Motivation (edit)

You've heard the audio all over YouTube. How Bad Do You Want Success? Well, these are the images I see when I hear this speech. Need some motivation? Watch.

11-year-old Julian Newman...WHAT!?

RIDICULOUS! This kid was a guest on Conan last night. Might be the next Jordan...might be the next Greg Oden. But he's BALLIN' right now! Conan asked him if he was a better player than his little sister. He said, "Yes." Conan asked why. Julian said,"Well, I mean she's a girl." Ha ha ha ha.

Game Changers

Personally, I think Michael Jordan exhibited fewer weaknesses on the court than anybody in the history of televised basketball. I have reasons to believe he played with certain skills and a style overall that would put him at the top of any era he were to play in. Kobe Bryant is the Jordan "carbon copy" as I see it. His game, his look, his approach, and his personal goals ALL seem to stem directly from how Michael did it. The two are eerily similar...due to what I see as Kobe's relentless attempt to duplicate Michael's career, and then somehow surpass it. Noble goal, just not possible for number twenty-four...or number eight....or whatever the Lakers' star chooses to wear. As you know, carbon copies come close, but aren't the original quality. LeBron, on the other hand, is taking a cue from the two before him, but doing it all on his own terms. He plays quite differently than Kobe or MJ, and his build is obviously unique, like Barkley or Shaq before him. Honestly, I've thought about it a lot and I've come to the conclusion that what drives LeBron, no matter what he may say, appears to be different than the similar motivations Jordan and Kobe had. There's a different attitude there. Less cutthroat, more concerned with something I haven't quite put my finger on yet. He's not as concerned as the other two about climbing to the top and standing alone. I enjoy watching as much of LeBron as possible. I watched Kobe more from 2005 to 2009 than I will ever tune in again. I NEVER would have missed a moment of Jordan. That's the difference for me. Plus, Dark Knight Rises was pretty sick.

TOURNAMENT of KINGS

        During the last 120 years, basketball has evolved from a child's game and a peach basket in mid-western America, into a worldwide form of entertainment and multi-billion dollar industry. At the highest professional level, it has become a breathtaking show, boasting of some of the world's greatest athletes and intriguing personalities. It was radio, then video, and now live streaming high definition images sent to your pocket. Coverage now includes pregame analysis, notable tweets, microphones woven into the fabric of player's uniforms, and round the clock discussion between the games. Basketball never stops.

  
                The NBA was birthed in the late 1940's and has since laid a canvas for its players to create and inspire. The game's greats transcended their sport and have become, either, mythical beings, or modern-day super-heroes. We often rank, and debate, and compare the greats. We look at their achievements, their eye-popping plays and performances, and we look at their varying styles and strengths, all the while sizing up any perceptible weaknesses. We can quote stats and describe where we were when these giants did what they did to change history. We ponder the hypothetical, and dare insert current players into the rosters and rivalries of yesteryear, and vice versa. So, who's the best, and how do we even decide? What are the criteria, and what are these conclusions? There is something satisfying within the very argument. There is something magical and yet, scientific, tucked in with the competition of it all. But, we most often look to that one player, that single "Greatest Ever." We sift through basketball lore and attempt to place a solitary name alone at the top of our lists. Let's switch that up just once.
               Let's say a serum, or space-age elixir of sorts, is concocted, and its ingredients, when ingested, would immediately grant a person a full day to experience the present in their prime physical condition and state of being. Imagine, for 24 hours, all spines are straightened, knees and joints are unlocked, and the scars of past injuries wiped from an aging human frame. What if that same serum had the power to fully renew life, to bring a man back from the grave? Certainly this drink would be better used for profound experiences that could advance humanity and answer age-old questions for all mankind...but, we're simply going to use it to bring back the best players in the history of basketball, draw up a tournament bracket, and watch it all unfold, purely for our love of the game, and our thirst for more evidence to support our claims. The buzz and hysteria created over the announcement is unprecedented. The internet floods globally with details of the resurrection, the rankings, and the "Tournament of Kings" is set in motion. Microsoft, AT&T and Facebook quickly dump funds into sponsorship and the NBA allows TNT, ESPN, NBA TV, TBS, Fox, ABC, CBS, NBC and Google one-time, full broadcasting rights. NIKE, Reebok, Converse, and ADIDAS release retro models worn by these idols. Jersey's are cranked out and sold by the truckload. Rioting ensues. The rules are released to the public and the hype grows further.
               The players will compete in a single-elimination, 16-team tournament. Participants are selected by a process allowing the players themselves, past and present, coaches, the fans, and David Stern to collectively determine who's in. The players invited to participate are not only masters of the game, but captains of a two-man basketball duo that will be forged to compete two-on-two. Main rule: The players must have been teammates at one point, and it is the players choice, and final say, who they will enter the tournament alongside. It is fate that will decide rankings as David Stern shuffles out from a tall curtain and toward the old ping pong ball machine, a grin plastered to his face. There are four officials chosen by the fans to officiate on two courts set adjacent inside Madison Square Garden in New York. The games will occur simultaneously on the two floors (For the first 2 rounds), two games at a time, using just one half of a regulation court on each designated area. The games consist of two 15-minute halves of play. There are no free throws awarded, only side out on a foul. Shaq laughs maniacally when Kenny Smith and Ernie Johnson break the news. Each player may commit nine fouls and continue play, but will be ejected from the game if ten fouls are committed on his behalf. Any one player may finish a game, though, if his teammate fouls out, without disqualification. The ball must be "cleared," or carried by dribbling or a pass, out to the 15-foot circle, painted on the courts for the purpose of this tournament, anytime the ball changes possession from one team to another. One timeout per half. No coaches. The last two rounds will be played one game at a time. All other NBA rules apply, with the 24 second shot clock, parameters and boundaries, but there is one exception, and that is a five-second violation for holding the ball when closely guarded. It is a four-round, legendary spectacle, that will last just over six hours, but that will be written and talked about for the remainder of mankind's affair with the game of basketball.

               It's two hours before the first two games tip off, the locker room door opens, lights illuminate a hallowed stretch of the most recognizable jerseys ever worn. A man loads ice into an orange cooler in the center of the room. A few trainers lay out tape, towels and other necessities. The security spreads out on each side of the main door, inside and out, and Larry Bird steps through the entrance. His mustache and crooked fingers look fresh out of 1986. He quietly glances up at the room, then back at the ground, making eye-contact with no one as he marches straight to his locker. Aside the green 33 is a pair of black Converse shoes and another uniform that reads McHale. "Why not Chief?" a voice chimes in over Larry's shoulder. Larry glances back and replies, stone-faced, "Well, why not Dennis or Laimbeer?" "I don't know, I guess Joe and I just belong together," softly replies Isiah Thomas, dimples ablaze. "Well, that's just adorable," says Larry with a slight grin. Isiah laughs and sets his bag down underneath the Detroit locker space. Steve Nash and Dirk Nowitzki follow each other into the room. "Uh-oh, the INTERNATIONALS!" Isiah blurts out. "That's right," says Nash, "Let's get this underway, I've got some soccer matches I want to play tonight before this stuff wears off." Out in the hallway, reporters corner Tim Duncan and David Robinson to ask them about their "big man strategy." The crowds are pouring into the Garden as tickets are sold for as much as $30,000. Scalpers are asking $5,000 for nosebleeds. Craig Sager of TNT sits down courtside to speak with Oscar Robertson. Craig begins, "So, what can you tell us about the decision made by Kareem to play with Magic Johnson, instead of suiting up as Lew Alcindor with you?" The Big 'O' smiles and responds, "Well Craig, it's a bit like that suit coat you're wearing, people just seem to like it a bit more flashy, more loud and in your face, you know? I think 'Cap' just needed to do what was best for him AND for the fans, and this type of contest is more conducive to Magic's game anyhow. I'm just here to support this whole tournament and event any way I can."
               One hour before start, players are dressing and stretching in the locker room. Shawn Kemp starts a beat box sound with his hand pressed to his mouth. Shaq becomes possessed, dancing robotic, a la Jabbawockeez, then transforms into "The Running Man" as Gary Payton and Kevin Durant cheer him on. KD's still wearing his glasses and backpack, resembling an over-sized fourth-grader just after classes. Bob Cousy stares in amazement, literally scratching his head. "Hey Doc, can you move like that!?" hollers Willis Reed, as he points in Shaq's direction. "Not even today my man," says Julius Erving, as he pulls his long socks up. Poetically, Boston's Bob Cousy is sitting just to the left of Utah's locker, and the two will face one another in the first round. John Stockton walks up and extends his hand. "Good to see you," says Stockton. "Likewise there young man. You know, it's too bad we have to meet today and show the world how I've pulled the wool over their eyes all these years. It's a bit like Oz," Cousy exclaims. LeBron James and Dwyane Wade sit at their lockers in the east corner of the room. James adorns headphones and bobs his head as he mutters Jay-Z and Kanye West lyrics. Wade focuses on his elbow sleeve. Karl Malone walks in the room, boots, jeans, belt-buckle, and a cap that reads "Keep On Truckin'." "OH MY GOD, I thought we been over this," shouts Gary Payton, as he strolls toward Karl Malone. "How do you wear a damn....rodeo belt here to Madison Square Garden, bro?" Charles Barkley sits nearby, quiet, almost sedated as he and Hakeem dress. Karl retorts, "GP you got that CHAIN, and them cool saggy jeans like those young thugs wear. You in a gang or something, what?" Just as Karl reaches out to tug on Payton's FUBU's, Michael Jordan walks in through the doorway, and Scottie Pippen follows right behind with a large bag draped over his shoulder. Michael stops and looks around with a stern, squinted look, "Which two of you a******s are going to take second!? Just curious! Huh!? Charles, looks like you got a whole two hours of sleep last night!" Larry Bird turns to Kevin McHale as the trainer leans on Bird's hamstring, "He stole my line, Kevin." Larry says. McHale nods. "How's the back?" McHale asks. "Too good to last, that's for sure, what about those cinderblock feet of yours?" Larry asks.  McHale nods again, signaling he's ready. A towering figure approaches Jordan's post just inside the main door, out of Jordan's sight, and places large, taped fingers on Jordan's shoulder. Michael turns his head, and Wilt Chamberlain is standing over him. "Dipper!" Michael shouts, and the two embrace briefly. Stockton dribbles a ball from right to left hand, standing near Cousy and Russell as the Celtics tie their laces. "Nice Shorts, by the way," says Cousy, as he looks up momentarily at Stockton. Kobe Bryant stares blankly over the room, seated, dribbling a ball between his legs calmly. In the hallway outside, leading to the locker room, the last player to enter the Garden is strutting toward his opponents with an enormous smile and a big fur coat. "I LOVE YOU MAGIC," a voice screams from the end of the portal. Earvin Johnson has been put on the shelf again for one more day to allow his alter-ego out to play. "It's SHOWTIME baby! Lights, camera, let's go team L.A.!" Magic says gleefully as he enters the locker room with his arms stretched wide. Kareem stands up and motions for Magic to speed up his process and come toward him.
               The first four players take to the courts (half-courts). Fireworks explode, music blares, lights flash and the arena is deafening. Pat O'Brien stands in the shadow of Shaquille O'Neal, microphone in hand. "Shaquille, a lot of talk today about the possibility of you teaming up with one-time teammate LeBron James for the tournament instead of Kobe Bryant. What was your decision-making process there?" Shaq leans over and says, "I spoke with my father yesterday about it, and he said 'What would Phil say?' So, I decided to finish something Phil Jackson and I started with Kobe a long time ago that never really ended right. Plus, LeBron has my guy "D" Wade to play with, so...." Shaq shrugs. Chick Hearn, "Hot" Rod Hundley, and Chris Webber give a last minute rundown as they prepare to call the games. Vince Carter and Tracy McGrady are scheduled to be interviewed after the first round ends. Dominique Wilkins finds a seat next to Patrick Ewing on row two. Spike Lee and his Walt Frazier jersey are seated next to Jack Nicholson up front. Electric doesn't begin to do the scene justice.

ROUND ONE

               As heavy favorites, Jordan and Pippen trounce the smaller Pistons duo of Dumars and Thomas. Embarrassed and angry with the officials, the scorekeeper, and their Bulls nemesis', the two Motor City guards walk off the court and forfeit the match with 7.9 seconds left on the clock.
Nash and Nowitzki are disappointed to learn the tournament does not afford a "make-it take-it" rule, causing them to rely more on their defensive abilities, ending their run abruptly at the hands of "Reign Man" and "The Glove". Kevin Durant struggles desperately to defend Kareem, as the Skyhook is unleashed with a relentlessness and repetition nobody should ever be expected to stop. Westbrook learns his athleticism and snappy outfits only take him and his teammate so far against the greatest all-around point of all-time. Ghosts of Celtic past inspire Bird and McHale to out-think, out-shoot, and send the "soft" big men from San Antonio to the showers. Nursing a ten point lead, Utah's Karl Malone and John Stockton have run out of pick-and-rolls as Malone commits his tenth foul. Russell and Cousy quickly score eight unanswered points while forcing Stockton into a five count and two turnovers. On the ensuing play, Russell blocks Stockton's one shot attempt during the wild scramble and Cousy recovers the ball. With true grit and determination, Stockton rips Cousy of the ball and dribbles
around the Celtics until the buzzer sounds.
 The crowd erupts in approval. Julius Erving treats the crowd to
a reverse dunk and a few layups that remind everyone where Air Jordan and King James
learned it in the first place. Wilt and Elgin Baylor prove to be too much for Moses and the good Doctor, though. In a lopsided surprise, LeBron James and Dwyane Wade combine to score the tournament high with 68 points, and route the Knicks' Reed and Frazier in a 35-point blowout. In the most competitive game of the round, Charles Barkley and Hakeem Olajuwon jump out to a commanding 15 to 3 score. Kobe has connected on his first shot: a three-pointer. He spearheads a single-minded attack that frustrates Shaq, the Laker offense, and allows Hakeem and Charles more opportunity to methodically back down their defenders and punish them at close range. The "Dreamshake" is also in effect. L.A. fans groan abroad. Not again. Shaq calls timeout, puts his arm around Kobe's shoulders. Shaq speaks, Kobe listens, and when they disperse, Kobe only shoots one more shot during the match, instead cutting, lobbing passes, moving all over the court and tiring Charles Barkley in the process. Bryant's conscious efforts allow Shaq to go one-on-one with Olajuwon, and after three consecutive dunks, Shaq hooks one into the basket and turns and points toward Kareem, who stands and chuckles from the nearest portal. Lakers win. Kobe and Shaq slap hands and move on to the next round.

QUARTERFINALS

         A 15-minute intermission between rounds allows the players to re-hydrate, re-assess, and also allows billions to be made in marketing and advertising spots. Hundreds of millions across the world are glued to TV sets, laptops, radios, and handheld devices of one kind or another. They're celebrating and debating, casting new prognostications and filling social sites like Twitter and Facebook with "I told you so's". In a small apartment complex in south Philadelphia, a grandfather sits in his recliner, smiling and shaking his head as his two grandsons shout back-and-forth in front of a television. "LeBron's taking the WHOLE THING!" one boy says. "Who's Baylor number 22 anyway?," the other boy mocks. Grandpa laughs aloud, and continues to shake his head in response to the innocent young scamps.

               LeBron James steps to the free-throw line and meets the lengthy Wilt Chamberlain with a hand shake and what may even be interpreted as a bow. Wilt easily controls the tip. The world is treated to the explosiveness and speed of Miami's thoroughbreds, and the astounding length and strength of Wilt Chamberlain. Baylor is much stronger than Wade anticipated, as number 3 struggles to stay between 22 and the basket. Wilt dunks the ball with two hands off of an errant jump shot of Baylor's, James's hand firmly gripping Wilt's left arm in the process. Wilt begins to chuckle out loud. Wilt scores 32 points, tosses back five shots, and allows Miami no offensive rebounds.  Heat lose 37 to 48. On the court opposite, Kobe and Shaq are now clicking, as the tandem execute nearly perfect, systematically stopping Malone's jumper and exploiting Stockton's size in the post. Kobe fades away over, and over. Shaq shoots 100%, banking and dunking eight for eight. The Jazz receive a standing ovation from the bulk of the Garden, but another L.A. pair move on.
 

The next teams enter. Pippen's blank stare, and Jordan's scowl, speak volumes. Jordan hits the first shot as he crosses from right to left and shoots from the left elbow. "Forty," Michael calls out. It only takes two plays, and Payton begins chirping and yapping at anyone that finds his view. The officials call time to warn Payton. "Come on GP!," Kemp growls. Jordan dumps a pass to Pippen as he gathers against Kemp. Payton doubles down, Pippen flips a one-handed pass back out to Jordan's chest. All in one motion, MJ catches, bends his knees, and fluidly launches a shot from beyond 23 feet. The shot flushes through the net. "Thirty-seven," Michael quickly mutters to nobody in particular. Jordan swats down as Payton squats into a triple-threat. Jordan takes the ball away, spins, drives to the basket, leaves the hardwood and crashes into Kemp's chest while throwing down a vicious right-hand dunk. The replay is beamed from four different camera angles for the crazed followers across the globe. The score is 30 to 12 with Chicago up at half. Spike turns to Jack after Jordan walks passed the two of them, "It's gotta be the shoes," Spike says. "Yup," says Jack, "they can't handle the truth," he replies. The second half follows the same theme as Pippen holds Kemp to just four points. Payton catches fire as he tells Jordan all about it, but it is far too late and it pales in comparison. As Michael scores, he continues to count down, verbalizing his march ahead, just in reverse, "ten...eight...six...four..." His voice grows a bit louder with each bucket. Pippen begins to grin as the countdown reaches "two."  Michael dribbles to the right, lunges toward the end line, plants his Air Jordan III models, and hits a fade-away shot that ends up being the last points scored in the game. Michael winds up with 40 points, just as he had planned, Pippen adds 14, and the final score is 54 to 27.

As impossible as it may seem to resist watching every second of a Michael Jordan performance, the game opposite sees the most memorable rivalry between two players, maybe in any sport, renewed for one more bout. Magic Johnson and Larry Bird are engaged in a familiar scenario, with typical excitement, and the pride of the two most successful organizations in all hoops on the line.The play during this game is different. Mistakes are scarce and each possession is "textbook" and careful. There are no "heat check" shots. More hook shots are recorded than all other games combined...times two. Larry's bony elbow is wrapped from a cut he received after diving into a courtside chair to chase a loose rebound. Magic's face drips with sweat. Kareem and McHale both grab their knees, bent over, gasping as the game inches to a close. The personal fouls are as follows: Jabbar has six, McHale has seven, Johnson has eight, and Bird has eight. The score is tied at 38 with 1:06 left on the clock. Boston ball. Larry inbounds to McHale. McHale left hand dribbles with his back to Kareem. Bird cuts to the left corner of the court and McHale picks up his dribble to pass, but Magic traps Bird in the corner and mirrors his every move. Without Walton, Parish, or Reggie Lewis to set a screen, Bird is left to jostle for position, and finds no out. McHale pivots, the officials count is 3. McHale pump-fakes, the officials count is 4. McHale ducks under Kareem's arm, lays out nearly horizontal to the floor, and flings a right-handed layup toward the backboard from the left side of the key. McHale falls downward, his thick, white knee pads crashing first. The shot rolls around the rim one revolution, and sinks. Boston up two. Kareem inbounds to Magic and shoves his way down to the top of the key. Magic leans forward, grasping the Spalding with two hands, and begins to pass over Bird's head. Two-thirds of the Garden suddenly focus on Kareem, Bird freezes, as a part of the two-thirds. Without releasing the ball, Magic pulls it back, and in a yellow blur, he darts to the hoop, Kareem succeeds in masking a firm hold on McHale's waist, and the Lakers tie the game on a scoop shot from a foot away. 25 seconds to go. McHale passes to Bird. The entire arena stands, screaming, praying, dancing with elation. Bird begins to back down Magic with a pounding dribble. 19 seconds. Bird dumps it to McHale, juts to his left, then cuts back right. McHale bounces a no-look pass to Larry and spins away from Jabbar, sliding underneath the hoop. Bird catches the pass on the run, heads to the hoop, puts up a floating, off-balanced shot, and it's slapped out of the air by Kareem. 14 seconds. Magic reaches out and corrals the ball. He glances at the scorer's table as he dribbles near midcourt (end line in this tournament) and locks eyes with Chris Webber. "No time outs! No time out left!" Webber exclaims, gripping his headset. 11 seconds. Magic crosses to his left, backs down Bird to the left side, near the three point line, digs his feet in, and then swoops across the court to the right. "Here it comes," yells James Worthy from the stands. Magic strides into a hook shot from about 12 feet out. McHale joins Bird in a desperate attempt to block his shot and disrupt destiny. Magic lets the ball leave his fingertips. Audible levels dwindle as breaths are held and screams give way to squeals and gasps. The clock clicks down to 00:01, and Kareem takes a pass from his sidekick and dunks it through with both wristbands, and with uncharacteristic force and rage. Security forces fans off the court. Bird is sprawled out on his stomach on the floor and McHale is seated next to him. Magic clinches the seven-foot Kareem in a bear hug and lifts him slightly off the floor. As Kareem safely lands, he shouts in Magic's ear, "Now, THAT is cause to celebrate!"

 

SEMIFINALS

        Cheryl Miller stands next to Clyde Drexler, courtside. Drexler is wearing a suit and tie and Miller holds a microphone attached to a TNT camera. "Thanks Marv. I'm here with the great Clyde "The Glide" Drexler, and Clyde, what are your thoughts so far?" Clyde replies, "Well Cheryl, it's been great, you know, just a really high level of competitiveness and very entertaining. It was disappointing to see Hakeem and Charles struggle in that first round, but you have to hand it to Kobe and Shaq, they were great." Miller angles the microphone toward her face. "As you watched that game in particular, was there any part of you that wished you were out there to represent Houston with Hakeem?" Miller asks. "Oh, absolutely," Drexler responds quickly. "I think it was a bit of a mistake, personally, to pick Charles, and I think Hakeem knows that now. I mean, hindsight is twenty twenty I guess, but I didn't quite understand that selection in the first place...but, that's life, I guess." Drexler smiles sinisterly. Hot Rod Hundley is seated with Chick Hearn, in their element, headsets in place, lights and cameras pointed at them. Hot Rod declares, "So, it's a two-city final four, with three teams from the Lakers' legacy, and the incomparable Michael Jordan and his understudy, Scottie Pippen from Chicago...and you gotta-love-it-baby."

               What if it were the 1991 NBA Finals all over again? What if Magic and Michael were going at it, but this time, instead of a young Vlade Divac, or Sam Perkins protecting the basket, Magic had Kareem with him? Not only Kareem, but 1976 Kareem, the 28 points and 17 rebounds per game Kareem. What if Magic was perfectly healthy and the playing like the 1987 Most Valuable Player? And just imagine Michael Jordan at his comfortable best, playing basketball as if he invented it. Not the thin, wiry Jordan of the 80's, but the Jordan that spent certain game days with Tim Grover doing lat pull-downs and bench presses before his meat and potatoes pre-game. The Jordan that was defending his World Championships nightly. Remember how well Pippen matched up defensively with Magic in '91? What if a post-Dream Team Pippen was at Jordan's right hand? A confident, stealthy, strong 1995 version of Pippen to contend with. These questions, for the most part, would be answered on this day. David Stern is still grinning ear to big ear, now sitting midcourt, 15 rows up, with a program in his hand. Scottie and Michael sit on the bench, an empty chair between them. "I'm going to need you to double down at any and every point, if Kareem puts the ball on the floor," Pippen says. "The only way...the ONLY way, to prevent the Skyhook, is to force him too far from the hoop in the first place," says Michael. "You don't waste energy or fouls trying to block it. You get up under him, hold your ground, and clear him the hell outta there!" Michael adds.



             The sliding hardwood floors have been moved and converted into one main 47 by 50 foot court in the center of the arena. Outside Madison Square Garden, droves of fans huddle and shift by the tens of thousands. NYPD and S.W.A.T. units litter the streets. Seventh and Eighth Avenue are both closed, as well as 31st and 33rd. Military troops stand guard at each intersection. Inside the historic arena, John Paxson is seated next to B.J. Armstrong three rows behind MJ and Pip. They talk of what may have been, without retirements and lockouts. Jerry West sits next to Phil Jackson, behind the basket, off to the right, five rows up. They don't say much at all. The official blows his whistle and tosses the ball high. Kareem taps the ball, but Michael anticipates the action and snatches it before Magic gains position. Michael heads straight for the rim and leans in sideways for a splashing dunk.

Magic turns with a look of disgust. "He's gotta clear that, take it back!" as he points to the foul line and stares down Danny Crawford. Crawford drops his whistle as he approaches Johnson. "Not off the tip. Has to be controlled, Magic," Crawford responds. Magic takes the ball out with disdain. He bounces a pass to Kareem on the right and heads left. Kareem is near the three point line. Pippen is hounding him in a perfect defensive stance. Pippen knocks the ball loose, Kareem recovers, and bounces it to Magic, who is now posting up Jordan near the foul line, toward the left side. Before Magic puts the ball down, he whips it around his waist once, and on the second time around, puts it all the way around Jordan's backside, dribbles it back between Jordan's legs and his own, and Jordan bites, swiping and missing the ball. Magic catches it, continues his dribble as he spins to his right, and squares to the hoop to lay the ball in with his left hand. Fans jump and raise their arms into the air. A roaring sound shakes the cavernous basketball Mecca. "Let's go then, MJ!" Magic shouts, carrying the ball in his hands as he walks to the top of the floor. Michael awaits from the designated inbounding box. He's seething underneath a seemingly calm exterior. Pippen and Jordan exact a defensive revenge that slows Magic's momentum, and dually, frees up easy shots. Their spacing is impeccable. In a game without a full court, Chicago still finds a way to capitalize in transition. Kareem angrily posts up and demands the ball with his right hand in the air and his left hand neutralizing Pippen. Magic lobs a pass over Jordan, who drops back to double-team. Kareem dips his left shoulder, plants his left foot, cups the ball, and rattles the rim with a one-handed dunk. A few plays later, Kareem is winded. Pippen gets the ball, easily trots around Jabbar, and extends for the jam, swinging his NIKE's into Kareem's chest on the return flight. Magic sweeps across the lane for his own hook shot to find the bottom of the net. Pippen drops in a smooth bank shot from 15 feet. Jordan cheats off of Magic while Kareem takes a pass and turns his head, raising up to shoot a jumper. The result is a volley-ball type spike on Jordan's behalf, sending the ball 12 rows up. Pippen drives for a lay-up. Magic hits a three. Jordan floats upward, then under the rim, and reverses a lay-up. The highlights are spectacular, as the game produces some of the most talked-about moments of the day. As the last ten minutes play out, Jordan and Pippen put the clamps on L.A., just as they started out the game. Michael scores the last eight points of the game. "Showtime" just isn't the same in the half-court. Michael holds the ball as the time runs out. Magic immediately offers a hug, and the first finalists are moving on.

               Laker-Nation is out in full support at MSG. A smattering of purple and yellow make up the majority of the crowd's overall texture.  Generations removed from one another, Wilt "The Stilt" Chamberlain, and Shaquille "Superman", "Diesel", "Big Aristotle" O'Neal are revamped and restored to their most dominant forms, respectively. An original, Elgin Baylor, and a carbon-copy, Kobe Bryant, are vying for bragging rights, and ultimately, the respect of their peers. An interesting observation is made by Steve Kerr as he reports from the sideline. He notices the players of the 50's, 60's, and 70's, are visibly frustrated, and unaccustomed to the type of "hands-off" play being implemented by their opponents. As the broadcast replays suggest, Russell, Chamberlain, Reed, and even Jabbar, have all struggled with foul trouble and frustration in the wake of certain calls during the tournament. "I'm surprised, after watching Elgin Baylor nearly get ejected from the first round," says Kerr..." that he, and some of these other players from the old school, if you will, haven't just been totally thrown and beside themselves as they've tried to cope with the lack of physicality out on the court today. You know, these guys like LeBron, and Kobe, they're playing a game that doesn't allow the hand-checking, and often times rewards the offensive player in ways these guys from past generations never even dreamed of. I think, overall, it has given an edge to the more recent generations." Enter Shaq, backing down Wilt, bouncing repeatedly off of Chamberlain's chest. Shaq drops his shoulder, rocks Chamberlain back on his heels, spins and catches Chamberlain on the chin with his left elbow as he lurches up and pops the rim out of place with an absolute two-handed massacre. Shaq's knees bend and the soles of his feet point upward as he pulls down on the quivering goal. His crotch bumps Chamberlain into the padded support along the baseline. A bolt pops out of the connection on the rim and simultaneously, glass splits and shatters above. Wilt dives toward the sideline and Shaq releases the crumbling rim and runs in the opposite direction. Kobe and Elgin both back up as they gawk at the hoop from top of the key. The gasps from the crowd soon turn to cheers, and eventual conversation. Security scramble, and volunteer crew members immediately attend to the
fallen basketball hoop. There is a 45 minute delay. Wilt Chamberlain stands between the officials and pleads his case, using gestures and animated facial expressions. The distraction, though extreme, may have saved Chamberlain from outright fisticuffs and disqualification.

               Play resumes. Wilt runs a "give and go", starting with Baylor, then to Wilt. Wilt palms the ball and with one hand bounces a pass to Baylor slicing backdoor. Baylor uses a shot-fake to set up a wide open dunk for a rolling Chamberlain. Wilt jumps directly upward, taps the ball on the backboard at the top of the box painted on the new glass, and sends the ball ferociously through the net without grabbing the rim at all. Wilt glares at Shaq as he follows him to the top of the key. Shaq tosses the ball carelessly into Wilt's chest. Wilt snaps a return pass right back in Shaq's direction. The ball bounces off of O'Neal's stomach and resembles a piece of fruit amidst the two giants. Shaq bobbles the ball, regains control, blasts a chest pass to Kobe, and runs straight ahead, knocking Chamberlain to the floor. Whistle blows. Bryant and Baylor hurry to stand between the combatants. The officials step in, and Shaq has a few words for Wilt as Chamberlain stands to his feet and offers his own thoughts. "Keep it up big fella. Keep it up. We can go at it if that's what you REALLY want," Chamberlain jaws. Kobe slaps Shaq on the chest a few times, "Hey, look at me," Kobe says, "You gotta play basketball and cut out all this other s***! I NEED you to stay in this." Kobe and Shaq reel off the next six points. Baylor gets a steal and a score to disrupt the run, but momentum has already mounted. Kobe gets that look he would get when the refs become irrelevant, the crowd seems to fuel his focus, and he begins playing more like a machine than man. It was the same look he gave the Raptors at Staples Center in January of 2006 on the way to 81. Bryant strips Baylor, clears the ball, and continues to the three point line where he drops in a picture perfect shot. Next play, Shaq blocks Wilt, recovers the ball as he stumbles and dumps it to Kobe just feet to the right of his last shot. Kobe fires, connects, and immediately turns his body toward Baylor, teeth clenched, eyes dead. Chamberlain valiantly strives to stay close as he leaps around and over Shaq to gently lay the ball in the basket a few more times. His arms spread like condor wings to maneuver around the opposing 325 lbs. Baylor fouls Kobe two consecutive plays as he fails to keep up with Kobe's persistent onslaught. Kobe dips his chin and bites down on his 24 jersey, dribbles to a stop 17 feet out on the right side of the court, pump-fake, another pump-fake, then pivots, planting his left foot, swinging out and to the right, then snaps quickly back to the left and into a jumper, jersey still draped from his teeth. Baylor loses balance, extends his arm, turns his head, and watches from a low angle as the arcing shot careens off the glass and through the hoop. Chamberlain slaps his hands together and shouts expletives. The time runs out and an epic final is set to be played in 25 short minutes.

THE FINALS

                This is it. The end to so many arguments, and the beginnings of so many more. Two separate trophies are fashioned during the final hour of the day. One will be presented to the champions and it will feature their likeness, standing back to back, built to scale, sneakers affixed, with appropriate titling inscribed. The other will be destroyed and forgotten altogether. The National Anthem is sung. The lineups, though very short, are accompanied with fanfare. The game starts and ends far too quickly for everyone clinging to every possession and every call. Extra TV timeouts are added to the final game to prolong the opportunity to make a buck...or perhaps they serve only to lengthen the magic and let everyone hang on to this grandeur a few moments longer. The other participants, eliminated from competition earlier in the day, are seated in sections, with their families, on each side of the main court. Even they sit and survey the final act in awe at times. No matter the affinity for your favorite twosome, the day, as it transpired, was received as a gift. The game's details are now secondary as they melt into an encompassing meaning that surpasses points and fouls, trophies and sneakers.
               Shaq knows that he can muscle and overpower anyone he meets on the court. He's far too quick for the size and strength he exhibits, and that is a wonder to behold. He's one of the most consistent dominant forces ever applied to basketball. He is also limited in many ways in a two-on-two setting, as more responsibility to dribble and shoot from outside is heaped on a player. Kobe Bryant has mastered many aspects of hitting shots, plain and simple. His approach to the game is cold and machine-like practice. He moves, at times, as if he was digitally programmed to do so.



And, Kobe's drive to be the greatest has alienated many teammates he's needed to rely upon. In some ways, he's his own worst enemy, thwarting his own insane preparations and performance with a desire to ensure victory by doing it all himself. Scottie Pippen hails from a small, relatively unknown school in the South, and was traded immediately from Seattle to Chicago all before playing his first game. He used that type of experience to prove to Seattle, and Chicago, then Detroit, and then the world in Barcelona in '92, that he possessed greatness. He proved it over and over, and he improved more steadily throughout his career as much as, if not more than, anybody else ever has. But Scottie showed weakness when the pressure rested solely on him. He was quick to forget team concepts and allowed his ego to run wild when he was touted "Team Leader." Michael Jordan filled that much-needed role in Pippen's career, and enabled Pippen to be even better as a second option

 than he was when he was left to his own devices. Michael Jordan is a combination of so many elements that have been proven over time to be necessary in the pursuit of greatness. His explosive legs, soft touch, and creativity are only auxiliaries to a greater blueprint the basketball gods used to build number 23. He refined all aspects of his game unlike anyone we've ever seen. And his patience nearly snapped working with others to win and trusting in teammates before Scottie Pippen came along to prove himself worthy of the standard.
             The beauty of two-on-two, as it compares with one-on-one, is that it reveals intricacies of the game of basketball, sheds more light on the abilities of individual players, and, perhaps most important, allows the sacred bond of the alley-oop dunk to exist. Shaquille O'Neal and Kobe Bryant may be two of the most dominant players ever, at their positions. They may also be two of the worst matched personalities in basketball history. It's clear that each of them, in their prime, needed to feel they were the top dog, or first option (maybe, in some cases, the second option as well) to maximize their potential. On this day, they were unified and good enough to edge out the others and force their way to the final, but the fact is, two other players eerily fit together better than any other combination in basketball history, Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen, showed their true colors. They leaned on one another, played with intuition and ferocity, and yet, stayed in control of their emotions, their defenders, and the tempo of each round. Jordan and Pippen had an answer for the frontcourt position, and for the backcourt. Michael puts them over the top. Michael mastered the team game, just like he mastered the tourney today, and he'd definitely win the one-on-one challenge too.
               All the players in attendance join in the applause, the standing ovation for Jordan and Pippen. Confetti is unloaded, the cigars are passed out, and Ahmad Rashad follows Michael from midcourt, into the locker room, and only detours from entering the shower with him when Michael puts an awkward stop to it. A bevy of high definition cameras scan the arena and find the likes of sports heroes, beloved musicians and actors, politicians, (including Presidents Obama, George W. Bush, and Clinton), and in doing so, highlight a conglomerate of every race, age, sex, and color of humankind imaginable. It is a moment that definitely transcends a game. It is more than an event. It is the symbol of so many ideals, principles, dreams, and the spiritual journeys we all share, together. It's simply presented in the form of players reaching for triumph on a basketball court.

SUMMARY 

               Some of us start playing sports from the time we learn to walk. We keep playing sports so that we have an outlet to express ourselves, feel that we belong, and experience the thrill and fulfillment of accomplishment along the way. We watch greatness, and on some level, we can all relate, if we truly look inward. Each of the players in this tournament possess some of the same gifts, and most of them share the same attitude toward commitment, sacrifice and success. And, each of the players competing at this level would absolutely find a way to thrive and dominate no matter what decade they were playing in. The comparisons and arguments ARE important to the image of the NBA. Keeping them all in perspective, is really all that should matter, though. Otherwise, the game would lose its savor. Just because Wilt Chamberlain only played against anywhere from 9 to 18 opposing teams in his career, mostly consisting of Caucasian players lacking sheer height, doesn't explain the herculean feat of scoring 100 points in a single game. That's brilliance.

That's putting the ball in the basket in an awful fury. And just because Karl Malone never led his teams to a World Championship, doesn't or shouldn't warrant a glaring asterisk on his legacy. Karl Malone pushed and John Stockton pulled mediocre teammates, at best, deep into the playoffs, shouldering more of their teams' output than most players that ever laced up sneakers. Bill Russell was a physical presence and a savvy athlete. He was a leader from day one and he faced it all with societal ignorance and prejudice staring back at him. Russell won 11 titles. Amazing and extremely difficult. Is he a better all-around player than Michael Jordan? It is up for debate, of course, but anyone that has run ladders, warmed-up in a lay-up line, hit a game-winning shot at the buzzer, or anyone that has tuned in to see basketball played at the highest level over the past 30 years or so, can clearly point to specific examples and sensible reasons to declare Jordan the superior player, with all respect to Mr. Russell. It's in the tape, and it's in real time. Sure, the game contains parts that have evolved and advanced, but the thought that greats from older generations couldn't hang now, is ludicrous, just as it is to say Russell is the best ever because of his rings, or Kareem because of his points. There's a middle ground to consider. The confines of a two-on-two tournament do establish a few equalizers and render certain attributes of these legends less effective. For example; Charles Barkley is one of the greatest, most intuitive, hard-nosed rebounders ever.



In a shortened game, with only four players on the court, players that execute supremely on offense at that, the rebounding is devalued immensely. The best defenders, simply because of the nature of the rules of basketball, combined with the physics involved, are going to be edged out by phenomenal scores, shooters, and passers. Nobody can run faster than a good chest pass, or out-jump a "rainbow" shot. There is less room for error in this tournament. There are unique questions posed by this tournament. There aren't any substitutions, so conditioning, and a mental toughness, are priorities. The duo's that won were, in fact, teammates that complemented each other, but also they were the guys that were All-Stars first, and then became Superstars because they learned how to make the best decisions on the court. That is where the passion and raw ability meets the 'X's and 'O's of this sport. You win by meshing the talent with effort, and plug it into a design and a framework that must then be executed until the goal is attained.  
               So again, another layer is added to the discussions and debates of "who's the greatest?" It's why fantasy leagues exist. It's that feeling of getting closer to the game, and sharing one's knowledge after countless hours invested studying the game. It adds an element of fun and sparks thought and perspective that enhance the enjoyment of basketball. So, what do you think?