| Editor's note: We are reprinting a column from the Web
site of our sister publication, Basketball News, because BN associate editor Brett
Ballantini wrote his Nov. 2 column about Walter Payton, and we felt it belonged in our
tribute to Sweetness.
Tonight begins the first full NBA season in two years. On tap are marquee matchups: Philly
in the Alamodome, Utah facing PJ, an old nemesis in a new suit.
Basketball News has its hot Tipoff Issue on the newsstands. In the BN Internet
Edition's Fantasy Zone, I’ve been whetting your appetites with tales of broken
teams, surprise finds and hyped rookies.
Today I planned to train the fantasy focus on the baddest of the NBA’s bad boys,
New York’s Latrell Sprewell. For all his faults, he’s the perfect fantasy player
— his game is wrapped around himself more tightly than his cornrows. If he could give
himself a bear hug, he’d suffocate.
But Latrell has to wait, because Sweetness is gone.
Just a couple of weeks ago, Wilt Chamberlain died. There were tears, but not in the
sense of a personal loss as much as an overall sadness and reverence. Our office was
shaken less by loss than by aftershock. The greatest name in our game — short of one
man — had fallen. The Babe was dead.
Personally, I wanted to spread the word on Wilt, to go beyond the 100s and 7-3s and
20,000s that overshadowed the greatness of the man. But there was little need to worry.
One of his many Wiltisms had it right: "You’re at your best when you’re
laid to rest."
But what stains the NBA’s opening night hits much closer to home. Sweetness is
gone.
Maybe it won’t translate to those of you outside of Chicago, but there are a lot
of blank faces walking the streets here today. Think of your own greatest hero — if
he or she still lives — then erase that person. That’s what happened to so many
of us yesterday.
Do you remember "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids"? Toward the end of the
show’s run, the "Cosby kids" would gather around the TV every week to watch
the adventures of a black superhero, the Brown Hornet. The Brown Hornet brought pride and
hope to characters with few, if any, role models to follow.
I was very different from the Cosby kids, but I idolized my own Brown Hornet. Walter
Payton.
Sure, my age and background and skin color were different from Walter’s, but like
so many other kids, I lived a life of adventure through him. He’s the man I most
wanted to become.
Was it because of his achievements on the field, when the odds (not to mention the
Cowboys and the Vikings) were stacked against him? Of course. Walter manifested the spirit
of the underdog and the benefits of hard work better than anyone I’ve ever seen.
But off the field — the playfulness, the smiles, the training, the sportsmanship,
the willingness to go the extra mile for someone in need — Walter was even easier to
admire.
The sports climate of Chicago 20 years ago wasn’t much different than it is today.
Back then we were so starved for champions we celebrated a "title" by our
"major league" soccer team, the Chicago Sting. My favorites in other sports
— Chet Lemon on the White Sox, Artis Gilmore and Reggie Theus on the Bulls —
were not cut from heroic cloth.
I grew up mere miles — and now work mere miles — from Lake Forest, Ill.,
where the Bears held their training camps. In August, before school began, I had a ritual
of spending at least one day there, getting a rare behind-the-scenes look at pro sports.
In 1978, at age 9, I met my hero. He was in Clark Kent mode, all smiles and no
stiff-arms, doling out autographs after a workout. Although there were at least 50 kids
clamoring for a piece of Walter as part of a feeding frenzy that must have been routine
for him, he took a minute to speak to me — and I suspect he did the same for every
other kid as well. He asked, I answered, and after a tussle of my Buster Brown hair,
he’d moved on.
I’d always secretly hoped that I’d have a chance to one day sit down with
Walter and explain to him just what he meant to me, what he unknowingly gave me. My
dad’s hero, Joe DiMaggio, died just this year, so there was plenty of time, right?
Earlier this year, we learned that maybe there wasn’t going to be plenty of time.
And we told ourselves — even in the face of Walter’s dire condition — that
if anyone could beat the odds, it was he.
In the end, Walter didn’t beat the odds. But what makes me happy is that so many
people whom Walter touched did get the opportunity to let him know before he died.
What does this have to do with fantasy basketball, or basketball at all? Well,
let’s juxtapose events of 20 years ago with those of today.
When I was a kid getting my weekly dose of Walter, there was a game vs. the Falcons in
which he was ejected. Not for fighting or cheap-shotting an opponent, but for touching a
referee on the elbow during a disputed touchdown call.
My intended mark in today’s "Fantasy Focus," Latrell Sprewell, was just
rewarded with a five-year, $61.9 million contract in spite of the fact that on and off the
court, he’s demonstrated a complete lack of decency. And there may be no player with
a bigger national profile than Spree.
Are there good guys in today’s NBA? Sure. Grant Hill, David Robinson, among
others. But their voices are being drowned out and their good works overshadowed. I want
them to step out and speak up, reclaim this league from the rogues and thugs and make
basketball a celebration again.
Latrell, I’ll get to you later. But right before our big hello to the NBA season,
I had to squeeze in a goodbye.
I love you, Walter.
Back to tribute main page
For the latest rumors and analysis on the NBA and college basketball, plus fantasy
basketball info, go to basketballnews.com. |
