Nobody else captures childhood hero worship like the one and only Lynda Barry.
Solid but not spectacular. Good hands. Pure passer. Looks like a man.
I went for the loose ball and I felt my knee move. Then I felt it give up underneath me.
Blow-by abilities. A surprisingly pure outside shot. Bit of a hot dog.
Coach was up in Sean’s face, and I swear, he was two seconds away from decking him. Go ahead, ask anybody who was there. Ask them. Sean’s my boy, so… I don’t care who you are. Even if you are the coach. That’s when I decided to step in.
Brings a calming influence. A quality desire.
You could see the two state troopers walking up in the rear view mirror, moving in all the red and blue light. I remember I was trying to see their faces. I don’t know. I thought maybe, somehow, I’d recognize one of them. Or they’d recognize me. And it would be alright.
A pure wing. Flashes of quality. Looks like he’s just now getting good.
You should have seen his brother. Oh yeah, his brother was even better. Bigger, too. I played against him once in Arizona. He got benched. Why? For grades, I think. He quit the team. I never saw him again.
by Jake Lemkowitz
Filed under: Art, Basketball, Bread City, Phoenix Suns | Tags: Patrick Ewing, Reggie Miller
“He was a great con man. Ya know, he was always crying to the ref, running off, flopping. Ya know, knock you down, smack you and act like he was the one getting smacked. I … ya know … tell ya … I hated Reggie.”
– Patrick Ewing
image via Fat Shawn Kemp
Filed under: Art, Basketball, Bread City, Chicago Bulls, Los Angeles Lakers, Michael Jordan, New York Knicks | Tags: 1990s Culture, Courtside, John Starks, Jonah Hill, Michael Jordan, NBA
“The evolution of the Hollywood seat began in 2007, when the NBA allowed teams to shrink the size of their scorer’s table to boost the number of revenue-generating seats…
In New York, the Knicks have 145 floor seats priced from $2,850 to $3,600 per seat per game, or between $122,550 and $154,800 for a typical full regular-season schedule at Madison Square Garden. All are sold out and the majority of floor-seat ticket holders are individual ticket holders. Yes, Lee owns his seats.”
– From Sports Business Journal, 5/21/2012
Filed under: Basketball, Bread City, Photography, Poetry | Tags: Basketball Poetry, Cliff Dweller
you realize that
the spirit of the universe
swirls around you
like a gentle
The lowering sun beckons
your eyes and nothing else
This is all you need
This is your life,
that hunk of
one city street,
and you become
a thing of beauty
the evening’s stillness
with this pumpkin
in your hand
to be outside
because you have
a small hole to fill
A net of darkness
that you love
more than a best friend
Street lights are shining again
in the shadow of the city
You’re in the middle,
catching the ball
before you leap
as high as Olympus
And suddenly you see
on the ball
the very last drop
by Cliff Dweller
photo via waiting4brooklyn
Filed under: Basketball, Bread City, Music, Photography | Tags: A Certain Ratio, Great Jams
A Certain Ratio – Do The Du (Casse)
Filed under: Basketball, Brawls, Bread City, Chicago Bulls, New York Knicks, Video | Tags: David Stern, Derek Harper, Jo Jo English, John Starks, Pat Riley, Patrick Ewing, Rivalries, Scottie Pippen
It’s the Eastern Conference Semifinals, and the Knicks are rocking black sneakers for good luck. This is their shot. 1994: the year without Jordan. New York has to win now, while they can. Because whatever little fantasy MJ is living out at that moment – pretending to be a baseball player, Indian chief, astronaut, or whatever – they all know it won’t last.
And the Knicks are winning the series 2-0, when the scuffle breaks out between Derek Harper and Jo Jo English in Game 3. These teams hate one another. Pippen and Charles Smith had technical fouls before the game even started. Now the benches clear quick.
The fight goes down to the ground on some bad jiujitsu. Arms and legs everywhere. John Starks is about to throw a punch when Phil Jackson grabs him from behind. They both get tackled into the stands, and security bodies Starks up. Ewing and Pippen play the old hold me back, hold me back game. And Pat Riley’s not even mad until Derek Harper puts hands on coach’s suit.
But the best part? David Stern sits a few mere rows from the melee. He’s literally close enough to reach out and break up the fight himself, but he can’t move. The commissioner just stares, bug-eyed, into his own personal slow motion disaster reel, as both teams crush the heavy spenders sitting courtside.
New York went on to win the series in 7 games, and Jordan returned to basketball the following season.