conference First Round, Game 2, Cavs @ Bulls


He would go on to average a record 45.2 PPG in the five games and win his first playoff series before falling to the Pistons (4-1) in the next round.

His performance in ‘88 was valuable not only to Chicago, but to the entire league. It was transcendent.

“…They were great all-around players, but they were never known as great defenders. I realized defense could be my way of seperating myself from them. I decided I wanted to be recognized as a player who could inflence the game at either end of the floor. The one thing people saw in me that they didn’t see in Magic or Larry was the athletic ability. They had great talent, but in terms of raw athletic ability I think I had a little more. To some extent I think it was hard for people to believe anyone eho jumped and dunked could also be a complete player. But that’s what I did at North Carolina and that’s what I was trying to do in the NBA. After the 1987-88 season the critics had to say, ‘This kid can have an influence at both ends of the court. He’s not just a scorer.’ Now when they talked about Magic and Larry they also had to talk about defense. I felt like I made the seperation, at least individually, to some extent that season. But I knew I’d never completely be recognized as their equal until we won championships.”-For the Love Of the Game, by Michael Jordan

• Kevin McHale played in 13 less games, and saw a decrease in his averages (26.1, 9.9 & 2.6 to 22.6, 8.4 & 2.7) . Bird took two more shots a game that year, and all of McHales MVP votes?

• Once again, Dominique Wilkins (30.7, 6.4 & 2.9) is a complete afterthought. Sixth place, huh?

1988-89- The Lakers had become the lig’s first back to back champions in twenty years and despite the reduced minutes and production of Cap’s farewell tour (10.1, 4.5 & 1.0 in 22.9 MPG), Magic considered that year’s team to be the deepest and most talented of his career. Assuming more of a scoring role in the offense, he also increased his assists and rebounds (22.5, 7.9 & 12.8), leading Los Angeles on a collision course with friend and rival, Isiah Thomas.

Magic Johnson broke the mold of the traditional point guard with a size and versatility that impacted the game more than his smaller contemporaries, but Isiah Thomas more than matched his adversary in skill and will. Zeke valiantly fought off a severely sprained ankle with a historic 25 points in the third quarter of the previous years Game 6, bringing Detroit within arms length of a championship, only to succumb to Showtime in seven games. The memory of such a narrow defeat drove Thomas and the Bad Boys to a franchise best 63-19 record in ‘89, securing the all important home court advantage for their Finals rematch.

In an anticlimactic twist of fate, both Magic and Byron Scott would injure their hamstrings, clearing the way for a Pistons sweep. Though Johnson had captured the season’s MVP, the vindication of a title helped Thomas forget that he only received one vote and one point on that years ballot.

But Michael Jordan (32.5, 8.0, 8.0 & 2.9) was more valuable than both of them.

Jordan spent a significant portion of the season at the point dominating smaller guards and during a three week span (3/28-4/14) recorded a triple double in ten of eleven games. However trading away their rebounding enforcer in Charles Oakley caused the Bulls to take a step backwards as a team during the ‘89 regular season. Chicago struggled to stay competitve while incorporating the awkward low post game of Bill Cartwright and developing second year talents Scottie Pippen and Horace Grant. Their modest record of 47-35 was buried in the Central Division and as they stumbled into the playoffs losing eight of ten, playoff expectations were nil.

The Cavaliers (57-25) had taken all five games of the season series and were hungry for playoff revenge. Jordan opened a can of whoop-ass instead, stuffing Cleveland with 39.8, 5.8 & 8.2 before putting them to bed with “The Shot”.



The Bulls won their semi-final matchup with New York (52-30) and handed the Pistons what would ultimately be their only two losses of the postseason in a suprsingly tight six game series.



If the objective of the game is to win a championship, then shouldn’t the most valuable player be the one who gives his respective team the best chance to win? Magic and Zeke steered their talented squads towards June, while Jordan maximized the potential of a team that shouldn’t have lasted past April. An elite player on a mediocre team is needed more, expected to do more, and the fact that the opposition knows this only increases the burden. Off nights aren’t allowed. There is a distinct difference between leading a team and being the team.

With that, I present Money with the second Honorary T.R.O.Y. Retroactive M.V.P.



Stay tuned for part two.

Jewelz.

Thanks to whoever posted this on NT. The following are quotes from an Allen Iverson article in this months issue of GQ that is an absolute must read. I would ramble on further about A.I., but let it suffice to say that I'm looking forward to his bust being the first in the Hall of Fame with braided hair.

Allen Iverson: Football was my first love. It was my dream to play in the NFL. I didn't start playing basketball until I was 8 years old. One day my mom told my coach to come and bring me to basketball practice. I cried all the way to the door.

Dennis Kozlowski (ex-football coach, Bethel High School, Hampton, Virginia): In high school, he wasn't big as a minute - five six, five seven, 145 pounds - but he was a Deion type of player, an absolute wonder returning kicks. As a safety, he still holds the state record with five interceptions in one game. As a quarterback, he could throw the ball at least seventy yards in the air.

More from his former coaches.


Rick Reilly (writer, Sports Illustrated): After he'd begun playing with the Sixers, I drove with him one day in his black Mercedes to a Philadelphia Eagles practice. He threw a bunch of beautiful passes - he could throw it fifty yards on the button - and ran this gorgeous route. The coach was like, "My God, I'll sign him right now."

David Teel (columnist, the Hampton Roads Daily Press): He was eventually found guilty of "maiming by mob," which was a felony. This was a statute that in the cruelest of ironies was put on the books to prevent lynchings. He was sentenced to fifteen years. Ten suspended. Five years in prison. He was 17 years old. For a fight!

Douglas Wilder (former governor of Virginia; current mayor, Richmond Virginia): The law that was used for the conviction was ancient. I couldn't see how that violation, for a juvenile, should result in such a mark being placed on him for life. Four months later, at Christmas, I pardoned him. I caught hell for it.

Iverson: Coach [John] Thompson had visited me in prison and I'd asked him would he consider taking me in if I was able to get out. Fortunately, he did. They had a football program, and I remember one day asking him how did he feel about me playing football. I don't think you can write it in a magazine, what he said. I didn't think about playing football no more after that.

Smart man.



Henry "Que" Gaskins (former global vice president, lifestyle and entertainment division, Reebok): Jordan was talking trash during the game: "Look, young boy, you have to respect us." The Bulls had won championships. Allen said to Jordan, "I ain't gotta respect nobody."

Todd Boyd (author, Young, Black, Rich, and Famous): In his rookie year, Allen infamously "crossed over" Jordan. At the top of the key, Allen rocked twice, and left Jordan standing in the same spot. It was unbelievable. Nobody had seen Jordan get clowned that way in a long time. The greatest player in the game to get upstaged by this rookie.

No two dribbles in basketball history will ever be more celebrated.


Bobbito Garcia (cofounder, Bounce magazine): He had already beaten Jordan on the first dribble, but he brought the ball back and crossed him again. That's something that you see on the street - unnecessary moves to claim dominance.

He probably could've done it with a football too.


Reggie Miller (former guard, Indiana Pacers): During his third year in Philadelphia, he got his first taste of the postseason, against us. We basically murdered them. But he had a great series. And I remember when it was over, him going to the bench with a towel on his face, crying. It hurt that bad. And I said to myself, He's special. Because they had no shot at beating us. But he felt that they could. All true athletes believe they can conquer.

Rick Fox (former forward, Los Angeles Lakers): After we won Game 4 to go up three games to one, I remember seeing him being driven down the tunnel in a golf cart to the press room - which is a short walk. I remember thinking, You're MVP of the league, and you've been fighting valiantly, and you're so banged up you can't even make it from your locker room to do press? He is a true warrior.

Tyronn Lue (guard, Atlanta Hawks; formerly with the Los Angeles Lakers): The next season, we got into it again. I came right up to him and said, "You keep talking about how you're gonna give me fifty - well here I am mutha ." And he was like, "I don't even know who you are. Who are you?" I was like, "I'm the same person who won the championship ring last year." The first play, he went backdoor and scored, and he was yelling, "Gimme the rock, we can do this all night." And I was like, "It's too late. You shoulda did it during the finals." After that we started talking more, and we became cool.

Iverson: I've got a problem with people who play scared. Tyronn Lue took it as a challenge, like a man.

Jordan was one thing, but a friendship grew out of this?

Wow.

Patrick Saunders (staff writer, Denver Post): On December 19, Philadelphia traded Iverson to the Denver Nuggets. Prior to his first game, we had a hude blizzard. Nobody knew for sure when he was going to get in or whether he was going to play. He had only five minutes of warm-up. The arena was electric.

Carmelo Anthony (forward Denver Nuggets): It was the biggest thing around here since Elway won the Super Bowl.

Partick Saunders: Carmelo, who was suspended at the time, was home watching the game. He was standing up; he couldn't sit down. Iverson would pass the ball to a teammate, and Carmelo would pretend it was him. He was in his living room flipping his wrist like he's making the shot. He got all psyched, so he drove up in his Range Rover and invited Iverson to dinner.

Iverson: I'm six feet. Legit.

Of heart.

And now here's something we think you'll really like...


I kid.

Allen Iverson Sportscentury.

the rest...

The Prince.

Kobe's new nickname. It's so appropriate. But let's talk more about this later.


1996-1997

1997-2003

2003-2006

"Put Words Together Just To Match, I Say What I Feel, Y'All Adjust to That..."

"So much for objective journalism. Don't bother to look for it here-not under any byline of mine; or anyone else that I can think of. With the possible exception of things like box scores, race results, and stock market tabulations, there is no such thing as Objective Journalism. The phrase itself is a pompous contradiction in terms."--Hunter S. Thompson

"I just tackle the subject, get flak from the public? It's nothin', I know real niggas happen to love it. And if you don't like it, then look in the mirror-most likely, you 'aint live it, so you don't get it. You 'aint did it, so you can't envision, the picture I'm painting 'aint vivid, the language I'm spittin' is so foreign to you. See what starvin'll do to you? Growing up hard in a little apartment'll do to you? I'm just talkin' to you. I'm just talkin through you..."--Jay-Z

If you gave me three letters to describe the world of basketball, I'd say NBA. If I had four, I'd say SLAM. Pictured above is the last decade of the league, and the next one. Nearly all of them have roots in the magazine, many featured multiple times, including LeBron James who practically grew up between its pages. After 13 years, SLAM continues to comb the landscape while celebrating the progress and culture of the game.

There is a more conservative segment of basketball journalists who drape themselves in the flag of objective journalism and denounce SLAM as the insignificant ramblings of crazed fans armed with press passes. Others dismiss it as a mere cult of cliched personalities. It is not the hallowed institution that is Sports Illustrated or that mammoth conglomerate of a four letter word, ESPN, but by tailoring their focus to basketball SLAM can measure it's pulse like no other publication, with comprehensive coverage of high school, college and professional hoops. Every year the game's elite tell their stories through the pages of SLAM, and to honor it's foundation, more than half of the NBA's 50 Greatest Players have been featured in the Old School section since the magazine's inception. There have also been re-emergences-if only for a brief moment-from the doldrums of obscurity by Charlie Scott, Earl Lloyd, Jackie Jackson and Cliff Hagan, among others. Who? Exactly. SLAM is required reading for a complete basketball education.

The folly of objective journalism is in the assumption that one can speak with absolute neutrality, which requires an omniscience that is simply impossible. We're all products of upbringings that have sculpted our worldview, and those outlooks are what make us different. That is why we value a Thompson, Halberstam, or Wiley, for that unique voice which came from their sensibilities. I say that not to declare this magazine as the literary gold standard, but to assert that we can never completely understand or appreciate a subject until it's been viewed from every angle, and that comes from a multitude of perspectives. SLAM dared to take a new one, and after 108 issues they've become synonymous with the game without boring me with their wives, their parents or some fucking schmuck named 'House'. Thanks guys.

The Hugh Hefner of This Shit.

I'll say it again, Kobe Bryant is the greatest scorer in the history of the game. The numbers may never truly reflect it, since he spent almost a decade alongside another dominant scorer, but somewhere even Money's tongue is wagging in admiration. It's always been nothing less than amusing to hear Kobe dismissed as nothing more than a clone, when in fact he has improved the blueprint.

Fundamental ball handling involves a soundness of footwork and a clarity of vision. Good ball handlers recognize and attack openings in the defense off the dribble with either hand. In addition to these balanced and measured steps, keen guards are quicker in their direction and decision making with the ball, maintaining an awareness of exactly when to halt the dribble and shoot or pass. The exceptional player employs a variety of jab steps, back steps, hop steps, spin moves and pivots to acquire space for a scoring opportunity. The more moves a player has, the less decisive their defenders can be. Michael Jordan had all of these moves in spades, including a wonderful crossover jab step. But what he didn't have was a killer crossover, the ultimate ball handling weapon for a player with a jump shot and an ability to attack the rim. Kobe does. One dribble and two steps gets him to the rim like nothing. Just the thought of it made Fred Jones fall over.



Necessity is the mother of invention. Layups are a tricky bunch, you can lay them too hard off the glass-or too soft. That's if you don't have one roll out or hit the back of the rim. Everyone knows that the highest percentage shot in basketball is to just jump up there and cram it in, but the problem lies in the execution. Several basketball players can dunk, just not from either foot, with either hand, in or outside the paint over whomever they please. Kobe's size, strength, quickness and agility make him a constant threat from any angle, but when he loads his springs on the baseline, smart defenders just walk away. Slackers like Doug Christie, Andrei Kirelenko and Kevin Garnett stick around and get dunked on. Word to the wise fellas, his baseline reverse windmill is indefensible, stop jumping.



Jordan's fade away and Cap's sky hook are the two most unstoppable shots in basketball history. They either make it or they don't, they never get blocked. The difference between the fade and hook is that a player has to commit to the hook. Once a pivot foot is chosen and the initial move is made, there is no possible counter move except traveling. An ability to drop step into an easy two off of either foot on the low block opens up options for an offensive player. Turn inside and dunk or fake it, turn outside and fade away. Or fake it, turn outside, and pivot around the defender again for a layup-another classic Jordan move. Thing is, Jordan wasn't using the fade until the end of his career and he was a free throw or below player. Kobe's bigger and stronger and uses the fade away everywhere. The low block, the pinch post, top of the key, three point baseline, anywhere he pleases, Kobe will go into that shake n' fade over either shoulder and if you step into it, he'll fade back further and still make it. Or step through and have a clear shot at the rim.



Anticipating the fade away causes defenders to play off of him in catch and shoot situations, so Kobe just goes into the step back jumper. Life is so unfair.



What's really fucked up is that the scariest part of Kobe's offensive game is on the perimeter. Play him out to thirty feet and he'll still J you without even putting the ball on the floor.





Wait until he busts this one out again...



Ball handling, attacking the basket along with strong post and perimeter play all mean nothing if they cannot be summoned at will. Kobe Bryant can score when it's absolutely necessary, even when the defense knows he's the only option, under any circumstances. He has mastered the fifth element.



And now, some Classic Wiley...

Note to self: Add another nickname to the list of Kobe the Destroyer and Kobe the Finisher -- Kobe the Puppet Master.

Note to all: Kobe Bryant has become the most unstoppable scoring force in the game, in a line with Wilt, O, Zeke from Cabin Creek, Rick Barry, Abdul-Jabbar, the Iceman, Doc, David, Zeke from West Side Chi, McAdoo, Bird, Jordan.

Observing Kobe's most recent scoring jag -- 44.6 per in the last five, nine straight with 35 points or more, best scoring run-out the NBA has seen since the mid-'80s, when Mike Jordan was 24 and 25, the same age Kobe is now -- we may conclude Kobe is the greatest scoring force in the league.

Ever.

Sit down. Go with me for a minute. Understand that, just for today, we're leaving Dog and all the other Kobe-haters and Kobe-stoppers and Kobe-controllers home on this op.

We are talking raw ball here, not from the exalted seat of a fan or the controlling seat of a coach, but first from over Kobe's shoulder as he posts us up -- from playing off him as he's facing us, reading his body lean; then with him -- keeping the spacing correct, salivating as our man slides his way and we come open for the 18-footer that can win a game; and finally, from inside his head -- God, it's cluttered in here!

First, any guy who can score 42.3 over five in the NBA, and reference Pinocchio's Gepetto at the same time, is a man to be watched, studied, and possibly feared. "I felt like Gepetto," Kobe said after one of his recent exposés. He felt like the defenders were on the strings he held. Admittedly, many fans didn't get the reference. Maybe Kobe should've said he felt like Brando in "The Godfather" -- "... and I refused ... to dance on the strings, held by the big shots."

Defenders aren't the only ones dancing on the strings held by Kobe the Puppet Master. His teammates and coaches and observers are, too. This shock of the new is often exhilirating, but it invariably causes some to seek balance and comfort in the past. Why, I don't know, but it does.

And what we've seen from Kobe in this scoring streak (not to mention coinciding with Shaq's new mortality; the first seven games of Kobe's 35-plus streak were wins; the last two, against the Spurs and Knicks, were losses) is new. Or it's new to me, I should say. I just have not seen many guys make nine straight 3-pointers in competition, make them with no strain, like they were elbow jumpers; I haven't seen those one-bounce-dive-from-a-wing evasive dunks before. Have you? Oh, we've seen where they got started, but ...

I try not to fear, hate or resent him. Or lecture him, or control him, tell him how he failed at some level of hoop.

Besides, even if I'd been in a mood to try it, I didn't think I could back it up. Maybe Jerry West could talk to him like that. Maybe Broke Daddy, Ol' Jingle-Jangle-Jingle, Phil Jackson, one of my favored old Knicks, could do it, maybe. Jordan, sure. Someone should ask Jordan. Do you have any real big problem with the application of Kobe's game? What do you think Jordan would say? "Yeah, I do. He's not running the offense right, or dreaming about it enough."

Right. Last I looked, at 24, Kobe the Destroyer had won three NBA rings in a row, and now is currently looking for a fourth in a row. So me chastizing him, at my advanced age, despite my long history of watching and being on the beats and studying the NBA, from the Rick Barry, Gus Williams, Silk Wilkes, Phil Smith NBA champion Warriors of 1975 and 1976, on through Bird, Magic, Isiah, Dumars, Akeem, MJ, and on until today ... well, no. But, still, Kobe does not know that, and it would only mildly amuse him if he did.

So me telling him what he was not doing in the process of his three-ring accomplishments would be like Ron Turcotte pulling out a knotted whip and beating Secretariat with it as Big Red was in the process of winning the Belmont Stakes by 28 lengths. It would be not only grandstanding, it could even be seen as cruel. So I said what I said to him -- "Kid, you really put on a show" - and then, later on, I thought about what I'd said, a few days after last Thanksgiving, as the Lakes were trying to get by without Shaquille O'Neal.

Kobe had nodded, not as if he understood me so much as he appreciated me not using the whip on him. And while it is true that a thoroughbred responds to the whip and a mule bucks and sucks, the thoroughbred can also become sick of the whip if misapplied too often, and with too much relish.

So a human thoroughbred starts to think about spitting the bit and running elsewhere, where whips and chains and self-important appraisals are not so often forthcoming, for a man without a temper is not worth his salt. Or, if he's Kobe the Finisher, he can also become Kobe the Puppet Master, and let people rant or rave or do St. Vitus' dance however they chose as he pulls the strings and levers of his dominant basketball talents. I'd like to see what Charlie Kaufman could do with this guy's head. In an Association with at least eight other truly great players, and a good 50 or so who can drop 40 on a given night, Kobe rules. As yours truly pointed out in GQ last summer, days after the Lakes had won a third straight NBA title, if Kobe's hands were as big as Michael's, they'd have to shut down the league.

"Would you ever consider playing here?" I asked Kobe the Destroyer. We were in Memphis at the time. He had just dropped 44 on the Griz, yet the Lakes barely won. Jerry West runs the NBA club there in Memphis, as you know. Kobe looked at me strangely. Smart. Didn't say yes or no.

That Gepetto reference he used after one of his recent explosions means not just that he is atypical, but that he also has a much broader frame of reference than one suspected. He must understand what's good for the team, in a ball sense. And also, when someone is reflexively trying to jerk him. He must know that in a perfect world and game of hoop, yes, no question, the ball never touches the floor. It hits all the hands, and when the defense doubles or overcompensates, the perfect team swings it, swings it, swings it, and the last man down gets the look, and makes. So I mentioned this too. "Of course. And you also know we don't live in a perfect world," his look said, "or play on a perfect team for perfect men."

It will still be him who is expected to lift the Lakers, not Shaq, not Phil, not the spear-carriers; and when they lose -- not if, when, because Sacramento is better and deeper, and not even Jordan won them all -- it will all be brought back home to him. I saw it happen to Magic. It is what happens, in the short term, in the day-to-day coverage. The newspaper (and now the website) is going to come out every day, isn't it, Max Mercy?

Kobe the Puppet Master paused. I looked at him and said, "Look, what's good for the team is the ball in the basket."

I did not say he had played stupidly, as Kobe the Puppet Master had made Tex Winter say. I did not look askance at him. I did not feel a disconnect from him, as some fans of the hip-hop generation do, or people in Philly, who despise him because they feel he turned his back on them, or even Jerry Buss, who did not hang out with him and shoot pool and run over to the Playboy mansion or take him under his wing as a business protégé, as Buss did with his boy Magic.

In return, Kobe did not say I spoke stupidly, he did not look askance at me, or act disconnected from me or my boy Cole, also in attendance and studying our brief by-play intently. School was in for everybody.They both looked relieved that such a simple statement would be made by the doddering old man to the youth he could know but never really control, instead of an off-color harangue, or a lecture on some hoop theory on how the greatest scoring machine in basketball could make better use of his court time. He has been told enough that what's good for the team is getting everybody else looks; well, of course, in a perfect world, that is true. But what's good for the team is the ball in the basket -- if he gets his teammates shots, they have to make. It's not physics, but a much simpler kind of math.

You must understand that Kobe learned from Jordan and West that it is will that carries the day ... and so that same will that is essential to beat such good teams as the Spurs and the Kings is difficult to tamp down when teammates don't hit the open shots that your move has allowed them to see. The player of greatness will takes matters into his own hands.

Especially when you are the greatest scoring weapon in basketball, and possibly the greatest scoring weapon in the history of basketball. He is the greatest because he is the latest. He is the greatest now. He must press that edge.

Hope you're still watching R-Dub.