As you all are undoubtedly aware, the NBA Playoffs are in full swing and you all know what that means: Actually, it doesn’t mean anything, but it does remind me of one of the greatest stories of all time.
When I was growing up in Jr High and High School I was a huge NBA fan, and specifically I was a huge Seattle Supersonics fan (RIP Supersonics. Good luck ever having success in Oklahoma City), and more specifically, I was a HUGE Shawn Kemp fan. Yes, the same Shawn Kemp who made the jump from high school to the pros long before KG, Kobe, or Lebron even thought about it (true, he did try to go to college but got busted peddling stolen jewelry (the charges were later dropped), got kicked off the basketball team before ever playing a single minute, and subsequently declared himself eligible for the 1989 NBA draft where he was selected 15th overall); the same Shawn Kemp who was arguably the most talented young player in the league in the early 90’s and could have been the greatest player of all time; the same Shawn Kemp who then took up alcoholism and cocaine, put on 100 pounds, and sired 7 or 8 illegitimate children around the world (let’s face it, 1 or 2 of those are probably legitimate but let’s also face it, there are probably dozens more illegits that haven’t been accounted for).
When I say I was a fan, I was fanatical. We’re talking posters on every wall, jerseys, trading cards, Supersonics trashcan; if you could put a logo on it, I had it. I knew all the players from Gary “The Glove” Payton, to Nate McMillen (long before that Judas stabbed the organization in the back and went to coach the Portland Trailblazers), “Sleepy” Sam Perkins, Detlef “The Nazi” Shrempf, Vincent Askew, and even a few 10-day contracts for the Lithuanian Sarunis Marcelonis (believe me, that was all from memory. I can’t tell you the proper spacing for sprinkler heads in a light hazard occupancy even though I get paid to know that shit but I can tell you the name, height, weight, and stats for every member of the Supersonic’s organization from 1992-1997. What’s an acceptable pressure loss through a ½” section of Type L copper pipe? I don’t know. Who was the Seattle Supersonic’s team trainer in 1994? Gerald Anderson).
One time as a freshman in art class the teacher had a bunch of extra undecorated paper mache masks and offered us extra credit to decorate them so she could hang them around the room. Some people did clown faces, others did Mardi Gras masks, while still others did completely abstract things. I, on the other hand, made a mask of Shawn Kemp’s face. It looked great but I was positively incredulous when the teacher refused to give me extra credit for a lack of creativity. “But it looks just like him!” I pleaded, which is to say, it looked like a black man with a goatee. I’m not sure what I was thinking back then.
Growing up the absolute best time of year was the NBA playoffs. Aside from a minor misstep in ’94 the Sonics made the playoffs every year and every year they made it to the Western Conference Semis or Finals where they would inevitably run into the Phoenix Suns led by Charles Barkley, Danny Ainge, and Dan Marley or the Houston Rockets with Hakeem Olajuwon, Clyde Drexler, and Sam Cassel. Because Seattle was on the west coast, typically games wouldn’t start until 10 PM or later. So I would come home from school, eat dinner, go to bed for a few hours, then wake up for the games, staying up until 1 or 2 in the morning. I was dedicated.
The 1997 NBA playoffs were no exception. Seattle as the number 2 seed faced off against Phoenix, the number 7 seed, in the first round. Seattle actually went down to the Suns 2-1 in the first three games and had to make a miraculous comeback to win the next two games to win the series 5-2 only to have to face the streaking Rockets in the next round.
The Rockets came out of the gates right off the bat and beat the Sonics in game one. Seattle battled back in game 2 but then lost the next two games putting them in a seemingly insurmountable hole, down 3 games to 1.
That Monday I went to school completed depressed and dejected. Meeting my girlfriend at her locker she asked what was wrong and I informed her that my team was in trouble.
She, not comprehending for a second what I was going through, empathetically said, “I’m sorry.”
Sorry isn’t going to cut here! This is the NBA playoffs we’re talking about! “This just means they have to win the next two games just to force a game 7 and do the unthinkable and beat the Rockets in three games in a row to advance.”
“Ahhh, I understand. Well, I think they can do it,” she said in an effort to appease me, which actually just infuriated me.
You don’t understand! You don’t have a fucking clue! “You really have no idea what I’m saying,” I informed her emphatically, “The Sonics need to beat Houston at Houston on Tuesday, then beat them again at home on Thursday, then beat them again at Houston on Saturday. It’s damn near impossible…”
“Saturday? Game seven would be on Saturday?” She asked.
“Yeah. In Houston on Saturday.”
“You do realize that Saturday is our Senior Prom! You will not miss our Senior Prom for a stupid basketball game!”
And now you can see where this story is going.
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