There’s so much negativity out there that can feed a column topic today. After all, we’re less than 12 hours removed from the Redskins’ nationally-televised spanking by the Eagles, in front of a stadium where many of the seats not left empty by boycotting fans were filled by either Philly supporters or protesters against ownership.As usual, the intersection between sports and society is the scene of a gruesome pile-up. Mark McGwire is being waved back into baseball by his ex-manager and his big heart and huge blinders. Officials in virtually every sport are being raked over the coals, deservedly so, especially in SEC football (again). Bob Griese is being suspended for a mid-game “joke’’ that turns the clock on the so-called conversation on race back another 50 years. Larry Johnson did the same, maybe double, with the conversation on sexual orientation. Steve Phillips has joined the non-exclusive club of successful middle-aged men tossing their careers and families into turmoil for a pointless “indiscretion’’ (to use Rick Pitino’s term). There’s much, much more.
But why dwell on any of that. The NBA tips off tonight! All is well. The sun is out, the shoes are squeaking on the hardwood, and to borrow another phrase from another season, it’s the most wonderful time of the year.
The return of pro basketball is a joy. Even more joyous is the fact that for the first time in a long, long time, we believers aren’t in a tiny, bitter, contentious minority. The hatred and nastiness harbored against the NBA by too many people with too many laptops and microphones within reach, seems to have finally receded like the tide going out. The NBA might not be as cool as it was in the glory days of the 1980s and ‘90s – and I’m feeling so chipper, I won’t even get into the scabs being peeled off of that era by the likes of Michael, Magic and Isiah lately – but its dig-ability is at its highest rate in at least a decade. The number of people openly comparing the league to a collection of street gangs, basically, has been reduced to roughly the size of Rush Limbaugh’s listener core, and that bunch is growing out of fashion anyway.
Those of us who never abandoned it, never chugged the hater-ade, never bought the tilted coverage and blighted perception and kept loving the game long after others thought the old NBA slogan had become a joke … we kept appreciating what we saw, and we’re being rewarded now with what might be another golden era.
Yet even if this was just on the level of what we’ve been seeing since Michael Jordan left the Bulls (retirement No. 2 of 3), this is a special day. The offseason gets shorter every year, but this year it felt like forever, because there was so much to look forward to after the Lakers finally wrestled the Magic to the ground to claim the title, and after the top contenders jumped into the arms race to try to pin the Lakers this time around.
True lovers of the game at this rarefied level know two things. First: football is cool, baseball is worth it at this time of year, college hoops has its pluses, but nothing gets the juices flowing like the start of the NBA season. The inevitable lull between the trade deadline and the start of the playoffs – late February to late April – is endurable because of what comes before and after it.
Second: college hoops has its pluses, but anyone who swears it’s better than the NBA has an agenda to sell or an axe to grind. Not the colleges, not international ball, not the Olympics – this is the best basketball on the planet, period, end of story, close the book, proceed to checkout, we will be closing in five minutes, thank you for coming.
At this point, the names, teams and plotlines for this season should be laid out, to make a case for why we’re bouncing up and down in anticipation. But if you know them, you know them; if you don’t, c’mon, just watch, because nothing I can say will sell it better than seeing it yourself. Gorge yourself on TNT and ESPN and your local sports-cable station, and inhale the sweet aroma of NBA League Pass while they’re giving it away for the first week – then see if your budget can stand buying the full package. The bleary eyes every morning for the next nine months are a small price to pay.
(On the other hand, this isn't complete without predictions. San Antonio over Boston in the Finals. The Spurs are being overlooked, as is my pick for his third MVP - not that that makes any sense, being overlooked with two MVPs and four rings - Tim Duncan.)
But, Drum, you’re saying, you know good and well that everything’s not perfect in that league. Don’t be a Pollyanna. Take off the rose-colored shades and quit blowing sunshine up people’s nether regions about the beauty of the game and the promise of new beginnings and new life the season brings.
Oh, I can’t do that on behalf of the NBA, but you’ll swallow that from baseball every February? And earlier, because we’re days away from the first recitation of “xx days until pitchers and catchers report.’’ No sport has more sores and pock-marks on it than the national pastime, starting with the fact that the world championship will be decided in two Northeast cities in November, but it will all be brushed away when spring beckons and the emerald chessboard is laid out and the lovely melody of horsehide and wood and … oops, I threw up in my mouth a little.
Tsar Justice, I’m genuinely sorry. I know that is your sport. But this is mine.
As much of a shill as I’m sure I sound like … I love this game.
(Photo: Washington Post)
No comments:
Post a Comment