Why I Still Love the NBA (And You Should Too)

Flash back to 1993. I was twelve years old, adorned with my Dominique jersey, Shaq shoes (yep, those gigantic blue, white and black ones) and was the proud owner of every Michael Jordan poster that existed. I bought every trading card I could get my hands on and luckily, I had a father and mother who fully supported this obsession. Dad and I would drive far and wide to buy the best ones, I remember seeing his face light up when we found Pistol Pete's rookie card. I read every statistic and memorized it. I watched every game on TNT and NBC (I miss the old 90's intro music and those cheesy graphics). I guess it was better than taking up smoking, which some of my friends were doing already. It was fun to watch them sneak around, light up the cigarettes their older brother bought for them, and then cough violently while maintaining the "cool" face. No thanks, I will just indulge myself in free throw percentages, offensive rebounds and dunk contests.

Basketball was an escape for me. I could walk down to my halfcourt, turn on the lights at night, and shoot until my heart was content. It was so quiet down there, with the exception of my dribbling and occasional bricked shot (yeah, right). It was just me and the crickets. The halfcourt was situated next to a cow pasture, which was at the foot of a hill where several skirmishes took place during the Civil War. It was eerie at times, but honestly, when I was shooting ball, nothing could bother me. I would imagine myself as Jordan, dismantling the Blazers in the '92 Finals with a 35 point half (the Shrug game). I would be David Robinson some nights, Larry Bird in others. I would be Tim Hardaway and Magic, throwing impossible passes and weaving through defenders like they were cardboard cutouts. I would be Dr. J, attempting his reverse layup against the Lakers over and over, but never quite getting it. Anybody who knows the NBA knows exactly what shot I am talking about.  I probably took 2 million shots at that goal, wore out about 75 basketballs and played my Dad about 500 times (my record against Dad: 2-498). After our one-on-ones, covered in sweat and with dead gnats all over us, we would talk about the game. He would tell me stories about players from the 70's. We would talk about Jabbar when he played for Milwaukee. Who was the best shooter off the dribble, who was best off the screen and who would take your head off in the lane when they were going to the basket. Willis Reed's comeback in the '70 Finals. Dave Cowens diving for loose balls and basically scaring the hell out of anyone who played against him. Those stories made me love the game more and more every time I heard them. Then Mom would yell from the house, "Guys! Dinner is ready!" and we would sprint up the house and chow down. Great days.

The NBA was great in 1993. I was lucky to have witnessed, in my opinion, the greatest era in NBA history. From 1984-1993, the League flourished in talent and popularity in a manner that simply cannot be measured. Of course, the 1984 Draft changed everything, when the Blazers bypassed Michael Jordan at the #2 pick and he went to Chicago. The best player in the game (not realized at the time) going to a big market city just itching for a star. Couple that with the right supporting cast, the right coach and being ridiculously media savvy, Jordan and the NBA hit the gas and did not look back. I came of age when Jordan was at the top of his game, but so was Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Thomas, Robinson, Mullin, Wilkins, and a whole host of other phenomenal players that I loved to watch. All the great moments they produced will be in my mind forever. Like Jordan's layup in the 1991 Finals against the Lakers, Bird's steal of Isiah Thomas's pass in the 1987 Eastern Finals, and Magic's baby sky hook. I will pass these memories on to my children, just as my Dad did.

Guys like Shawn Kemp, who was one of the best in-game dunkers ever. (Dominique is still the best, I'm sorry. Windmill slam off two feet at full speed? Please.) Or the forgotten players like Terry Cummings and Sidney Moncrief. Cummings averaged over 20 points for his career, rarely missed a game, and played his tail off every single night. Too bad his best years were with the pre-Robinson Spurs, who were positively awful. Moncrief was a blanket, he absolutely shut down the perimeter, making the NBA All-Defensive Team 5 times in his career, along with 5 All-Star teams and one NBA First Team. Too bad he played in Milwaukee from 1979-1990, a small market team who played second fiddle to the Celtics for an entire decade. (footnote: check Moncrief's wikipedia page and see what Jordan had to say about him. Respect.) The expansion of the league to Charlotte, Miami and Minnesota took place, which made me happy because there were two more southern NBA teams to root for. Watching Larry Johnson, Muggsy Bogues and Alonzo Mourning was always a treat, especially in those blue/purple atrocities they called uniforms. The great Dunk Contests (I still believe Nique beat Jordan in Chicago, it was the only time I ever rooted against MJ. Nique got hosed.). Bird winning the Three Point Contest after walking into the locker room and said he wanted to know "who was going to finish second." The rivalries. The physical nature of the game and the sense of honor that the guys had on the court was palpable.The guys who played back then loved the game and you could tell. It made loving the NBA easy for a kid like me.

Of course, there were the great teams of that era, which I would put up against the Mavs right now and go straight up. The 1987-88 Lakers with Jabbar, Magic, Cooper, Worthy and Byron Scott? They could hang with Dirk and Co. So could the '91-93 Bulls, the 1986 Celtics, the 1986 Rockets, and the Bad Boy Pistons from '89-90. Of course, we had the Dream Team in 1992. A collection of the greatest players in the world (and Christian Laettner) that basically put the world on its knees, double tapped it in the back of the head and put two pennies on its eyes for the ride to the Underworld. We asserted the claim that basketball was "OUR" game and always would be. I watched every second of those games, savoring every blowout like a piece of my Grandma's pound cake.These were my heroes flexing their muscle, playing at their highest level, and doing it for America. You don't get much better than that.

As I have gotten older, the hero worship has decreased. All of those players have retired and become coaches and commentators. There have been lockouts, scandals with referees and players,contract disputes and a bad economy that have affected the popularity of the League. I admit that my interest wavered from '04-'07, the lowest point of the NBA since the late 70's, before Magic and Bird saved it. There have been rule changes that have softened the game, thanks to the brawl at the Palace. Players get technical fouls for slightest disgusted expression and suspensions are handed out like parade candy. The physical nature that I grew up watching has been replaced by a lot of touch fouls called by referees who are too concerned with the possibility of a fight starting. It's a physical game. The testosterone is through the roof. Fighting and trash talk are inevitable and I think the front office has done the players and the fans a disservice by clamping down so hard. I'm not saying hand out Glock 9's before each game. I'm saying that the League should allow a player to do some talking after a great dunk or shot rejection. It is entertaining and spawns rivalry, which makes the game better.

The game will get back to it's old self, I am convinced of this. They have a great model in the '84-'93 years. They need a Jordan-type player to take over, restore the physicality, and find a way to keep teams together so rivalries will be created. We need more Charles Oakleys and less Erick Dampiers. We need more Kevin McHales, Scottie Pippens and Gary Paytons. I see the qualities of those guys in our players now....guys like Kevin Durant, Raymond Felton, Dwyane Wade, Dirk, and Blake Griffin. The 2011 Playoffs and Finals were the best I have seen in years and it reminded me of those old Bulls/Pistons, Pacers/Knicks and Lakers/Celtics slugfests that we loved so much. This lockout will get resolved and the guys will go back to work because the love of the game is still there, no matter what anyone says.

How do I know this? Because whether it's 1993 or 2011, whether the kid is white or black, whether it's in a tiny town like Cassville, Georgia or on 161st Street in the Bronx, there is a kid shooting ball, imagining himself in the shoes of his heroes. They didn't let me down and they won't let this generation down either.