Month: September 2009

NBA, I beg of you: Bring back the J.R. Rider era

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I saw this recently – and I implore all NBA teams, someone sign J.R. Rider!

Remember the 1994 Dunk Contest, back when that was cool? You damn right I do. We had a very young Allan Houston doing his thing, Reign Man before he gained like 150 pounds, and the great Robert Pack. Don’t forget my man Pat Ewing in the front row in a sweet purple shirt.

 

And of course, J.R. Rider with the East Bay Funk Dunk. Often imitated. NEVER, EVER duplicated.

I was more a Penny Hardaway and Warriors-era Chris Webber guy myself, but J.R. Rider’s dunk epitomized 90’s-era basketball – along with White Men Can’t Jump, Lil’ Penny, Jordan, and The Dunk by Starks.

I don’t care what shape he’s in, I don’t care what he looks like, we need J.R. Rider back in the league for fun’s sake. Hell, we need him back in the dunk contest.

While we’re at it, move over LeBron, let’s track down Dee Brown, Ced Caballos and Harold Miner (word to Chris for the reminder about Baby Jordan) and make this a real party.

Ain’t nothing wrong with a little nostalgia.

Remembering how Piazza showed us all how to overcome

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A true hero

I write this sentence as I ride by the skyline in Weehawken, and even after eight years, I look at the void in lower Manhattan and still can’t believe it.

Eight years ago today was an unbelievable time for the New York area, though you don’t need me to tell you that. Everyone remembers where they were when they heard the news. I was at home in New Jersey when my father called to tell me to put on CNN – and also to look outside, since we used to have a view of the Twin Towers from our back porch.

What I remember most about what went on around here was the way people came together. For an act that was designed to rip people apart, I find that it actually brought people together. The outpouring of goodwill from people in this area was remarkable. The atmosphere was such that everyone had to band together. For a time, we were all brothers.

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Ringside keeps the flame for a dead champion and a troubled sport

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Front of the building, facing 1&9

My continuing quest to understand the death of my favorite boxer recently led me to Jersey City, the adopted hometown of Arturo Gatti, and a bar stool in Ringside pub. 

I’ve wanted to go to Ringside for years after hearing vague stories about how Gatti used to train there. I’d also heard that the bar attracts a rather tough crowd, and it’s in a relatively out of the way location, right next to the highway on Route 1&9. But I was driving a friend back to Jersey City on Sunday night a few weeks ago, and being that we’re both boxing fans, we decided to stop for a beer in Gatti’s honor.

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‘Vick Bowl’ shows fans love having a (milk) bone to pick with Mike Vick

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Remnants of the Vick Bowl Here’s the long and short of it: If you go see Michael Vick play this season, you’re probably going to have some dog biscuits thrown at you.

At least that’s my experience.

Vick’s traveling circus came to my home state on Thursday night, a few hours after Warden Goodell reinstated him for Week 3, and regardless of how good he still is – he was iffy against the Jets – he’s a bigger star now than he ever was before the dogfighting debacle.

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Look closer: Pistons-model Jordans a nod to what made Jordan great

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Doesn't play defense? Come on.

Note: The following is this site’s debut from Frank Pepe, who is the world’s foremost expert on sneakers, Canadian sports and hip-hop. He’s as elusive as Keyser Soze, and about twice as lethal, but we’re ecstatic to have his unique take on things here at the site.

I have two jobs now, but when I was flat broke I spent my money on Jordans. 

I didn’t line up Saturdays to buy new pairs, but my eye was to the release board. Now I’ve all but retired from the game, and it’s come down to occasionally checking NiceKicks.com, they of the well-intentioned Asics collaborations and Phil Jackson videos. Amidst the colorful detritus and anachronistic mistakes that line this year’s new releases, one of Brand Jordan’s latest retros has been made much odder than normal. Keeping in line with much of this year’s crop,
it’s a Jordan I. Keeping in line with a number of classic retros — the Olympic VIIs, a player exclusive II or two, a bootleg or three — it’s navy and blue. These Jordans, however, are done up in Pistons colors.
 
Such a sacrilegious shoe doesn’t surprise me. Sloppily reconstituted retros litter Nike’s recent history and worse, my closet. Ill-executed re-curations have been all but law these last five years, and are so unavoidable that even the most stringent traditionalist has now a pair of Would it help to consider them Spider-Man Jordan 1's?orange, burgundy and elephant print-camo Air Trainers. Even Air Max loyalists twinged when the Jordan I lost its top two eyelets and became a mid-top. With the rise of these sacrilegious retros, there has been less and less attention to detail — two words: PSI markings, where are they — and my wallet is more and more thankful. These ill-conceived retro campaigns have let Vans in the pantry, but it’s still Nike or Other. This Nike, at first glance mistaken like so many others, might actually have a theme.  An early Jordan, it also fits into the early part of Michael’s career arc.

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New helmet to protect players from pitches thrown at ‘ludicrous speed’

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Separated at birth...?

After taking a Matt Cain fastball to the head that put him on the disabled list for the first time in his career, David Wright returned to action against the Rockies on Tuesday with a new helmet that supposedly would protect his head better from fastballs.

And which made him look like Dark Helmet from Spaceballs.

I noticed it immediately, and then the Mets announcers echoed the observation a few innings later. This thing is enormous! Wright joked that everyone on both teams were laughing at him, but I mean, they were. Has David Wright’s helmet truly gone from suck to blow?

Listen, we’re all about safety here. A 97-mph fastball to the head could have killed Wright, and players need all the protection they can get.

But here’s the thing, to perform well in sports, you have to feel cool. And to feel cool, you have to look cool. Don’t believe me? Ask Redskins running back Clinton Portis, when he was fined by the NFL for wearing, of all things, red socks:

If you’re not looking sweet, you really can’t play too sweet.

Thank you, Clinton. So I would implore the good people at Rawlings to get their act together here. Surely you can make an effective helmet that doesn’t look like my dude is wearing a VW Bug on his head. I mean, this is going to be mandatory in the Minors next year. We can’t have all these prospects falling over because their heads are suddenly too big for their bodies.

Until then though, we need Wright to keep using this monstrosity. His head’s just too valuable to have goons like Cain scrambling his brains. In other words…

We can’t stop! It’s too dangerous!

 

Essence of sports can be found where you least expect it

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As fans, we spend a lot of time griping about what’s wrong with sports. Just tune in to WFAN one night and you may think the world is ending every time Joba takes the mound.

That’s why once in a while, it’s great to see something that makes you remember why the world of sports can be such a captivating and magical thing. For me, it was on a New Jersey Transit bus en route to New York that took a detour through the Giants Stadium parking lot , while fans tailgated before the annual Giants-Jets preseason game.

Living in the shadow of Giants Stadium, I’ve always been fascinated by the football culture in this area, and how it seems to take on a life of its own every fall. This will be further examined by this site at a later date.I didn't have a camera on the bus, so this'll have to do

The other day, the bus stopped in the parking lot to pick up passengers, and for a minute or two, I watched a father with a backwards hat and what I believe was a Mathias Kiwanuka jersey tossing a football to his two daughters, who couldn’t have been more than three years old, both wearing Eli Manning jerseys and cute as a button. Try as they might, the two little girls couldn’t catch the ball, while the father expressed light-hearted exasperation while pantomiming how to cradle the ball against his body.

I don’t think those little girls fully understood what they were there for. They’re not going to recall the score of the game, where they sat, or who the Giants were playing. They couldn’t care less about Plaxico’s guns, who starts at receiver or how much money Eli makes.

But I guarantee they’ll always remember playing catch before the Giants game with dad.

That’s what sports does for us. When you cut away all the Plaxicos, Vicks and Favres, all the A-Rods, Mannys and Big Papis – you have the experiences that you share with those you love.

We get so caught up with wins and losses, payrolls and free agents, draft picks and salary caps. Meanwhile, none of that is what sports is about, or at least what it should be about.

Just try to remember that the next time you hear Lenny from Manhattan on WFAN screaming about firing everyone on the Mets.

Sports can be so much more than we make it out to be.