Crammed-On Chronicles VII: Kobe Bryant ON Dwight Howard - THIS is a PUBIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT

(Also see the Fakin' the Funk fictional story: BAPTIZED!)

Kobe Bryant reminds you, “Don’t hate. Appreciate!”

November 12, 2004

The haters simply don’t get it, do they?

Look, if you’d rather not see Kobe Bryant light up your favorite squad, applaud him, politely. That’s right. In fact, shower him with praise, flower him with niceties. Compliment his improved shooting stroke… in Italian. Tell him how dope his rap album was, that you bought his sneakers the minute they hit the shelves. Build up his self-esteem and give him time to get all nonchalant and complacent.

If you truly wish nothing but the very worst for Kobe, please, don’t boo him. And for godsakes, if you’d rather not have your favorite prized young star brutally exposed before the world, by all means, do NOT heckle Kobe Bryant.

Haters are Kobe’s fuel, you see. It’s been that way ever since his 2002 All-Star homecoming in Philly. Striving desperately to win back the hearts and minds of people who once cheered him on as a suburban high school phenom, Kobe scored, scored and scored some more on his way to winning the game MVP honors. For his efforts, through the entire game, true-to-form Philly fans booed him worse than they’d boo Roseanne Barr singing the national anthem in a Santa Claus outfit. Trophy in hand, Kobe left holding back tears while getting run out of town on a rail. “My rookie year, I came out of high school, my first game here, they booed me a little bit, too,” he told reporters. “And that really, really hurt, because it was like my homecoming... That was very, very hurtful.” From that moment forward, he consciously stopped waiting for the kind words of others to inspire him to greatness. It’s much easier to feed off the hate, bitter as it tastes. “I'll use it as motivation, definitely,” he said. “I'm the type of person where if something occurs in my life that's hurtful, I'm going to turn it around and use it as some type of motivation.”

Still reeling from The Infamous Snow Bunny Incident in Colorado, and after successfully urging his GM to run the Lakers’ other marquee players and coach out of town, in 2004 Kobe entered the regular season knowing full well he’d starve waiting to be fed praise. He knew he’d spend the full season getting booed everywhere outside of Tinseltown.

While he was prepared to accept the booing, the hecklers were a different story. These cats pay top dollar to sit real close to the road club’s bench, and they come armed with every weakness and imperfection a baller carries, or is gossiped to carry, both on and off the court. Whether it’s his inability to take the ball to his left, defend their best dribbler, handle his liquor, or get it up with his girlfriend, they’re ready to remind him all about it, in the most distasteful terms imaginable. Anything goes, to get the player off his game just enough that the heckler’s team gets the advantage.

Some players simply cannot handle the persistent needling. Occasionally they’ll snap and give the Maxwell-like punch, Rodman-ish kick, Iverson-ian slur or Barkley-esque spit that, properly aimed, could guarantee the heckler big-time money and great courtside seats for years. After the way the previous year’s tumultuous season started, Kobe certainly couldn’t afford any more court settlements. He needed to find other ways to silence his growing legion of detractors.

Jump to the end of the second quarter at the O-Rena, where the Magic was chewing up all of the Lakers’ 18-point lead. When Kobe wasn’t getting hounded by a surprisingly spry Grant Hill and nursing a throbbing left foot, he was spending the better part of the quarter on the pine jawing back and forth with a Magic fan at courtside who brought his full bag of heckler tricks that evening. Kobe was fine with the booing, even the cussing. But this particular heckler managed to get under his skin with some sincerely vulgar words. Obscenities between the two escalated the repartee. It is unclear, to this day, what exactly was uttered, or whether the heckler was ushered out after things got heated. But it was quite clear to newswriters when he approached the fan at the end of the half, and stated these prophetic words:

“You Woke Me Up Now.”

No one in Central Florida could have foretold what Kobe meant by that plain proclamation. If they could, they might have called down to the Magic locker room to warn #1 draft pick Dwight Howard, fresh outta high school like Kobe, not to lace up his shoes for the second half.

Third quarter. Kobe was biding his time, waiting for the offensive play to open up. Ordering a screen from his new second-fiddle Lamar Odom, he blew around DeShawn Stevenson and past a flat-footed Pat Garrity and barreled straight to the hoop toward a wide-eyed franchise rookie, arms raised in a gesture of complete futility, as if to say, “Touchdown!” Newly awakened, Kobethought as he launched of his sore foot, now it’s time to revive the rest of the basketball universe. Starting with the air traffic controller beneath the boards, Mister Howard. Welcome to the NBA, young fella.

A game-long chorus of “boos” from the stands suddenly turned to even louder “ooohs,” and Orlando’s heckler was never heard from again. Kobe certainly would be heard from, as the play kick-started his drive, not only in this game (ending with a 41-point performance) but also his season. On a moribund Laker squad that would fall short of the playoffs for the first time in a decade, he would become the season’s second-leading scorer while reaching all-time highs in assists.

“Well, let me tell you something…” was about all longtime Lakers commentator Stu Lantz could tell you, before bursting into bewildered laughter. What in the world was THAT about? Some of Kobe’s own teammates stood up and glared, astonished. Where did THAT come from? Anyone within earshot of Kobe’s comment to the instigator, including a few photographers, understood completely. A teammate on that fateful 2002 All-Star squad who remembers the jeers and soothed Kobe’s ego, Magic guard Steve Francis recognized his poster dunk for what it meant instantly. The first to greet Kobe coming down for a landing (the dazed Dwight had stumbled away), Francis greeted him with a semi-serious shove, as if to say, “OK, you proved your point… now cut it out.”

Reminiscent of The Empire Strikes Back, Kobe essentially invited the idealistic young Dwight to come on over to The Dark Side. That really isn’t the worst thing in the world for Dwight when you think about it. Dwight should just ask Ben Wallace, just another marginal, undrafted player going through the motions with the Wizards when Kobe chose to crown him Fool of the Year in an otherwise meaningless 1998 preseason game.

Consider, at barely more than three points and one measly block per game, would Big Ben even be in the League today were it not for the instant notoriety Kobe provided him? With one play, Kobe showed the would-be perennial D-Leaguer that his 6-foot-9 body was not built to take charges from guards, and as a result Ben developed the surliness and aggressiveness that morphed him into shot-block master, DPOY, and NBA champion.

In the span of just five seconds, the heckler got his message: don’t make Kobe angry… you won’t like Kobe when he’s angry.

All signs suggest Dwight is getting his message: Nice Guys Finish Last, and some will finish with a face full of an opponent’s shorts. Trying to be Mr. Nice Guy will only get your feelings hurt when the fans turn on you. You’ve got to be cold-hearted from the start, and make sure everyone knows it, if you want to succeed in this business.

And the basketball world got the message: when Kobe Bryant wants to send a message, he will authoritatively end all Play of the Year debates before the season gets a chance to warm up.

(2008 UPDATE: Almost 4 years to the day. Dwight Howard has meta-morphed his in-game composure, from one of a Clark-Kent-nice rookie to that of a Man-of-Steel-nasty All-Star. He may lead the league in dunks every season for the next decade. He’s dedicated to leading the pack this year as DPOY, maybe even MVP. And he knows exactly who to thank for steering him onto the Ben Wallace track from infamy to mega-millionaire superstardom. Kobe knows, too. “I baptized Dwight,” he’d declare with glee to reporters eager to remind him of his filthy feat anytime the Magic and Lakers face off. “I turned him into a defensive force!”)

~iyf

Fright Night Part I: Look Out… Behind You!

It’s fitting that hoops season kicks off around the week of Halloween.  At the same time ballers are getting back in peak condition to routinely soar above the rim, the rest of the free world is making their best efforts to get a good hearty scare out of people.  All the blood-bath, hardware-power-tool date flicks come out.  Fake blood and spider webs and green goo are everywhere.And parents dress up their kids to look like some washed-up-president or a werewolf or a space alien.  Over the years the NBA missed out on an opportunity to capitalize on some of the hardest-on-the-eyes players’ faces by making Halloween masks that would scare the flower pattern right off Granmama’s mou-mou.  They could’ve made a killing off of costumes featuring the ghoulish muggs of Sam Cassell, Paul Mokeski, and Tyrone Hill.

Now come Halloween time, Richard Jefferson needs nobody’s help when it comes to dressing up to look like an extra-terrestrial.  The bulby forehead and extended ears create a brutha who looks like he desperately needs to Phone Home.  That “oww-you’re-pinching-my-nose” voice doesn’t help his cause either.  But you’d best not be fooled by his otherworldly countenance and persona.  Just ‘cause RJ channels “The Great Gazoo” from the Flintstones doesn’t mean he won’t make you take him to your leader once he gets on the hardwood.  He’s made a career out of making opponents in the paint look foolish, even downright frightened, when he catches dunks on ‘em.  Here’s a couple where Jefferson produces some Close Encounters of the Filthy Kind (hey, why does a brutha always get victimized first in these things? It's a conspiracy, I swear)…

Tyrus Thomas would eventually slay the posterizing beast when he spiked one over RJ… OR DID HE????

Little did he know he created a Headless Horseman.  Or is it the Great Pumpkin? 

Tyrus couldn’t get to the League in time to save one Kevin “Whachootalkinbout??” Willis.  RJ’s windmill dunk over Willis’ shoulder in the 2003 Finals generated a lasting image of this past-his-prime-time player that’s perfectly suited for Depends undergarments ads.  As the tomahawk-wielding Jefferson springs out of seemingly nowhere , just witness the abject terror on Kevin’s face the moment he KNOWS what’s about to transpire over his head.  “It’s an Alien Invasion!  AHHHHHHHHHHH!”

Willis’ classic reaction to RJ’s monster mash was the inspiration for a series of dunks-on-defenders that focus on the reactions that make poster-worthy dunk victims, well, victims.  A “Night Gallery,” if you will (anybody remember that show? Dang, I feel old!)

This first installment of Nasteedunx Fright Night focuses on the situation when some unfortunate crab gets dunked on from behind.  These in particular create the oddest variety of momentary crap-inducing reactions from unsuspecting defenders, perfectly captured on camera for our collective humor.  You get the full gamut, from wide-eyed gasps, to cowering cringes, to spooked-out dudes scrambling desperately to just get outta the picture.

So, in honor of Halloween, here are some of the best examples of tricks gettin’ rudely treated…

You’d think teammates could be a little more helpful in communicating, especially when they get beat badly off the dribble and their dude they were fronting zips past them to the rack. Their freed opponent is either bringing the ball with him or flying in for the tip slam… heading right for another would-be defender with his back turned and eye off the play.  Instead, you get dialogue probably resembling a bad John Carpenter script:

BROKEN-ANKLED DEFENDER: Jethro!  Look out, behind you!

POSTER-BOY-IN-THE-MAKING: What?  I can’t hear you, Elroy!  Can’t you see I’m busy staring up at the rim waiting for the cherry-pick rebound? Gee, I wonder why I’m isolated down here by myself?

BUSTED-ANKLE DEFENDER: Turn around!

VICTIM-IN-WAITING: Every now and then I get a little bit tired…

B.A.D.: No! Turn your dumb a$ around! He’s coming right at you!  Above you!

ABOUT-TO-GET-PUNKED:  What? Who? Where?

((BOOM!!))

HUMILIATION-PERSONIFIED (eyes big as saucers, then squints, squirms, screams): Oh … AHHHHHHHHH!

B.A.D. (shakes his head in shame)

POSTER-BOY (rubs the back of his dome): Oww, man… Dawg, why ain’t you warn me?

B.A.D.: Oh, never mind.  My B.A.D.  Check ball.

Here are some Dishonorable-Mention snapshots.  Just when you thought it was safe not to box out…

~iyf

Where Are They Now? IX (2006, Updated 2008)

Victim # 9 – Jim McIlvaine

If you were significant enough to warrant your own Wikipedia page, you'd want a picture that represented the way you'd want to be best remembered. Smiling in a suit, maybe leaping for a picturesque dunk, at the White House with the President issuing a medal, somethin' like that. Jim McIlvaine could really use a publicist right now, at the very least a buddy who knows how to edit a Wiki page. After all, is a picture of yourself getting dunked on by Shaq as you wave your arms in complete futility the image you want to ingrain in people's memory? I suspect one of you Nasteedunx members is the culprit for this…

Jimmy Mac started and ended his career the same way, as a backup to "My Giant" and cologne supermodel Gheorghe Muresan (Where Are They Now Victim #6). The pride of Racine, Wisconsin and Marquette's all-time lading blockmeister, the 7-foot-1-incher stood out just enough during the second half of his second season with the Bullets to command a payday in a weak '96 free agent market. The talented but size-starved Sonics offered a Koncak-esque $34 mill over seven years to reap his potential, and that's exactly what they got: Potential.

Mere inches away from the rim, he would never score more than 12 points in a single NBA game. The 3.8 points, four rebounds and two blocks per game were the best Jim could muster, and it was his bloated contract that deflated the franchise's hopes when a soon-to-be-bloated Shawn Kemp (6 degrees of separation! Where Are They Now Facializer #6) decided to bail for Cleveland.

Some quotes from the 34 Million Dollar Man:

"It blows me away, I've been so fortunate. Charles Barkley is the guy who comes to mind when I think about what's happened to me. He said he was going to fire his mom, she was off the payroll, because he was born too early. I just really got lucky… A lot of people said negative things about my contract, but I don't know if it was jealousy, I think it was people looking at the numbers and saying, 'Look at how much this guy is getting paid and look at the numbers he's putting up.' I can totally understand that. But at the same time, if somebody is offering you a boatload of money, it's tough to turn down."

Color me a playa hater. ESPN, too, as they ranked it the second worst free agent deal ever (ESPN Page 2: "Fans say you're #8, but to us, you always played like Number Two.")

Jim was cut twice: once before retirement in 2001 by the Nets, then after retirement when his dramatic exploits in the movie “Shallow Hal” were left on the Farrelly Brothers' cutting room floor. His Hollywood career was cut short even faster than his mentor's (Muresan). But Mac Daddy has landed on his feet back in Wisconsin, and even became a hero, not for his sparse hoops skills, but for "giving back" to the community. Smartly avoiding a role as a dunk dummy for Dwyane Wade's practices, he waited `til the next season to surface on Marquette's campus and accepted a gig as a radio color commentator. Then he helped form a group trying to raise money to save the property of the State of Wisconsin's largest summer camp. In 2005, on Camp Anokijig he said:

"We've been told that if we can come up with $8 million, we will be able to get the place, but that's a very high amount for us," he said. "We don't have anyone who is able to pull out their checkbooks and come up with an amount like that."

Upon hearing that, apparently, somebody handed him a mirror. Brother, can you spare $34 million?

(2008 Update: He may never have had a high-performing engine, no, but he sure can take pictures of some. He picked up a hobby of automotive photography and contributes to magazines like GM High-Tech Performance, Popular Hotrodding, Kit Car, Super Chevy, and WaterSki. In ’07 he was handed Marquette’s Communications School’s Young Alumnus of the Year Award – coming soon to a pawn shop near you.

One other thing you can say about McIlvaine is he manages to wind up at the right place at exactly the right time. That goes for either showing up at the perfect time to be a tall free agent, or finding the equally tall girl of your dreams, a 6-foot-7 college hoops star and Hurricane Katrina evacuee, while surfing the web in Anchorage, Alaska.)

YOUTUBE BONUS: For all you busters who thought Jimmy Mac had NO skills whatsoever, this here’s for you. Jim McIlvaine, DANCE CONTEST CHAMPION! Looks like the “competition” in Puerto Rico was pretty light that night.

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Facializer #9 – Keon Clark

There are a small but sizable handful of basketball purists who count Keon Clark's windmill over Shawn Bradley as the best NBA dunk ever, at least the best ever on the Stormin' Mormon, which says an awful lot by itself. From a strictly degree-of-difficulty standpoint it's hard to argue against that, although admittedly I'm in the camp that says it doesn't count as a dunk since his hand never got to the rim. I'd say he made better victims out of Greg Postertag, Felton Spencer, Big Country Reeves, Pat Garrity and Scot Pollard (note to self: future Where Are They Now candidates!) and this YouTube video (thanks again Yinka!) helps make the case.

Keon's skill was he was a swift jumper, especially compared to the usual stiffs we see at 6-foot-11. With his long arms, Keon could get up-and-down at the rim as quick as anybody in the L. What's funny is, watch the Mavericks' "Home" crowd reaction above, as Keon flushes it over Shizzle Bradlizzle. Did half of Toronto move down to Dallas, or was this a residual effect of Vinsanity? Either way, it's never good when you get crowned with a Spalding on your home court and your own team’s fans go buckwild.

But with his NBA career cut short due to a bum ankle, Keon informally retired and returned to his hometown of Danville, Illinois. Not to be outdone by Jim McIlvaine, Keon also found a way to give back to his community. That is, if you consider your $66,000 Mercedes getting SEIZED only to become the property of the city's police chief as "giving back." What happened?

You see, the good news was Keon could get really high. The bad news was too often those highs had nothing to do with his leaping ability. As Chris Andersen could attest, "Marijuana is a helluva drug," and the same substance that cut short Keon's senior year at Nevada-Las Vegas (pretty bad when UNLV says they're too pious for you!) contributed to his most recent run-in with the long arm of the law. Oh, that, and cocaine, too. Oh, and alcohol, an unlicensed handgun, and driving the Benz without a license or insurance. For arrest-happy cops, this is the equivalent of holding a "full house" at the poker table. All this was discovered in a single traffic stop in September 2005. His pending DUI and drug trial on October 30 has the former NBA slammer facing up to 10 years in whole other kind of slammer. Keon's son couldn't visit him there, since Keon's legally barred from seeing him after deliberately missing child support payments. Keon's pop could come visit him in the pokey… except they would now be on the same side of the glass. Daddie Dearest killed a friend over a bicycle (wtf?) a few years ago and is doing 65 years in the cell. Hard Times!

Keon's career started out meteoric, but sadly ended up mercurial due to injuries and apathy compounded by drug issues. Just Say No, kids!

And Keon… the City of Danville thanks you!

Keon to the Toronto Star in November 2005: "You know, I really wasn't a big NBA guy. I just did it because I was good at it. I don't understand how these people can literally beat their bodies to death, for money. Why kill yourself? You won't even be able to play basketball with your kids. I'm feeling much better now that I'm not running."

(2008 Update: Sing it with me… “Maaaan On the Run! Maaaan On the Run!”

Keon straight-up ran for the border! This 6-foot-11 pogo stick of a man tried going incognito in ’07, alluding the law on that same “royal flush” set of charges. Thanks to the U.S. Marshals and probably Chuck Norris, the long arm of the law finally reached down to Texas and snagged him from a Greyhound bus. I can imagine the convo on the bus among the passengers… “Psst! Ain’t that the dude who dunked on Shawn Bradley?” “Which dude?” “Good question!”

Later in court, he explained why he always seemed full of spirit on the court. It was because he was literally full of SPIRITS on the court, throwing back fifths every halftime, and he claimed he went to Texas to hide out at a rehab center. “I never played a game sober, unfortunately,” he declared. Ya heard it right: Bradley even let a DRUNK guy throw down on him.

Good news, though. He just got out of prison, and is on parole through next summer.)

~iyf

Crammed-On Chronicles VI: LeBron James ON Tim Duncan (Don't Just Cross 'em Over. Cross 'em off Your Checklist.)

November 3, 2006

Every player has a “To-Do” list going into the season.  LeBron James certainly has his. 

In his first year, he was able to cross out the line that read, “Prove yourself to all haters,” all the people who thought he’d be intimidated by the big stage, those who insisted (hoped?) that the teenager would never amount to more than a mediocre role player. 

The next year, the list included, “Lead a team that hadn’t sniffed the playoffs since you were snapping ankles in middle school.”  LeBron scratched that off the list, too, even winning a first-round battle while attracting more Witnesses than Jehovah.

This year’s list is a little tougher:

“Make your free throws.”

“Cut down on the turnovers.”

“Drag this squad into the Finals.” 

LeBron saw an opportunity to knock off another task in just his second game of the season:

“Get the Cavs a win in San An for the first time since you were drooling applesauce on your bib.”

Not even ten minutes into the game, LeBron blows by two Spurs defenders who get suckered on a pick. Curling off the Drew Gooden screen around Fabricio Oberto (which translates roughly to “slow-footed” in Argentina), King James finds himself driving to the rim with the imposing, perennial all-Defensive Team member Tim Duncan standing below, waiting to absorb a charge call.  One would think Duncan would have learned from Marcus Camby in the ’99 Finals that this was not a great place to be, and if he was going to take the contact he should at least step completely outside the “no-charge” circle.

LeBron takes just one step in the lane before rising, when he realizes he can kill two birds with one powerful stone.  One task in his Franklin Covey checklist involves that ‘applesauce’ thing.  The other was one he has certainly heard from the few critics he has left on Earth:

“Enough with the weenies like Damon Jones and Delonte West.  For once, POSTERIZE A BIG MAN!  And make it memorable!”

A split second later, as the ball ricochets off Duncan’s dome, as the stone-faced former MVP tumbles out of bounds, as Spurs fans cough up their tamales, as commentator Hubie Brown literally soils his undergarments, and as Cavs teammates go ape-sh*t on the sideline, LeBron could faintly be heard whispering to himself:

"Check."

~iyf 

VOTE OR GET DUNKED ON!

A SPECIAL PUBLIC MESSAGE to "The American People," from your dear friends at Nasteedunx...

Remember, Your Vote Counts on Election Day, "My Friends!"

So get out there on November 4 and rock the vote... OR ELSE THE OLD CREEPY DUDE GETS IT!

(T-Bag T-Shirts available at Philly's Undrcrwn.com)

Vote Early! Vote Often! (just kidding on that last comment!)

~iyf