From Superstar to Sidekick: LeBron's Decision Day Disaster

Batman had Robin. Sherlock Holmes had Dr. Watson. Fred Flintstone had Barney Rubble.

Dwyane Wade now has ... LeBron James?

It wasn't supposed to play out this way. "King James" was never supposed to play second fiddle to anyone. Period.

We were all supposed to be "witnesses."

But in an ESPN prime-time spectacle on Thursday, we all witnessed James announce that he was joining Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh on the Miami Heat, thus conceding that he couldn't win a championship on his own.

Let's be real. James was not going to re-sign with his "hometown" Cleveland Cavaliers. Last year, the organization surrounded him with the best supporting cast to date, and the team finished with an NBA-best 62-21 record. Yet, the Cavs were bounced from the playoffs in the Eastern Conference Semifinals by the Celtics, significantly underachieving.

James even leaked a quote this week saying, "I don't want to be 31 years old, with bad knees and no title," referring to remaining in Cleveland.

He wasn't going to the Clippers or Nets either. The current state of those franchises were too much of a rebuilding process and a risk that even a max contract couldn't buy.

So it truly came down to the Chicago Bulls, the New York Knicks, and the Miami Heat.

The Bulls went out and signed Carlos Boozer this week to entice James' decision, as well as plan "B" in the case James signed elsewhere. Joining up-and-coming stars like Derrick Rose and Joakim Noah was an attractive option, but number 23's shoes were too big to fill. James would have to win seven titles to outdo Michael Jordan's legacy...a task too tall even for a "King."

So, when the Knicks signed Amar'e Stoudemire, I really thought LeBron was going to New York. Stoudemire seemed like a good sidekick for James to make the Knicks competitive again in 2010-2011, laying the foundation this year until snagging a Carmelo Anthony and/or Tony Parker in next summer's free agency frenzy to complete the puzzle.

Maybe I'm biased being from New York, which has been starving for a competitive NBA team again. But it would have been his team. Madison Square Garden would have been his stage. The Big Apple could have been his city.

The same way Mark Messier brought the New York Rangers their first Stanley Cup in 54 years, LeBron could have been the Knicks' savior.

And New Yorkers were ready for him. They've been patiently waiting and counting down until July 1st, 2010. But it wasn't meant to be.

And don't think this is the same as when veterans Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen joined Paul Pierce and became the "Big Three" in Beantown en route to an NBA title in 2008. This is bigger than that.

James and Wade each averaged 29.7 and 26.6 points per game last season, respectively. They are two young studs in the prime of their careers. Add Bosh in this "Miami Thrice," and something's gotta give.

Who gets the the last shot? It's all smiles in South Beach now, but one way or another, someone won't be happy.

This is no different than Alex Rodriguez joining Derek Jeter and the Evil Empire to win his World Series ring. But an insecure A-Rod was okay with joining Jeter's team.

I just never thought LeBron would accept this supporting role.

As Charles Barkley said yesterday, "LeBron will never be 'the guy' in Miami."

Only time will tell if LeBron gets his elusive ring with the Heat.

But even then, he'll always be Wade's sidekick in South Beach.

Galarraga In A League Of His Own

It's only been done 20 times. Twenty-seven up, 27 down. Perfection on a baseball diamond. Baseball immortality.


But something even more extraordinary took place on Thursday afternoon in Detroit before the start of the Tigers-Indians game.


In this day and age, where athletes throw tantrums, hissy fits, and display all kinds of immaturity on the field/court/ice (enter type of playing field here), Tigers pitcher Armando Galarraga demonstrated unprecedented class that will go down in baseball lore.


A day after the Tigers pitcher had his perfect game taken away by an errant call by umpire Jim Joyce, Tigers manager Jim Leyland gave Galarraga the lineup card to present to the umpires at home plate before the game -- a task usually assigned to a member of the coaching staff.


Galarraga didn't complain. He didn't sulk. He didn't blame anyone for this most unfortunate situation.

Rather, he met the umpiring crew at home plate, presented the lineup card to Joyce, who was to call balls and strikes that day.

He shook the hand of the man who took perfection away from him.

Joyce, overwhelmed by this entire ordeal, shed tears during the exchange.

Galarraga could have etched his name in the history books with such Hall of Famers as Cy Young, Don Larson, Sandy Koufax, and Catfish Hunter who attained perfection in their time.

Instead, it was just another one-hitter in June over the course of a 162-game schedule.

He may never come close to a perfect game again in his career...and he was one out away.

When it's so easy to be so bitter, he took the high road, which may make him more famous in baseball history than if had thrown the perfect game.

This story will be told in the years to come as the ultimate display of sportsmanship in any sport. Little Leaguers will get sick of the references to Galarraga when they don't get their way.

It will be the epitome of being a good "sport."

Tigers fans had every reason to boo Joyce one day removed from his imperfect call -- heckle him for the next nine innings -- make him feel worse than he already does...and it would have been justified and fully warranted for what his error cost them. They could have witnessed history...could have been a part of it.

But they didn't. And for that, THEY deserve recognition.

We've all been wrong. We've all messed up before. We've all been there. And in one collective, classy act, a boisterous standing ovation, they let Joyce know that.

Quick, name the other perfect game this season not by a guy named Roy Halladay?

See you don't remember that kid Dallas Braden in Oakland.

But you will remember Armando Galarraga.

Baseball introduced instant replay in August of 2008. It can only be used to determine if a home run is fair or foul, whether the ball actually left the playing field, and whether the ball was interfered with by a fan. That's it.

Baseball purists are against the use of replay because they feel that it will slow the pace of the game and have every umpire call second-guessed.

They advocate limited replay to preserve the "human" element of officiating the game.

Now the exchange between Joyce and Galaragga at home plate on Thursday...it doesn't get any more human than that.

Agassi "Opens" Up, Let's Us In

Read this book.

Not because of Andre Agassi, the tennis player, who won eight Grand Slam singles tournaments and an Olympic gold medal in singles.

Not because of the crystal meth usage he admitted to or the wigs he wore to hide his premature baldness that received so much attention in the media.

Read this book because of the behind the scenes stuff we never saw or heard about, but deserve...no...are privileged be told.

Pulitzer Prize-winner J.R. Moehringer is an epic storyteller, sifting through hours of interviews, countless recorded conversations, in order to tell us Agassi's story in Andre's words.

Moehringer opens a window into Agassi's world where TV cameras couldn't take us and by doing so, makes Andre more human than ever. More real. More like you and me.

It's through this window that we realize that no matter the fame or fortune, we are all so similar, yet still so different. It's a story of the evolution of a life and the maturation of a man.

The book opens on the day of Agassi's last professional tennis tournament, the 2006 U.S. Open, in New York City. The 36-year-old Agassi takes us through his entire day, from breakfast with Steffi and the kids in the hotel suite, to being escorted from the locker room by a familiar security guard, "James,"at the tennis complex in Flushing, Queens.

From two showers to loosen up his stiff back, to the car service from Manhattan to Queens, his pre-match routine is so detailed, the reader feels he or she is with Agassi for the duration. It's this super-specific, extremely detail-oriented narration that Moehringer masters throughout Open.

We learn of Andre's rough childhood filled with a drill sergeant-type father when it came to tennis. At the age of seven, his father forced him to return 2,500 tennis balls a day, shot out of the "dragon" at 110 mph from a tennis court in their backyard.

It's here we learn that Andre "hates" tennis. A theme that despite all of his success on the court over the years, never goes away.

His overbearing father, Emmanuel "Mike" Agassi, an Iranian immigrant, went as far as giving Agassi caffeine pills, and eventually the drug 'speed' before his matches as a youth. Andre was shipped off to the "tennis boot camp" Bollettieri Academy in Florida at the age of 13. It is here where Agassi rebels by wearing outrageous outfits and growing a mohawk. But, Andre gets away with murder at the Academy because he is simply a phenom on the court.

When Agassi drops out of school and turns pro at the age of 16, his brother Philly embarks on the journey with him. Philly was never as good as Andre on the court, but always believed in and knew Andre was that good.

From driving Andre to tournaments, to eating canned food in cheap motels to save money, Philly shows the unconditional and undying support of a big brother who will back his younger brother no matter what endeavor he pursued. It's during these endeavors, the process of pursuing a dream, that the most memorable moments occur.

Agassi looks back fondly on these memories. He tells us about his first Nike endorsement deal in which he and Philly "negotiated" themselves at a restaurant on their way back from a tournament. They declined the first offer from the Nike rep, demanded more money, and actually got their asking price. Andre and Philly remain calm in front of the Nike rep, only to jump up and down like little kids when the man drives away. From fast food wrappers littered all over the car and racking up miles from tourney to tourney, the two share a special bond en route to the top.

Throughout his journey, we learn of the special people in his life. From his trainer Gil Reyes, to his best friend Perry, we get to meet the people that are so important to Andre, but have remained behind the scenes over the years. These are the people Andre draws strength from when he is alone on that "island" on the tennis court.

Looking up to his "coach's box" during countless matches, Agassi draws inspiration from the people that mean the most to him. From Gil who has seen him at his weakest moments, both emotionally and physically, to his best friend Perry who when they were 13 years old told Andre he'd see his best friend on the cover of Sports Illustrated some day, it is these people who have always been there for him.

Gil has played the role of father, psychiatrist, trainer, and can silence Andre's doubts by reinforcing Andre to bring out the best in him as he only knows how to.

We learn about the relationship with Barbara Streisand, the courting of Brooke Shields through faxes while she was filming a movie overseas, and how he finally snatched up Steffi Graf, whom Andre had a crush on since he was 16.

We learn about the good heart and philanthropy of Andre that doesn't seem to find the spotlight. From the foundation of his tuition-free charter school for "at-risk" children, the Andre Agassi College Preparatory Academy in Las Vegas, to his countless hours of volunteer work for Athletes for Hope, Andre has always given back.

Andre even goes as far as deferring a tiny percentage of his Nike endorsement deal to set up a college fund for the son of the manager of his favorite New York City restaurant, who took care of him numerous nights over the years, both in good and bad times. It's these little anecdotes that Moehringer tells, which makes Open so real.

Moehringer also shows the vulnerability of Agassi by portraying him as a "regular" guy. Agassi hates tennis, his "job," but realizes that tennis has made him the superstar that he is and has afforded him the lifestyle he has grown accustomed to.

He cannot imagine his life without it, so he sucks it up and goes to "work" because he fears that he has no alternative, talent, or education to do anything else.

Do yourself a favor and pick up a copy of the book. You will understand why it is a privilege to take a peak into the "window" of Andre's world.

I have always been a fan of Andre Agassi, the tennis player. After reading Open, I will forever respect Andre Agassi, the person.

Donaghy Disappoints In "Personal Foul: A First-Person Account Of The Scandal That Rocked The NBA "

I went in expecting a badass Henry Hill in Goodfellas-type confession.

What I got was a scared little school boy spilling his guts to the principal, ratting out every bully in his class. It’s an over-the-top, "aw shucks," you're right; I am wrong, kiss-ass confession.

He even goes as far as to compare himself to Ray Liota in Goodfellas, but his drug was gambling, not cocaine.

Donaghy owes us more. He owes me more. He owes you more. He owes every basketball fan the "real" story. Not just what he told his lawyers, what he told the grand jury, what's on the court's record, and what he said to Bob Simon on 60 Minutes.

The book, Personal Foul: A First-person Account of the Scandal That Rocked the NBA, is a version of what Donaghy wants us to know. There's no new dirt, no juicy details, or any new-found revelations that casual NBA fans couldn't extrapolate from the media coverage. It's a Pete Rose, "I'm guilty now let me into the Hall of Fame," sugar-coated confession. Rose's confession, like Donaghy's, comes with ulterior motives.

Now don't get me wrong, Rose should be enshrined in Cooperstown for his merits on the field, but his lackluster confession book was no more than a degenerate gambler looking to make a buck...and a last-ditch effort at a “pardon” into the Hall of Fame.

We can’t forget that Donaghy is a liar and a felon, and obviously hasn’t owned up to his full involvement in the scandal. He writes, “I was the right kind of pinch for a gangster: a little cocky, a little greedy, and very reckless, the careless guy who gets in over his head and needs two extra hands and a rope to get pulled out.”

But he never lets us know how far in over his head he really was. Instead, he points fingers, named names, and makes us think he’s doing us a favor.

The tone of the book portrays a guy wanting us to like him. It begs us to applaud him for telling the "truth," confessing his sins, and for all of us to forgive him. However, in trying to do this, the writer actually allows the reader to see right through Donaghy and his intentions.

The writing-style is so over-the-top that it seems too rehearsed and becomes increasingly annoying for the reader. I found myself asking several times, “Come on dude…you can tell me what how it really went down.”

Donaghy writes, “The first time Jack and I placed a wager on an NBA game, I couldn’t believe what I was doing. I knew it was wrong and that I had sunk to a new low, but the rush was overwhelming.” He continues later, “Perhaps the excitement came from something more than just the fact that I had placed a very dangerous wage. Perhaps it emanated from the knowledge that I had an edge, that I knew something very few others knew and that of those few, I was undoubtedly the only one breaking the law.”

Of course you were “undoubtedly breaking the law.”

But Tim, buddy, we need more.

Donaghy never says that NBA games were scripted. But he writes, “Veteran sports columnist of the Toronto Star got it right when he said, ‘Basketball, of all sports, is the easiest to manipulate.’”

Despite what some people have accused, he never makes it out that games are similar to WWE matches. He just says that he could make a very strong, high-percentage guess on the outcome of games only by knowing the referees’ assignments. Being a referee, Donaghy was one of a select group of people who had access to such a list.

He said that he knew each referees’ tendencies, habits, and relationships with players and coaches, etc. He even goes as far as claiming the 2002 Western Conference Finals between the Lakers and the Kings was fixed. He says that the NBA assigned two referees, who were “company men,” to act in the interest of the NBA and extend the series to a game seven. It was the only seven-game series that year and the NBA wanted the TV ratings and drama of a “winner take all, loser goes home,” sudden death seventh game.

In this case, however, Donaghy’s allegations hold some merit. The Lakers defeated the Kings in Game Six, 106-102, and attempted 18 more free throws than the Kings, and an alarming 27 total in the fourth quarter. The Lakers went on to win Game Seven and win the 2002 NBA Championship.

But let’s not get carried away here. I agree that fouls can influence games, but players still have to make the shots. A three-pointer is a three-pointer, a jumper is a jumper, and a dunk is a dunk. There’s no manipulating those shots. And players still have to make the shots from the free throw line.

If nothing more, Donaghy’s book made me pay attention to refs, players, game-flow, relationships within the game, foul calls, and other aspects that usually fly under the radar. I’m not going lie, I always know now that when I am watching a game and Dick Bevetta is officiating, come the fourth quarter, the losing team will always make a run.

But that’s ok.

Going into every NBA game, we accept the ref's opinion, judgment, and interpretations. If he or she thinks it's a foul, he or she calls it and we accept it. We can agree or disagree, the coaches can argue, players can complain -- but inevitably we move onto the next play.

This is what we agreed to from the beginning. Players play, coaches coach, and refs ref.

Now a referee with a hidden agenda... No, we didn't agree to that.

Dunk Contest Has Lost Its Luster

Quick, name the only three-time NBA Slam Dunk Contest winner?

No, not Dr. J...Nope, not Michael Jordan...Not even the "Human Highlight Film," Domenique Wilkins.

It's New York Knicks guard Nate Robinson. Yes, 5-foot 9-inch (standing on his tippy toes in his high-tops).

Yes, really.

Robinson won the 2010 NBA Slam Dunk Contest this past Saturday defeating Shannon Brown, DeMar DeRozan, and Gerald Wallace.

Wait, who, you ask?

Exactly.

Don't get me wrong, Robinson is a phenomenal athlete. A two sport star at the University of Washington, he boasts a 43.5 inch vertical, which seems conservative after watching him soar above the rim on Saturday.

But he didn't leap from the free throw line like number six. He didn’t do a reverse windmill with his tongue hanging out like number 23. And he didn’t rock the cradle and put the ball through his legs like Vin-Sanity.

In fact, the Dunk Contest has had its peaks and valleys since its inception at the 1976 ABA All-Star Game in Denver, which Julius Erving took the crown. The NBA reintroduced the Contest in 1984 with Erving's famous dunk from the free throw line highlighting the show, despite Larry Nance winning the trophy that year.

With Spud Webb, Domenique Wilkins, and M.J., the competition was at its best in the late 1980s. But with superstars unwilling to participate for fear of injury, the 1990s saw boring and unoriginal dunkers like Harold Miner (Baby Jordan), Cedric Ceballos, and even a "white" boy, Brent Barry.

The NBA went as far as eliminating the event in 1998, replacing it with a new shooting contest called "2Ball" instead. The League brought it back with a bang in 2000, with a jaw-dropping show between Vince Carter, Tracy McGrady, and Steve Francis. Carter eventually triumphed.

In addition to Robinson's three wins, Dwight Howard's memorable Super Man "thrunk" (he threw it!) from the free throw line stands out in recent memory, donning full Super Man attire, cape and all. But 2010 saw another "valley" for this event, with LeBron James reneging on his declaration that he would participate, one year prior.

So, what's the answer?

Until the players have an incentive to participate, we will see this cycle repeat. David Stern can't force players to compete. An 82 game schedule is a long season, and the fear of injury, coupled with the chance to rest for a few days during the grinding season, is apparently too good to pass up for the games' superstars. But aren’t they more likely to get hurt in the All Star Game itself?

How about a significant financial reward for winning...or even for participating? Or what about holding the event in the summer...or right when the season starts in combination with the Season tip-off extravaganza?

Not likely. The NBA needs this event over All Star Weekend. It needs to showcase the talent, alongside the Three-point Shooting Contest on this weekend.

Throughout the season, the superstars “posterize” players on a nightly basis. They leap above the rim with seven-footers in their paths -- with "reckless abandon" and "No regard for human life."

Can you imagine what we would see if it was just the player one-on-one with the hoop? It would take us back to the playground days…the pick-up games as the local YMCA -- with the ‘anything you can do, I can do better’ mentality. Where ‘showing up’ the opponent is actually encouraged, not frowned upon.

I would have preferred watching the Harlem Globetrotters ridiculous show than this year’s competition.

They owe it to us. They owe it to the owners who pay their salaries. They owe it to Dr. J and Michael Jordan who started it all. They owe it to the game, and that should be enough.

I don’t know…

What I do know is that David Stern needs to act on this now. Even TNT commentator Reggie Miller took a dig at the talent display "on air" saying, "I saw guys at the Riverside Rec Center throw down better dunks than this." (Miller grew up in Riverside, California). To which Kenny Smith and Charles Barkley laughed uncontrollably into their microphones.

The crowd at the American Airlines Arena never got into it. They wanted to. They were begging to. They were waiting for that gravity-defying, show-stopping, awesome poster dunk that just never happened.

But it couldn't happen. The guys everyone wanted to see fly through the air were busy sitting front row in street clothes.

When the contest was over, and the announcers said that the final votes were being tallied between Robinson and DeRozan, you could hear the aggregated restlessness from the fans, almost as if they could not believe it was over -- and 'that' was it.

21,041 people collectively asking the men on the big stage, “That’s it?”

And the NBA could only answer, “Yeah….for now.”

AFTER A DISMAL FIRST HALF, HERE'S A POSITIVE FOR THE NEW JERSEY NETS

With the NBA All-Star game approaching this weekend in Dallas, I can’t help but think what a difference a year makes.

Last year at this time, the New Jersey Nets had 23 wins at the break and sent their star guard Devin Harris to the game.

This year, Devin and the Nets have compiled an abysmal four…yes FOUR wins.

So, with the first half of ’09-’10 season in the books – one that we’d all like to forget – I wanted to share a positive from ’08-‘09 to go with all of the negatives the Nets have had in ’09-’10.


NOVEMBER 19th, 2008

I remember when I first met Devin Harris like it was yesterday.

Freshman year at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, I lived on the fifth floor of the Sellery Hall dormitory. The southeast dorms were enormous, consisting of three buildings, each holding about 1100 kids. Devin was friends with a girl who lived on my floor. One day, coming back from the library, word traveled that Devin and fellow hoopster Deandre Buchanan “were on our floor!”

Being from New York, I didn’t really know too much about High School Basketball in the state of Wisconsin. I knew Devin was named “Mr. Basketball” and people predicted he would have a good career at UW. But no one could have predicted where he would be at eight years later.

So, a couple of the guys and I pretended we had a question for the girl whose room the hoops players were in. We went in, “accidentally” introduced ourselves and figured we were going to be buds…well, at least in my dorky mind.

The crazy thing is that it actually happened.

Over the next three seasons in Madison, Devin went from high school “Mr. Basketball” to “Big Ten Player of the Year.” He started as a freshman (’01-02) and helped lead new coach Bo Ryan to a share of the Big Ten Championship, a feat not accomplished since 1947. Devin’s sophomore season is regarded as his “breakout season.” He and then senior, Kirk Penny, lead the Badgers to their second-consecutive Big Ten Conference Championship and to the Sweet 16 of the NCAA tournament.

I was at the Kohl Center for all of his big games. I stormed the court when the Badgers beat Michigan to claim a share of the Big Ten Title in 2002. I was there when the student section was named the “Grateful Red” in the ’02-03 season. I saw him drop 38 points against Minnesota that year. I saw Devin score 29 points against Illinois, none more important than his two free throws in the final seconds to beat the Fighting Illini and give Wisconsin the Big Ten Conference Title outright. We stormed the court that night, celebrated with Devin and the team on State Street until the early morning hours, making class “optional” the following day.

Devin and I were always friendly over our three years together in Madison. We hung out occasionally, ran into each other randomly at College Library, a College Court house party, or a State Street bar. He’d always acknowledge me. We’d catch up a bit, and being the journalism major I was, I’d always try to get the dirt on the team, or any inside info we didn’t learn from ESPN, the Wisconsin State Journal, or even the Badger Herald. We had mutual friends, so we saw each other a decent amount. No matter how much success he had on the court, he always had time for me. I never forgot that.

In his junior year, Devin entered the season as one of the top players in the nation. This Wauwatosa East kid was now making a name for himself on the national stage. He averaged 19.5 points per game and led the Badgers to the Big Ten Tournament Title, received Big Ten Player of the Year honors, Second Team All-American, and took the team to the second round of the NCAA tournament.

In his mind, it was time for a bigger challenge…the NBA.

When Harris declared himself eligible for the NBA, a lot of people thought he wasn’t ready. I myself thought another year would only benefit him. He’d be a favorite to win National Player of the Year, increase his draft status, and help the Badgers make a run deep in the NCAA tournament, which seemed like the logical choice. It was probably us Badgers being selfish, not wanting to share our guy with anyone else. And wanting another season of greatness for our University, especially for my senior year!

But what if he got hurt? Or worse, a career-ending injury? The fear of “what if” and the promise of millions proved to be too much, and on May 5th, 2004, Devin Lamar Harris declared himself eligible for the NBA Draft.

Devin shocked even the most hardcore Badger fans when the Dallas Mavericks maneuvered a deal to draft him 5th overall. We’d always been a football school, with Heisman Trophy running back Ron Dayne recently dominating the Big Ten under Barry Alvarez. But now, our skinny point guard from a Milwaukee suburb was a “Lottery Pick” in the 2004 NBA Draft.

We lost touch after he got drafted. He moved to Dallas, changed his phone number…probably because of all of the calls from his “new-found” friends after he got “Lottery Pick” money. But I kept following his career, rooted hard for the former Badger and college friend, and even bought an authentic Mavericks jersey with ‘Harris’ and his number “34” on the back. I had to “represent” my favorite Badger in the Big Apple.

Over the next two years, Harris made a name for himself in the League. A decent rookie season, followed by an improved second year put him on pace to be the role player people expected. He ended his second year averaging 9.9 points and 3.2 assists per game for Dallas. He sustained a leg injury, but returned for the Mavericks playoff run. He faced off against Marquette University rival, Dwyane Wade of the Miami Heat in the NBA Finals, with the Golden Eagle and Shaquille O’Neal prevailing over the former Badger.

Harris continued his success over the next few years with the Mavs. By 2006-2007, he was the starting point guard, and by 2007-08 was named a team co-captain with Dirk Nowitzki. The Mavericks gave Harris a 5-year contract extension on September 12, 2007, worth more than $42 million.

Halfway through the season, on February 19, 2008, averaging 14.4 points and 5.4 assists per game, the Mavericks traded Harris to the New Jersey Nets in a “win now” move, acquiring the elder Jason Kidd, along with other role players in a seven-player deal.

It was crystal clear. After the embarrassing playoff loss to 8th seeded Golden State the previous year, the team looked to veteran Jason Kidd to take them over the hump. And on the other side, the Nets looked to Harris as the future of its franchise.

I spent part of the 2008 summer in Chicago for work. Devin was training out there with Nets teammate Bobby Simmons and our mutual college friends were living and working there since graduation. We hung out a bunch, just like old times. Despite the $42 million contract in his back pocket, Dev was the same skinny kid I met seven years ago. But don’t get me wrong…drinks were DEFINITELY on him now.

He even took me out to the clubs a couple of times when we both returned to the New York City that fall. I was rolling around town with a premiere NBA point guard, watching people flip out, ask for pictures with him -- all in the greatest city in the world…but it made me laugh…it’s just Devin.

Last night, I saw Devin play against phenom, Lebron James, and the Cleveland Cavaliers. I texted him Friday night after he scored 30 points in a win over the Atlanta Hawks to congratulate him. I asked if he could hook me up with tickets to Tuesday night’s game. I had never seen Devin play since he became a pro, and it wouldn’t be terrible to see the hottest ticket in the NBA…“King” James.

And in typical fashion, Devin told me, “Yeah…you got it man…it’s all taken care of.”

So, two buddies and I hopped on New Jersey transit from Penn Station, took the shuttle bus from the Secaucus Junction stop, and arrived at the Izod Center 30 minutes prior to tip-off. We had three tickets and a “Player Guest Pass” waiting for us at the “will-call” window, and I finally got to see my friend play.

He scored 23 points, but the Nets were overmatched, losing to Lebron and the Cavs, 106-82.

Sitting in the stands, (in amazing seats I might add) I got to thinking -- I am watching my friend play at the highest level of his profession…The starting point guard for an NBA team -- The “face’ of the New Jersey Nets franchise.

And still today, no matter how much success he’s had on the court, he always made time for me. I never forgot that -- and neither has he.

A long way from high school “Mr. Basketball,” but vintage Devin, always making time for fellow Badgers, and most importantly, remaining loyal to his biggest fans: his friends.

Plaxic-UH-OH: Don’t Be So Quick To Judge Burress’ Blunder

After watching the interview of Plaxico Burress by Bill Cowher on Super Bowl Sunday, it reminded me of an opinion/reaction piece I wrote when the incident happened back in November of 2008. Here's a different spin to all the coverage Burress received...


After reading countless news sources and watching multiple sports news programs over the last few days, I want to address the Plaxico Burress situation.

First off, before you make ANY assumptions, wait until the facts come out. Before you make judgments after watching “Sports Center”, or “NFL Live” on ESPN, hang tight. And, before your wife convinces you that Plaxico Burress is the Devil, just chill out for a second.

Of course ESPN is going to portray Burress as a “Thug” or “Criminal,” because they have to. In case you forgot, ESPN is owned by Disney; the same company that brought your innocent little daughters and sons “Hannah Montana” and “The Jonas Brothers.” How can they condone athletes “packing heat?”

Now I am not going to pretend that I know what it’s like to be a professional athlete, or more specifically, what it’s like to be Plaxico Burress. But neither should you. I grew up in the cozy, affluent town of Stony Brook, nestled on the north shore beaches of Long Island. I am stereotyping, but I absolutely have no idea what it was like to grow up dirt poor, in the “ghetto,” with rampant gangs, etc., where guns are a part of the culture: a status symbol.

Burress grew up in Norfolk, Virginia. I am not saying he grew up on the streets of Compton, like Snoop Dogg or Dr. Dre portray in their lyrics, but he has risen to the top of his profession, and in turn, has become a target. Burress carries a Five year, $35 million dollar contract wherever he goes. Just a little more that you or I make, eh?

And don’t be a hypocrite either. The number one song in America right now and probably prominent in your iPod playlist is by the rapper “T.I.,” who is going to jail for a “year and a day” on weapons charges. T.I.’s bodyguard and best friend was gunned down, which led to T.I. purchasing the illegal assault firearms for protection.

To all of you Giants fans out there: Don’t be fooled or convinced that Burress can be replaced. He was absolutely instrumental in the Giants amazing Super Bowl run last year. Remember that little third down conversion to David Tyree that will forever be known as the “Helmet Catch” that kept the winning drive alive? The Patriots’ double-coverage of Burress allowed Tyree to be open and put in the situation to make that play. He will be missed…don’t convince yourself otherwise, or listen to the talk radio, or TV shows that say he won’t. Just wait and see. Domenik Hixon is a far cry from the Pro-Bowler-caliber Burress.

I have to acknowledge ESPN for allowing one of their analysts to speak the truth. Former Pro Bowler Marcellus Wiley, who did grow up “On the streets of Compton,” spoke with Bob Ley on ESPN’s “Outside the Lines: First Report” program. Don’t think Wiley’s a thug though…he has a degree from Columbia University…an Ivy League school. He was drafted by the Buffalo Bills in 1997, and spent four years with the Bills. Wiley admitted today that in his first two years in the NFL, he carried a weapon for protection. Last time I checked, the streets of Orchard Park, in upstate New York, aren’t that tough. He said that he did it for protection, because having grown up with nothing and now making millions, he automatically became a target from jealous people who think he owes them something.

Wiley said that while he was carrying his “piece”, his mindset would shift into attack mode. A stranger could approach him innocently to ask for directions, and Wiley would automatically think they were going to rob him. After two years of this mental strain, he threw the gun out of his window on the highway, on the way home from practice one day. He never carried a gun again.

But listen to what Brandon Jacobs, Burress’ teammate said about the incident:

"It's tough out there for us and a lot of people don't know that," the Giants' running back said after the Giants' 23-7 victory over the Redskins. "It's tough in everyday life for us to be targeted. Some people are very bothered by it. That's why I stay home." He went on to add, “"In the streets, with me, there's no need for it," Jacobs said.”But if you come between that door frame in my home, I'm going to kill you."

Jacobs’ comments ironically come a day after the one year anniversary of the death of Sean Taylor. Taylor was killed in his home when a group of teens tried to rob his Miami home. The Redskins honored Taylor, unveiling his name and jersey number in their “Ring.” The irony is that during the video highlight tribute on the stadium Jumbo-tron, the song that accompanied Taylor’s tribute was “Big Things Poppin,” by, you guessed it, T.I.

So what’s the answer? Should athletes just stay home? Maybe…but I think Tony Siragusa said it best during the Giants-Redskins telecast on Sunday: “If I was ever at a place where they would wand me with a metal detector at the door, I would turn around and go home.”


I’ve been to the hot spots in New York City and Miami. I’ve gone to the clubs, seen the athletes and celebrities and loved every minute of it. During the NBA preseason, the table I was at one Wednesday night at the Pink Elephant in NYC was directly next to Celtics’ star Paul Pierce. He was in town to play exhibition games against the Knicks and Nets and took some time have a little fun before the Celtics tried to defend their crown.

What I didn’t know at the time was that Pierce was stabbed back in 2000 at a nightclub in Boston. Shortly after that, Pierce bought firearms legally, and got permits for all. He took the courses, registered everything, and exercised his Second Amendment right. So when I read that today, it got me thinking…were Pierce and/or his entourage “packing” that night at the Pink Elephant?

Now I am not condoning people who carry guns, especially that aren’t permitted. But we can’t be so quick to judge situations we don’t have first-hand experience in. As the DMX lyrics go, “Walk in my shoes, hurt your feet, then know why I do dirt in the street.”

We can’t pretend we know what it’s like to be Burress. You can judge him for his stupidity, yes. But don’t judge him for anything else…

So the next time you are at a club and see a professional athlete, it’s fair to wonder if he is carrying a concealed weapon.

Maybe we should all follow Siragusa’s advice and call it a night…it’s your choice…