It's Seattle 1969. The setting is the practice court of the Seattle Super Sonics. Shooting free-throws is a graduate of West Virginia University, point guard, Rod Thorn and under the basket, shagging balls is a young ballboy by the name of Ricky Welts. I'm there too off to the side. I could be watching and imagine I am, thinking that these two persons' lives will, many years from now, converge working in administration for the NBA League Office. And, because, I am a seer, I recognize that the convergence will lead both of them to be inducted into the 2018 Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame.
Seer I was not. Back then, to guess that these two men would be inducted into the HOF would have been a long shot equivalent to winning the Super Lotto. Rod probably should have gone into coaching since he had a fine basketball mind instead of sports management, or into professional poker. Rick should have become the Governor of the State of Washington instead of an NBA executive whose development of NBA Properties earned him the League's undying gratitude. Now here they are, joining another Sonic, Lenny Wilkens in the Hall of Fame. Congratulations and bravo!
ETC:
I can't see Michigan beating Villanova. But I'm pulling for the Wolverines and a first NCAA championship for Coach Beilein. I'm addicted to underdogs.
Speaking of Underdogs, hats off to Ian Poulter for his Houston win and a seat at the Masters. The Brit would not have made it into the Masters without this win. Clutch.
I don't think I've ever seen Clutch like the two last second game winning jumpers in the Final Four like the ones shot by Arike Ogunbowale. These were not cast up prayers, but beautifully executed shots, with perfect form and great rotation. Drilled. Ice. Arika's dad is from the West African country of Nigeria, an immigrant. A proud immigrant. Immigrants and the children of immigrants have done a lot for this country. I think it's safe to say that the United States is a country of Immigrants. Take that, trump!
Got to love Kobe's support of women's basketball. How about running for a political office. State Senator, Governor, Kobe. You're beginning to look and sound very presidential. God knows we could use someone in the White House who speak Spanish and has an understanding of our brothers and sisters south of the boarder. I must admit in his early career I would never have lauded Kobe. But he's really grown up big time.
So happy to see Patrick McCaw was not injured seriously. Terrible fall. The way the game is high flying, it is even more important to remember the case of Maurice Stokes, undercut going in for a layup, who wound up paralyzed for life. We learn from history - or we fail.
With the season drawing to an end, I guess I'll take a shot at some predictions. Houston Rockets and Golden State Warriors in the Finals of the West. Warriors win in seven. Even though my Dubs are struggling some, here's why. As tough a three point shooting team, the Rockets are, I still believe their D is suspect, especially over a seven game series. Cleveland wins the East. It's all about LeBron. My admiration for him has grown over the years, and it's not just because of him taking a stand against the nitwit in the White House, although that shows great smarts. With Curry back, the NBA Championship goes to the Dubs for a three out of four and the start of a Warrior era in Chase Arena in the City of Saint Francis.
Ron Adams, assistant coach of the Warriors and Defensive Guru sent me this poem. It's fabulous.
The Streets of Heaven by Philip Raisor
Tell me how you die and I will tell you who you are,
Otavio Paz
I stand in line. The woman ahead of me
blowzy-haired and angry, is told that grace
is the act of restraint and road-kill is not a sport.
She can choose to wait or test the judgment
at another entrance. I know that morality,
penance, a kind heart don't matter, nor the faith
I embraced or didn't, the people I saved I know
the key is where I land on the scale of commitment.
Earnhardt, Sr. died for the game, and got in.
Many ancient Egyptians buried juggling balls
with them, as though endless practice and craft
were their gifts to the next world they entered.
I ask if I can peek in, maybe stand on the edge
and look into the vast canyon of pit, arenas,
fields, fairways, pools, rings, tables, tracks,
courts, beaches, forests, mountains
where war is forbidden. Here is what I bring
for review, a nasty fastball, a runner-up ring,
individual initiative, a contrary attitude, the heart
of a poet. I bring a willingness to run like an outlaw,
honor the Greeks and Makahiki, invent new games,
practice past dusk, play on the second squad,
and keep score until I can get in the game
with eternity left on the clock. I hope it is enough.
