For many of us, Summer means little to our fansmanship. As much as we try to appreciate America’s great past-time, Baseball is too slow and monotonous. We are seeking more than just an old timers’ game; more than five dollar English Leather cologne.

It is supposed to be the fun-time of the year. Many of us get time off of work to visit the world, sit on the beach, party with friends. Most importantly for us bachelors (and non-bachelors if we’re honest) the quadruple B’s are out in full force–blond, bronzed, bikini’d, bodies.

Head out to Avila Beach or Pismo for an hour and you will have plenty of memories by the time you’re done eye-surfing the summatime candy.

But hold on. Just hold up a bit. We don’t want to be creepers now do we? When you took the career job or said I DO, life took a turn for the better. Life was no longer a never-ending scene from Baywatch, and you are no longer David Hasselhoff and his abundantly woodsy chest.

Promiscuity is a bad bad word now, it will cause you to pull a groin or pat on tiger balm morning, mid-day, and night. It is not meant for us mature ones, but for the spry youngsters with a libido the size of Roseanne.

This my friends is no fun, I know. Yesterday I nearly pulled a hamstring on the stationary elliptical. I was trying to both watch ESPN and fake-run at the same time. Sounds easy enough, but nearing thirty, nothing has become easy. The “honey yes, honey of course, honey I will,” sorts of answers, are all that are easy. My life is a tedium glass house, I say no and the world comes crumbling down.

Summatime…

Remember playing ball nine to five on the blacktop with a few friends? It’s seventy five, a clear ardent blue coats the horizon, and the dead day just slumped on your shoulders with not a thing to do. Each one of your pretended for an eight hour period you were MJ, Scottie Pippen, Penny, Shaq, Larry Johnson, Zo, Grant Hill, or Hakeem.

Those were the days. Now, as a tax-paying citizen you’ve grown to resent the group I listed above. As you collect your unemployment from your poor paying teaching gig, your rose colored glasses including your young affair with believing in the impossible have slapped the basement of your life and crumbled into a million little pieces.

Summatime…

Relax, at some point all of us end up washed up. If an epic duo like Will Smith and DJ Jazzy Jeff could never produce anything more than their one-hit album, then trust me, you and I will be forced to scan, fax, make copies, and staple for a living.

But what Summatime foreshadows are feelings of freedom. Despite our limited free time and fading memories of running the black top with skinned knees and soda pop, we all have a place within us that can go there.

Who would of thunk watching men’s professional tennis could excite me like Pam Anderson’s bobbing twins used to? Now as an unemployed man I have the ability to depressingly relive the glory days and bring back the first loves of season: sports, sports, and more sports.

Yes, sports.

Currently, A-Rod is stepping closer and closer to Barry’s all-time home run mark, Tiger is trying to return to form and assume his rightful place as golf’s all-time greatest, and the best living tennis player is still playing at an extremely high level in Roger Federer. Not to mention on Sunday, Jeff Gordon won his 84th NASCAR race, ranking fourth all-time on the list and assuming at forty one, he may go down alongside Richard Petty as the greatest driver in World history.

All this and it’s Summatime. Some things to keep an eye this Summer as you either bum it or find the time in your hectic life to Tivo something. Keep an eye on the Boston Red Sox, who after starting the season 1-9, currrently own the second best record in Baseball and are on pace to be just the ninth team in league history to eclipse 1,000 runs scored in a season.

Watch A-Rod continue his climb to home run greatness, as he sits just thirty four shy of the great Willie Mays mark of 660 at fourth all-time.

The NBA draft on June 23rd is always an intriguing experience. For NBA fans, this not only can shape your future (think Boston in 07′ with the trades of both KG and Ray Ray), but offers a glimpse in the leagues future. This year the popular names are the tweeners, Jimmer Fredette of BYU and Kemba Walker of Uconn, both highly talented but not sure lottery choices as of now.

Normally the draft would be all fun and games. That is if there was not a looming NBA lockout. According to NBA analyst Charles Barkley, the owners are at a “point where they are going to try and break these players unions down.”

Like the NBA’s situation, the NFL lockout has to be the most intriguing situation for sports fans. Most of us wait the two dead  Summer months: June and July, for August when football training camps report and news regarding trades begin to swirl. As of now, both sides remain at a stall and the idea of living without football for many not only kills their Summer, but does away with Sunday beer drinking hoots around the tube. Now Church is the only sad option.

June gloom is definitely upon us. A marshmallow cloud bank over the Pacific does it justice. Not only are we concerned about our lack of freedoms living as grown adults but we also may have to live without two of our favorites next year. In order to keep the faith, now would be a good time watch Baywatch re-runs or finally take up those dance lessons.

LeBron James’ career has burst into flames, after his self-aggrandizing title prophecies with the Miami Heat ended Sunday in a game six loss to the Dallas Mavericks. The NBA’s darling just one year ago–a mild tempered family man, with the dribble speed game of MJ, and the passing and rebounding finesse of Magic, is not only the league’s most wanted but is now left for another off-season to ponder his lowly 2-8 record in NBA Finals games and dismal 2-6 record in must-win elimination games.

As much as the league has tried to endorse James as the predecessor to MJ’s greatness, one is left to wonder whether he will go down as the games biggest bust. Despite this ever-evolving debate in the eight year relationship fans and critics have had with James, the man himself seems undeterred.

“I pretty much don’t listen to what everybody has to say about me or my game or what I’ve done with my career,” James said. “I don’t get involved in that. This is year after year after year for me. Me as an individual, people write or say what they want to say about me. It doesn’t weigh on me at all.”

This is yet another form of kindling for the LeBron hatred across the country, and is the type of thing that has taken the “King” mantle from James and placed his name among the all-time villains. Something LeBron seems indifferent towards.

“All the people that was rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today,” James said. “They have the same personal problems they had today. I’m going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want to do with me and my family and be happy with that.”

Despite the criticisms, LeBron’s mantra is simple: his life is better than yours. Today the man woke up to a multi-million dollar mansion with his family, and is currently sipping prepared pina coladas by an aqua lagoon furnaced by his own personal natural hot spring. As his wife kisses his forehead, his children have the best education money can buy, and his hard-working mother — the one who worked day and night as a single mother — is doing just the same.

So what gives?

“It hurts of course,” James said. “ I’m not going to hang my head low. I know how much work as a team we put into it. I know how much work individually that I’ve put into it, when you guys are not around. That’s something people don’t see. I think you can never hang your head low when you know how much work, how much dedication you put into the game of basketball when the lights are off and the cameras are not on.”

LeBron’s confidence in his work ethic is the saturation necessary to help him get past this on-going bout of losing when it matters most. In fact LeBron seems half-right. In eight elimination games in the playoffs, his career numbers of 29.8 points, 9.4 rebounds, and 7.4 assist would argue his point.

Yet for Cleveland fans and many across the country the problem has never been LeBron’s abilities, rather his inabilities to close out games in the final minutes. Cavs fans are left to ponder not only James inappropriate decision parade on national television, one in which took them from title hopefuls to cellar dwellers, but his final game against Boston in the Conference Semi-Finals where James looked as if he’d quit on the franchise and aloof thereafter.

This loss, whether it be just another loss in a long seemingly successful hall of fame career for James, is vindication for many across America. For Cavs owner Dan Gilbert it was everything he needed to move on with his career. After the loss, Gilbert tweeted: “Old Lesson for all: There are NO SHORTCUTS. NONE.”

The longtime friendship Gilbert and James had, rooted in the franchise selection of the Akron native, continued its bitter feud. Gilbert has never waned from admitting his disappointment in the player he believed was faithful and would help change the course for Cleveland fans’ long drought without a professional title.

This is like the “Young and the Restless,” but better–it is Brokeback Mountain the sequel, starring Jamie Foxx and business mogul Bill Gates. But jest aside, this is the life of a man left to wonder whether his career will ever culminate into anything more than best greatest loser of all-time.

For James and any other NBA great, the tiers of hall of fame stars is a real topic, one of which none of these player can run from. It is like having your name sprawled next to MJ, Magic, or Bird instead of Iverson, Dominique, or Ewing.

And despite the majority, who are beginning to wonder whether James is the latter, the star is limitless in his drive. “The only thing that weighs on me is when I don’t perform well for my teammates and the guys that I play for every day,” said James. Which as of now, seems like the theme to his rocky unabashed career.

There is only one man who can answer these pondering’s, that being “Big Shot Bob,” otherwise known as Robert Horry, who made a living with the Rockets, Lakers, and Spurs, en route to seven rings by nailing the clutch shot.

Why does this matter? He was never a star, but he has rings galore bronzed on his swish- svelte fingers. 

In today’s NBA we judge  all-time greats by how many rings they’ve won and whether or not they led their teams to title town. But is this a fair assessment, considering a life-long bench guy like Horry can be carried to seven?

Never was Horry the franchise guy. In fact, as great as he seemed in closing minutes, Robert Horry never became the player we expected him to be after his timely three point shooting for Houston’s 2nd title run.

Horry’s brief stint in Phoenix after a trade in 1996, proved he was not endowed with a star motor. A hot tempered, dramatic and aloof head case, Bob languished averaging 6.9 points at a career low shooting clip: 41.8%. A trade by mid-season to the L.A. Lakers–a team filled with Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O’Neal, Nick Van Exel, Eddie Jones, Elden Campbell, and Cedric Ceballos changed the trajectory of his failing career.

So why then is Bob a champion? Why not franchise guys like Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Dominique, Ewing, or Reggie Miller?

Each of those listed above were worthy of winning gold, were they not? All of them were respective franchise pieces with the heart, skills, and late game heroics to hold the O’Brien.

The answer to their problems was Michael Jordan’s Bulls: a team of role guys surrounding the king of the sport with that IT factor needed to win it all. Something today’s critics use to gauge greatness and rank the all time elites.

So what is the issue then with the tautness of this old-time equation? Why not turn a blind eye and allow this to be the answer to everything?

Simply because it just does not add up. It does not offer enough answers. If Big Shot Bob has seven, or the likes of Jack Haley–former twelfth man for Jordan’s final three peat has three, the equation’s a bit off. We need something else, a new perspective when thinking of the greats and why and how they never hung the O’Brien.

And I believe individual luck IS the partly the answer, luck, a maddening machine random like the California Lottery. Historians prefer the term historical happenings–a notion that choices are made for no other reason except that they were made, and the dominoes re-arrange the cosmos of a world more closely inter-connected than we might wish it to be (think guy who smells like farts at the movies, or the swine flu victim winding a cough onto the back nape of the neck.)

Luck.

To think Michael Jordan fell to number three in the 1984 draft could be easily overlooked for a variety of reasons: Sam Bowie, the number two pick before MJ, was a  college superstar and a big man compared at the time to the greats. The Blazers already had a gifted wingman in Clyde Drexler andat the time the league was built around bigs: Kareem, Sampson and Olajuwan, Robert Parish, Patrick Ewing, and Moses Malone.

But that doesn’t make things less ludicrous.  Look at how the draft shaped the NBA forever. MJ goes to an ordinary Bulls team built in perhaps the greatest city in America, where he wins ROY, ultimately five MVP’s, slam dunk contests, becomes the games biggest mogul, and wins six titles. Alongside Oprah, MJ is easily the greatest name in Chicago history and can be attributed for an economical explosion that saved the lower West side of the city once run with crime: drug abuse, gang wars, and prostitution.

Bowie, in the annals of the NBA, is known as ‘the bust.’ He never won a thing in the pros: no all star games, no shoe deals, thus injuring the once bright ideal the Blazers had in trading their franchise Center Bill Walton to Boston.

This, my friends, is the Sam Bowie, a supernatural element that cannot be ignored.

Luck.

Yet like so many children born into inner city poverty without the tools necessary to change their lives, we cannot judge the stars through the a similar bias, because not all players are born lucky into a posh franchise. The gift of playing in Los Angeles or Boston does not come to everyone. Not every player is born into a showtime era, a team so deep they make the ocean look like a kids pool.

For some, seeking a new home is like divorcing an abusive wife. In order for Mitch Richmond to adorn gold, the talented and true shooting guard had to eventually break ties in the perils of Sacramento. Karl Malone found it necessary to join with Kobe and Shaq in 04′ after a long tenure in Utah. And even the humble Clyde Drexlerleft a hell of a situation in Portland to win it Houston. All three of which were great with or without (Sing it Bono) a championship.

The reality of the situation is heart breaking for most. We as childish dreamers wish our favorite player could be greater than the others, but this is not real. Embracing a pragmatic approach to the sport tied less to your heart strings will allow you to see greatness wrapped in many different packages. 

Reality 1: Great players DO NOT win championships, great TEAMS win championships. The 2004 Detroit Pistons are a perfect example of this. A team of role guys without a future hall of famer, the Pistons had the momentary IT. Call it faith, hard work, purity, and any other beautiful thing you want, but to explain why they won a title over an L.A. Laker team stocked with four future hall of famers would be absurd.

Reality 2: Like the stars in the sky, NBA STARS need other STARS. Think for a moment about the teams who’ve won championships the last thirty years. All of them have one thing in common: team depth and stars surrounding stars. Magic had Kareem and Worthy; Bird–Mchale and Parish; Dr.J–Moses Malone; Isaiah–Dumars and Rodman; MJ–Pippen; Hakeem–Clyde; Shaq–Kobe and Wade; Duncan–Robinson, Parker, and Ginobili; Pierce–KG and Allen.

Reality 3:  Winning titles does mean a lot, but it does not mean everything for a myriad of reasons. If the 1919 Chicago Blacksox or dirty referees like Tim Donaghy can throw World Series and playoff games, then how serious can we take this thing? Not very. Take everything with a grain of salt and learn other decided facets when it comes to judging all-time greats: MVP’s, All Star appearances, Career Totals, Game Winners, Ability to close, Athleticism, Re-defining the sport, dominance-ometer, and sociological affects.

LeBron James is not a sell out because the guy wants to win, he’s a realist. A star unselfish enough to admit that NO star including himself, can win a title completely on his own.

LeBron is stuck in the the Bill Clinton Vacuum. Though he does great things, he is brushed aside because of one unlikeable decision.

But greatness is not a grade school quiz on being friendly, it is brutal giftedness. And likeability is not the twin brother to being great.

LeBron made a  decision to better his career andhis life. Leading a Cleveland Cavs team the last seven years, that never boasted anybody better than a has-been version of Antawn Jamison warrants James departure.  No it does not warrant the overdone TV cinematic’s regarding “the decision,” nor the Pat Riley blowout introduction party in South Beach. Yet neither should it foster the illogical hysteria across America attempting to deny the man’s sheer dominance and greatness.

This isn’t patty cake kids. We are talking about a production entertainment, where all titles are but a decorative decor. They might help the woman look fine, but if that woman is not fine without the jewelry or the tight fitting jeans, I say run, run as fast as you can.

Drop by the nearest bar and have a scotch on me. Look through the world with freshness and at what is truly great (it is not the girl next to you.). It is the scraggly bartender able to whip up drinks faster than the average Joe.

When a list is made of all-time great players, placement of Pippen’s name will vary more than any other player. He won six championships, was a seven-time all star, a ten-time all defensive player, a member of the Dream Team, and was a Top-50 player of all-time.

He also won all his championships alongside Number 23 and with Phil on the bench.

In his post-Bulls and post-Jordan days, Pippen did have success. His Trail Blazers gave him his best chance at a title in 2000, but the Shaq-led Lakers were on their way to a title via an alley-oop from Kobe.

Following his first three championships, all of which came next to Shaq, Kobe critics called him the “next Pippen.” Nobody out-shined Shaq on the Lakers, and naysayers said Kobe couldn’t win a championship as the biggest star on his team. They said Kobe wasn’t a good teammate and couldn’t lead despite his remarkable talent.

For a few years in the middle of the last decade, the criticisms of Kobe seemed legit. It seemed like he might be the next Pippen — a star who never was able to do it without a brighter star. A “Robin.”

Late in Pippen’s career, as his skills declined, his place was as a mentor for a young Portland team that became known as the “Jail Blazers.”

For Kobe, it was the opposite. While his skills and mentality are clearly better than Pippen’s ever were, Kobe also proved over the past few years that he can be “the man” on a championship team. Where Pippen couldn’t rise above the chaos, Kobe willed his way to dominance.

The Pippen-Kobe comparison, or “experiment,” isn’t a great one to begin with. Kobe’s organization has made great personnel decisions while the Jail Blazers have struggled through the past decade despite some decent talent.

While Kobe put the Pippen comparisons to rest, the point is this: anytime a player is seen as “needing” other players to win and not being able to win “all by themselves,” their image is tarnished in the public eye. Writers and pundits talk about players who are dominant personalities on the court, and that is truly where players like Jordan, Kobe, and Shaq separate themselves from players like Scottie Pippen.

With players like Kobe to compare to, it’s clear what Pippen was and what he wasn’t. He was a great defender. He was an amazing second-option offensively to a player who might have been the greatest ever. He was a small-college draft pick who made it big in the NBA, but who never seemed to have the personality to change teammates’ behavior—it was always Jordan who did that on the Bulls, and Pippen couldn’t change the crash-course the Blazers were on before that plane crashed into the mountain.

Pippen was physical grace embodied. Kobe is raw drive personified.  Pippen was a key puzzle piece on six championship teams. Kobe has grown and changed his game to win five titles. Pippen was a seven-time all-star and eight-time All Defensive First-Team selection. Kobe has been to 13 All-Star Games and is a ten-time All Defensive First-Team selection.

Really though, all you need to know about where Scottie Pippen will go down in history in relation to other players is this: when it’s all said and done, Scottie Pippen will have a bust placed somewhere in the United Center. Kobe will have a full statue outside of Staples Center next to Magic Johnson, Chick Hearn, Wayne Gretzky, and Oscar De La Hoya. Enough said.

Take the L.A. Lakers for example. The greatest “coach” of all time, Phil Jackson, aka “zen master,” does about as much coaching as a cow. His low gruff voice, and quirky communication style, whispers a total of ten words during your average ball game, while Kobe demands the basketball from every player not named, well…Kobe.

It doesn’t get more awkward than this.

Is it fair to say, in today’s NBA, the central component to winning is rooted in the player of the hour, and less about set, or the God forsaken defense. Jackson’s eleven rings have been pieced together by two mainstays, one of which Jackson would rather not have exposed. The first of these large pie pieces is his “superior” triangle offense. A set that is more simplistic in its orientation than an episode of Blue’s Clues. This equation of basketball has been at the forefront of all his title teams, yet the truth of the triangle offense is that Phil never conceived of it. It was Tex Winter, his long time assistant in Chicago, who stole the set from USC’s great coach Sam Barry, and evolved into the faster paced NBA game.

Too bad Tex is ugly. @owenmain, gotta want it.

The triangle runs through its big man. It’s fond of a point-forward to bring the basketball up the floor, with the guard angled strong side corner, and the big, stationed on the strong side block. The point guard drifts to the weak-side three point region, while the power forward sets up weak-side, ten feet from the hoop, awaiting a possible alley-oop, or offensive rebound.  It is a set that my Junior High girl’s basketball team mastered in a matter of minutes. Not shittin’ you.

The second piece, one of which Jackson would love to leave locked in his coaching vault, is the long list of stars who have driven his ship to greatness: Jordan, Pippen, Shaq, Kobe, and Pau, to name a few. These players define the simplicity of his life; a lack or where-with-all to deliver momentary on the fly operatives, affecting the game as a whole. For Jackson it was simple–give the greatest player in the history of the universe the ball, M.J., or one of the most dominate big men in league history, Shaq. If not, let Kobe create, or Pippen and Pau bail you out.

Yet he has been glorified for every one of his eleven rings.  In today’s sports world money talks more than matter, and world-championships scream dollars signs, endorsements, new arenas, and top notch free agents. Whether or not a coach stumbled into the situation,  he becomes the face of both sporting and economical successes. He’s awarded a heafty contract extension, and his job as a coach, takes on a life of its own. With a multi-million dollar deal, he rivals players for dollars made; the house, the car, the women; and learns to  self-preserve his good-life, rather than coach and govern his club.

That is until he stumbles, ala Pat Riley post- 2006, and thus the coaching is dead.

This is why Jackson won nothing when Jordan retired. In 1993-1994, a season with Pippen at the head of the food of chain, the Bulls were man-handled by the superior Knicksin six in the 2nd round. Jackson’s zen-abilities, would have been better suited for a naked hippie commune in the surrounding mountains of Santa Cruz, then they would (take a breath and ahhh…) coach.  Had it not been for Jordan’s return, Jackson would of periled in defeat, and become the face of self-help healing courses.

His inabilities as a coach–communication and relateability–created a problem in 2004, when his Lakers lost to the Pistons, a group of better coached role guys, in the finals. Jackson’s means of self-preservation were evident when he he stepped down after the finals defeat then wrote a book, “The Last Season,” in which he lambasted the players he’d loved the last three title years. It begged the question, whether or not Phil was saving face for not only a debacle, but one in which he was at the helm of. The poorly written re-telling aimed its attack at Kobe Bryant (who trust me, I know had a part in it, but…) looking to pass the blame toward one of the greatest players this league has ever seen.  Jackson’s book earnings are disputed, but have been placed in the ballpark of five to ten million dollars, not to mention, his ass-kissing gestures in the book, mainly thrown at the Buss family, acted as an incestious form of career insurance, further flowering his enormous life savings.

Funny how, just five years later, a championship, new contract, and the pride of his league best tenth ring, changed things. Jackson is to “the boy who cried wolf” as Kobe is to…Jordan? Hmmm.

Across the country, another hyper clown is making headlines. Eric Spoelstra, otherwise known as “coach Spo” has been ring leading a circus parade, the Miami Heat, with dance grooves, circa drug ring mid-70’s. He’s had the “difficult” job of winning with the likes of three superstars in Bron Bron, D-Wade, and Bosh, all three, who would be the face of a franchise anywhere in the world.

With every win, spunky “Spo” becomes prouder of his club, not to mention his players. I’m sure Juwan Howard, the five minute a night washed up big man feels the love too. Or Eddie “Gan’sta” House, believes in himself because of coach Spo’s love for not only his star-children, but his middle class role guys.

Well…not so fast. During the team’s suprising 9-8 start, D-Wade made headlines when he proclaimed Spo to be “not my guy, but my coach.”  The small statement sent shock-waves through the organization because it proved Spo was not only unable to gain the respect from his players, but had the lack of gumption to move his team in the direction he saw necessary. It also asked the question of whether or not today’s NBA players are coachable? It would seem no, considering the NBA is now more of a drive through of entertainment than it is the patience of fine dining.

Larry Brown is a perfect example of a guy who loves to coach. He expects his players to run his sets, his plays, his defense, and come to practice.  But it is this expectation that has made him a journey man in the world of professional basketball. His puritanical approach to a team sport has led to many of his firings by a league looking for athletic players to excite a crowd feigning for entertainment, and the slick backed hip-hop moguls (dub Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind“) to lead them there.

On February 9th, in a one point win over the red hot Pacers, Bron Bron rose above three defenders to hit a go ahead jumper with thirteen seconds to play. His line: 41pts, 13reb, 8ast, 3stl, were evident of his dominance. But he had Wade and Bosh both wide-open, closer to the hoop. The obvious play was to deliver the ball for a better shot, to two superstars, mainly Wade, a one time champion, top five player today, to win the game. But Bron was feeling it, and took the shot with confidence. As he hit it, Spo could be seen jumping around like a grammar school fan, with eyes as wide as dollar coins. Which was disappointing.

For many of us who’ve watched enough basketball to know what the hell we’re talking about (your cue to exit this article if you don’t), the best player on the Heat the first forty four minutes is Bron, but in the last four, is clearly Wade. He’s led a team to a title, made big plays on the biggest stage, and hits free throws with better consistency. But Wade is now second fiddle to a corporation in Bron Bron, who sells more jerseys, tickets, shoes, and clothing. Because of this, Spo’s ability to coach was tossed out the window, and the entity of El Brondo, ran him over like a freight train.

Lucky for Spo, he delivered. After the game he was quoted, “Bron’s motor was insane tonight.” Really, insane? What a word choice. He sounds like a braces wearing sport’s fan, more passionate about a player, than he is a cool collect coach. I wouldn’t be suprised to see Spo in Cancun this summer, with a Bron jersey slung on his short, stubby white physique,  dropping ‘dope’ and ‘fly’ like a  wannabe ‘partna’.

Get out.

–Luke Johnson

luke@fansmanship.com