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Stupido: The code of the phony sports warrior
Pro athletes: Warriors, or jerks?
Bob Ingram
You'd think the Philadelphia 76ers forward Andre Iguodala would be happy. He'd just hit the game-winning shot against the favored home team, the Orlando Magic, with two seconds left in the first game of the National Basketball Association playoffs.
No way. Iguodala punched the air, his face clenched in a grimace of hate and contempt, as if he'd just paid back the guy who killed his dog.
Up north in Boston the same night, Ray Allen, one of the purest shooters in the league's history, buried a three-point shot with two seconds left to pull defending champ Boston even with the severe underdog Chicago Bulls at one game apiece.
Allen took it in stride because he is that kind of player, but on the Celtics' bench the entire fourth quarter, Kevin Garnett, a sure future Hall of Famer who was sitting the game out with an injury, had been jutting his jaw in a really ugly scowl as the score ping-ponged back and forth. After Allen's shot tickled the twine, as they say, Garnett's jaw jutted out even farther and his face got even uglier. Garnett, it must be noted, lets out otherworldly screams every time he dunks the ball, his face in that same ugly contortion.
What is it with these guys? Isn't winning enough? You get the feeling they'd like to kill the opponent and eat his heart, like the Aztecs.
Swallowing media sports metaphors
There is some kind of misguided macho ethic in the NBA"“ and in much of American sport, sadly"“ that insists on loud, stupid, strutting behavior to show that you are indeed a warrior and that every game is a battle to be won at any cost. These athletes have bought into the notion that they are warriors and are acting the part. They've come to believe the metaphor bandied about so easily by sportswriters and broadcasters.
To the contrary, these young men are not warriors. The uniformed young men and women humping the sands in Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan are warriors. They fight armed opponents and stand constantly in the way of death. That is what warriors do.
The collective NBA posse is mostly composed of young millionaires who live in ungodly mansions with far too many cars in the driveways. They earn that treasure by playing basketball at a very high level. But they are not warriors, no matter how they may roar and posture.
Bill Russell, sportsman
It wasn't always this way. Bill Russell has a championship ring for each finger "“ and thumb. And while he might have scowled during a game, when the buzzer sounded for another championship, his face broke into a smile that reached the rafters of blessed old Boston Garden.
Michael Jordan might have been the best and the most competitive player ever to lace on a pair of sneakers, and he was a trash-talker and a ball-buster, but he actually got on the floor and cried after one championship, cradling the trophy and dampening it with his tears.
Russell and Jordan weren't warriors, either. But they were sportsmen. They knew how to leave it on the court, no matter how they seethed inside.
Somewhere along the line, sports in general and pro basketball in particular blurred the distinction between athletes and entertainers. This phony warrior culture is a part of that fuzzy showbiz landscape.
A few who radiate joy
The joy has in great part been drained from the games, especially in the NBA. Magic Johnson in his time and Dwight Howard today are born natural entertainers as well as superb athletes; they radiate the joy that is missing"“ and Howard is inevitably criticized for enjoying himself. Nobody played harder than Charles Barkley in his prime, and nobody had a better time doing it. Chris Paul in New Orleans is as good as they come, but all he does is play the game, leaving the posturing to those whose psyche seems to require it.
And, sadly, for all the wear their bodies endure and the big-league pressure they endure, an amazing 70% of professional athletes are either broke or financially stressed within three years of retiring, according to a recent eye-opening Sports Illustrated story.
David Stern, the lawyer/marketer who is the NBA's commissioner and seems content to let his young lions roar like the warriors they think they are, would better serve the league, the players, and the kids who emulate them by schooling them on holding onto their money rather than mandating that they don't dress like rap stars.
Even warriors have to live. ïµ
No way. Iguodala punched the air, his face clenched in a grimace of hate and contempt, as if he'd just paid back the guy who killed his dog.
Up north in Boston the same night, Ray Allen, one of the purest shooters in the league's history, buried a three-point shot with two seconds left to pull defending champ Boston even with the severe underdog Chicago Bulls at one game apiece.
Allen took it in stride because he is that kind of player, but on the Celtics' bench the entire fourth quarter, Kevin Garnett, a sure future Hall of Famer who was sitting the game out with an injury, had been jutting his jaw in a really ugly scowl as the score ping-ponged back and forth. After Allen's shot tickled the twine, as they say, Garnett's jaw jutted out even farther and his face got even uglier. Garnett, it must be noted, lets out otherworldly screams every time he dunks the ball, his face in that same ugly contortion.
What is it with these guys? Isn't winning enough? You get the feeling they'd like to kill the opponent and eat his heart, like the Aztecs.
Swallowing media sports metaphors
There is some kind of misguided macho ethic in the NBA"“ and in much of American sport, sadly"“ that insists on loud, stupid, strutting behavior to show that you are indeed a warrior and that every game is a battle to be won at any cost. These athletes have bought into the notion that they are warriors and are acting the part. They've come to believe the metaphor bandied about so easily by sportswriters and broadcasters.
To the contrary, these young men are not warriors. The uniformed young men and women humping the sands in Iraq and the mountains of Afghanistan are warriors. They fight armed opponents and stand constantly in the way of death. That is what warriors do.
The collective NBA posse is mostly composed of young millionaires who live in ungodly mansions with far too many cars in the driveways. They earn that treasure by playing basketball at a very high level. But they are not warriors, no matter how they may roar and posture.
Bill Russell, sportsman
It wasn't always this way. Bill Russell has a championship ring for each finger "“ and thumb. And while he might have scowled during a game, when the buzzer sounded for another championship, his face broke into a smile that reached the rafters of blessed old Boston Garden.
Michael Jordan might have been the best and the most competitive player ever to lace on a pair of sneakers, and he was a trash-talker and a ball-buster, but he actually got on the floor and cried after one championship, cradling the trophy and dampening it with his tears.
Russell and Jordan weren't warriors, either. But they were sportsmen. They knew how to leave it on the court, no matter how they seethed inside.
Somewhere along the line, sports in general and pro basketball in particular blurred the distinction between athletes and entertainers. This phony warrior culture is a part of that fuzzy showbiz landscape.
A few who radiate joy
The joy has in great part been drained from the games, especially in the NBA. Magic Johnson in his time and Dwight Howard today are born natural entertainers as well as superb athletes; they radiate the joy that is missing"“ and Howard is inevitably criticized for enjoying himself. Nobody played harder than Charles Barkley in his prime, and nobody had a better time doing it. Chris Paul in New Orleans is as good as they come, but all he does is play the game, leaving the posturing to those whose psyche seems to require it.
And, sadly, for all the wear their bodies endure and the big-league pressure they endure, an amazing 70% of professional athletes are either broke or financially stressed within three years of retiring, according to a recent eye-opening Sports Illustrated story.
David Stern, the lawyer/marketer who is the NBA's commissioner and seems content to let his young lions roar like the warriors they think they are, would better serve the league, the players, and the kids who emulate them by schooling them on holding onto their money rather than mandating that they don't dress like rap stars.
Even warriors have to live. ïµ
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