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HustleJunkie: The American Games

Graydon Gordian is the author of the blog 48 Minutes of Hell. His HustleJunkie column runs weekly here on HP. This week he discusses basketball’s viability as the national pastime, and the perception of basketball in America.

Although the sun may rise early and set late in these waning summer days, this is the darkest time of year for the basketball fan. The Summer League and Olympics have passed us by. The majority of off-season signings have occurred. Baseball teams have begun jockeying for position just as we hear the first autumnal groans of the sleeping giant that is football. The American sports fan’s consciousness is never further from basketball than it is right now. With this in mind, HustleJunkie will step off the hardwood and survey the American sports landscape as a whole. (Don’t worry. There’ll be basketball, just other stuff too.)

In Roland Barthes’ “What is Sport?” the French philosopher sets out to answer the title’s question by analyzing four unique national sports: Spanish bullfighting, French cycling, Italian racing, and English football (soccer). Barthes’ continental sensibilities may have been why he chose to ignore the cornucopia of athletic pursuits offered in the United States, but the cornucopia itself may be the exact reason: Which of the many professional sports in America would he have identified as most uniquely indicative of our national culture? Being that Mr. Barthes has chosen to ignore the question, we will address it here today.


Baseball, known as the national pastime, has the most storied history of any of the American games. The first professional sport in the United States (if one discounts boxing, which seems to inhabit a different sphere of influence than the other professional sports and finds its origins much further back in history), names such as Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Mickey Mantle, and Willie Mays still frequent the tales parents tell their sons and daughters about sporting legends of old.

But in some ways baseball no longer seems indicative of our national character. A nineteenth-century pastoral game, its casual pace seems ill-suited for the speed and immediacy of postmodern American life. Games oftentimes occur during the workday, and the position of the players on the field is rather static, making it almost more pleasurable to listen to a game on the radio than watch one on TV (emphasis on almost). As Will Leitch noted recently in an emeritus piece for Deadspin, home runs, the most spectacular occurrence in baseball, are actually kind of uninteresting when presented amidst a highlight reel. Even as the game has globalized, the nationalities involved speak to a by-gone geopolitical era: East Asians and Latinos were taught to play baseball by American soldiers stationed there during the first half of the 20th century.

At first glance, football seems to have replaced baseball as the true American game. During the fall, Sundays (and Saturdays for the college football fan) are completely organized around watching football for many Americans. The Super Bowl’s television ratings dwarf both the NBA Finals and the World Series (not to mention the Stanley Cup Finals. No, really. I don’t know anything about hockey so from here on out I won’t be mentioning the sport. Sorry, puck fans). As America looks back on a century of imperium, no game seems to capture America’s ideal vision of itself more than football: A game baroque in its complexity, presented on the grandest of stages, and yet fundamentally won by the up-by-your-bootstraps tenacity Americans prize.


And yet simultaneously no game is so physically divorced from the recreation of actual Americans. Aside from the fact that I play basketball on a much lower skill level, I fundamentally play the exact same game as occurs in the NBA. Same goes for baseball, if you acknowledge that the speed of the pitch is much higher in the major leagues. But the last time I put on pads and a helmet was when I quit playing high school football. I’ve played pick-up tackle football, but anybody who has played real tackle football can tell you that pick-up and organized football hardly compare. If anything, pick-up football gets less entertaining as you increase the number of players: if you really play 11 on 11 in the park with your buddies, far too many players are relegated to the ceaseless boredom of the offensive line. Football may dominate our lives as “consumers” (if one thinks of watching TV as a form of consumption) but for those of us who partake in lifelong amateur athletics, it is the most distant.

This brings us to basketball. Basketball is probably the least popular of the three sports discussed here but in some ways the most honest. If football lays before us a heroic vision of ourselves, the state of the NBA more accurately reflects the state of the nation, for better or for worse. As cold-war tensions collapsed during the 90′s amidst the ease and enthusiasm of technological democratization and record low oil prices, our television screens were dominated by the high-flying theatrics and smile filled advertisements of none other than MJ himself. And as the NBA struggled to awake from its post-Jordan malaise, the country struggled to find its way as it was abruptly thrown back into the push and pull of a Manichean history many falsely believed we had permanently left behind.


And now, basketball finds itself at the heart of our national politics. Whichever party assumes control of the White House come November, America will have its first basketball player in the executive branch. Obama’s love of the game is well noted, but with the selection of Sarah Palin to be McCain’s running mate, half of the presidential ticket of both parties is made up of former players. Palin may have traded in her high-tops to become a “hockey mom” but black and white images of her scrappy point guard play have already begun to make their way around the internet.

Will either McCain or Obama’s election mean a change in public opinion regarding the sport? Without betraying any partisan allegiances, a sober assessment would seem to suggest that Obama has done a better job bringing the game front and center: He still actively plays, plans on installing a court at the White House, and likely garners a considerably larger amount of support from NBA players than McCain. Either candidate’s relationship to any sport is a terrible reason to vote for or against them; I am just making an observation.

It’s unclear to me that there truly is “an American game.” If anything, the myriad of sports we play speaks to the idea that there is no single American culture, no particular ideology or set of values which must by default determine our way of life. As a living, breathing amalgamation of ethnic and cultural differences, the undefinability of our national character is one of the things I love most about this country.

HustleJunkie: A Petition

Graydon Gordian is the author of 48 Minutes of Hell. His HustleJunkie column runs Tuesdays here at Hardwood Paroxysm. This week, Graydon continues the Hardwood Paroxysm of trying to get the league to actually put together a cool All-Star Weekend. We proudly support the petition, and ask that you join us. Rise up! Just read it, it’ll make sense.

At first I was hesitant to spend a column discussing the All-Star game, as it’s only August. But then I realized HP has a whole column dedicated solely to discussing a currently non-existent MVP race. I really can talk about whatever I want. (Ed. Note: Welcome to irrelevance, Graydon! Make yourself at home! -Ed.)


It’s never too early to demand change. We may not find ourselves at a breaking point but this does not mean we should wait to aggressively seek the joys and freedoms with which we are meant to be inextricably blessed. We will not casually stumble upon the tomorrow we seek; we must pursue it with unrelenting enthusiasm. Although I look upon our current situation and I see numerous reasons to grow weary, I remain optimistic. We are the moment we have been waiting for.

I’ve never been a big fan of All-Star weekend. Like anybody with two eyes and a heart, I get completely pumped for the dunk contest. We can all admit there was a dark period over the last couple of years, but this past season’s contestants returned it to the vehicle of joy it once was. But the game itself is lacking: Obviously I take an interest in seeing such a high level of talent on the court at one time, but to be honest the Olympics do a better job of taking that reservoir of skill and directing it towards something meaningful. I actually enjoy the Rookie-Sophomore game considerably more: There seems to be a significant grudge underlying their efforts.

But the lack of excitement generated by the All-Star game itself is not my primary concern. The NBA has denied us that which we deserve. We have been dedicated fans, supporting it not just during the wide-eyed years of Jordan’s domination but into the new millennium, as the departure of those heady days left the league with a serious hangover. We religiously tune in, night after night, despite being constant recipients of the angry glances of our significant others and the annoyed barbs of our uninterested friends. We forcefully defend the honor of the Association when others disparage it by calling it inferior to college ball or a “niche” sport. And for our sacrifice we want something back.

Many of us grew up playing organized basketball: 5-on-5 youth leagues and the like. But most of us have spent just as many hours with a ball and a single opponent as we have with a ref and a scoreboard. As young men and women, our thirst for the game was quenched with the sweat and swagger of one-on-one. The bravado and creativity inherent in one-on-one basketball endowed us with a combination of self-reliance and self-expression. One-on-One is a beautiful thing.

And yet the league has failed to take advantage of this highly prevalent mode of the game. There is no denying it: Who in their right mind would not relish the opportunity to see LeBron and Melo locked in battle on the hardwood? What about Wade and Kobe? The possibilities are endless.

That is why I propose the creation of a one-on-one tournament during All-Star Weekend. I am not the first to suggest such an event, but I would like to be on the forefront of those doing something meaningful to bring about its realization.

Here is what I want: a 16 man tournament. To eleven by ones and twos. Simple. To the point.

If you support this cause, sign the petition. On opening day of the 2008-2009 NBA season, I will mail as well as email the petition and a list of signatories to the league. Tell your friends. Tell your family. Tell random people on the street for all I care. Just spread the word. If we stand together, our voices empowered by unity, we will experience the change we seek.

Aside from your signature, I have only one other thing to ask of you. We can all imagine ideal one-on-one match-ups we would like to see. Don’t keep them to yourself. Let me hear them in the comment section. Personally, I have a sneaky suspicion Boom Dizzle brings it when it’s just him and the rim, so I’m gonna say: Baron Davis vs. Gilbert Arenas. Now that’s a one-on-one match-up with some style.

HustleJunkie: An Interview with Joel Kimmel

Graydon Gordian is the author of 48 Minutes of Hell and a contributing writer for Hardwood Paroxysm. His HustleJunkie column runs every week here at HP. This week, an interview with an artist with flair for the NBA.

I first came across the artwork of Joel Kimmel during this most recent NBA season when Lang Whitaker started linking to his work at SLAM Online. I liked it so much I even bought some prints. I eventually asked if I could interview him for Hardwood Paroxysm, a request he kindly granted. You can check out his work here, and purchase limited edition prints of his work here. Also keep your eyes peeled for a book of his artwork that will be published in the coming months. Your humble author may even make a surprise appearance. Enjoy the interview. I know I did.


Graydon Gordian: You are from Ottawa originally. Not exactly hoops country. How did you first get into basketball?

Joel Kimmel: My dad was a basketball player and coach, having played and coached at the collegiate level in Western Canada.

I first started playing basketball at school with friends when I was 10 years old and started playing in a house league in Ottawa that same year.

Ottawa definitely isn’t hoops country, but there’s a great basketball fan base and a good crop of talented players.

GG: Are you a sports fan in general, or are you just a basketball guy?

JK: I’m just a basketball guy, actually. I enjoy playing some other sports on occasion and I’ve tried watching other sports but I just can’t get into anything but basketball. Thankfully my hockey-loving Canadian friends seem okay with that!

GG: You’ve addressed several subjects in your artwork, but basketball seems to be the most prevalent topic. What do you find so fruitful about the subject?

JK: It’s something that I really enjoy painting. Basketball is something that I love and something that I know. There are so many different aspects of the game and the players that can be portrayed with an illustration. I enjoy showing the players in a way we don’t normally see them, as people rather than just players, and in different environments.

GG: Many of your non-basketball related pieces are about nature (sketches of birds, for example). These undeniably cross over into your basketball portraits (Kobe Bryant, Josh Smith). What do you find useful or expressive about fusing these two subject matters?

JK: I really enjoy painting birds and animals, and I find that there are interesting ways to incorporate them with paintings of basketball players to help tell their stories. I also like to place the players in nature because it’s a place where you rarely see them, especially if they’re interacting with the animals.

GG: Do you have any artists whom you look to for inspiration? And if so, are there any concrete ways in which they have affected your work?

JK: There are a few artists whose books I turn to most regularly. I have a couple books compiling the works of N.C. Wyeth and Andrew Wyeth. N.C. was mostly a book illustrator, painting cowboys and pirates in dramatic, colorful scenes during the early 1900s.

His paintings inspire me to create dramatic scenes with great storytelling, voluminous clouds and beautiful colors.

His son, Andrew, expertly painted barns and landscapes, as well as amazing portraits with mysterious effects.

My Norman Rockwell books are always inspiring to find thoughtful settings and another favorite of mine is Rien Poortvliet, the illustrator of the popular Gnomes books. His animal and landscape illustrations are definitely inspirational.

An illustrator I recently came across is Frank Mullins, who illustrated a number of Sports Illustrated covers in the 60s. His work really encouraged me to try different approaches in my basketball portraits.


GG: Many of your portraits explicitly utilize the tropes of historical artistic styles (I’m thinking of the Caron Butler and Baron Davis pieces, but there are other examples). What first led you to so distinctly draw upon different artistic traditions, and what benefits have you found from using that approach?

JK: I think I first worked that approach into some of my paintings a couple years ago after I bought a book about the history of poster design. I eventually found that I could maintain my style of painting but use it in a different format to help tell the story of the player. This is visible in the pieces you mentioned, as well as my Yao Ming Chinese propaganda style painting, the Josh Smith Audubon style illustration and also the Dwyane Wade comic book cover, among others. This approach is helpful to me in creating an illustration because it’s almost like I already have a template to work around.

GG: What considerations do you make when conceptualizing how you will portray a player?

JK: Sometimes I know right away how I’m going to portray someone, but it usually requires a bit of research. I like to read about the player as much as I can. Wikipedia entries only have so much information, and they really don’t tell you who the player really is.

Sometimes I work around a nickname, a team’s mascot or how the player is seen by the fans and media. A couple times I’ve even worked an illustration around the player’s tattoos.

GG: What future projects do you have in mind? You’ve mentioned how you’d like to follow a team for a season and track its evolution. Any particular team you’d like to chronicle?

JK: I would love to follow a team for a season, preferably the Knicks or the Nets so the home games bring me closer to my actual home. The illustrator Frank Mullins once followed teams for Sports Illustrated and provided illustrations for them. I imagine being a basketball correspondent and reporting my observations with sketches, drawings and notes, eventually developing the sketches into paintings.

I’m currently working on a book that compiles about 30 of my basketball paintings. I’m going to continue painting portraits of players when I can, and if I get a chance I’d like to work on a few basketball action poses that really stress the physicality convincingly.

I mentioned N.C. Wyeth earlier and he once wrote, about painting a body in action:

“When I paint a figure on horseback, a man plowing or a woman buffeted by the wind, I have an acute sense of the muscle strain, the feel of the hickory handle, or the protective bend of head and squint of eye that each pose involved.”

I’m hoping that my basketball playing can help me get across the body in action within a painting.

I have a few other basketball projects in mind, and even some non-basketball related paintings, too.

GG: If I asked you to do a portrait of Manu Ginobili for me, would you?

JK: I’ll paint Manu Ginobili, or any of the Spurs as long as it’s not Bruce Bowen! I do personal commissions on occasion. Anyone interested in an original commission can email me with their inquiry and I’d be happy to discuss everything with them.

GG: Which of your pieces is your favorite/ are you most proud of? Why?

JK: A few of my favorite pieces are probably Josh Smith, Caron Butler and Stephon Marbury. I like the Josh Smith piece because it turned out just as I had hoped for it to and I had a great time painting it. That painting moved me in a slightly new direction with my art, mostly with the technique I used.

I like the Butler and Marbury pieces as well because of the stories behind them.


GG: Have you ever talked to Rudy Gay about throwing down the Dirty Jersey? How’d you come up with that?

JK: I’ve never talked to him myself about it, but the writer Michael Tillery asked him about it before All-Star weekend. Rudy didn’t seem to think it was possible! I think it is, but it would be extremely difficult.

I thought up the dunk last year after the dunk contest. I could never quite dunk myself, but I always like to think of new dunks for capable players to perform.

GG: Practically none of your portraits show the players playing basketball. They are almost exclusively in other settings, although oftentimes still in their uniforms. Why have you chosen not to draw/paint the games themselves or the players in action?

JK: Most of my basketball paintings in my most recent series concentrate on the portrait, some of them straight on, staring right at the viewer.

In this series of portraits I wanted to be able to show the player’s face as the most important part of the painting, and I found that action poses often reduced the face size I had to work with. It also usually restricted me to having to paint an angry or aggressive expression.

Basketball players are most frequently portrayed in photographs in action poses, so I set out to illustrate them in a way that a photograph couldn’t quite capture.

GG: As an artist, what do you think the aesthetic merits of basketball are, i.e. do you believe basketball is in and of itself a mode of self-expression?

JK: I think it can be a mode of self-expression, although that is evident in some players more than others.

Basketball is aesthetically pleasing to watch, more so than other sports I find. I think the reason for this is the ability for players to perform individually and together.

Basketball is also, more than any other sports, a 3-dimensional sport. You’re not just running back and forth, you’re moving amongst each other, diving, shuffling and then jumping. An offensive player will soar to the hoop to be met mid-flight by a defender; it breaks the plane and brings the game to another level.

The comparison of basketball to an art form always reminds me of an NBA video imposing images of ballerinas and dancers between video clips. A simple Charles Barkley eyebrow fake raised three defenders in the air at once. Replayed in slow motion the play was compared to three ballerinas jumping in the air.

GG: Basketball is necessarily more teleological than art: The purpose of playing is to win, while art does not require such directedness. How do you conceive of the difference between the “creative” capacity of basketball, and the creative capacity of painting/drawing, given that one is more goal-oriented than the other?

JK: That’s a great question. I think that the major difference in the creative capacity between basketball and painting is that with basketball you see the whole process through 4 quarters of effort. You see the offense and defense, the patience required, the play-calling and emotions and you see the game develop. With basketball the goal is to win, but the creativity comes during the game. With a painting the only thing you ever see is the final result. The sketches, drawing and layers of paint aren’t visible in the final piece. There’s no box score or highlight reel for a painting.

GG: Do you have a conception of a broader artistic project you are undertaking, or are you just exploring subjects as they arise?

JK: I’ve been so busy with the basketball player portraits that it’s been a while since I thought of anything else!

With the completion of my NBA portrait book approaching, I have started to think about some other projects that are not basketball related.

I see interesting people and things every day walking around Brooklyn that I would love to portray in my work. I used to have a problem thinking of things to paint, but I seem to have a good list of things to keep me busy for the next little while. I think the important thing is to just paint what I’m interested in and I’ll always have a painting to work on.


GG: Who are your favorite players/teams, and why?

JK: I’ve been a Bulls fan since the mid-90s but I’ve been a Phoenix fan for about just as long, just not as loyal. I also always hope for the best for the Raptors.

I’m a big fan of Steve Nash’s game. I can’t think of many other players who make me laugh when they make a great play. He just surprises me a lot with his game and that’s exciting.

I love Garnett’s energy, Gilbert’s flair for the dramatic and LeBron’s dominance. There are a lot more players I look forward to seeing more of, such as Chris Paul, Monta Ellis, Brandon Roy and Chris Bosh to name a few.

I’m also a big fan of the guys who are drafted late, sit on the bench for a couple of years and then prove themselves.

GG: Where do you get your sports news? Do you read blogs or are you more likely to check major media outlets like ESPN?

JK: I’ve been moving more towards blogs lately, but I still check in with ESPN and Sports Illustrated and other major sports websites. I have a long list of basketball blogs that I subscribe to. I prefer to get my news from them, but when the season starts I’m on nba.com everyday to check the highlights and study the box scores. I love basketball statistics.

GG: Do you have any favorite sportswriters/bloggers? Have they influenced your artwork in anyway?

JK: I’ve been a reader of Lang Whitaker’s Links on SLAMonline.com since he started writing it years ago. He gave me the opportunity to showcase my basketball portraits every Friday for 30 weeks on the Links this season.

My illustration of Caron Butler was greatly influenced by a Washington Post story about Butler called The Great Escape written by Michael Lee.

I can also remember a great story I read in Sports Illustrated in 1995 about Michael Jordan’s double-nickel game in NY. It was written by Alexander Wolff and had some really beautiful watercolors by the illustrator Stanley. I would love to help tell the story of a great game with my paintings.

HustleJunkie: Heroes for None and All

Graydon Gordian is the author of 48 Minutes of Hell and a contributing writer for Hardwood Paroxysm. His HustleJunkie column runs weekly here at the Paroxysm. This week’s topic is the place of politics and Team USA.

The awareness that they are about to make the continuum of history explode is characteristic of the revolutionary classes at the moment of their action.
-Walter Benjamin


Up until this point I’ve remained on the periphery of the debate raging around Team USA and what responsibility it may have to make a political statement while in China. Clearly the most urgent topic seems to be Darfur and the egregious human rights violations being committed there. Many people have drawn attention to the obvious conflicts of interest that complicate the players’ ability to exercise their conscience: Nike’s business interests in the region; the NBA’s enthusiasm for the ever expanding Chinese market; the prevailing wisdom that superstar athletes should remain apolitical. The logic of self-interest swirling around the team seems endless.

To be honest, I find myself surprisingly uninspired by the whole matter. I am not one of those people who believe politics has no place in sports. In fact, I believe the exact opposite. The court is not some vacuum where your race, class and gender disintegrate under the weight of the nobility of “sport.” These conflicts and inequalities are inescapable, and we should not proceed under the falsehood that any public sphere escapes the tumult of the political.

But there is another falsehood we should not proceed under as well: We have tricked ourselves into incorrectly believing that Team USA represents the political inheritance of Tommie Smith and John Carlos.

The media, and in turn the public, fundamentally misunderstands what gave the Mexico City protest its strength. The beauty and bravery of what Carlos and Smith did in 1968 did not derive from their celebrity. It derived from their anonymity. Neither were household names and were it not for that single gesture of resistance, neither ever would have been. They stood on those podiums not as athletes, not as celebrities, but as individuals inescapably mired in the push and pull of human relations. They were just regular civilians who sacrificed their anonymity on the altar of progress. The power of the moment sprang from its unexpectedness and its sense of abandon. From then on, they would be lionized and demonized in turn.


Consider then Team USA: Any comment they make, any gesture, will merely be a footnote in their athletic legacy. Both silence and protest are paradoxically expected, and this expectation robs either of its power. Silence is not condemned as complicity. Any protest is brushed aside as a sensible condemnation of an inexcusable crime against humanity. The sound bites have already been written, the heroic montages already compiled. ESPN merely sits hungrily awaiting the signal that let’s them know which story they should run: Were our heroes noble in their passivity, focused on the meritorious task of returning USA to dominance in the arena of international basketball? Or did they bravely stand before the world and speak out against possibly the most horrendous atrocity of this decade?

Never mind the fact that condemning Darfur is the safest political stance possible, Chinese oil interests or no Chinese oil interests. Any athlete who honestly speaks out on the matter will not suffer real financial or PR consequences. No one will be seriously criticized for speaking out against genocide.

And here again the media has shielded the reputations of the players without revealing to us its intention to do so. Our world and our nation is mired in any number of intense political debates, and yet the only one on which we choose to focus is the one in which there is a largely agreed upon right answer. Yes, we may debate the merits of intervention or diplomacy, etc…but we have already protected the players from criticism by limiting the scope of discussion to a topic that is the backbone of contemporary arguments in favor of universal moral truths.

The fact of the matter is that what Carlos and Smith did was radical. They were radicals. And it was their radicalism that gave them strength. They gave a voice to political persuasions whose potential was unsettling and whose moral validity was unsettled. In order to make an omelet you have to break some eggs. Sadly enough, no such radicalism lurks amongst the members of Team USA. If you wish to keep your eyes focused on the strait gate through which the messiah may enter, it is best you look elsewhere. If we are to experience a truly heroic political statement, it will not arrive dressed in red, white and blue. It will arrive from where we least expect it.

HustleJunkie: Basketball with the Naked Eye

Graydon Gordian is the author of 48 Minutes of Hell and a contributing writer for Hardwood Paroxysm. His HustleJunkie column runs every Tuesday here at HP. He enjoys long walks on the beach and harassing referees mercilessly. His topic this week is the NBA Live Experience.

Before television, a prize-fight was to a New Yorker the nearest equivalent to the New England town meeting. It taught a man to think on his seat.
-A.J. Liebling

The most valuable part of attending an NBA game is the ability to address the players on the floor directly. If I sit alone in my apartment, I can yell as loud as I want, but it is unlikely Kirk Hinrich won’t pick up his dribble or Ginobili won’t make an ill advised pass in traffic just because I plead with them to do so. If I attend the game live, I am able to impart upon the players the wisdom of my reflections. Sometimes I keep my instructions simple: “Damn it, let’s go!” Or, if yelling at Tony Parker, I like to phrase it so that it’s more easily digestible: “Vas-y, Tony!” Unlike many NBA players, Parker is very responsive to my suggestions. He always y allait.

I find this is the most effective advice one can give to influence the outcome of games. I am prone to issue imperatives such as “Get some rebounds, for Chrissakes!” or “Make your free throws, God damn it,” but these commands have already reached a level of detail and sophistication that the players are unlikely to be responsive to.

Sometimes, even the coaches themselves are in need of my insight. “Come on, Popovich. You don’t think having at least one of the big three on the floor is a good idea?” The fact that he has studied the game of basketball intensely for decades misguidedly gives him the belief that he need not consider my thoughtful proclamations.

I’m not even going to touch upon the golden tongue with which I address the refs.

Clearly, my council is essential to the success of my team. I am continuously shocked when they are able to eke out a win without the benefit of my presence. And yet the NBA, along with the video and audio technicians at every arena across the country, seems to be conspiring against me. Rather than allow space for my voice to be heard, they choose to drown out my commentary with a constant sensory bombardment.

Obviously NBA players lose out on something special when they are robbed of their ability to easily hear my commands. How are they going to know to “make a damn shot” without me informing them of their need to do so? But to be honest, my ability to verbally communicate with the guys on the floor isn’t my primary concern. Not when I can’t hear the guy sitting next to me.

In my formative years I not only played the game of basketball, but attended both professional and college games often. My father would take me to the Frank Erwin Center to see the Texas Longhorns or to the Alamodome to watch the Spurs play. Neither is a particularly good venue: in the era of Kevin Durant and D.J. Augustin, the Erwin Center was often only half full. Imagine how uninspired the crowd was during the halcyon days of Chris Mihm. And the Alamodome may in fact be the worst place to watch a basketball game in the history of the sport. A cavernous concrete football stadium built to hold 65,000, they would drape a gigantic blue curtain across the 50 yard line, poorly disguising the 30,000 empty seats. It was amidst the mediocrity of these locales that I received my education. You see, those arenas, however underwhelming they may have been, did have one huge advantage over any current NBA arena in the country: they had moments of silence.

In these quiet moments, in which no spectacle was there to distract me, my father taught me the particularities of the game:

Did you notice they switched from a man-to-man to a zone? Why did you think they did that? Notice the footwork of the guys consistently pulling down rebounds. Look at the lateral movement of the defenders who don’t get beat off the dribble. See the high release point of his shot? That’s why he doesn’t get blocked.

The games were not just about mindless entertainment. They served as a space for discussion and debate. I’m not trying to hold them up as the New England town hall meetings A.J. Liebling refers to in his brilliant piece “Boxing with the Naked Eye.” The most important power we ever touched upon in conversation was the power forward. But the verbal back and forth encouraged under my father’s tutelage had value in its own right. It instilled a sense of reflection, and an appreciation for the game at a level beyond the final score.

On the other hand, the producers of today’s games show little interest in allowing attendees the peace of mind to compose a single thought, much less a concern for genuine thoughtfulness. The noise is so constant, so overwhelming, that any attempt to discuss the game going on is squashed. It’s not merely that the production team has chosen to turn up the volume on the Space Jam soundtrack during timeouts while you’re simultaneously being encouraged to root for the digital donut over the cup of coffee and the bagel because you’re in section C. As you probably know all too well, music actually occurs while the game is going on. The spectacle has become total.

I wish I could say that the poor quality of the NBA live experience was not unique to pro basketball and that the disease of endless distractions had infected other pro sports as well. But regrettably enough, the NBA is singularly guilty of such severe shortcomings. Other major sports have done a decent job defending the integrity of the public sphere they create. For me it seems counterintuitive: football and baseball are both played at a much slower pace than basketball. As such, I would imagine the leagues would have an interest in intensifying the experience. Instead, out of respect for the game, the NFL and MLB have shown restraint, while the NBA has shown none.

What’s saddest is that much of the spectacle is directed at those who would benefit the most from a little peace and quiet: children. Aside from the obvious fact that children don’t need to be force fed anymore stimulation, they are the least informed about the game and parents could use the time to pass on the tradition of discerning fanhood. When I have children one day, I hope to instill in them a deep appreciation of a game I love. I’m just not sure how I will do so if “everybody clap your hands” is playing so loud I can’t hear myself speak.

Despite my supposed cynicism, I remain optimistic. Stern has touched upon the subject directly in the past, as have coaches, and bloggers. This is also not the first time I have addressed the subject either. My hope is that by addressing this topic forcefully and frequently, we can affect real change in the way professional basketball games are presented to a live audience.

HustleJunkie: Speak, Body

Graydon Gordian is the author of 48 Minutes of Hell. His Hustle Junkie column appears weekly here at HP, in spite of our continuing efforts to destroy him. This week’s discussion is on the body, and its voice in the game.

Last week, my piece was meant to serve as a personal introduction. This week, it will serve as a theoretical introduction. My column will not be limited to the questions I raise here, but they will assuredly haunt my writing from here on out.


I have always been a firm believer that basketball, and sports in general, are far more than just games. Many people, whether they be casual observers, complete fanatics, or entirely uninterested, would agree. Sports have oftentimes been a site for social progress (Jackie Robinson’s integration) as well as a window through which our society’s shortcomings are exposed (Tim Hardaway’s homophobia). As more and more sports became professional over the last century, they increasingly abandoned the nobility of mere “men at play” and began to shine light on the reality of the economic culture in which we live. Neither of those suggestions will likely meet much resistance if offered up for consideration. But to earnestly make the argument that sports have a rightful place in the discussion of aesthetics has always drawn a bit more skepticism.

Aesthetic language ceaselessly bubbles to the surface during the discussion of sports. Commentators frequently describe plays as “beautiful,” and yet people hardly take the time to consider the nature of that beauty, and whether the term even rightfully applies. I for one have a ferocious belief that it does. I also happen to believe that basketball in particular has a unique capacity to reveal that beauty.

The origin of this beauty is what I like to call “the immediacy of the human body.” Last week I began my column with a quote from Woody Allen’s Annie Hall in which Alvy’s (played by Allen) second wife chastises him for lurking in the back room at a dinner party so he can catch part of a Knicks game. She condescendingly asks, “What is so fascinating about a group of pituitary cases trying to stuff a ball through a hoop?” to which Alvy quickly replies, “What is fascinating is that its physical.” For all the criticisms that I have of Woody Allen, in this instance his instincts could not be more accurate.

It sounds self-evident: what is beautiful about sports is the human body. But how often do we really take the time to reflect upon the expressiveness with which movement is inextricably endowed? We discuss stats, tactics, personalities. But more often than not we neglect to recognize the poetry inherent in human musculature.

As I said a moment ago, I find basketball to have a uniquely expansive relationship with that physical poetry. The game does not disguise the human body. There are no helmets. No pads. Just a ball, a hoop, and an endless variety of ways to put one through the other. Manu Ginobili’s erratic head fake. Kobe Bryant’s elegantly calculated pull-up jumper. Paul Pierce’s slovenly accurate outside shot. Each fragment of action can be viewed not merely as a tactic, but as a testament to the idea that there is no point at which dance ends and athleticism begins.

With that “immediacy” in mind, let’s move away from abstract discussion and reflect upon actual flesh and blood: Let’s talk about Josh Smith.

Smith was not originally going to be the subject of the second half of this piece. Initially my thoughts drew me in the direction of Stephen Jackson. Jack’s swagger, so pleasantly realized in his relentlessly casual 3-pointer and resurrection from criminality, make him a scion of vanguard artistry. As one of the more thoughtful sportswriters out there currently has noted, when the Warriors play, it’s like jazz.

But as I began to write, I found myself constantly mentioning Smith. I was continuously making excuses for why Jackson had become my chosen topic. As I wrote, I realized my inability to avoid mentioning Smith only highlighted why he was exactly who I need to be discussing. The impossibility of avoidance lies at the heart of my suggestion.

I discovered Smith much later than many hoops addicts. Before this season I watched the Hawks infrequently at most and not at all in actuality. But one day a friend casually pointed out one of Smith’s shockingly impressive stat lines (which at the time I legitimately thought must have been a typo by the stat keeper), and I immediately knew I was missing out on something special.

Then came the first round of the NBA playoffs. Like most rational people, I thought the Boston Celtics would sweep the Atlanta Hawks. Maybe the Hawks would steal one at home. We all know I was wrong. We all watched intently as the Celtics crept dangerously close to collapsing on an epic scale. I won’t rehash those days, however electric they may have been.

I do want to focus in on one particular play. It wasn’t a surprising play, at least not for a talent like Smith, but it struck me nonetheless. The Celtics had stolen the ball and Rajon Rondo looked well on his way to successfully completing the fast break. He sprinted up the floor, ball in hand, past the half court line, the 3-point line, and through the paint, finally leaping into the air surrounding the rim. As he went to lay the ball softly against the glass, a hand swept swiftly from left to right, rocketing the ball towards the away bench.

Smith, holding firmly to the maxim that there are no easy buckets, had hunted down Rondo just in time. Being positioned directly behind him, Smith had to rise high enough that he completely eclipsed Rondo’s body. He extended his arm fully and with a swift and accurate movement removed the ball from Rondo’s hands. If they weren’t so trite, I would employ any number of avian metaphors at this moment. Suffice it to say that Nijinksy himself would have been impressed with Smith’s spirited grace.

Length. Balance. Leaping Ability. Many of the characteristics prized in ballet dancers such as Vaslav Nijinsky can be found in NBA players such as Josh Smith. So why are the parallels between their skill sets never discussed? Many people would argue the comparisons aren’t made because art and sports have different goals. I don’t want to act as though I know the “goal” of art, or whether art even necessitates a goal, but I think it’s safe to say that the goal, unlike sports, is not to win.

Yes. Sports are necessarily pointed in a way that art is not. Smith’s balletic block was not just some grand jete that happened to occur on the hardwood. It was inarguably performed in the pursuit of victory. But does this mean that its elegance cannot be mined for significance that extends beyond the man’s hunger to win?

Oddly enough, despite its standing amongst cultural elites, dance is not written about as extensively as music or the visual arts. In Julie Charlotte Van Camp’s “Philosophical Problems of Dance Criticism,” she notes that the majority of writing on dance has been history, biography, technical discussions of dance techniques, and the sociological and ethnological context of dance. Not coincidentally, sports writing is oftentimes limited to similar discussions. I think this is partly because the body is a hard topic to expand upon intelligently without collapsing into anti-intellectualism. To be fair, many of my claims have been decidedly anti-intellectual, falling back not on reason but on dubious conceptions of what I find to be undeniably visceral.

This is not meant to be conclusive. It is not meant to set up a framework or establish a terminology through which we may discuss the aesthetics of sports. But I felt the idea needed to be presented. I felt it was necessary because I, like many of you, believe that sports are more than just another mass opiate. I don’t believe they are an escape or some distraction. I believe they are living, breathing narratives. A space for triumph and tribulation. And I believe it is an instrument through which the body, having so much on its mind, is granted the opportunity to speak.

HustleJunkie: N.Y. State of Mind

Graydon Gordian is the author of the excellent blog 48 Minutes of Hell. His “HustleJunkie” column appears every Tuesday here at Hardwood Paroxysm. He’s a Spurs fan, and rest assured we feel just as sick about it as you do. But honestly, he’s too talented to pass up. This week’s column is his introduction and some thoughts on the late 90′s Knicks.


Robin: What is so fascinating about a group of pituitary cases trying to stuff a ball through a hoop?
Alvy: What is fascinating is that it’s physical. You know, it’s one thing about intellectuals. They prove that you can be absolutely brilliant and have no idea what’s going on.
-Annie Hall

My love for the NBA began with the New York Knicks. It’s odd to say that now. I am no longer a Knicks fan, and given the fact that this past year’s squad resembled something out of an Ionesco play (I actually have a surprisingly clear image in my head of Zach Randolph transforming into a rhinoceros), I’m much more likely to openly mock what has become the laughing stock of the entire Association than quietly pine for the heady days of Charlie Ward and John Starks. But alas, it is where my little love affair began.

As a kid my sports allegiances were unique, or as my classmates would so thoughtfully put it, “stupid.” I grew up in Austin, Texas, but my father was from New York and my mother from Pittsburgh, so my fanhood was an uncommon mess of yellow, black, blue and orange. But of all the teams whom I inherited a love of from my parents (Steelers, Mets) my passion for the Knicks burned the brightest.

Need I remind you that the 90’s were a difficult time to be a Knicks fan in the Lone Star State? Texans and New Yorkers, both endowed with an endless reservoir of provincial pride, are not known for their mutual respect for one another. Add to the fact that I watched the Knicks lose to the Houston Rockets and the San Antonio Spurs (yes, I was rooting for the Knicks in ’99) in the NBA Finals during my formative years, and you can imagine how much shit my friends gave me. I still remember, in a moment of heroism and tragedy, standing up in the cafeteria at summer camp on the morning of the day Houston would secure the title, and along with a counselor originally from up-state New York, chanting “Knicks! Knicks! Knicks…” to a furious chorus of boos.

Not to say that being a Knicks fan was all Sturm und Drang. There were moments of pure bliss. The one that comes most immediately to mind was a playoff game against the Miami Heat in those vitriolic Johnson/Mourning days. The Knicks won by 30 or so, but to be honest I don’t remember much about the game specifically. I just remember sitting with my father at The Tavern in Austin eating a burger, drinking a root beer, and feeling as if I had never seen such a blowout before in my life. I genuinely believed that the Knicks were the most badass group of players to ever set foot on the hardwood. Give me a break guys. I was 12.

In fact, the particularities of that Heat-Knicks rivalry continue to strongly shape my sensibilities as they pertain to basketball. Those series were nothing if not physical. Obviously the most potent memories from those games were the myriad fights that broke out on the court and the laundry list of suspensions handed down by the league. But it wasn’t just the brief eruptions of ire that gave those games a gruff feel. Practically every trip down the floor by either team could be characterized as a mugging. No two ways about it, they were playing a man’s game.

Somewhere along the way I stopped watching the Knicks, and eventually the NBA in its entirety. When I returned to the fold I traded in the blue and orange for the silver and black for reasons that I can’t articulate. My friends might hypothesize that I was living in New York at the time and I’m a natural born contrarian so magically developing a love for the Spurs is a great way to piss people off. They have a point but that doesn’t tell the whole story.

I felt that openly discussing my long lost love for the first time in many years would be the best way to introduce myself to this community. Hi. I’m Graydon. I live in Chicago. I love Wu-Tang and Charles Mingus. I’m currently reading Jean Genet’s Funeral Rites and Chuck Klosterman’s Fargo Rock City. I shoot hoops in Oz Park on the weekends if you wanna come join. This is HustleJunkie.

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