Shawn Kemp's Offspring

Ok kids, pay attention. Today we have a guest piece by a fellow commenter from Slamonline who goes by the name of B. Long. His likes are the Lakers, breast implants, guacamole, and acid trips (in moderation of course). Despite his blind love for all things purple and gold, we felt he had some good things to say. He also promised us some ecstasy pills (i'll get you that PO Box address homie).


“Brandon Jennings is doing something unpopular for the betterment of the masses, and I believe Congress will pay attention to this and see the foolishness of the ‘one-and-done’ rule. This will start a chain of events that will lead to the rule’s demise. This year and next, others will follow Brandon Jennings’ decision.”-Sonny Vaccaro-advisor, sneaker pimp, prophet?

For real? One skinny, gumby, and stunna shade rocking kid's decision will supposedly influence others to follow hundreds of thousands of dollars(millions now that he got his U.A. shoe deal) overseas instead of taking classes most of them won't care about, surviving on cafeteria food, and basically being pimped by the NCAA? You better believe it. Now I know what your thinking right now. Your replaying every Dick Vitale, Bobby Knight, and Coach K interview you've ever heard about all the glorious benefits of a college education and how nothing can compare to the college 'experience'. (Cough)bullshit(Cough). Anyways, I'm not here to point out the ridiculous hypocrisy that is the NCAA system,(Ryan Jones has already done a good job of that) I'm here with a warning to fans of college basketball. You better start petitioning Mr. Stern and Mr. Brand or get ready for the darkest days that the college basketball has seen in a long time.

NOW STARTING FOR PANATHINAIKOS ATHENS, LANCE STEPHENSON! Or Renardo Sydney, maybe Xaiver Henry, then Tristan Thompson. Yes sir, its coming. Whether we as American fans are ready for it or not a mass exodus is approaching. Unless the one and done rule is abolished and Myles Brand decides it's time for Obama-like change in the NCAA within the year expect to see a couple more All-Americans taking the extended senior trip to Europe next year and then even more the one after that. Now your probably saying to yourself that the only way this happens is if Brandon Jennings dominates overseas, cements his draft status and ends up being the number one pick, right? Wrong.

Let's jump in the DeLorean with Doc Brown real quick and gun it back to 1995. A tall and athletic as hell but Amy Winehouse skinny kid by the name of Kevin Garnett was causing quite a raucous with his decision to forgo college ball and head directly to the NBA. Most experts were saying no, no, no. Several were writing him off as a selfish punk who couldn't make the grades and claiming that there was no way that a prep school kid could make the jump directly to the pros and ever be successful. It just wasn't gonna happen. Initially even the Slam staff was (more than) skeptical.

A season later a decent rookie campaign of 10 and 6 and an All-Rookie second team selection was enough to convince another rail thin big man with an already NBA ready last name to test the draft waters. That same year some cocky Italian speaking guard from the Philly suburbs named after raw meat decided to buck the system. The next year a sleepy eyed super athletic swingman decided to throw his name in the lottery. And so it began.

You'd be hard pressed to find one NBA scout or anyone with a lick of basketball sense who has seen Brandon play that would tell you that he isn't at least talented enough right now to have same impact on an NBA lottery team that KG did as a rookie. We are talking about a player who many experts have labeled a young, taller, and more athletic version of A.I. I'm the last person who likes to put undo pressure on a kid by making comparisons to all time greats, but from the McDonald's game and practice footage I've seen with Vitrus Roma it's hard to argue. Now what do you think he's gonna do during the Euroleague season?

Don't get it twisted. I'm not saying that he's just gonna come out and crush the comp overseas. In fact I'll be very surprised if Brandon doesn't have some growing pains learning the lingo and banging in a much more physical professional game. Hopefully he's spending most his off-season with a chica named Rosetta Stone or in the weight room. What I'm saying that if he is just successful enough in Europe not to hurt his draft status next year and make bank at the same time, more are sure to follow.

We are living in a very socioeconomically conscious society especially in the realm of sports. Prep stars who once pondered which school would have the best student section and flyest honeys are now consulting with advisers like Sonny about what environment they should choose to best market themselves to the world. I like to call this the 'King James' effect. Everyone wants to emulate the most popular player in the game and the young guns of today are definitely trying to crib LeBron's buisness sense. Given the zero's in the mans bank account I can't say that I blame them.

Whether David Stern wants to admit it or not, Brandon is changing the game. In fact, there is a small part of me that says this is what the Commish had planned all along. He heard the rumors about Lebron, Bill Walker, and O.J. hoping the pond for a year. He had to have known that with if he enforced a one and done rule it was only a matter of time. What a better way to further globalize the NBA than to send it's future stars overseas for a year and build a strong fan base for that particular player in that part of the world without the NBA ever having to spend a dime. Kids in Rome maybe rocking Brandon Jennings NBA jerseys for the rest of his career, similar to the way a lot fans in Texas will always root for Kevin Durant after his stint at UT.

You've gotta hand it to Stern, Myles Brand never saw this one coming. Or maybe he too was looking for a way to avoid more O.J. Mayo type fiascos. Who knows? What we do know is that the world of prep stars and their decision making process has changed forever. You know what, screw Full Court. Does ESPN have a Euroleague package?

******Another retro-Eboy piece, probably the last one of the offseason. I had a request to throw this back up again by one of my blogmates, and since our Ryan Jones interview seemed to put our creative juices on hold collectively due to Mr. Jones sheer brilliance, what better time to get something productive up. Hope you all enjoy it, it was a very personal piece for me then and it still is. Thanks.

I was a junior in high school when the 1986 school year started. It was a good summer, played a lot of ball with my high-school teammates, went to a few concerts, a few Yankee and Mets games and just plain fucked around the rest of the time. I worked a shitty part-time job at a pizza place to make a few bucks but that was the extent of my productivity that summer. Life in East Rutherford, NJ at the time was similar to every other north Jersey town. IROC's, Bon Jovi everywhere, girls dressed like they were trying out to be in the next Whitesnake video and "guido's" gold-chained down and slicked up willy, cruised the streets looking for girls to pick up or to be in a fight. I had friends in all those categories so I was open to all the stuff going on around me. I played ball for my high school, Becton Regional, which a few years before was known as East Rutherford High, where for years the loud-mouthed legend, Dick Vitale, honed his coaching wares. That being said, the basketball program was held in high regard and we had put together a pretty tight squad from the time I transferred in my sophomore year. Our team was led by a 6' 9", 240 lb monster, Dan Hillman, who had scouts salivating over him. Unfortunately for him, his grades kept him from moving on to one of the big academic U's and it was a shame because he could have been rough in the college game. He wound up taking a scholarship to a Division 3 program, never to be heard from again. My own high school to college shot is a story for another time.

Well, school started, classes were attended, life was going on as normal as could be. In early September, my father went to his general practitioner for a routine check-up and was startled to learn that he had a growth in his neck that needed to be checked out at his doctor's request immediately for fear of a serious medical condition working on my father without his knowledge. After having a biopsy, and waiting a week for the results, I attended my dad's follow-up appointment with him and my mother (myself being an only child, our family unit was tight) to hear what the ailment, if any, might be. After a few tense moments of waiting for the doctor to enter, we were blindsided by the news that my father had stage 4A Hodgkin's Disease (one step before terminal) and if not acted upon with extreme urgency, could be a life-ending scenario for my dad within weeks. Now, to know my dad was to know a no-nonsense, no-bullshit individual who was one of ten children who was raised in the Duncan Projects in Jersey City, NJ in the 50's and 60's where he lived with the only white family in a predominantly black housing unit. He was loved by the people in his building because my dad never saw color, just the goodness in people and at that time in our history, those type of feelings between the races were rare. And that's being generous. Most of my aunt's and uncle's who lived there with him weren't as open-minded as my dad so they never get along with the neighbors. One of my favorite stories from my father, was a time he was on a date with my mom before they were married, were out picking up a pizza to take back to my grandmother's house (where my mom was living) and while walking home and passing a pool hall, were verbally assaulted and physical accosted by about 8 drunk Italians who knew my mom from the neighborhood and wanted to know why she was with "that nigger lover". Well, my dad fought hard but was out manned and once the pool hall manager separated everyone, my mother and father made their way to my grandmother's to regroup. My father borrowed my grandmother's car, returned to his apartment in the projects and proceeded to return to the pool hall with about 25 of his buddies from the projects and totally destroyed the pool hall and whoever was unlucky to be there. There was some jail time for my dad's people, but out of respect to my father, those guys took the rap and claimed my father had nothing to do with it. My dad said he was forever grateful to those guys for what they had done for him and would always let anyone know who would listen how great they were for it.

My dad was a full-time truck driver, working 16 hour days, and was a fiercely intense worker and family man. Although my dad stood about 5' 5", he had the heart and stature of someone twice that size. My dad was built like Baron Davis, squat, thick and powerful. To hear that my dad could be lost to cancer while he showed no signs of weakness or illness was mind-boggling. My family was shell-shocked. For days, it seemed like our home was more like a funeral home than a families home. It was a bad time. The new school basketball season was to begin in a few weeks. My dad began his chemotherapy treatments, twice a week, and by no fault of his own had to take a leave of absence from his driving job until his therapy was over and was well enough to get back in a rig. My dad seemed to be losing his mind at that point. Being home was a necessity at that point, but being stagnant was not in his make-up. He needed something to do. And little did he know, he would find it in one of his favorite things to do, watching the New York Giants.

Saying my father was a Giant fan was an understatement. He had loved them from when he was a boy and now that we had lived in the same town that the Giants played in, made his love for them surreal. (I myself, made the choice to be a Dolphin fan as a kid, and I was always an outcast to my friends who loved the Giants and the Jets. I did love the Giants too, because my dad did. The whole father/son hero thing.) Our home was just over 2 miles from the stadium and from most of the windows in my high school, the Meadowlands complex was clearly visible. It was about week 3 or 4 into the 1986 NFL season, and the Giants had gotten off to a nice start. Sunday's were one of the things that kept my dad going through his chemo treatments and the games took on new meaning as we were not sure how many more of them my father would get to see. My dad decided that as a way to keep his mind off his treatments he was going to prepare a hand-drawn picture each week and try to get it to one of the security guards at Giants Stadium to see if they could post it on a bulletin board in the locker room. Normally, I would have goofed on my dad for such a thought, but hey, if it made him feel better, so be it.

My dad prepared a picture for week 6 and did the same thing he done the previous week. He went down to the stadium, by the players entrance, and was going to hand off the picture to the security guy again. It was that day when things changed dramatically. As he stood talking to the security guard, my dad said he heard a voice from behind him asking "hey, is that the guy with the picture?" My dad turned around and was shocked (I think his exact words were, "I couldn't fuckin' believe it") to see Lawrence Taylor standing right behind him, asking him the question directly. LT was my dad's favorite player and like a little kid, he said he was pretty much speechless. The security guard said to LT that this was the guy and he handed him the week 6 picture. LT was late for the team meeting that day and ran off with the picture and turned to my dad and said "I'll be waiting on next week's". It was like a Mean Joe Greene/Coke commercial moment for my dad. He came home that afternoon and was giddy like a little boy who just got the toy he wanted most at Christmas. This was exactly what he needed. A purpose. Something to do. And to do it for his favorite football and at the request of his favorite player, well, he was on Cloud Nine. It was the first time I saw my dad smile since his diagnosis.

The next couple of weeks had more and more of the Giants becoming friendly to my dad. They all knew him as the "picture guy" and like lots of athletes, they started to become superstitious of making sure the new picture was showing up in their locker room. It probably helped that they started to gel as a team and looked like a true favorite in the NFC. The only game the Giants lost the rest of the season was a late October game against Seattle and coincidentally, it was the only week of the season my dad didn't do a picture because he caught a bought of double pneumonia that had him hospitalized for 10 days.

There was one positive that came out of my dad's pneumonia situation. Giants DE George Martin visited my father in the hospital, prayed with him and gave my dad another bit of hope in his recovery. George was one of the classiest people I had ever met and he remained close to my dad by phone for years after his retirement from the league. George made us feel comforted and said that we had a "family" with his if we so desired. Pure class. The other player who became attached to my dad was Mark Bavaro. Mark was a sweetheart. So soft spoken, so genuine and down to earth like no other player I met from that team. Mark would give my dad a hug each time he would see him at the stadium and would always ask about my mom and I. He also made my dad's ultimate dream come true. In the break before the Super Bowl week, my dad was now down at the stadium almost every day. Bavaro came out from a late-afternoon practice with his gym bag in one hand and an envelope in the other. He had a Super Bowl ticket for my dad and cash for a plane ticket. My dad cried like a baby and thanked Mark repeatedly. Mark said he wanted him to be there and he made my dad promise him he would not do anything strenuous until the day of the game so he'd have energy to cheer them on. What a good, good guy. A great paison. And a fantastic player. My dad sat among the Bavaro family at the Rose Bowl that day and he said they too, made him feel like family for those several hours they shared together.

Eventually, I would sneak out of class to get down to the stadium with my dad on Thursdays or Fridays to see the guys and wish them luck in their next games and by the end of the season, seeing these guys weekly was like being around a group of giant (pardon the pun) older brother's. Whether it was getting in one of their cars to show them where the local 7-11 was or taking one of their cars to Burger King to pick up food for 7 or 8 guys (hey, I had a driving permit), or throwing a ball around for a few minutes before they took off for the evening, they made me feel like I was at their level. I think part of it came from the fact that most of the guys knew me as the kid who's father was sick, but I think the other reason they took a liking to my dad and I was because we didn't act like starfuckers. Never asked for an autograph (although we got plenty of stuff from them without asking), never asked for a photo even though they were willing (and eventually on the last week of the regular season we got pics with all the guys.) It was just a nice introduction into the world of the sport elite. Very cool. And with the exception of 3 or 4 guys (who won't be named here) every other player was classy, fun-loving and easy to get along with. 20 years has sure changed the modern athlete. The only player on that team who was similar to the modern-day player, was also it's highest-profile and greatest talent. Lawrence Taylor was just different. And not in a bad way.

After LT's initial contact with my dad and his picture, we came to find out that LT was always the funniest guy to deal with. Whether it was him being at practices late and having to scale a 20 foot perimeter fence to join the team (Bill Parcells mandated that the fence couldn't be opened for ANYONE that was late to practice). LT always said that he felt "Coach" put that rule in just for him. Another time LT was running in to try and get into practice before the gate closed, duffel bag wide open and his Rolex tumbled to the ground. My dad quickly grabbed it, called out to LT, and when LT looked back and saw the watch, he ran back to where my dad was like he was chasing down a back and said to my dad, "hey little buddy, I'm glad it was you and not someone else out here". He always called my dad "little buddy" and I always thought it was funny because to see them stand next to one another, it was like seeing Shaq standing next to J-Will. Funny. Other times LT would have papers fly out of his car and paystubs, bills and various other things could be seen floating around the Meadowlands parking lots on those fall and winter days.

Once the playoffs rolled around, the excitement for the team was at a fever pitch in the NY/NJ area and we were at ground zero. It was surreal. Giants stuff was everywhere. Every store, gas station, street sign and most of the houses in the area had flags, homemade signs, etc hanging from them. It was unbelievable. Right before Christmas, LT asked my dad if our family wanted to come to his home for a New Years Eve party. He said it would be crazy and said we needed to be there. It was another stepping stone in my dad's recovery. What a night it turned out to be. It was freezing cold, snowing and travelling to LT's mansion in Upper Saddle River,NJ was treacherous. Once we got there, we parked about 1000 feet from his house and froze our asses of as we made our way to the door. There was probably 100 cars on his little cul-de-sac and all of them were high-dollar vehicles. We knocked on the huge oak door and much to our surprise, LT answered the door. Wearing slacks and a dress shirt with no shoes, he greeted us like we were family. Before I could get my jacket off, Lawrence said "hey CJ, can you do something for me.?" I of course said sure. He said, "can you shovel my walkway for me, I'd do it myself but I got all my people in here." He then put a $100 bill in my jacket pocket and said "please". I tried to give him his money back, but he wouldn't hear it. He then pulled my dad aside and said "do you know any womens?(not a misspelling on my part) I got all kinds of single men in there and no womens. The cold is keepin' them at home."

Music was blasting, there was a magician, a chef preparing food, white-gloved servers, athletes everywhere. I had sensory overload. In the middle of his living room was a makeshift dance floor. Name a NY sports guy from that period and he might have been there. That night, I met NY Jet Freeman McNeal, Darryl Strawberry, a very young Patrick Ewing, Mookie Wilson and so many other guys that night I can't remember. By the time midnight rolled around there was probably 300 people in his house. It was wild. It was the greatest New Years for me for two reasons, the fact that as a sixteen year old I was in this unbelievable environment and a sports fan's fantasy and two, that my dad had made it to a new year. The transition from fear and worry to belief and happiness seemed to stem from that night.

My dad went through another 5 months of chemo and by the end of the following summer, my dad had been issued a clean bill of health and his cancer was in remission. My dad had fought with all his worth and he made it through. Lawrence had us out to his house a few times during the spring months for barbecues and was the one player who stayed in contact with my dad religiously, usually once a month by phone. By the time the next season rolled around, my dad, with his new outlook on life from his recovery, wanted to do the same thing for the guys that season too. He wanted to do pictures again and because he was only back to work with limited hours, he still wanted to make his weekly visits to see the guys. It was the strike shortened season and although the first four games were played by the "scab" players, our faith in the team never wavered. The season didn't hold the promise that the last one did and although the team still had huge confidence it wasn't translating to the field. Another New Year came, another LT party was set, we were invited again and although the party was still top-class, the group of people was smaller, the star sightings fewer, I guess the fickle state of fans carried over to house guests too.

The next year held Lt's 30 day suspension for cocaine use and that year and the following year were frustrating to the fans and to LT. My dad was invited to attend a dinner with him in 1989 that LT was the host of for cancer survivors. My dad told me that during the limo ride to the event, LT was visibly upset at how he was being portrayed in the media and felt he was losing his stance as the "best" player in the league. I would have loved to have been in the car for that conversation. LT also had a strange way about him when it came to interaction, too. He would call my dad on a Saturday morning to ask him if he wanted to shoot a round of golf, or hit Atlantic City for a weekend for gambling. My dad went a couple of times, but never wanted to overdo it because of a) my mom wasn't feeling him leaving for a weekend with a notorious ladies man and b) didn't want LT to think he was a user. My dad had stories from a couple of the trips he went on, but out of respect to all parties, it won't be repeated here. I don't think Dennis Rodman had anything on LT in the partying department.

In the spring of 1990, my parents took a trip to sunny FLA and decided that they wanted to by a townhouse in the West Palm Beach area and make the move there to get my dad out of the cold winters in NJ. They planned the move for July and in a flash, my family and I were gone. Gone from our family spread throughout Jersey, gone from our past and gone from the guys who we became attached to who wore Giant blue. The following season showed the team back on track and from afar, we were still cheering our hearts out. LT kept in contact with my dad. It always made a huge impact on my dad hearing from LT every couple of months and although my dad had LT's number, he never wanted to impose on LT by calling him just to say hi. That 1990 season saw the Giants wind up back in the big-game against the hated Buffalo Bills. (Well hated by me as a Fins fan).

When the Giants beat the Bills in Super Bowl XXV, we were thrilled. We celebrated like every other blue-blooded Giant fan, but we kind of felt like we were on the outside looking in on this title compared to the last as we weren't there to experience the joy of it first-hand. The Giants haven't relieved that glory in quite some time. Betweeen the Dolphins and the Giants, it's been a long time since there's been much to cheer about for me as a football fan.

As an aside to this story, years passed, LT still contacted my dad every now and again, usually around Christmas, and although my dad passed 2 years ago (after another bout of Hodgkin's and irreparable damage to his heart, due to complications from the high-powered drugs that were used in his treatments) those years and memories were great times and a fascinating look into the live's of athletes, sometimes looked upon with fervor, other times scrutinized unfairly and even at other times, looked upon as role models when they don't want the assignment. From one person's point of view, the class and compassion that was shown to my family and I by these "heroic" figures will always be looked back upon with tremendous respect and stood to be spoken about in these times when the "classless" athlete seems to be the the only ones who receive coverage in the current sports climate. As my dad always said "Go Big Blue". We miss you. And there's still a skinny 16 year old who will never forget the strength you gave a kid's father who got hope from you when all hope seemed lost. Thank you.

Professor, father, husband, writer....& all around pain in the ass, Ryan Jones is a rarity among sportswriters: You actually manage to enjoy his work in spite of his snarkiness. As a source of knowledge on topics as broad as basketball, hip hop, netball and Joe Paterno's bathing suit preference , Ryan is one of our favorite writers and a friend to our blog world. The former Editor in Chief of SLAM Magazine and working teacher at Penn State University, he is a source of hilarious content both on the SLAM site and in other media, Ryan is in a class all by his lonesome. Some would say it's by design, others would say it's because of his farming roots, but for us, it is a pleasure to have the man, the semi-myth and the quasi-legend grace us with some insight into his world.

Mr. Jones, take it away.

SKO: Chuck Klosterman, our maiden interviewee, says that "the people who write about sports despise the subject they write about". How fully does that apply to you?

RJ: As someone who A) enjoys Chuck's writing and B) drank lots of Miller High Life while watching the 2006 Orange Bowl from the comfort of his couch, I must respectfully disagree. (Those things have nothing to do with each other, or with your question, but you seem to want me to name drop, so there you go.) I'm not sure, but I THINK Chuck was referring more to beat writers, the guys who cover a team 8 days a week for 9 months and probably DO end up hating everyone and everything related to that sport and that team when the season's over. From my brief time in newspapers pre-Slam, and from knowing a lot of beat writers while I was at Slam, I can certainly co-sign on the number of miserable cats who do THAT job for a living. It's the relentless nature of the schedule and having to deal with the same people every day for so long, particularly when those people are often uncooperative at best.


That said... the beauty of how we did/do things at Slam is that it had almost the opposite effect. While I was usually sort of burned out on the day-to-day NBA grind by the end of any given season, I never came to hate the sport. If anything, being at Slam made me more of a hoop fan than I ever was. Let me be clear: I was always a big basketball fan, but until I got to college, my love of the "game" was overly reliant on my love of the Los Angeles Lakers. Then I went to a Big Ten school and had front-row seats for Bobby Knight, the Fab Five, Mike Finley, Big Dog, Shawn Respert and, um, John Amaechi. That, and the Lakers falling off a bit in the early-mid '90s, made me more of a BASKETBALL fan. Then I started at Slam in the fall of '99, and my immersion in the game went next-level.


So, Klosterman doesn't know what he's talking about — although his latest Esquire column (August or September issue) is one of his best yet. His first novel is out this month, too, I think. Not that he needs my help selling books... Ok, back to me now!



SKO: Lebron James is transcendent at the game of basketball as is your distinct writing style, and you have a well defined connection to him. Do you think Mr. James can focus his energies to the game he gets payed to play as stringently as he does the rest of his money making ventures and if he does where can he wind up in the pantheons of NBA history, in your opinion?



RJ: 1, LeBron... should I know that name?


2, Did Myles put you up to this question?


Anyway... It's pretty impossible for me not to sound defensive or jock-riding on this or any question that is critical of LeBron. But you guys are paying me a lot of money to do this, so I'll give it a shot.


Rule No. 1 of successful debating is (I think), Present your opponent's argument first, then refute it. So: You're absolutely right to imply (as I think you're implying) that LeBron still isn't getting everything out of his game. There are absolutely still times where he seems to... not DISAPPEAR, really, but settle for jumpers or fail to demand the ball when you know he's the only guy on the court who can do what needs done at a particular moment. It's frustrating to watch, particularly for someone like me. I've had conversations with his old high school coach about this, and he sees it and absolutely agrees — sometimes you just want to scream on the dude and say "Take this sh*t over!"


That said... I disagree with almost everything else your question implies:


1, My writing style is not that distinct. Or distinctive.


2, It's worth noting that LeBron makes a LOT more money through endorsements than the does actually playing basketball. That said, I've never really been down with the whole "he'd be a better player if he didn't worry so much about off-court distractions" argument. I didn't buy it with Shaq, and I don't buy it with LeBron. I've watched him work out. I've heard too many coaches talk about him leading through example and hard work. I just don't think it's an issue.


To me, the flaws in LeBron's game are inseparable from the things that make him great. What has ALREADY made him transcendent is his selflessness — yeah, he's got two-guard skills in a PF body, but far more important, he's got the mind and eyes and heart of a point guard. I'm honestly not trying to make excuses here, but I really think this explains him: dude CAN take over most games, but he'd rather get everybody going, dime his mediocre teammates into respectability, etc and so forth. That he's willing and able to do this is so much of what makes him great; that it often means not using all of his physical gifts to just run sh*t himself is what leaves us wanting more.


I blame some of this on coaching and some of it on the quality of teammates he's had since entering the League, but of course it ultimately falls on him. LeBron can (and must) continue to improve, and that fact that he's still got room to do so is frightening — in a good way. As it is, right now, he's f*cking amazing, arguably the best player in the game, and he WILL get better, as he has every year so far. Pardon the broken record or skipping iPod or whatever, but he's STILL just 23.


And with that, to your ultimate question: I think he's on pace for top-10 all-time. Whether he's top 5, or maybe even in the GOAT argument, will depend on how many (if any) chips he stacks. I'm optimistic.



SKO: What, in your opinion, are the major flaws of the American high school basketball system?

RJ: Can I sound arrogant and judgmental for a minute — or at least, more arrogant and judgmental than usual? To me, the problems with high school basketball are reflective of the problems in larger society. People are greedy and short-sighted and selfish, all things that society tends to reward (short-term, at least) and encourage. I guess I could try to break this down a little more, talk about the AAU system and the sneaker companies and the NCAA, but... sorry, this election season has me feeling particularly misanthropic. Plus, David Foster Wallace just killed himself. So my fallback answer to everything is "People suck."


I don't think high school basketball is any more screwed up than anything else, is my point.



SKO: If you were named NCAA commissioner for one day, what are the top three things you would change?

RJ: 1, Disband the NCAA. Do I really need two more?


The problem with the NCAA is that its hypocrisy is sort of too deep to even fathom — as a governing body, it only has power because the universities it governs ALLOW it to have power, and the universities grant that authority because it (the NCAA) makes them money. So, I'm not sure how to really solve the big-picture issue, because you'd have to tear up the very foundation of college athletics, and there's a lot of coin weighing that foundation down. (Sh*t is HEAVY). In lieu of that, I guess I'd try the following:


1, Appoint a board of student-athletes to go over every single rule in the NCAA book and ask this question of each one: "Does this rule ultimately exist to benefit student-athletes?" If the answer isn't a definitive, absolute "Yes," that rule is off the books.


2, I'm not fan of out-and-out "paying" student athletes, but there is middle ground between amateurism and professionalism that the NCAA is too stupid to consider, but should. Varsity athletes in pretty much any sport — and this goes well beyond big-time D1 football or hoops — obviously don't have time to work in-season, and for most kids, the "season" these days is pretty much year round. Plus, if they DO get a summer job or something, they face scrutiny about getting hooked up by a booster. Beyond that, there's the simple reality that a lot of these kids come to college from NOTHING. I know of a ballplayer here at Penn State who is one of four or five kids, dad's out of the picture, older brother's in jail, the whole sad cliche. He had to bum rides to get home to visit his mom over the summer. There are thousands of kids like this in schools around the country, every year.


The obvious solution, to me, is some sort of stipend or allowance system, by which kids get something — $100 a week, $300 a month, $1000 a semester, whatever — just to have some money in their pocket. Maybe they have to qualify, like they would for financial aid; maybe they pay it back only if they make a certain amount of money after graduation, or maybe they don't pay it back at all. Whatever — the NCAA could absolutely afford it (anybody see how much CBS pays for the Tournament?) and it solves or at least cuts down on a lot of potential problems: Poor kids would be less likely to be tempted by street agents or runners or boosters, and coaches wouldn't have to think about risking the NCAA's wrath for giving a kid bus fare to go see his mother during his very brief summer vacation.


3, Disband the NCAA. Unless I already said that...




SKO: Also, if the NCAA top brass were to magically disappear from the face of the earth tomorrow, would the world be a better place?

RJ: What's that phrase about "The devil you know..."? I've been thinking about that a lot this election season, and I suppose it applies here. But, short answer: Yeah, I imagine so.




SKO: You've got to put together a squad of 5 dudes (any NBA player past or present) to run against a team of robot Kobe Bryant's, who ya got?

RJ: PG: Magic Johnson


SG: Michael Jordan


SF: LeBron James


PF: Randy Couture (robots are an exception, so I figured I get one, too. Couture > robots).


C: Bill Russell



SKO:Fill in the blank: Eazy_E is to Alex English as Ma$e is to .......


RJ: This one has Tariq written all over it.


Answer: Kobe Bryant. Ha!



SKO: With details if possible, who has been your best interview ever and who has been your worst?

RJ: This is a tough one. For a lot of reasons, NBA guys tend not to be great interviews, and I feel like most of my most memorable interactions from my time at the magazine have NOT been in a formal interview setting: Making fun of Damon Jones' feet in front of his teammates; watching two different Slam writers (not me, in either case) get one-on-one time with Rasheed Wallace after he'd basically told a slew of waiting newspaper guys he wouldn't be talking after a game; sharing a half-full NYC subway car with Steve Nash (after he'd won his second MVP) when no one else on the train recognized him; talking about Radiohead with Tom Gugliotta; hanging out with Mark Cuban in his room at the Ritz in Philly at 3 in the morning after a Mavs-Sixers game — this after Cubes had already picked up the tab for Russ and I and a female who will go unnamed... yeah, interviews are boring. Kobe was a pretty good one. LeBron had his moments. Shawn Marion's cockiness was always welcome. Derek Fisher is one of the nicest dudes ever, from what I know of him. And Morris Peterson — just a cool guy to BS with about whatever.


My most MEMORABLE actual interviews would probably be LeBron as a high school sophomore (just because it was LeBron... as a high school sophomore), OJ Mayo and Bill Walker when they were in high school, and Kobe back in '03. More on that later.


Oh, and Jordan, for Slam 100, just because. It last 13 minutes start to finish, but it was a one-on-one at a time when he pretty much didn't do those anymore. So that was cool. Interesting sidenote: The shoes I wore to that Jordan interview, some relatively hard-to-find seamless AF1s, are now the shoes I wear to mow my lawn. Symbolism, b*tches.



SKO: And who's the one person you'd love to get some time with?


RJ: Bono. There are no basketball players that I haven't spoken with that I care to. That'll be a hugely disappointing answer here. Sorry.



SKO: Any plans for another book?

RJ: No. You're welcome.



SKO: All political affiliations aside, you'd totally do Sarah Palin, right?


RJ: No. I mean, as 44-year-old mothers of five go, she looks pretty good... but she's still a 44-year-old mother of five.



SKO: Finally.....Kobe? There's got to be something you can give us, isn't there?


RJ: Um... I imagine I'm guilty of having overplayed this whole thing to get a rise out of website regulars over the years. There really is no big, interesting story. What happened was a combination of A) my naivete and immaturity with B) his engaging yet possibly psychotic personality; I'm sure he's not really psychotic, but there's SOMETHING going on there...


Anyway, I'm culpable in that, as a life-long, diehard (I thought) Lakers fan early in my days at the magazine, I was maybe a little too willing to give dude the benefit of the doubt where so many others were questioning aspects of his personality. It all started in the spring of 2002, when I went out to L.A. to interview him for a feature. My idea was to talk about how "misunderstood" he was, whatever the f*ck that meant. Anyway, the game I went out for was Pacers @ Lakers in March of '02...


Jog your memory for a second.


That's the night he and Reggie had their little end-of-game brawl at Staples, an incident perhaps best remembered for Austin Croshere's oh-so-sexily torn jersey and Reggie's post-fight comments about "issues," a vague and titillating reference that may not have meant anything, but only added to the sense that he was a dude people couldn't really figure out. Me, I thought I'd figured him out, at least a little. I did more reporting for this story than any other I did while with the mag (pretty much none of which ever saw the light of day), asking a boatload of players and coaches about him, what they thought made him tick, why he caught so much hate for not being "real," etc. Personally, I eventually arrived at an amateur psych analysis, which is that he was this upper-middle-class black kid who grew up in Europe, then came back to the U.S. as a teenager, at the height of hip-hop culture, and was never quite sure where he fit in. Authenticity was ALWAYS a problem for him, and I felt bad for him. I figured he needed a hug.


Anyway, back to the moment: I'm in L.A. hoping to get some one-on-one time with him the day after the game, and now of course he's going to get suspended, and I'm thinking I'm screwed — I won't get any time with him. But he plays ball, gamely shows up at practice to answer questions from the beat writers, and then we get a few minutes face to face. One of the things I brought up right away was how many letters the mag got about him, such a weird mix of love and hate, and basically how our readers — these loyal, involved, die-hard hoop fans — spent so much time trying to figure him out. I don't remember the conversation verbatim, but he was basically like, "Yeah, I read the letters." That led into a broader (though still brief) discussion of perception — that was the key word that kept getting repeated, and would come up again when I finally interviewed him at length six months later — and he was like, "Yeah, I think about that all the time, and you're the first guy who's really asked me about that. I want to talk more about this. I never do this, but here's my number."


Well, he f*cking had me.


I guess I'll never really KNOW if he was being sincere, but in retrospect, I tend to think he wasn't. At the time, though, I was completely wrapped around dude's finger. I believed I was the only basketball journalist alive who UNDERSTOOD this guy, which, even if it were true, would've been a dumb thing for me to get too excited about. It didn't help that we actually traded calls a few times, including HIM calling ME a couple times, unsolicited — once while he was waiting for the team plane to take off, at like 7 in the morning or something — for no other apparent reason than to say what's up. No joke. Think about that: This guy, calling me, just to bullsh*t and say hello. That never came CLOSE to happening with any other player I ever dealt with, and certainly not one on his level (who also happened to play for my favorite team). This only cemented my sense that he was sort of lonely (still seemingly exiled from his own family, aloof with his club-hopping teammates, etc) and, yes, misunderstood, and that he saw me as someone who actually "got" him. Like, you know, I felt his pain.


Or how's this: The Lakers played the Sixers at some point not long after, and for reasons too annoying to get into, I got screwed out of a press credential. Only I didn't find out until I was already on the train from NYC to Philly like four hours before the game. Desperate, I call his cell and leave a message basically saying, "Hey dude, I'm supposed to have a credential but it fell through, I'm on my way to Philly, I'm sure it's a dumb question since this is practically your home town and you must have 100 people to leave tickets for, but any chance you've got one to spare?" Not long after, I get a call back from one of his bodyguards — one of the same dudes he was apparently hanging with in Colorado not long after — saying he was leaving a ticket for me to pick up at will call.


After all this, I was pretty much ready to name my first born after him.


Anyway, that fall we do the interview which became the cover story in Ish... um, I can't remember the number, but the yellow one with him in the black Nike Swingman uni and the trophies lined up in front of him, which remains one of my favorite all-time covers. Anyway, we get back into the whole perspective thing, and I think it ended up being a pretty good Q&A, and that's that. The phone calls mostly cease, but whenever I was at a Laker game in NY or Jersey or wherever, it was always love, big pounds in the lockerroom, etc.


Then Colorado happens. My general take, which I spouted on a couple of brief, stupid appearances on Fox New Channel (!), was that, you never know what could happen, but I really didn't think he was capable of something like that.


Things just got weird from there. Our face-to-face interactions were never anything less than warm and positive, but there was a combination of rumors and work-related encounters that slowly changed my opinion of him. The rumors came from people — sneaker-industry folks we knew and trusted, NBA team PR folks, other players or friends of players — some of whom, it must be said, were affiliated with companies he once endorsed but had since left under less-than-amicable terms. But, still, there were a LOT of stories, and they came from a lot of different people. Stories about him menacing or mistreating assistants, coming up with wack marketing or product ideas, then blaming the company when they weren't well received, just generally being two-faced and a diva. Again, just rumors, but...


The work-related stuff was more of an issue. Basically, we tried to get him for a story post-Colorado, and he understandably wanted to hold off talking to anybody about anything. When we finally did get him, things seemed different. He was offering weird ideas — cover ideas, story concepts — and sort of playing hardball with access. Again, his right to handle all that how he wants. Maybe he's changed by the whole Colorado thing, maybe the people around him (fam? agent?) were pushing him in a different direction. Whatever, it was like pulling teeth trying to get something done. Then we finally DID get something done, only it fell through last second, entirely because of him. There seemed to be a lot of bullsh*t and manipulation going on, which was both professionally and (for me) personally really, really frustrating.


I feel compelled to state that, throughout, whenever I actually SAW the dude, it was friendly and cool and all was well. Always polite and accommodating and professional. But all this other sh*t going on behind the scenes... for a lot of reasons, I'm reluctant to be too specific, and I'm aware that this may sound petty or whatever, but this is how it went down through my eyes, and it really soured me.


Anyway, this played out over the course of a couple years, I guess. Contrary to what some in our little bubble-roofed corner of the world would love to believe, dude never bitch-slapped me or dated my mom or anything. I imagine if I ran into him today, I'd get a smile and a pound. But the combination of things I heard from people I trusted, and then things I dealt with myself, made it hard for me to root for the guy, and, by extension, the team I'd lived for since I was seven years old. Which was a bummer, but I'm over it. Go Cavs!

***To read more of Ryan's work, check the SLAM site and pick up a copy of his book: King James: Believe the Hype---The Lebron James Story