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Aquarian
Weekly 2/13/02
REALITY CHECK
WHEN
GOOD THINGS HAPPEN TO GOOD PEOPLE
Oddly,
this is the second consecutive column on sports; but not literally,
since every profession, in and out of the spotlight of celebrity,
harbors the good and the lousy. And since this space mostly concentrates
-- with some notable exceptions -- on the lousy, I thought it
a welcomed respite to laud the good.
Sadly,
this is a society addicted to the perception that young, brash
celebrities make for interesting press if they are angry, criminal
or just plain annoying. So it is quite refreshing when a relevant
story pertains to a subject with a level of intellect, pride and
a compassionate respect rarely displayed by even those of considerable
maturity.
On
the fourth day of February, Peekskill High School, a sizable institution
located in a struggling economic hamlet of northern Westchester,
New York retired the jersey of its greatest basketball players,
Elton Brand.
Governor,
George Pataki, a Peekskill HS alum and former mayor of the town,
its current mayor and dignitaries from the school district joined
the crammed gym to share in the pomp.
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It
was a profound experience to witness the growth of a physical
specimen gaining complete control over the detailed elements
and challenges of his game. With each passing season, his
talents became refined, as if adding bolder colors to a
painting or gorgeous counter melodies to a symphony, until
it seemed there could be no more bloom on the rose.
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I
was among the represented sporting press mainly due to a local
broadcasting gig I've enjoyed since the late 80s'. But, admittedly,
I attended the event with the same pride I'd felt when a kid I'd
seen play the game at the tender age of thirteen was chosen first
in the 1998 NBA draft.
Brand
arrived dressed in a stylish tan suit, still exhibiting the same
genuine, almost innocent smile he'd displayed in his adolescence.
At first shielded by a modest entourage, he broke ranks to welcome
many of the people who were instrumental in his success. He hugged,
shook hands and intermingled with everyone in the press area,
but did so with none of the disingenuous condescension of a grubbing
politician or a petulant punk star allowing the sycophants a whiff
of stardom.
And
when he spoke of his recent triumphs, he exuded a keen instinct
that his achievements were not merely for himself or even his
family, but a town, a generation, a culture, a race and a sport.
"I think I do understand the impact," he said when I asked him
if he knew what it meant to a small, decaying urban town that
one of their own flourished in its graying pall. "People know
that it takes more than just one talent to truly succeed," Brand
continued. "My parents always stressed a good academic background,
to be good at what you do, but be a good person also."
He
trailed off when he said, "good person", as if it seemed ludicrous
to him that it wasn't a given that anyone who could dunk a basketball,
split an atom or sweep the gym wouldn't try to be the best person
they could be.
Having
called most of Brand's televised games for his four stellar years
as the center for two title squads, I was impressed at how he
handled it all. Our conversations on and off the air were never
strained, many times I learned something deeper about the human
spirit from him, this precocious boy embracing a burgeoning gift,
cradling its jewels, but never squeezing too tightly.
There
was never a doubt about his considerable skills as an athlete,
an almost pristine ballet of power and grace on a basketball court.
It was a profound experience to witness the growth of a physical
specimen gaining complete control over the detailed elements and
challenges of his game. With each passing season, his talents
became refined, as if adding bolder colors to a painting or gorgeous
counter melodies to a symphony, until it seemed there could be
no more bloom on the rose.
But
instead of becoming detached, the bane of the modern athlete,
Brand embraced the responsibility of his considerable talents.
He was a straight A student, quiet, but never reserved. I never
saw him brood or recoil from the ridiculous stampede of attention,
accolade or criticism a wunderkind must endure. He was a source
of great support to his team and schoolmates, whether troubled
or scholarly.
"There
were great players before me," Brand told me hours before the
ceremony. "Hey, and there will be great ones coming. I'm just
glad to be a part of that group."
And
it's a tough group, the "too good - to soon" set, from any era
and any school. Elton Brand, and others like him, experience what
can only be described as a world wind youth. Athletes have a short
window. The journey from novice to expert spans a third of the
normal lifetime. The pressures of time begin immediately, and
the clock runs quickly.
By
the age of 13, Brand was already touted as a "can't miss", a throwaway
sports phrase that usually renders children to the level of lucrative
product. Peekskill's head coach, Lou Panzenaro told me on local
radio that winter that a 6' 9'' kid was dunking on his varsity
players. As a freshman he was the best player on the team and
by his sophomore year, the best in the region.
By
his senior year Brand was one of maybe five to ten of the best
talents in the country. He was elevated to a McDonald's All-American,
became a significant player for Duke University, the premier basketball
and academic institution in the nation, and the number one draft
pick of the NBA in 1998 by the Chicago Bulls.
Traded this past off-season to the Los Angeles Clippers, Brand
has raised his level of play to near All-Star status, and his
new teammates root the hardest for him. Two of them, Corey Maggette
and Darius Miles joined Brand for what they described as "the
long trip" from NYC earlier in the day.
"My
boy is the best teammate," Miles told me, as the crowded gym chanted
Brand's name moments before the unveiling of his retired jersey.
"I've learned a lot about the game and more from him. There was
no question I would come up here to see him honored."
The
late, great Dick Schaap, who'd spent quality time with every significant
athlete for the better part of the past century, once told me
something I won't soon forget, and something that came streaming
back when a mountain of a young man in a tan suit gave me a bear
hug and thanked me for sharing in his honor.
"Only
the smallest percentage of people ever perfect anything," Schaap
said. "And athletes do it before they even know who the heck they
are as people. Not to mention they do it with everyone counting
on them, watching their every move and expecting them to carry
the day all the time."
Elton
Brand is carrying the day just fine.
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