Anthony Mason

There are not many athletes that have an impact on my life. That's a grand statement considering that I watch a lot of sports. I love football and baseball. I'm a huge Giant and Met fan, and I support the uniform more than the individual. In rare instances, my love for the actual player matches the jersey they don.

In my teens, my favorite sport to watch was basketball. So much so that I even played a little. Those who have seen me in person are probably having the same reaction... but homey, you a lil muthafucka? I get it, but back in my Junior High School days, I was a beast. Starter on my varsity team, sharpshooter from long range, a righty who shoots lefty. It's even harder to believe if you took me to the courts now, as I probably look like I've never touched a basketball in my life. But in the 90's, I was quite the nifty player.

My favorite team, then and now, was the New York Knicks. I consider myself a Met fan above all, but for that decade, my love for the Knicks came very close to equaling my love for the Mets, even surpassing it at times. Unfortunately, mostly due to the Michael Jordan reign, the Knicks were never able to win a championship. But damn, were those teams fun to watch. You might beat those knicks, but you weren't going to beat UP those Knicks. Charles Oakley, John Starks, Patrick Ewing... those are guys you wanted to go to war with. And it was important because the game was way different back then. Today's NBA is pussified... the league back then was hardcore. Hand check fouls? Yeah, OK. Back then, a clothesline would rarely get you a technical. You didn't just need a good team back then, you needed a crew. And the Knicks had a damn good one.

One of the key members of those teams was Anthony Mason. I'll never forget the first time I became aware of Mase. My mom and I were at the Garden to get some tickets... it had to be around 1991... and there's this mob forming in the lobby. In the center is a towering figure, engaging the crowd, signing autographs while kids tried their best to climb up his legs. He was in his element, un-phased by the attention. Something about the way he handled the situation interested me. I assumed he was a member of the Knicks, but not someone I was familiar with. Not yet, anyway. When the season started, I desperately tried to find the player that was so generous to the Knick fans in the lobby of Madison Square Garden on a regular Saturday. Soon I found out that guy was Anthony Mason.

No need to worry who my favorite player quickly became. Not only was he friendly off the court, but he was an animal on the court. Mason attended high school in Springfield Gardens in Queens, New York, so it made sense that he personified what a New York athlete should play like. Mason was the 53rd pick of the 1988 NBA draft, straight from little-known Tennessee State University. While he was an impressive physical specimen, he wasn't the most talented dude in the league. But Mason WORKED. There's nothing I hate more than an underachiever... someone with tons of God-given ability but no work ethic. Mase was the complete opposite... a workhorse who used his overwhelming physicality to his advantage, eventually earning the prestigious Sixth Man of the Year award in 1995. I got his jersey. I cheered when he entered the game. The only thing stopping me from going full-fledge Mase mode was getting a religious saying etched into my head like he did. I never did it, but boy was I tempted.

Mason left the Knicks in 1996. His departure signaled the beginning of my love for the Knicks fading. Don't get me wrong, I still was (and am) a fan, but once that core unit from the 90's broke up, it was never the same. The grittiness of those teams will never be duplicated.

Anthony Mason passed away yesterday. He was 48 years old. Just like when Gary Carter and the Ultimate Warrior died, a piece of my childhood is gone forever. But still, I will always have the memory of watching this giant amongst regular folks, acting courteous and gracious, and thinking to myself, that's gonna be my new favorite player.

 

Rest In Peace Mase

The Joy & Pain of Carmelo's 62

I'm about to leave work last night (yes, I have an actual job, you racist puta) when my co-worker stops me:

Co-Worker: Yo, you wanna go to the Knick game tonight?
Me (in my head): Wow! You like, actually want to hang out with me OFF the clock? Neat!
Me (this time verbally): Uhh yeah, sure.

Notice how I was keeping it super cool. It sounded like a great idea, though. I can't remember the last time I've been to a Knick game, and it was definitely before my fav player Carmelo Anthony had joined the team (Syracuse, bitches!)

Me: Who's going?
Co-Worker: Me, my brother and one of my friends.
Me: You got tickets already?
Co-Worker: Nah, I'm ordering on StubHub and they only come in sets of four.
Me (now realizing I am only being used as a 4th seat but trying to ignore that fact): Ok let's do it!

My co-worker tries to order the tix but is having difficulty doing so. Apparently, the tix that looked to be available were sold. And let me tell you something, these seats were SWEET! I'm talking half-court, rubbing shoulders with Spike Lee and shit. Well, not nearly that close but good enough that I could make out the players' faces. Probably.

After a few more failed attempts, I steadily lose interest and resort to the plans I already had: staying home, wrapped up in my Mets snuggie watching Shark Tank. My co-worker finds a trio of tickets together and orders them. Everything is in this world is right again.

Except it isn't. I go home and decide to turn on the game while I wait for Shark Tank to begin, only to see Carmelo score 20 in the first quarter. And although there was plenty of game to be played, I knew at that point that I was missing something special.

You know the rest. Carmelo ends up breaking the Knicks and MSG record for points scored in a game while I shed tears tightly holding onto my Mets pillow pet. Another fail in my life, and one that I will not shake off easily. Come to think of it, I wish that asshole never asked me if I wanted to go. I wouldn't be spending my weekend covered in embarrassment and shame. So screw him, screw StubHub, screw Mark Cuban and screw you. (I didn't mean that, I swear. Just have a lot of anger. Tons of anger.)

If there's a rainbow in this story of clouds, and trust me, it's a really small, almost non-existent rainbow, it's that my fav player went ham on the poor Bobcats, in record-setting fashion. In case you missed any of it, here's every basket he scored last night. Now excuse me while I talk myself off the ledge.