When I got a call from a friend asking if I wanted to get in on tickets for the Nets’ game last night against the Thunder, I jumped at the opportunity, despite New Jersey’s 2-28 record (now 2-29), and it was totally worth it. (Note: Some official SA photos are on the way)
Here are some reasons:
Ever notice that the same people who are quick to pass judgment based on their own personal bias are nowhere to be found when they’re dead wrong?
I’ve had a lot of practice being wrong, so I have no trouble admitting it, like when I pulled a sheet over Tom Brady’s career a little while back. (And I hope I’m wrong about Coach K!)
In that spirit, where are all those people hiding who declared Brandon Jennings’ foray to Europe to be a horrible idea gone wrong?
And just like that, LeBron James has decided – in his seventh year in the NBA – that he needs to honor Michael Jordan, so he’s switching his number.
I mean, is there anyone that believes that this is his true motivation?
With the baseball playoffs fast approaching and the football season in full swing, it still seems that LeBron James is everywhere. You have books on the market, movies on the way, he’s at the Cowboys game, he’s on the Daily Show. You can’t even open your front door without LeBron being there selling you Nikes and clapping some chalk in the air.
I’ve always thought that there’s an inherent loneliness that comes with preternatural talent.
Reflecting on the great moments one can produce with sheer physical or mental genius can be like walking through a hall of mirrors, fated to see endless glimpses of moments in time that can never be recaptured except through still or moving images.
When I look at Michael Jordan, I see a man trapped by his own greatness. The man was like Icarus; he reached heights unlike those reached by anyone else, but the problem with tasting a nectar that sweet is that it’s difficult to put up the rest of your life by comparison.
I’ve long been fascinated by Jordan’s ascent from mere mortal to demigod. Over time, as his talents and accomplishments grew, he metamorphosed from a high school kid to an NCAA championship hero, to a hotshot rookie to an NBA scoring leader, to an MVP to a champion – and eventually to the greatest of all time. Not to mention… a worldwide icon.
But at what cost to the man’s soul?
Jay-Z and 9/11 have always been linked. The typical Tuesday drop of his first Blueprint CD – generally regarded as his best work – was Sept. 11, 2001, and he’s spent the time since doing benefit concerts and donating to relief funds, something I’ve always appreciated.
Jay dropped the Blueprint 3 album this past Tuesday, pushed up from Sept. 11 (today) because of leaks. Or at least that’s his story; it’s more likely he wanted a full week to sell CDs to pump up his sales numbers. Regardless, he’s obviously trying to recreate the magic of the first one with the release date, and that’s cool by me.
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.
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 
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.
I’ve seen some bad sports marketing campaigns in my day – this one comes to mind – but the New Jersey Nets may have just taken the cake. As you may have heard, fresh off taking the “New Jersey†off their jerseys, which didn’t win them points with this proud Garden State resident, the Nets are now telling their fans to root for players on other teams by giving out double-sided jerseys with star opponents on them.
Look, I understand the majority of people who go to Nets games are going to see other teams’ star players, since the Nets don’t really have any of their own since trading Vince Carter. I mean, I love Devin Harris, but he’s not going to be an enormous box-office draw.
So in theory, the campaign makes sense. And I realize that the Nets are desperate for money in a tough economy. I get all that.
But I just feel like it’s something you just can’t do to your players. You can promote coming to a game against the Cavs to see LeBron James, you’d be stupid not to, but to actually push merchandise of other teams? I hate the principle of the Nets’ players looking out into the stands and seeing a sea of Kobe Bryant jerseys.
I recently did a post here quoting some of Stephon Marbury’s bizarre rants during a 24-hour Webcam stint he recently did, but I’ve had it pointed out to me that Marbury was actually breaking down and crying on camera. Now that, I didn’t know. So I didn’t think it fair to pile on the guy. I mean, there’s a difference between being totally crazy – in a non-toxic way – like Albert Belle, and being deeply disturbed like Stephon Marbury appears to be.
So as entertaining as those quotes were, I don’t think it proper to put them up as if they were simply the quirky comments of an eccentric dude. Marbury really might have an underlying deep sadness. Perhaps the personal pressure of coming back to his hometown of New York and ending up completely vilified has weighed on him. Factor in the deterioration of his skills, and you have a guy who faces the next 40 years of his life (hopefully) with most of his hometown hating him, his wife presumably hating him, and the burden of having millions and millions of dollars and no way to buy happiness. So it’s conceivable that Marbury is depressed.
With that realization, far be it from us to pile on this guy. Leave that to the “good folk†at Deadspin.
