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Editor's Note: Big Sleep is a fictitious 23-year-old, 7-foot tall, potential NBA All-Star with a 9-foot wingspan and an occasional gift of gab.
Big Sleep here. Or, as my teammates on the Hinterland Russian Wolfhounds have started calling me, CNN. Everybody avoids me since I started carrying around my video camera and doing this thing for Page 2. My point guard, Tuberculoisis, I had to promise him I wouldn't even mention him, or he'd stop diming me. Period.
They say if I want people to notice me, I have to be controversial. I'm controversial when I walk in the door. Especially when I give up the 411. This week's hot-button issue: NBA Racial Profiling.
I know, racial profiling is serious. Several of my fellow ballers on the Clips, Suns, Pacers, Wizards and Warriors rosters look sort of like that dude now being held for terrorism conspiracy -- bald, brown-skinned, goatee. Hey, that's like, Stephon Marbury! That's like, half the league! Hand-wringing won't help. The plan here is to make light of it, make it laughable, ridickalus, so people won't be so inclined to fall for it. See?
|  | | Rip Hamilton has answered his wake-up call from Michael Jordan. |
Race: A Big Water Head Boy, With Braids
Profile: Notorious Jump Shooter Who Can Fill It Up
That would be Rip. You all know Rip Hamilton by now. Boy getting more national face-time than Charlie Barkley, much less Michael Jordan. That's 'cause Rip is playing and getting shots with Jordan with the Wizards. They be on TV all the time. Only game they weren't on national TV is the one they played against us. Figures. I'd be looking to get out of the Hinterlands, only they are paying me something like $23,000,000,000,000 this year, which equals the Gross National Product, not counting the per diem.
Race: Brown-Eyed Handsome Man, and King of the World
Profile: Michael Jordan
At first, that mind-game edge Jordan always had over the rest of the league -- over everybody but me, that is -- was backfiring on him with the Wiz. His own teammates were scared of him, too scared to make plays, paralyzed with fear. Afraid of making a mistake and incurring his wrath. Some of them couldn't play anyway, and those were the ones who weren't scared.
|  | | Jordan has been reduced to a jump shooter ... but, oh, what a jump shooter he is. |
Courtney Alexander? All broke down. Couldn't shoot his way out of a backyard barbeque. But nothing gets a baller out of a coma faster than having his own Daddy suggest that maybe, just maybe, he stinks. So ever since Jordan said that, Rip has been moving off the ball, shooting like he was Jerry West or Sweet Lou Hudson or some other relic I heard about -- I'm an NBA buff, see. Pow-pow-pow. Now Jordan's the hood ornament of the league again, King of the World. Of course, they're one pulled hammy away from being Dead Meat City.
But you got to give The Man credit. Coming back and averaging 25 for a while, six or seven boards, six or seven dimes a game -- tough. Just a jump-shooter now, but what a jump-shooter.
Watched Jordan beat Philly -- what the hell happened to Philly? -- damn near by himself on national TV. Could use him out here in the Hinterlands. Wouldn't be the Hinterlands long with him here.
Race: Rare Exotics Who Spent Four Years in Triple-A College Ball
Profile: Shane Battier, Jamal Tinsley, Brendan Haywood -- the Upside-is-Now, Straight-Up, Flat-Out NBA Rookies of the Year
The Pacers rookie point guard and the Griz Wiz guard-forward who can play three positions are easy calls. They came in more ready to play, being over 21 and all -- actually, I hear Tinsley's more like 32 -- anyway, he plays like he's 32. They came in ready after having spent four years in Triple-A. I mean, college. Jordan could've had Battier, and with Rip, Battier and, of course, Jordan Himself, hey, for all I know they could've beaten everybody except the Lakers, the Kings and us.
|  | | Eddy Curry has a lot of learning to do before he becomes a factor for the Bulls. |
Race: High School Big Men of Varying Brown Pigmentation
Profile: Busts of the Year, Men of Potential, if Potential is a French Word Meaning You're Still Garbage Right Now
Diop, Chandler, Curry and Brown. Yeah, and they play like a law firm, too. They are what they are -- high school centers.
Me, I ain't no pimply-faced 17-year-old who is 6-5 and hasn't grown into his body yet and never will -- a kid who a stiff breeze would knock over and has a crush on his Spanish teacher and who studies at the Holiday Inn to score big on the SAT so he can get into Dartmouth. I'm Big Sleep here, and when they go up against me, the only thing I ain't giving 'em is mercy. I come to ball, and there's two dozen more like me in the NBA. The game is too fast, too big, too strong for these boys. Worry about them in three or four years. If they last.
Race: Dark Brooding Slavs With Five O'Clock Shadows and No Conscience Hoisting Up All-Net J's Like It's Nobody's Business
Profile: The Sacramento Kings
Peja? Peja's got a gun and a full clip and a bandolier full of spares, man. Peja's got an automatic weapon and no conscience. They say Drazen was like that, too. I wouldn't know. Before my time.
(Drazen played back with NBC dude Jayson Williams, a horse on the boards once, they say. Real funny dude, if he's just sitting around watching the game with you at home. But on stiff-necked NBC, he comes off like he's on crystal meth. Can't stop jingling, jangling, laughing before he says his lines. I don't care how they sounded in front of the mirror that morning. I'll give him time. With no improvement, I'll take him over Peter Vecsey. Who died and made Vecsey the Pope? Yeah, in his dreams. That Rick Reilly dude -- when you gonna come out and hook me up on a cover of Sports Illustrated, Riles? -- was on Jordan coming back early, and only a few ballers like me and Finley knew that. Vecsey made a straight-up be-atch move, not by saying that it wasn't so, anybody can be wrong, but by attacking Riles for daring to write what he felt like he had to write about it. It ain't like Riles said Jordan had a three-headed baby somewhere, or was related to bin Laden. That kinda stuff is more the New York Post and Pete Vecsey style.)
|  | | Peja Stojakovic is in range to shoot once he gets off the team plane. |
Peja? Well I got off Peja for a minute because -- what can you say about this dude? Peja be putting it up from the time he gets off the plane. And you know all that scowling some dudes do to intimidate dudes out of their game? Don't work on Peja and his crew. Bring a lunch, is all I can say. Me, I find the best way to distract them is by grabbing their shots in mid-air and saying, "Don't be bringing no Kool-Aid up in here." Or, if I get there too late and foul them, as they're shooting the free throws, I mention this: "Say, ain't that your homeboy, that dude, whatshisname, Slobodan Miloserich, up in Row W? What is that he's got up there? Is that ... a telescope, or something? Why's he pointing that thing at you, Peja? What's the sign that chick's got up there? Say, that looks like ... ain't that your old lady? ... 'Peja ... is ... a ... sellout' ... that true, P-Man?"
Well, it works for me, anyway. Can't be chasing P-Man around all them picks Pollard and them set for him. 'Course I do chase, but I have bruises all over for a week after we play the Kings ... the advantage in playing them is that usually they put Vlade on me. Webber? Yeah, it would be tough, but he's usually hurt, or saying he's not a center. Hey, neither am I. I can guard all five, though, and proud of it.
But I know what C-Webb means. When Shaq comes to town, I don't wanna say I can guard all five then. Coach, take me up on it. Shaq is all five. But I guard him, do what I can do, bump him, then back off, pull the chair, take him out away from the hoop on offense. Take my whupping, basically, like everybody else. These high school boys, on Shaq? Please. That's child abuse. That's like, statutory cruel and unusual. No, I ain't sorry for them high school boys. Ain't no "I'm sorry" in the NBA. Let 'em go blind diddling with PlayStation 2, and dream on.
Race: Bald, Genie-Like Dude Who Seems To Have Some Kind of Crystal Ball And Sometimes Looks Like Saturn -- Blimp or Planet
Profile: The Most Honest, Entertaining and Totally Confused NBA Television Commentator in History, Who Absolutely Buries Jayson Williams and Anyone Else They Put Up There
Of course, we're talking about Sir Charles Barkley. After TNT night, we all come in saying, "Hear what Barkley said about ...?"
Only thing is, Charles needs to stop pining for his playing days. Chuck, I know somebody who goes to your health club. They seen you trying to sweat off that truck tire you got. They seen you take off your top. They say it's done got ugly up under there. Hey, man, let it go. Who don't pine to play with Michael Jordan? If nothing else, it gets you on TV all the time. But, Charles, you're already on TV all the time! You The Man. If Dennis Rodman and Rip Big Water Head Boy Hamilton became stars by riding on the tail of Comet Jordan, then Big Sleep knows I could get me a show and a movie, at least. Get me on TV with Jordan, I'll take my chances.
Nothing sneakily profound or entertaining or funny -- your usual m.o. -- about a retired baller wanting to come back and play with Jordan. It's just ... sad. So give that up, Bread Truck. It ain't you, baby. All the insights you offer about the tendencies and foibles of them who play The Game, all that back-up-offa-me straight-up truth -- OK, truth as you see it -- all that Ali-esque humor, all that mother wit, all that ball-savvy, all that All That ... that's what's unique and irreplaceable. That's you, Chuck! That's when you Da Man. Take it from young'un Big Sleep. You already hooked up.
|  | | Antoine Walker will talk smack with anyone anytime anywhere. |
Race: Kelly Green-Wearing Perpetrators Who Talk Cash S---
Profile: The best pair of forwards in the NBA
Charles Stuart and The Boston Strangler. Larry Bird and Kevin McHale. And now, Paul Pierce and Antoine Walker. Killers all.
I've played against them. I know. Ain't shamed. Pierce dropped 40 on my dome. What am I s'posed to do? Boy's long, got All-World first-step, a step-back move that would free his j up from the Hand of God, much less the Arm of the Big Sleep, and deep range. Yeah, he dropped 40 on me. Tell you what. I ain't the only one.
Did you see the other day Pierce dropped 46 -- in one half? Boy done come a long way from getting all cut and busted up in a mug-out in Boston. Guess they take their hoop serious up there. That boy Pierce didn't let that punk him out. And be talking cash trash to Jordan, don't he?! Telling him it's all over, that next time he'll bring a fork. Reminds me of when Bird told old Dr. J that if he didn't mind his saw palmetto, Bird was gonna drop 50 on him. Mild-mannered Doc was so discombooberated by this arrogance that he immediately checked on Birdie's pulse, through his carotid artery. Doc didn't mean to get into a choke-out with Bird. And I really don't think at this point Jordan wants none of Pierce's game.
Antoine? Antoine Walker? Finally decided to stop bellyaching about everything and just play. Can drop 40 any night, too. Soon as he realizes he can also go get 20 boards any night-watch out.
These boys? Scary good. My own personal toughest matchup.
Outside of my girly, that is. She's out at the mall now, taking me and my American Express Platinum card to the Nordstroms and Neiman-Marcus hoop. Face job. Hooking me up, for Christmas, she says. Right. Just like when Jordan takes Antoine and all them out for all-nighters at the casinos, he's improving their minds. If my girly wasn't so fine ... but she is, so what am I talking about?
|  | | Jason Kidd can turn his teammates from trade bait into All-Stars. |
Race: A Light-Skinned Black Point Guard Who Is Pocket Magic
Profile: Jason Kidd, who distributes the rock and makes All-Stars out of Trade Bait: See also, Van Horn, Kittles, K-Mart, L. Harris.
Anybody who can almost single-handedly make winners out of the inner workings of the swampland known as the New Jersey Nets is special. There are a lot of good ballers in the big-time. But only a few are special. Kobe is special. Jason ain't that special, 'cause he can't shoot; other than that, he's Blue Plate, baby. Blue Plate.
Race: A Suddenly Goofy-Eyed Forward and Former Presumed NBA Savior With A Foot That Sets off Airport Metal Detectors.
Profile: The Orlando Magic's season going glug-glug-glug
That giant sucking sound you hear is the hope going out of the Orlando Magic. With a healthy Granny Hill, they might have been good enough to get on TV against the Washington Wizards and Michael Jordan. Come to think of it, they did do that -- and got beat. Hill's injured ankle and foot bring out the best in the scoring average of Tracy McGrady, but doesn't do Magic coach Doc Rivers' sleep pattern much good.
Hill was the Magic's leading rebounder when he went down. Says a lot for Grant, but not a lot for the Magic's "big men." They make Big Sleep's mouth water, I can tell you that. The Magic already let Brendan Haywood go to the Wizards in favor (and as a favor to Jordan?) of this other 7-foot rookie named Steven Hunter. And the referees start blowing their whistles when Don Reid takes off his warmups. So now, Big Sleep and the rest of the League's board chairmen, the Dale Davises, the Vin Bakers, the Anthony Masons, the Tim Duncans, get to go up against -- Horace Grant and Patrick Ewing? That's cold. Five years ago, would've been tough duty. Five years ago there was a stock market, too.
Things change.
Ralph Wiley spent nine years at Sports Illustrated and wrote 28 cover stories on celebrity athletes. He is the author of several books, including "Best Seat in the House," with Spike Lee, "Born to Play: The Eric Davis Story," and "Serenity, A Boxing Memoir."
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