The Tale of a Basketball Lifer

Basketball first entered my life around 1991, at the age of 5, and as pathetic as this might sound, it has been a huge part of my life ever since. My mom always gives me a hard time about not remembering all the family trips we took and the places we went when I was a kid, but the memories I do have of that time in my life seem to revolve around 3 things: playing basketball, watching basketball, and collecting basketball cards. I used to study the backs of basketball cards as if they were the periodic table and I could recite player stats with greater ease than I could recite my own telephone number. But beyond that, many of the best friends I have had in my life have come from the basketball teams I have played on, and to this day, these teams have truly shaped the way I interact with the world around me in terms of appreciating diversity, the power of togetherness, and loyalty to those who fight alongside you.

Playing basketball and collecting cards, however, does not a true basketball lifer make, as the final step comes from adopting a team and/or player with whom you share a borderline unhealthy connection and with whom your happiness has a disproportionately high correlation to their success. I grew up in Southern California, so naturally this team was, and still is, the Lakers.  Unfortunately for me, my formative basketball years were not the ideal time to start cheering for the Lakers.  The Magic Johnson era was being replaced by the Vlade Divac era and championships were being replaced by first round playoff exits.  But I loved those early to mid-90s Lakers teams of Van Exel and Eddie Jones and Ceballos and Elden Campbell and the aforementioned Vlade.  Nothing brought this young fan more joy than hearing Chick Hearn eloquently describe Eddie Jones putting his defender in the “popcorn machine” on a drive to the basket. Well I guess I should say that almost nothing brought me more joy, as I must confess that my young basketball fandom was not a faithful one.

See the thing was that when the playoffs rolled around, I no longer had a horse in the race once the Lakers inevitably got bounced. And as I was sulking over the end of another Lakers season, a force of nature would appear and systematically take over basketball courts and TV screens across the globe, and no young NBA fan was safe.  This force was of course, Michael Jordan and his Chicago Bulls.  During the 90s, Jordan was simply inescapable, and at the age of 5, I lacked the will power to resist the magnetic force that was Air Jordan.  I didn’t see anything wrong with wearing my Lakers gear while listening to Chick Hearn call games on TV and then throwing on my Jordan jersey when the Bulls came on WGN.  It became accepted that while you loved your local team, Jordan was Jordan, and as long as he wasn’t playing against said local team, you were free to sit back and marvel at his weekly exploits as if he were a superhero in a Saturday morning cartoon.  I’m not sure there has ever been another player in any sport that has been able to transcend local allegiances in such a way that forced every kid to split their loyalty.  And I was no exception.  I had it all from t-shirts and jerseys, to posters and basketball cards, to the Come Fly With Me VHS and even a life-size Jordan cardboard cutout (which I still have by the way). My fandom (some may call it my obsession, but really, why split hairs) soon reached such a level that during close playoff games I had to leave the room because I would get so nervous that I couldn’t bear to watch, and my mom would have to call me back in when the coast was clear.

When Jordan retired in ’98, there was a hole in my basketball heart that I wasn’t sure could be filled, but then a few short years later I was able to do something I had never been able to do before, cheer for the Lakers in the NBA finals. Shaq and Kobe gave me my first taste of Lakers glory (prior to Shaq asking Kobe how his ass tastes) and I was again able to get the basketball fix I needed to feed my addiction.  Five Lakers titles later, with some not so good years mixed in, and my love of the game is still in full force.  But as I see the new generations of players come into the league, I can’t help but get a little nostalgic for the days when my passion was first cultivated; when you had to sit on the phone on hold the day tickets came out to hopefully get to a game that season; when a NBA Jam Session VHS rather than YouTube was the only way to watch highlights of your favorite players on demand; when players wanted to destroy their opponents rather than ride banana boats with them.

I know I sound like an old man yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off his lawn, but that is the NBA I grew up with so of course it’s the one I connect with most. This is not to say that I don’t marvel at a Steph Curry bomb or a Russell Westbrook one man fast break or a Lebron James demolition style drive to the rack. I have come to appreciate the evolution of the game from Elgin Baylor to Kawhi Leonard, from Bob Cousy to Kyrie Irving, from Bill Russell to Deandre Jordan (ok maybe that one is a bit of a stretch), and how the game has grown and the style of play has changed along the way. This blog is primarily dedicated to my life as a basketball fan and my thoughts on the NBA, both past and present. However, unlike my younger self, I have managed to develop interests outside of basketball as well, so occasionally, or perhaps more often than that, other things I find interesting or enjoy doing will find their way onto these pages. I’m not entirely sure yet where this is going, but in the meantime, as Jordan told me all those years ago, come fly with me.