Dame Time Never Stops

To be a sports fan is to consent to a certain kind of repeating hell.

To take a ride on a fragile carousel of fleeting delights and hopes.

To have your journey hijacked by nightmares seen and unexpected.

At least that’s the kind of looping fandom experience that awaits fans of certain sports franchises. I’m not talking about perennial winners like the Yankees or Lakers or Man United. Teams with decades of titles, yet whose fans still find reasons to moan insufferably about their “misfortune.”

I’m talking about fans of cursed franchises. Like the Cubs (before they won) or the Red Sox (before they won).

I’m talking about the specific kind of prolonged cosmic agony that comes with being a fan of the Portland Trailblazers.

Live through enough of these downturns and floor drops and you’ll end up flinching at your own shadow.

Portland, an improbable place for a pro sports franchise. A tiny media market in an out of the way place. Besides being Nike’s birthplace, the Blazers have been our only point of sports pride. When the Blazers matter, so too does Portland matter. When the Blazers falter, well, um…

We’re West Coast, but we’re not LA. We’re not Hollywood, but we’re within jeering distance. It’s a a one-sided relationship that grows the chip on your shoulder. The identity of outcast and underdog is readily available. We’re a band of hippies, that place Steve Jobs fell in love with typography, a handful of Ken Kesey novels, a smattering of bookstores and strip clubs—and lush, green nature full of mountains and trees for us to get lost in and find ourselves again.

But back to the Blazers. Back to day Zero.

Us Blazermaniacs are hurting today.

There is always a dull pain, but today, for the first time in 11 years, Damian Lillard is not a Portland Trailblazer. Man, it hurts to type that.

For over a decade, his singular passion and loyalty emanated and elevated our city of roses and made Portland matter in the sports world. No, sadly we didn’t win a championship. But we became the stage of a unique and legendary basketball talent. A man who was a trailblazer in his very being. Who did things his own way. Going directly against the way things were always done, and catching flack for each of his legacy building moves.

With Nike in his backyard, Lillard went counterintuitive to three stripes, becoming the cornerstone of their basketball business and securing a 300 million plus bag in the process. He pushed through the cliche of athletes having “music” projects, and kept developing his skills, dropping tracks and albums every year as Dame D.O.L.L.A.—pulling noteworthy features along the way. From the jump, there was something different about this undersized point guard. He defied cliches and had a specific vision about who he was.

And all the while, he was a gym rat. Obsessively tuning and optimizing his game. Displaying a rare competitive drive that closely aligned with Kobe Bryant’s notorious Mamba Mentality. Kobe even recognized the greatness in young Dame, singling him out with uncharacteristic praise for an opponent. Those who knew basketball deeply, saw something in Dame’s emerging talent.

Dame continued to go off. Each season showing more bravado. Getting faster, sharper and trickier. Extending his three-point range to video game distances that forced conversations about the NBA adding a four-point line. He and Steph Curry made shooting from half-court a part of their arsenal. It seemed like an audacious one-off when Dame launched his first “logo” three, but the long distance bombs never stopped. They only grew more frequent. Dame was evolving into one of the most potent scoring machines in his era.

Slowly, Portland realized that we weren’t just watching our guy, but that Dame was putting on displays of all-time greatness. The basketball gods had illuminated his game. Dame transcended playing in a small market and showed up with a big time persona.

It was the era of Dame Time.

The accolades came. All-star appearances. Olympic gold. Impressive scoring averages. Three point records. Eventually Dame passed Hall of Fame legend Clyde Drexler to become Portland’s all time leading scorer. LeBron James even tapped Dame to co-star in Space Jam 2. Dame was the ultimate big fish in a small pond, and it never held him back. He was growing into a superstar on his own terms.

As Dame matured into a veteran, he eschewed the NBA trend toward superstar buddies joining up to create super teams. Dame emerged as the vocal antithesis of this mindset. He was determined to stay on his grind. He backed it up in his actions, on podcasts and the lyrics of his tracks. He was determined to win, unconventionally, with loyalty. It was a noble stance that drew heat and fire from media and fellow athletes the brighter Dame’s star burned. In an era that glorifies rings above all else, Dame was going to get there on his own path.

Sadly, Portland’s front office failed Dame. They failed to match his from a different time loyalty. They failed to surround him with balanced talent that complimented his outlandish game. And so, year after year, Portland languished and Dame would need to carry the entire franchise and city, making up for obvious roster holes.

There were highlights and miracles and blazes of hope along the way. There were game winners and series winners. The spotlight shone solely on Dame and Dame delivered. Earning a reputation for being an all time clutch performer. Despite never having made the NBA Finals.

There was even an improbable, cinderella run to the Western Conference Finals a few years ago. The farthest the Blazers would ever go in the Dame era. The team sadly ran out of steam and ended up being swept by Steph Curry and his Warriors dynasty. But Dame didn’t hang his head. As always, he had overachieved. He got back in the gym and stayed on his lonely grind.

All this time, for 11 years, Dame was a rock. A leader and a professional. Never dodging the media and always speaking his mind with respect. Dame is a throwback. His values are entrenched and he operates on a personal code that prides itself on loyalty and commitment.

For 11 years, we were blessed with this loyalty in Portland.

On paper, loyalty was returned. His contracts from the Blazers earned him nearly half a billion dollars, one of the richest hauls in pro sports. And that doesn’t count what his personality and story earned him from his 300 million shoe deal and other endorsements. Portland made the right business moves to reward the face of the franchise. But beyond the paycheck, loyalty was woefully lacking.

Somewhere over the course of this summer, the wires got crossed. Portland decided to move on from Dame, and unfathomably didn’t give him the heads up. Instead they went out and drafted a rookie, who has echoes of a young Dame and plays the exact same position. It was the last straw.

Portland could have worked with Dame by trying to bring in veteran pieces that complimented and enhanced Dame. That’s the basic strategy when you have a singular superstar, you build around them. But in making their brash choice, Dame’s hand was forced, and on July 1st he formally requested a trade. The face of the Blazers for over a decade wanted out.

And yesterday, he got his wish.

And for Blazer fans, our worst fears have manifested again.

Today, we add to our impressive resume of misfortune.

The tragedy and business of sports dictates that those who care most deeply about the team and its players, have zero say in the team’s path. A path that has included such spectacular lowlights as:

-Being the team that could have drafted Michael Jordan, but didn’t.

-Being the team that could have drafted Kevin Durant, but didn’t.

-And now, being the team that willfully ignored the wishes of it’s greatest player and most loyal athlete of the modern era.

Yes, woe is always us. But today is about Dame.

Today we lose a major piece of our identity for the past 11 years. No doubt we’ll have phantom limb syndrome and live vicariously through the triumphs Dame achieves in another city. It’s not possible to stop reacting to the thrill of a Dame half-court shot.

To Dame, THANK YOU.

Thank you for your class and heart. Thank you for embedding yourself into the Portland community and all the good you do in the city. Both loudly and quietly. You will forever be our true mayor.

Thank you for making Portland matter again. When superstars came into our house, you stood up for us and fought back. Thank you for the insane threes and game winners. Thank you for the professionalism. We’ve seen our share of dark and embarrassing times, but with you as our leader, there was only pride. Only class and wide-eyed truthfulness.

You made us stand up straighter and puff out our chests. We could claim you as our own and hitch a ride to the stratosphere as your star rose.

These past three months have been a lot. Amid all the trash talk and sports media hype, it still felt like the basketball gods might intervene and find a way to keep you in a Blazer uniform.

Today we know that was wishful thinking.

Anyway, go get your ring. Go get a couple.

And when it’s all said and done, we’ll beam with pride knowing our guy did it. Hell, we’ll even dream of you coming back to Portland as a champ and leading us to the promised land and that parade down Broadway you prophesied about years ago.

Bridges may have been burnt in how this all went down, but luckily this is Portland and we have a lot of bridges.

Until then, go get it Dame.

Here Come BALLERZ NFTs

NFT mania is the trend that just can’t seem to go out of style. As we hold our breathes to see if they will go the way of fleeting cultural moments like Beanie Babies or Laserdisc, each day sees them setting new sales records and grabbing more splashy headlines across the internet. Some argue they are merely jpeg files that anyone could simply right click and save to their desktop, while others claim they are the units of a global (intergalactic?) revolution.

As I was exploring the space and falling down various Discord rabbit holes, I came across a quirky little project that caught my attention: BALLERZ NFT. Like many pfp (profile pic) project, they featured 8-bit characters in various iterations. In this case, all wearing basketball jerseys and gear. Digging around surfaced precious little information. There was a website, with a high level and vague “roadmap” promising future utility and hinting at a variety of potential developments from some type of basketball arcade game, to real world meetups and parties.

The hype in the project’s Discord server fanned the flames of early members’ imagination. There was the documented fact of several project investors, Mark Cuban and Roham Gharegozlou, as well as rumors that various celebrities such as Jay-Z had already minted their own BALLERZ NFTs. Needless to say, all the talk was intriguing, even if the future was uncertain.

Then there was the steady march and countdown to the pre-sale, for which only qualified “OG BALLERZ” from the early days of the Discord were invited to participate.

Intrigued, and given early access, I minted three BALLERZ and waited for the reveal event several days later. When I signed back into the site on the Gaia marketplace, I was greeted with the following squad:

After the reveal event, the community went nuts. Hackers and coders were pulling meta data of the BALLERZ and creating all sorts of assets, from old school style basketball cards, to digital magazine covers, to 8-bit inspired team logos. All the while, the number of Discord members grew, leading up to the official public sale several days later.

With hype in overdrive, the rest of the 10,000 generative BALLERZ sold out in less than three hours. The admin of the project confirmed that there would never be more minted. This was it. Which only served to drive more FOMO and tweet storms from thirsty would-be BALLERZ looking to grab a player for themselves.

In a few weeks, the public marketplace will official open. There is wild speculation about the floor price from .5 to 20 ETH as die hard holders of the NFTs claim they will never sell. Meanwhile, the community has taken to Twitter campaigns to put the 8-bit ballers everywhere. From NBA player shoes to getting their own sneaker deals for their characters to billboards in Miami and NYC.

There’s no telling what the next chapter will reveal, but for now, the sky is the limit for this league of non-fungible ballers.

PURSUIT OF AIR

ECHOES AND RINGS

HIS AIRNESS

MAMBA FOREVER

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 10

Michael jamming out

For some reason, this is one of the indelible images of the documentary for me. Michael, wearing his funky hat and sunglasses, spinning his head around randomly and listening to music. Someone says something and he peels them off. Then he goes on to brag about how he got the album before it was released because he knew the artist. He looks loose, he looks stressed out, he looks in it. How does a guy like that blow off steam? At the time, they are sizing him up for his outside of the stadium statue, but he still has games to win. The future seems certain, but he still has to put in the work. The expectations and mystique couldn’t be thicker. Rock out Michael. Headbang away.

“I ain’t Shaq” lol

I just love how he just keeps repeating that he’s not Shaq. He’s better obviously. That a team slowed down Shaq, is irrelevant when you are talking to Michael Jordan. He ain’t Shaq.

Exhausted

Yes, there was talk of Michael and the whole crew coming back to go for their 7th championship. But I don’t know how realistic that was. Jordan especially looked completely wiped after hitting that last shot over Bryon Russell. Plus, there is the symmetry of 3+3. Perhaps a three-peat is the threshold of Jordan’s godlike basketball abilities. It seems like the lonely leadership role he assumed was especially taxing. He even gets emotional talking about it 20 years later.

I wonder what would have happened if Jordan would have shared the weight of his burden a bit more. I mean, Scottie was an all-world talent along side him, and had proven in Jordan’s absence that he could lead a team in his own way to the brink. Maybe if Jordan had stepped off the gas when it came to thrashing his teammates, there would have been legitimate reserve fuel to go for 7. Honestly, this feels like a fish story with Mike saying he’d come back for one more run. And there was the incident where he snipped the end of his finger on a cigar cutter. Another downside to that nasty habit. I remember at the time people were reporting that Jordan could no longer palm the ball after the cigar cutter thing. Cradling the ball with one hand and taunting defenders was such a big part of Jordan’s game, especially late era Jordan. Maybe the fingertip thing was the last straw for the last dance.

Crazy piano Mike

I like this image of Mike in his hotel room playing the piano as the paparazzi snapped photos. It isn’t really an interview. It’s just the cameras being there when Jordan is finally getting to take a breath. He’s crazy at the piano and saying all sorts of stuff. Unfiltered. I can’t help but see his behind the scenes personality as some kind of a late 1990s Denzel Washington character. Maybe it’s Training Day merged with He Got Game. Mike is just constantly running his mouth with supreme confidence. It forced his game to back up his enormous mouth. I guess that’s a decent motivating engine. Talk yourself into a corner so much that you have no choice but to come out and be the undisputed greatest of all time. King Kong ain’t got nothing on Michael Jordan.

I’d like to see some kind of fever dream film capturing this version of Jordan. Crazy piano, cigar Mike. I imagine a multi-perspective film like Todd Hayne’s near Dylan biopic “I’m Not There.” There could be half a dozen Jordan’s cast. Denzel Washington, Michael B. Jordan, and anyone else who can channel something about Crazy piano Mike. We’d follow these versions of Jordan around, betting on what color car was about to pass by, dancing extemporaneously to his own piano music and challenging everyone and anyone within earshot. Set it all to a late 80s, early 90s soundtrack and you might get something with visual poem aspirations like the Unauthorized Bash Brothers Experience crossed with the Todd Haynes art house vibe.

Last thoughts on the Last Dance

Wow, I can’t believe that’s over. What a perfect time capsule of an era. I felt dropped right back into those NBA seasons in the late 90s. I remember how all the twists and turns and drama felt at the time. While there wasn’t much new for Jordan fanatics, the way it was stitched together and filled with all the main personalities was well crafted. It was an enjoyable experience. I can’t help but feel the heavy hand of Jordan’s perspective on the series, but as they say, winners write history. Maybe one day we will get a fair, balanced and contentious version of what happened with Michael and the Bulls. But as a Michael Jordan fan, I’ve always been here for Jordan propaganda. Especially when the footage is so ample and gorgeous. 

The lingering questions from The Last Dance remain unanswered and will resonate forward. What did the greatness of Michael Jordan mean? Did it have wider, inspirational substance that mattered outside of the game of basketball? Or is Jordan’s story a hyper competitive distillation of what happens when the American Dream crosses paths with Corporate America. The result of the non-stop competitive drive accelerated change in sport, media, business and beyond. One man was able to use the system to his advantage, paying some sort of untold price in the process. What happens to Michael Jordan the man? The man who traded his mortality on the promise of becoming a myth and a logo for excellence. After the transaction, what is left of the man? The brand and empire marches on, meaning different things to millions of people. But what does the legacy mean to Michael? Would he change anything about what happened on his journey? It all feels so carved in stone, now that the statues have been erected and armies of feet are clad in signature Air Jordans of every possible configuration. But what lies behind the myth? What is left of the young, bleeding heart of a skinny kid from North Carolina? What remains of the man after the music of the last dance has stopped? The simple, yet complex question remains: Was it worth it?

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 9

“It became personal with me...”

When Jordan was playing, he was a living legend. Especially on his second three-peat. He was the pop culture equivalent of The Beatles. Sure players competed against him, but they were also clearly in awe of him. After the game Jordan would get approached by his opponents asking for an autograph, or if they were really brave, a pair of Air Jordans.

Reggie Miller was not like this.

Reggie Miller was a vaudeville villain on the NBA stage. He was an anarchist whose game was fueled by entire arenas booing him. He didn’t care about being likable. He was scrappy and deadly. A last second competitor who you’d want to take the last shot. Kind of like Jordan. While Reggie’s game wasn’t the mesmerizing air show of Jordan’s, Miller was a killer competitor. One of the few guys who would take it right at Jordan. He, like Jordan was also one of the legendary trash talkers of the 1990s. When these two guys clashed, there was no love lost. There were no sneaker exchanges. It’s a marvel they actually got Reggie to appear in this documentary. Ah, brings back the memories. When Jordan was out of the game playing baseball, Miller was one of the league’s brightest stars. He wasn’t going to give up the spotlight just because MJ was back in the building.

“Michael lived a different life than the rest of us,” Steve Kerr

Although basketball is a team game, Michael Jordan stood out too much to just be one of the guys. And by the end of the Bulls prodigious run, it was very much Jordan and the Bulls. You get the feeling from this documentary that it was a pretty solitary situation for Michael. He was going to the same practice gym as everyone else, but his net worth and cultural impact was on a completely different level. How could anyone relate to him at this point? Judging by the interviews with his teammates, they were always kind of kept at arms length. The weight of responsibility fell almost solely on Jordan. Sure the losses stung everyone, but Jordan was a myth maker, and he couldn’t risk a high profile failure or embarrassment. Now was no time to appear human. That’s what his 1995 comeback was about. A chance to see Jordan, the mortal. There was now no need to repeat that story beat in this myth. This was all about getting to the top of three mountains once again. There was poetry to it. There was a certain rhythm to it.

“We’re going to win game 7”

I’m struck by how sheepish and nervous Jordan looks when he makes his guarantee. It’s not supreme confidence. It’s not swagger. He is forced into giving an answer, and he tip toes into it. It’s kind of funny now to see the doubt on his face. He and the Bulls would go take care of business, but this series was clearly no gimme.

That Indiana Pacer team was a juggernaut too. They had a deeper, tougher bench than Chicago. They could keep sending big bodies at Jordan and the Bulls, and over a seven game series, it wasn’t inconceivable that they would be able to wear them down. Also, with Larry Bird as their coach, he held a psychological key that could used against Jordan. The series ended up going seven games and was riveting playoff basketball. The Bulls would advance in the last seconds of game 7, but as Jordan admitted, this Pacer team was their greatest obstacle in this three-peat. An exhausted Bulls team would advance to the Finals, again.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 6

The price of Immortality

I remember watching along at the time, that Jordan seemed different after the 1992 championship. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was lacking in motivation. But he seemed meaner, angrier and with a much stronger physique. In 1992, it almost felt like he still had some child-like innocence about him. Like the game was a joy for him to play. He reminded me of the legendary baseball player Ken Griffey Jr. who was known for smiling and blowing bubbles the whole game. But in 1993, Jordan had some kind of shadow hanging over him. Even as a kid, I remember thinking that the game didn’t look fun for Jordan anymore. He was scowling, yelling more, getting more technical fouls. Something had changed.

Here we get to see the dark side of being Michael Jordan, the man everyone wants to be like. The doc shows take after take of Jordan delivering the same line over and over again in a high production interview session. Just imagine sitting in all those interviews, commercial shoots, media junkets, after practice talks, etc. Imagine having to be fully on and in character as super human Michael Jordan at all times. Think about how even celebrities and politicians were affected by Michael. This was never really about basketball. This was a grand business experiment in crafting an image. It was corporate politics. In an era before transparency and social media, with enough time and money, someone could create a sexy, mysterious, globally beloved image—and offer the public no real view into the human at the center of it. Michael Jordan’s life turned into a real life Truman Show level reality show. Only the cameras weren’t all access. We were flooded with the most premium images and videos in a high spending media era. The result was that we were sold an idea. The idea of the people’s champion. The idea that if you pursue greatness you have a fighting chance of achieving immortality. A 360 dunk here. A Big Mac there. Spike Lee holding up some Air Jordans over there. And Michael Jordan holding up another NBA championship trophy. Turning into the singular narrative arc in a team sport. He was marketed more as an individual athlete, like a tennis player or a golfer.

And then, at the end of the day, Michael Jordan would go back to his hotel room, alone. A human behind closed doors, taking a deep breath, puffing on a cigar and pondering the media monster he was complicit in creating. Was he driving the businesses surrounding him? Or were the business sucking him dry and driving him? As he deliberated, the mountains of cash piled up for everyone involved. And the trophies piled up for Michael. The Michael Jordan Project had reached peak saturation levels. Perhaps foreshadowing that the “first” end was near…

The Jordan Rules

I read the Jordan Rules book as soon as it came out. I was hungry to learn more about what made Jordan and the Bulls tick. All we got back then were nightly highlights and high production glimpses like Nike commercials and team highlight videos. On VHS. The Jordan Rules represented a fly on the wall view into the mystique of the budding dynasty. The press hype for the book was vicious, looking to take down Jordan as a bully. As a certified (certifiable?) MJ fan, I braced for the worst.

The accounts I found in the book were just a collection of anecdotes that just sounded like team sports. Players talking trash, fights breaking out in practice, alpha personalities exerting their dominance. All the episodes sounded like what I had already experienced on my teams. I breathed a sigh of relief. The Jordan Rules was shocking to non-competitive minds who believed that everyone deserved a participation ribbon. But to anyone who had ever dreamed of winning anything, there was nothing out of line. The only difference between what was going on between MJ and his teammates, and what happens in every high school locker room was that it was happening with famous millionaires. However, if the Jordan Rules were an attempted smear campaign, they seemed to have the opposite effect. They merely became another gospel account of Jordan’s legendary competitive nature. He was emerging as a kind of Steve Jobs of competitive sports. Stressing every detail. Demanding the best out of the weakest links. And as they say, you can’t argue with the results.

Going for 3 / The Knicks

The Knicks presented a more made-for-TV version of the Bad Boy Pistons. Pat Riley had stacked the Knicks with hard-nosed defenders who had crafted an identity out of slowing the game down to a wrestling match. The Knicks could control the pace and score of the game. They would be perfectly happy with a final score of 62-57. They weren’t going for highlights. They were playing the long game. They wanted to mentally and emotionally drain their high flying opponents.

There would be flare ups in the match up, but not to the Pistons versus Bulls levels. I think Jordan and Patrick Ewing were too good of friends for true hatred to spill into the series. Still, the series was a spectacle and felt vital with the key matches being played at Madison Square Garden. It was truly must see TV. The Bulls got down in the series, but Jordan willed them back after spending some late nights, soul searching, in Atlantic City. A foreshadowing of darker headlines looming on the horizon.

“I have a competition problem”

This episode fully slides into Michael’s well-publicized gambling hobby. He seems in full denial of having a problem—but as he says, he is well-funded and still more than able to provide for his family. Everyone has to blow off steam somehow. When your bank account has that many funds in it, even the side bets become shocking headlines. But taken in context, maybe it’s overblown. Of course, we don’t like our heroes to have vices, so it’s a reality we all must reconcile. To me, it seems huge and noteworthy that no one has ever accused Jordan of betting on his own performance on the basketball court. Maybe he has a gambling addiction, but it appears there are boundaries.

After months of not talking to the media, this is how Jordan dressed when he went on national TV to deny he had a gambling problem.

And yet again, we see how Jordan takes headlines and barbs thrown at him in the press and eats them for breakfast, as his fuel to power himself and his team to another victory. It’s almost like he needed to power up the Knicks to Bad Boy Piston levels, so he spent a late night gambling, created a media scandal around that, and then had a basketball team and negative press to overcome. As though he needed to get the last laugh. “Who cares if I’m up till 1am in the playoffs playing cards, my performance didn’t suffer. Maybe it was enhanced.”

Michael gets the last laugh. Again.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 5

“That Laker Boy”

Man, this is emotional seeing Kobe Bryant talking about his idol so soon after his death. Kobe is back to life, full of life, tickled to be talking about his hero and literal role and game model. I find this relationship fascinating. For such a vengeful person as Jordan, it seems surprising that he would have embraced Kobe and put him under his wing. And really, this relationship was a clandestine one. Until the memorial for Kobe, when Jordan detailed some of their connection and signed out by saying “Rest well little brother,” the world never really had an eye into what was going on between the two all-time greats. There could be a whole documentary examining what that mentorship was like.

It was also revealing to see the throwback footage of a veteran Jordan talking trash about “that Laker boy” in the lockeroom of the All-Star Game. Surrounded by the game’s elite, Jordan almost seems defensive in obsessively talking about Kobe. It’s like he realized the young Bryant was a formidable threat, even at age 18. It speaks volumes that the young gun Kobe could get in Jordan’s dish like that. If only we had that time machine that could let peak Jordan and Kobe go at it. You know they would both relish in the chance to prove themselves. And we would all benefit from the spectacle of seeing fierce competitors locked in a battle for securing their all time legacies.

It really seems like Kobe “got” Jordan, and vice versa. Kobe faced the ridicule of “copying” Jordan’s game. I’ve never really understood that criticism. Why wouldn’t you copy the greatest to ever play the game? And so what that Kobe had the physical gifts, and mental approach to emulate MJ better than anyone else. Kobe was a pure disciple of Jordan, and for everyone wishing for the second coming, I hope they enjoyed Kobe while he was here. There was a fluidity to the fire that both players played with. I won’t get sucked into the GOAT argument here. For me, Jordan is the unshakeable king. But I also hold Kobe and LeBron in high regard. It’s like appreciating the work of different artists. Just because I love Picasso doesn’t mean I must disrespect Van Gogh. Generational sport talent is no different. I will say that Jordan touched the psyche in a more mythic way than Kobe or LeBron ever did. Jordan was almost like living, flying pop art. He was a Warhol can of soup. He was a Darth Vader wielding a lightsaber. He wasn’t just a basketball player, he was an icon. A personification of greatness. Maybe Mohammed Ali was the only other persona from sport to ascend to this kind of rarified position. Jordan was the perfect storm of basketball talent and a sustained and genius image making experiment. He transcended the sports pages and became an indelible meme on our psyches.

Signing with Nike

It’s funny to see the whole Nike singing reduced to a simple “My parents made me do it.” It’s one of those great time machine moments, where you go back in time, have Mike sign with Adidas and see if the story and cultural storm reaches the same zeitgeist. I’m a longtime Nike and Jordan fanboy to believe that it was the particular fusing of the man and the brand’s DNA that created the cultural impact they did. Nike was taking big swings and risks to get their athletes into popular culture, before that was a given pipeline. Other brands celebrated sports stars. There is a key distinction there for those paying attention.

Being “bigger than basketball” is now a common mantra. Now every season a handful of athletes are tagged “game changers.” Top athletes are now expected to be singer brands—taking to social media with the eloquence and ambition of CEOs and global business moguls. But before Jordan, bigger than basketball wasn’t a thing. Yes, you could be very good at the game, and become a superstar on the court. But there was no pathway to connect sport stars with a global business platform. Jordan created that template. Jordan excelled at the game on and off the court. He showed up to the arena in a fine suit, in an era where everyone else was wearing baggy sweatpants and hoodies. He defined a whole other type of game. And that separation built an unshakeable image and eventually moved untold billions of dollars in products.

1992 NBA Finals 

This series was a watershed moment for me personally. It pitted my favorite player, Jordan, against my favorite team, my hometown Portland Trailblazers. All year long there had been growing hype that the dream Finals matchup would be Michael Jordan versus Portland’s Clyde Drexler. Time has faded Drexler’s star from popular memory, but at the time, it was a vital debate. Jordan and Drexler finished first and second in MVP voting. Their games were similar—both predicated on owning the airspace high above the rim and delighting fans with insanely creative dunks.

The Last Dance doesn’t delve very deep into this series, other than to highlight Jordan taking offense at being compared to Drexler. And as Mike says, “that’s all I needed.” However, the series, wasn’t a sweep. It was tied 2-2 after four games. The Blazers had a chance to send the Bulls to their first ever Finals game 7, when they took a commanding 15-point lead into the fourth quarter of game 6, at Chicago Stadium. Phil Jackson and the Bulls even seemed to concede the game, resting Jordan for the fourth quarter, as a bunch of Bulls scrubs and Scottie Pippin mounted a comeback that would result in Chicago’s second title.

Clyde Drexler was a great player—he was even certified as one of the 50 greatest NBA players of all time. He was a member of the legendary Dream Team alongside Jordan. However, in this one-on-one duel with Jordan on the highest stage, he couldn’t pull off the upset. Clyde the Glide was a soft-spoken assassin. He didn’t talk trash. He didn’t give memorable quotes. His value lay entirely on his other worldly athleticism and all-star abilities on the court. He seemed mild mannered. He was knocked for not having a killer instinct. In the end, Jordan’s force of personality and unwavering obsession to dominate won the day. I just history would remember how hard the Blazers pushed Jordan’s Bulls. It wasn’t a cakewalk, even though the series has turned into a footnote in the narrative of Michael Jordan’s transcendence.

The Dream Team

This was absolutely the moment Michael Jordan became the clear face of the NBA. And maybe the brightest that an American athlete could possibly stand on the world’s stage. Magic and Bird were alongside him, as the icons of the 1980s, to pass the baton and sit back and watch as MJ took the pedestal they built and elevated it by an order of magnitude. The Dream Team would captivate Europe and plant the basketball seed in the hearts of a next generation of talent that would turn the continent into a hotbed of talent. 

Here we get another tale of vengeance as Jordan and Pippen vilified poor Tony Kukoc who had been drafted by the Bulls. These kind of stories feel frivolous and childish taken one at a time—but seeing these beats of imagined revenge pile up, you really see how the motivational engine of Jordan’s psyche worked. It all seems like a ripple affect of Jordan being bullied by the Pistons. Once he conquered his demon, that bullying instinct worked itself into his DNA until he in turn felt the lust of “administering pain.”

All this Dream Team footage has been poured over and used in other docs before, and it’s also interesting to see how even at the time, all of the other stars clearly looked up to Jordan. Just how he wanted it. He had a magnetic aura that set him apart, even when he was on a team of the 12 greatest basketball players ever assembled. Jordan was something else then, and the legend has only solidified his differences since then.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 4

More Detroit beef

It’s funny how this Detroit versus MJ rift is getting dragged back into pop culture. To fans who lived during that era, this is nothing new. But it is interesting hearing from all sides a couple of decades later and seeing how much hate still festers. It’s dramatic sure, but after all this time it feels so petty. Detroit got theirs and then the Bulls figured out how to win. That’s history. I guess it shows you how intensely it stoked Jordan’s competitive spirit. It’s almost like he still seems himself as a victim of the Piston’s bullying. Even though he got the last laugh. And you’ve gotta love how Isaiah Thomas doesn’t give an inch. He just sits there smiling and saying “things were different then.”

It’s also funny how we learn that Jordan would get on his teammates for showing any signs that the Piston’s antics were getting to them. But here he is, going on and on about how much what they did bothered him. It seems like Mike could throw far more shade if he played the “Detroit who?” card. But that’s not how the melodrama of this series goes down. It fans the flames of a decades long feud. Horace Grant still seems particularly snippy about those battles with the Pistons. To be honest, it’s kind of off putting to hear the 6-time champion Bulls and undisputed owners of the 1990’s carrying on about the Pistons. Maybe it was a filmmaking call to crank the drama up this much. It’s just kind of like, we get it.

I do think Jordan has a fair point about sportsmanship. It was a low blow for the Pistons not to shake hands at the end of that series. But that’s who they were. They were like method actors. Living up to their Bad Boys moniker. But you know how much it had to hurt Jordan in the three years before, coming up to Thomas and the others, in the face of defeat and giving them a quick shout out. That would be enough to sway me, because you know how hard that must have been for Jordan. Year-after-year. A three-peat of failures at the hands of the same smug villains. But I do agree with Thomas, that it was a different era then. It’s not like today when all the players grow up playing traveling ball since they were 11. Back then, the money was less and the void was filled with pride and ego. Those were the table stakes. These days, even the 6th man might be making some sweet 8-figure deal. Who cares about an early exit when it also means early summer vacation. This wasn’t the case in the eighties or early nineties. You were playing for keeps. Playing to be remembered or forgotten. The money came later. Because these characters made the game so damn compelling.

1991 Finals: Magic versus Michael

Lifelong Blazermaniac here. This chapter of the story is hard to watch. It should have been Portland facing the Bulls in their first NBA Finals. Cue the avalanche of NBA conspiracy theories. But I remember the pain of watching the one-sided refereeing as the Blazers played the Showtime Los Angeles Lakers. It nearly went 7 games, but you could feel the whole country outside of Portland, and the world beyond, hoping for the marquee Magic versus Michael final. Michael versus Clyde Drexler would have to wait.

The Lakers weren’t even that great of a team at this stage in Magic’s twilight. Pippen easily found a way to shut him down by picking the legendary point guard up in full court coverage early in the game. Magic and his Lakers were knocked off balance and never really recovered. The league just needed the torch to be passed. Jordan was crowned king and a first time champion.

Original Jordan crying meme

The image of Jordan clutching the Larry O’Brien trophy, being consoled by his father, with tears streaming down his face—was an informative moment as a young sports fan. I’d gown more used to straight up meathead celebrations of NFL titans hoisting trophies and spraying Champagne with frat boy verve. Or baseball players shouting cliches about going to Disneyland. So, it was eerie and revealing as hell to have the postgame camera drift into the Bulls locker room and find the world’s most cutthroat competitor at his most vulnerable. Air Jordan had been reduced to a puddle after his achievement. 

I think this was one of my earliest indications that sport could mean something more. It could be something deeply personal and important. It wasn’t just playing a game. Or racking up wins and losses. There was something deeper going on here. And to see a hero like Jordan expressing this side of himself uncontrollably validated a single-minded pursuit of excellence in sports. There was something meaningful waiting at the end of the dark days and late nights of training. There was enlightenment or transcendence or something that my young mind couldn’t quite figure out. But I couldn’t take my eyes off of Jordan and what he was doing. His narrative locked in after that first championship. His quest for greatness became the defining narrative of the 90s. The whole world was along for the roller coaster.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 3

Dennis the Menace

Finally, we get the full on Rodman episode. Based on him getting a whole episode, you can tell that Jordan loves the guy. His colorful antics, and hair, easily distracted people from the immense talent he had. But watching Jordan, Pippen and Phil Jackson talk about what Rodman gave to those teams, you can see how valued his skills were.

The second three-peat Bulls were so beautiful to watch. They all knew the triangle offense and the ball zipped freely around court until it ended up in the hands of whoever had the open shot. It was an offense full of savvy, high IQ ball players, and it literally ran like clockwork. But, sometimes, the shots just weren’t falling. Sometimes MJ or Pippen were spent. 

That’s when Dennis would step in.

You could feel Rodman turn it on when his team needed it. When the energy just wasn’t there. He would find a way to get under the opponents skin, in a way that sparked the whole game. His elbows or flops or theatrics of the night would really fire up what ever pour soul he was guarding. Suddenly a humdrum game transformed into something electric. Sometimes it was as simple as Rodman jumping over the scorer’s table to track down a loose ball. Whatever his tactic was, the team responded. The fuel tanks got refilled. The crowd level raised. Suddenly Michael and Scottie would enter stage right and go back into being Superman and Batman or whatever dynamic duo you want to call them. But Rodman was always right there in the mix when it counted.

I liked the little subtext of Pippen returning to the Bulls after Jordan had formed a bond with Rodman. It’s almost like Scottie didn’t want to be left out. When he came back, the team gelled. Weird Dennis had been tamed enough, and repented enough from his Bad Boy Piston days. It seemed like it would be an obviously dysfunctional relationship, but it ended up being a highly functioning one.

I don’t think the Bulls are guaranteed to win three titles in a row without Rodman. He had to guard the biggest and best scorers on the other side. He waged mortal battle with Shawn Kemp, who was at the height of his powers, to get that first title in 96. Then he fought Karl Malone, twice. Look up the highlights on YouTube—Rodman played a pivotal role in how he shut down those guys. They got their numbers, but you could tell his psychological relentlessness grated on them. He created an edge and filed it down over the course of a series into a razor’s point.

I think this documentary is going to help secure Rodman into the Bulls legacy. Right where he should be.

The Bad Boys

In Rodman’s first act, he was a part of the notorious Detroit Pistons. They dispatched my beloved Portland Trailblazers in 1990, so I had a strong rooting interest for Jordan to bring their dynasty to an end in 1991. For Jordan, it was the culmination of three years of futile agony. He finally slayed his dragon, and in the process, Detroit create an absolute monster of the ages.

Without the Pistons thuggery, I don’t know what becomes of Michael Jordan. He probably wins a title or two—but without those disturbing runs through the depths of basketball hell, I don’t think Jordan ends up with the massive psychological chip on his shoulder. I mean look at the guy talking about the Pistons 30 years later. He’s that affected by what those guys did to him! 

Jordan needed revenge. And in the process, vengeance became the defining trait of his competitive drive. It wasn’t enough to win. There had to be stakes. There had to be humiliation on the line. And as Jordan says, he wanted to “administer pain.” His wounded psyche from failing against the Pistons in the late 80s, left an imprint that would go on to haunt the basketball world in the 90s.

I respect the Pistons. I don’t condone what they did, but it’s impressive how they were able to carve a unique and feared identity. They didn’t try to compete with the Hollywood slickness of Magic Johnson and the Lakers. They didn’t try to play old school ball like the Boston Celtics. They acted like a street gang. They played like thugs. And they had enough talent and charisma and shamelessness to play that way long enough to carve out their own dynasty. In the theater of basketball, Jordan fans everywhere owe a debt of gratitude to those Bad Boys for making Jordan’s trials as compelling as they did. It was good versus evil. It was air versus crowbars. 

When the Bulls finally vanquished the Pistons, who else could possibly stand in their way? The Knicks and various Finals challengers from the west would make their token efforts. But no one ever owned the Bulls, and Jordan’s ego, like the Pistons. When Jordan slayed his dragon, he was gifted a decade of dominance. Well earned. Hard fought. And apparently still a set of demons he is still wrestling with to this very day.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 2

That Celtics’ series

It’s crazy how many short and mid-range jumpers Jordan hit in this early phase of his career. His jump shot for still looks the same as it did in his college days. It’s still a bit raw and not as refined as it would get later in his career. Also, the guy is hitting no three pointers. It’s all dunks and jump shots. It’s awesome seeing the Celtic legends Larry Bird and Danny Ainge talking about that playoff series. Nothing but praise. They realize that Michael was turning the game into something different. It was a special performance, peak young Jordan. As Bird said, he’s never seen anything like it before or after that series.

Pippen stews

I remember the narrative about Pippen being underpaid and asking for a trade. It was such a transition period for the NBA. In the 1980s you had players who had to have second jobs to support themselves in the off-season. Then the Bulls game through, turned the sport into a pop culture phenomenon, and suddenly the TV and marketing deals just swell up. Everyone wants a piece of what Jordan, Pippen and the Bulls created. But Pippen’s contract was locked in, long-term before the money really started pouring in. He was caught in the middle. He surely deserved to get some more coin for the popularity he was responsible for bringing to the game. Yet, as the documentary shows, the Bulls management weren’t willing to renegotiate. An unfortunate sour note in an otherwise soaring narrative of team dominance.

Late night WGN rebroadcasts

Way back in time, before streaming services, before Instagram, before Facebook even, there were a limited number of television channels. One of the national channels you could get anywhere in the US was the local Chicago station, WGN. So back before League Pass, if you wanted to, you could watch every Bulls game live if you wanted. 

Looking back now, there was something magical about tuning into WGN on a random weekday evening in January. There were no stakes. The playoffs lay waiting far on the other side of winter and spring. But there was basketball, and there was Michael Jordan. It’s funny thinking of this now, in this era of insanely hyped up YouTube mixtapes. On WGN, watching the Bulls was almost casual viewing. The crowds wouldn’t be that hyped in Milwaukee or Charlotte or wherever the Bulls happened to be playing. You would just dive through the worm hole and get to be a fly on the wall in stadiums across the US as Jordan and the Bulls would come to town. There was no fanfare, aside from the local Chicago announcers pulling out their best hyperbole to describe MJ’s latest aerial feat. 

But a lot of the time, the game just kind of dragged. And it was beautiful. You’d see Michael Jordan just moving around the court, sometimes not even touching the ball. But when he did, it was electric. The crowds he was visiting wouldn’t make much noise as he beat up on their home team, but he kept on at a constant clip. Racking up dunks and stats. Slowly building, almost behind the scenes, to something that would add up to be seen by all. These little nightcaps became a comfort food. Something to unwind to after a day of school and an evening of practice. A little competitive snack. Somewhere, in middle America, the Bulls were silently marching.

“THE LAST DANCE” REVIEWED - EPISODE 1

OK here we go. I’m just going to be dropping thoughts and associations that hit me as I watch this thing. I grew up watching Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen and the 1990’s Chicago Bulls. Like so many in that era, their story became a part of my DNA. It shaped my mentality as an athlete. It gave me a framework to approach challenges. It gave me an attitude that carried me through high school and college. They were my Beatles. It’s the documentary we’ve been waiting to be released for over 20 years. As Michael Jordan has become a kind of generalized global meme for dominance, I think it’s good to look back at the details. I have distinct memories of watching Jordan throughout his career, and this is gonna be a treasured walk down memory lane.

No one had shown this kind of creativity and flair in basketball before. Young Jordan was a freak of athleticism that looked like nothing else in sport.

“Mike”

As a long time Jordan fan, I remember an MJ that was simply called Mike. Before the statues. Before the weighty legacy. Before the championships. Just from an aesthetic standpoint, he was a guy who jumped off the screen and into your living room. A guy who froze time and demanded to be put up on your bedroom wall. He didn’t look like anyone else. And he sure didn’t move like anyone else. Sure, basketball is a fun game. But culturally, it felt on par or maybe even behind other major sports, until Jordan came along and did his thing. Sure he had influences and peers, but the combination of his swagger, tongue wave, killer shoes, baggy shorts and game high above the rim, transcended anything we had ever seen before. He was different. He was new. He was important. He reached into a rarefied level of our collective imaginations. It wasn’t just basketball. It wasn’t just a sport. It was somehow bigger. And we all bought into it.

Who was this rookie that came out oozing with swagger? Who did this Mike kid think he was?!

Carolina Air

This is a nice refresher seeing all of the North Carolina footage. His championship winning shot over Georgetown gets reposted so much, that you kind of forget just how damn springy he was back then. Soaring into the air to block centers out of nowhere. Finishing two handed alley-oops. His game is rawer and more based on instinct, but you can see all the athletic building blocks that he will just keep accumulating talent onto as we move forward.

The dynamic duo

I know this whole series is about the 97-98 Bulls, but I just have to recount how I remembered them. I watched most of their games. I saw them play in person. And I watched every single playoff game. This is what I remember thinking. Jordan AND Scottie Pippen are unstoppable. Within the triangle offense, they had the two-man game on lockdown. On both ends. They toyed with opponents. It was the most fearsome full-court double team press I’ve ever seen. I mean, that’s not even a thing in today’s NBA. The Bulls pulled out a trap whenever they needed to make a comeback. They made their opponents so jittery. Especially the young teams, who couldn’t stand up to the aura of the mighty Chicago Bulls. But it never, ever, ever felt like a one-man team. Jordan was the global icon and transcended the sport into being a cultural icon, but in basketball terms, Scottie Pippen was a legit, MVP, all-world talent on his own. Hell, he was the second best player on the vaunted 1992 Dream Team. Pippen alone nearly took the Bulls to the championship when Jordan bowed out to play baseball for a season. I think that’s partly what spurred Jordan back to the Bulls. The realization that, damn, they almost won without me. Scottie Pippen was scary good. And I think Jordan himself feared what would happen to his legacy if Pippen were to win a championship or two on his own. So, back to basketball Jordan came. 

You don’t want to face this double team.

Jordan and Pippen as interchangeable parts. Bringing out the best in each other.

Superman, Batman and Rodman

This time, after the dust of the first three championships had settled, the world sensed what they were missing, and the final three championships became a farewell tour for this legendary team.  The media savored everyone moment of it. Sure the Bulls were iconic before. But from 1996 to 1998 they were legit gods, live on tour. Throw in Rodman, for some insane rebounding skill, the dated Madonna backstory and a healthy dose of what the hell is that guy doing here. And the Bulls were off and running once again. This time with a fully expectant, global audience. The Beatles of basketball. There has been nothing as culturally magnetic in sports for that prolonged period of time ever since. Sure teams have piled up great records and won fistfuls of championships. But they haven’t had that intangible, mesmerizing factor that those late 90s Bulls teams did. Everyone else is playing a sport, and maybe at an elite level. But the Bulls were engaging with destiny and legend. Modern myths using 90 feet of hardwood as their stage. This was not X’s and O’s. This was cosmic stuff.

Rodman demanded all the attention along with all the rebounds. His addition to the Bulls added toughness and a healthy dose of tabloid entertainment. The latter era Bulls had it all!

Oh boy, this series is gonna ruin me…

Dame D.O.L.L.A.

Mamba Up

Kobe rose into our consciousness as I was in the middle of chasing my own athletic potential. And while I played basketball through high school, Kobe’s mentality and work ethic really touched my psyche as a baseball player. From high school to college to having a professional tryout as a pitcher, Kobe's mentality became a template for how I pursued and pushed my craft.  Being a Portland Trailblazer fan, it was a bit of an identity crisis to find myself respecting a Laker so highly—but his passion for training and pursuit of excellence was impossible not to respect. Kobe became my mental standard in how I looked at my preparations as a baseball player.

Watching Kobe and reading articles about his single-mindedness spurred me to compete at every phase of the game. Even in practice. Even in a “walk-through.” Even throwing into a net during an after practice session with no one looking on, I’d find myself thinking, how would Kobe approach this? It drove me to focus and compete for every moment. Every drill. To chase after every morsel of success. To stay hungry about proving myself. I also learned to never be satisfied. Even when the coach says “great job” or your teammates cheer your efforts, Kobe taught me to look inward and ask “was that really your best man?” Because of looking to how Kobe and Michael Jordan competed, I took a daily look at what I was doing.

In recent years, now that my on field days are through, I found myself connecting with Kobe again as a father of daughters. I respected and admired how he was passionate about his girls. How he shared his love of the game with them. And I was just inspired of that immense pride that came through when he would talk about them. Today I mourn the loss of Kobe, Gianna and the others lost. But I celebrate the inspiration, dedication and love that Kobe expressed and so freely shared with the world. The impact and lessons from his life and game will resonate forever.

Here Comes Rui Hachimura...

With everyone in NBA circles focused on the hype around Zion Williamson, I think people might be sleeping on Rui Hachimura. While he was a very much heralded lottery draft pick (the first player from Japan to ever go that high) he wasn’t necessarily viewed as a slam dunk. He was seen as athletic, unselfish and pretty much viewed as a defensive specialist. However, this is a guy who has shockingly only been playing basketball for about seven years. And given the leaps he took at Gonzaga in his second and third years, it’s not ridiculous to imagine another leap or two from what we’ve already seen. With his play in the recent FIBA world basketball championships, he showed that he could carry the offensive load, and at times even dominate. This was something he didn’t need to show on a more balanced Gonzaga offense. But now that he has shown the ability to dominate on both ends of the court, I expect his stock to rise even more. There will always be an adjustment period for rookies as their bodies get used to going against much larger and more athletic players. But the flashes Rui has shown could turn into something truly special once he hits his NBA stride.

NBA Finals Game 1 MVP Troll

Drake took control of the NBA Finals. Exerting his presence from the sidelines and executing God’s Plan. Transmitting his aura into the prehistoric spirit of the Raptors. While some refer to Drake’s actions as “antics,” the final score left no doubt as to who controls the Finals. It’s Drake. Drake controls these Finals. Not since Spike Lee has their been an uber fan willing to put a franchise on their back and carry it to Larry O’Brien glory. Drake is unstoppable. The lint picking was the shoulder shrug of these Finals. While Drake has yet to insert himself into the lineup, he has inserted himself into the storyline and central intrigue of these Finals. How will Klay Thompson respond? Will Steph’s father or mother step up? With Curry and company busy and tied up with the Raptors on the floor, Drake is free to roam like the spirit animal and “Clever Girl” Velociraptor mascot that he is. It’s like that scene in Jurassic Park where Timmy and Lex are scrambling around a kitchen trying to evade a hungry pack of velociraptors. Only in this version, the raptor picks lint from Timmy’s head and then eats whoever he damn well pleases. Perhaps Draymond Green is the Tyrannosaur in this amber encased metaphor? Only in this version, there is no stopping Drake from ruling Isla Nublar and putting Hotline Bling on blast over the park PA system. Sparing no expense. It’s gonna be electric fence wire bling if the Warriors think they have the pop cultural muscle to step to Drake’s neck-bearded swag. They’re already fenced in.

Western Conference Finals!!

As a lifelong Portland Trailblazers fan, playoff success is usually a once a decade luxury. 1992 saw us battling Michael Jordan and the Bulls on their path toward eventual immortality. 2000 saw us on the cusp of returning to the Finals, only to experience one of the most brutal collapses in sport history in the final 12 minutes--rolling out the red carpet for Shaq and Kobe's Lakers to startup their dynasty. The next decade was filled with scandal, catastrophic injury and unending heartbreak.

Phew.

I'm just going to enjoy this moment. Who knows what happens from here. But the Portland Trailblazers are heading back to the Western Conference Finals for the first time in 19 years. Being a sports fan is a relative experience--and as a Blazermaniac, this moment means something. Because in those moment, the dream is alive in Rip City. 

The city of Portland has a long memory. Our basketball heroes (and villains) become local folk heroes that stay engrained in our consciousness. Each season brings another ring around the shared tree trunk of Portlandia. We mark time with the ups and downs of the Blazers. In this moment, we will wax poetic. We'll focus on the rainbow and not the rain. Because in this moment, we are one of four teams left with a chance for glory.

So here's to Dame Lillard, CJ McCollum and our entire band of merry Blazers. It sure has been a long strange trip. Next stop, the Bay to face the seemingly invincible Golden State Warriors to see who rules the West.

Go Blazers!

The Mamba Mentality Reviewed

I just finished reading Kobe Bryant’s first book, The Mamba Mentality: How I Play. In which he basically cements the late career caricature of Kobe Bryant that fans of the game know and expect by this point. These are the musings of Kobe Bryant as some kind of basketball playing Chuck Norris meme. Talking in the first person to make it feel conversational, but still having the egotism of an athlete speaking in the third person. The Mamba Mentality is basically the Nike #KobeSystem commercial, adapted into an ebook. It’s a funny schtick and vehicle for trash talk, but you know there is something deep and insightful lurking under the surface.

Where you want to find something revelatory, you are presented with vignetted takes that feel like rushed off afterthoughts between movie viewings on a long international flight. It’s like if Seth Godin wrote about basketball. The first half of the book speaks in recycled locker room talk that anyone who played high school sports will be well familiar with. It’s the rah-rah fare of “give your blood, sweat and tears to the game and the game will give back to you.” Where you are hoping for a deep cut or a behind closed doors anecdote of a private chat with Phil Jackson, you get a rearranged version of something your high school jayvee coach told you.

The most interesting part of the book is the second half which focuses on Kobe’s discussion of “his craft.” Core NBA fans will be familiar with most of Kobe’s inspiration and thoughts on his competition, but it’s still enjoyable to hear the specifics of how he approached particular matchups. He riffs on the career arcs of KD, LeBron, James Harden and others who came up behind him. There are some solid bits in their about how he led Team USA to gold medal glory.

The Shaq-Kobe “feud” is presented the way it’s been told ever since the two publicly reconciled a few years ago. Kobe goes on about how the “beef” was fabricated by Shaq and himself to keep the other players on edge and carry their weight. I always felt the alleged rift was more Hollywood fiction than the media presented it as. They were just too good and dominate together to believe that they would actually be warring. Needless to say, there is no shade thrown at Shaq.

The best anecdote for me was when he was discussing infamous and self-proclaimed “Kobe-stopper” Ruben Patterson. Of course he called out the red flag waving nature of Patterson’s claim, but he offered up an interesting counter. Kobe confessed that Patterson was making the claim in order to drive up his contract value heading into free-agency. Kobe said had Patterson approached Kobe privately and asked for him to make a statement along the lines of “Ruben is the best defender in the NBA,” he would have done it. However, Patterson’s mistake was in taking his “Kobe-stopper” moniker to the press before consulting Kobe. Hence the Mamba was intent on destroying him. That story alone probably adds the most nuance to the true psychology of the Mamba mentality. It’s a little bit Godfather and a lot of parts Kill Bill. Kobe wants to be remembered as the “thinking assassin.” Einstein with a silencer.

The books closing seconds feel rushed off. Kobe attempts a pivot and shot at the buzzer by hoisting the notion that his life and career in basketball was all one long runner to his future as a storyteller and writer. He holds his Oscar in the air, still obsessed with trophies and tells the world that he will bring the Mamba Mentality to his storytelling.

There is something overcompensating about Kobe’s whole late career bravado. His insistence on building up his own legend. His highlights, stats and championships speak for themselves. Perhaps it’s just his competitive spirit thirsting to campaign and win over the remaining doubters. Maybe it’s his reaction to the social media era of sports and especially the NBA now, where all the stars are living brands, crafting their own narratives at the height of their powers. It will be interesting to follow Kobe deeper into his post-NBA life. I can’t help but feel there is something fueling this Mamba Mentality that maybe Kobe himself doesn’t even understand yet. I hope he keeps trying to define it.

Top athletes have never been great at framing up and putting their mentality into perspective beyond the cliches. So here is my challenge to Kobe the storyteller: Tell us something we don’t know. Tell us something that only you could tell us. Find your voice beyond the meme. It was a pretty funny character and we all appreciated it. I know your competitive spirit will keep haunting and driving you. I hope it drives you to write something that surprises you. And scares you even. And when that day comes, I hope you will dare to expose that truth to the rest of us.

You’re welcome.