Age Is Just A Number

The Paris Olympics are the distraction we need. ESPN has a groovy interactive feature that allows you to pick Team (d)USA’s men’s hoops starting five. After assembling your team, you get immediate feedback on how they would likely fare.

ESPN’s computer did not like my vet-heavy choices.

Stop stressing about the weather, the Presidential Election, Project 2025, and the possible end of democracy, and pick your starting five. No doubt you will assemble a younger, better team, maybe even a gold medal winning one.

Postscript. My do-over.

Happy To Help

The best and most famous women’s college basketball player of all-time is now a rookie in the Women’s National Basketball Association. Caitlin Clark, with Steph Curry-like range, set numerous records on the court and now she’s setting them off the court with multimillion dollar endorsements. And bringing unprecedented attention to women’s college and professional basketball. I can’t think of any female athlete who has captured as much of the public’s attention as Clark.

You would think WNBA players would appreciate the eyeballs and money Clark is injecting into the until now low-profile league. Like PGA players who make four times as much as they would without Tiger Woods. That’s the way to think of Clark, as the WNBA’s Tiger Woods. Tangent—her golf swing is pretty good too.

But if you thought that about WNBA players, you would be wrong. Saturday, while standing under the basket, Clark got a forearm shiver from a Chicago Sky player when she wasn’t even looking. And one of the Chicago Sky’s teammates celebrated the hit, embracing her knucklehead teammate as she returned to the bench. More importantly, those two players appear to represent lots of WNBA peeps that resent Clark’s popularity and bulging bank account.

The predominant attitude seems to be “Who the hell do you think you are?” Not, “Welcome to the league, let’s ball, and let’s (finally) make bank.” Is there something about the way Clark conducts herself that explains the antipathy? Fo sho a large part of her success has to be self-confidence which at times crosses over into cockiness. Or what the kids call “swag”. But only on the court. One wonders, does heat-of-the-moment in-game swagger justify blind forearm shivers away from the ball? Hell nah, breh.

The coverage of the hard foul away from the ball has focused almost exclusively on where were Clark’s teammates? More to the point, who is the Indiana Fever’s enforcer? So here we are with people who’d be loathe to tell their school-aged children to “hit back” screaming at their televisions for “an enforcer”.

I suspect two things are at work. I wouldn’t be surprised if that “Who the hell do you think you are” sentiment is at work in her own teammates even as they fly on Clark-inspired charter flights for the first time in league history. Way too much fame and money too early on.

Race has to play a part too. Rightly or wrongly, the Chicago Sky player and Clark’s own teammates probably think a large part of her notoriety is a result of her Iowa whiteness.

Because WNBA players have long sought a white Boomer’s advice, I’m going to give it to them. Take a cue from the Professional Golf Association at the dawn of the Tiger Woods era. It’s in your enlightened self-interest to embrace Clark in total, the long-distance bombs, the television commercials, the in-game swag, the Midwest farm girl persona.

This is a generational opportunity to double or triple your salaries. And to avoid having to play in Russia during the off-season. And to avoid flying commercial with the rest of us plebs. And in case you hadn’t noticed, your time as a professional athlete is limited.

On Sports Promiscuity

Like Cassius Clay, I grew up in Louisville, KY. At five, six, seven years old, I fell asleep listening to Louie Dampier and Dan Issel of the ABA Kentucky Colonels kicking ass.

Then a move to Talmadge, OH, close to LeBron’s hometown of Akron. My game was similar to his so NE Ohioans took to calling me LeRon. In fourth, fifth grade I fell asleep listening to the tail end of Lenny Wilkens’ NBA career with the Cavs.

Then SoCal where I patterned my game after Magic Johnson* and in 1986 bought a scalped ticket to the sixth game of the NBA finals in which my Los Angeles Lakers finally beat the dreaded Celtics.

Conventional wisdom is stick with your home team, but conventional wisdom is wrong. Like gender and race, “home” is a fluid concept. We move, life changes, the only reason to stick with your childhood teams is nostalgia.

If you think the Cav’s amazing come from behind, not NBA orchestrated, championship unleashed millions of lifelong long-suffering fans, wait until the Cubbies playoff run this fall. Nearly everyone you know will claim to be a long-suffering Cubs fan and we’ll be subjected to endless profiles of truly ancient people who’ve been waiting since pre-history for the Cubs to win it all.

Apart from LeBron, none of the Cavs are from NE Ohio. Odds are few or none of the players on your favorite, hometown team that you’ve always been loyal to are from the hometown.

Felony arrest records are another reason why fan promiscuity makes way more sense than unconditional love and loyalty. After Kobe’s infamous visit to Colorado, I began losing that loving feeling for the Lakers.

Then my Sonics were sold by that Starbucks son of a bitch, the ultimate wake up call. If teams can disappear based upon the vagaries of capitalism, you’d be pretty stupid to pledge blind fidelity to any one of them.

Despite my NE Ohio street cred, I dug the Warrior vibe the last few years. I was finding the bandwagon pretty damn comfortable. Love the long ball, the team chemistry, the high tech ownership, Curry’s daughter. So when the college senior watched the game with me for Father’s Day, and asked who I wanted to win, I told her, “Really, I don’t know, I’ll be happy for either team.”

Forty plus years later, after watching the upset and emotional outpouring, I’m definitely a Cavs fan tonight. By October, that may very well change.

 

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* One LA evening, the Gal Pal and I were standing in line at a Century City movie theatre when Magic got in line behind us. “Oh man, Magic Johnson sighting!” I said. Looking around hopelessly, “Where?!” “Ah, the only 6’9″ brother.”

All Things Considered–Long Weekend Edition

• How to teach personal finance.

• The power of the pen. The bin Laden papers were going to be released independent of Hersh’s London Review story of ObL’s death. And Hilary Clinton really wants all her emails made public. And Tom Brady’s never done anything wrong. The Obama administration says Hersh’s story is “filled with inaccuracies”. Which is a lot different than saying it’s untrue.

• Best sports presser of the week.

• Warren Buffet, minimalist. “Money has no utility to me anymore as I am very happy with what I have but it has enormous utility to others in the world. More possessions to me would actually be a liability more than an asset.”

The data was faked.

Seven uncomfortable truths about living in Norway.

• Minimum wages compliments of fivethirtyeight.com. Look out Columbus, Seattle is closing fast.

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