1 post tagged “vlade divac”
The other day I turned on the TV in hope of seeing some NBA action. The guide said "NBA Playoffs," but something was wrong. The picture was lo-def, the faces of familiar players were awfully young, and the jerseys were all wrong. I stood bemused with the remote in my hands, taking a moment to adjust. And then it came into focus: this was Sacramento Kings playing Dallas Mavericks. Divac was coming up to high post as Bobby Jackson slashed to the baseline; Steve Nash dished impossible passes to Dirk Nowitzki, who sank shot after shot in feathery arches. It was 2002, and two of the most prolifically scoring teams that season met in the Western Conference semi-finals. Obviously, they were showing NBA classics instead of the current playoffs.
My friends are no longer surprised that I can tell the season and the final outcome after watching a few seconds of a (more notable) NBA game. I remember every NBA finals after 1993, when I arrived to this continent. I'm beginning to forget the names of courses I've taken in school (even people's names, but don't tell anyone), yet I never forget that the Rockets played the Spurs in the Western Conference finals of 1995, when Dave Robinson was the season's MVP but got totally owned by Hakeem Olajuwon in that series; or that the Knicks were the first team ever to reach the finals from eighth seed, which they did in 1999 after a lockout-shortened season. If Patrick Ewing summoned the strength to play injured in the last game, the outcome might have been different, as the Knicks sorely needed inside presence against the oversized Spurs. Still they went out with honor, as Sprewell almost matched Duncan basket-for-basket in the final minutes. Duncan just had one more in him.
But the real joy for me is recalling more than the games themselves: it's the context in which I saw them. The flow of my life at the moment -- where I was, and where I was going. The friends with whom I sat in a house or a bar or a stadium, opened a beer, and watched some good ball. The warm nights, laughter, little joys and seemingly big problems that proved not so scary in retrospect, the blissful ignorance of the real trouble that lay ahead and would blindside me unprepared. These memories punctuate my life, giving it rhythm, flavor, and personal meaning.
Now, 2002 was a good year in this respect. The Kings were fantastic all season long. We loved them and followed their advancement throughout the season. When they played in Boston, we went to the game and cheered so loud that the Boston Globe wrote about it the next day. The friends I was with on that day will forever stay a part of my life. The playoffs started, and the Kings played well, making it to the conference finals to face the reigning Lakers dynasty. And then the dagger: they lost Game 7 on their home turf, melting away at the eleventh hour despite being the better team. I was so upset over that game that I couldn't bring myself to talk about it for months. And then the World Championship started in Indianapolis, with the Yugoslav national team featuring those same Kings players, of course. When they made it into the finals, my roommate decided to drive Boston-Indianapolis in a day and make it to the game. I had just started a new relationship then, and I had lessons to teach that weekend, and I didn't believe that we'd get tickets, so I decided not to go with him. To this day I regret it. Not just because he did manage to get a ticket and witness Yugoslavia win the championship, nor because of all the parties he attended and autographs he collected. What I most regret is letting a friend drive alone for 17 hours and chickening out of an adventure of a lifetime with a pretty lame excuse.
There are many such stories over the years. I remember the Sports Depot bar in 2000 when we fought the crazed Red Sox nation for just one TV to switch to the NBA game, and a certain cozy apartment near the Fenway T station in 2005 when the Finals exploded into a nail-biter after the first two games were total yawners. I remember a game in 1994 when we couldn't get into a bar to watch so we stood outside peering at the TV through a window, while someone's car radio was tuned to the game for sound. And I remember waking up a friend in Belgrade by SMS in 2008 just in time for him to witness Ray Allen's lightning drive and basket that sealed Game 4 for the Celts. These people are scattered throughout the world now, and yet they are undeniably with me whenever there's a game to watch and talk about.
None of this is particularly surprising. Most sports fanatics would offer similar reasons for why they love their sport of choice and how they recollect its events. It's just amusing to me personally to realize how much of a fanatic I really am. I don't think I've ever laid it down like this before, but it's fairly plain to see.
The game on TV finished with the Kings victory in a spectacular overtime. Good choice, whoever chose it. As the final whistle blew and Mike Bibby ran around the court celebrating, it occurred to me that one of the reasons I yearn to have children is so I can take them to an NBA game and share that love with them.
