I posted this after reading this morning Jason Jones moving story about Raymond Lewis entitled Raymond Lewis, the 76eer Draft Pick Who Never Played in the NBA. I offer my comment to you, my readers:
This is a familiar story. If anyone is curious, he or she should research a player by the name of Fred LaCour. Before Jason Kidd came along, Fred LaCour was the the greatest high school basketball player in Northern California history. He was also my best friend and 4-year rival from Saint Ignatius High. Unlike Raymond Lewis, Fred did get a chance to play in the NBA. He was drafted in the 2nd round by the Saint Louis Hawks. Raymond Lewis' problem was about his contract, and being lied to; Fred's problem was he was mixed race. The Hawks home in Saint Louis was in Missouri, a border state, not known for being racially friendly. The Hawks team had a few southern white guys on it. Fred dated white women. Oh, Horrors! In December of 1961 or was it January of 1962, Fred, a 6'5" point guard who could do it all, was playing lights out, then suddenly with no reason given, the lights went out completely and Fred was no longer on the Hawks. What happened? I'm sure I know. Fred did go on to play some professionally, but his heart was broken and like Raymond Lewis, depression followed. Fred died of cancer in 1972. My friend, Fred LaCour deserved better. So many black athletes from that time deserved better.
I have always been a fan of NBA All Star Weekend, but I've never been much of a fan of the actual Sunday night All Star game. Far too often, it turns into a 3 pt shooting or dunking exhibition. The recent change of dividing the game into quarters with the winners of quarters earning $ for deserving charities has helped my negativity, but not really. The not really part has to do with a general lack of defense played in the game. I know no player wants to be injured playing in an All Star Game, but couldn't they just give it a little more effort than a bullfighters cape? Case in point, last night's Rising Stars Game. The kiddies played some D. They didn't go all out, but they made an effort, so the game was, at least, for a D guy like myself, reasonably enjoyable. In some cases as they scores tightened toward the end of he period, the players really dug in. It was a fun game to watch, and nobody got hurt.
Note: I'm reasonably sure the best leapers in the NBA are not part of the dunk contest and haven't been for a long time. I'm also sure that the skills contest could be more creative. Randle in the 3-pt shooting contest? Really? And just a suggestion, why not add a 4 ball to the All Star Game, say from a 32 foot line. Tell me that wouldn't bring the crowd to its feet.
Appropriate for the Raymond and Fred stories is this poem by the great poet John Updike
EX-BASKETBALL PLAYER
Bends with the trolley tracks and stops,
Before it has a chance to go two blocks.
At Colonel McComsky Plaza Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there
most days, you'll find Flick Webb,
Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging lose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all - more of a football type.
Once Flick played for the high-school
team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact; the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred-ninety points
A county record still. The ball loved Flick
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like
wild birds.
He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats.
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway,
His hands are fine and nervous on the
lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench,
though
Off work, he hangs around Mae's
Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays
pinball
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon
phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just
nods.
Beyond her face toward bright
applauding tiers
Of Necco Waffers, Nibs and Juju Beads.
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