Bite Me, Randy Newman.

Most of you know that I am, metaphorically, a basketball junkie. A huge part of that dependency was AAU basketball. If you came up playing basketball as a teenager in the 90s, you were a part of the early stages of the explosion of AAU basketball. That meant games and tournaments all spring and summer. All over the state and, if your team was really good, all over the country. The team I played for was good but not national tournament good. But, I live in Florida and Florida is a very attractive spot for a tournament for teams from all over the country to travel to. These days, the National Championships take place at the Milk House at the Wide World of Sports on Disney property. But back in the mid-90s, the U19 National Championships often took place right near where I currently sit. Melbourne, FL. Which is where and how this story begins. 

I was 16 and about to be a junior in HS. I was about to hit a growth spurt (relatively speaking) and become a decent player. I was constantly playing AAU basketball once my high school season ended. So when my AAU coach asked if I'd like to work the National Championships, I, of course, eagerly accepted. My first assignment was a game at the local college (Florida Tech). I was assigned the task of taking tickets and needed an adult to work and handle the money. My Dad agreed because he's an awesome dad who did just about anything his kids asked, especially when it came to sports. 

So we signed up to work the first game of a triple header. The first game was the headliner that evening. That's because one of the highest-rated, fastest-rising recruits in the country was playing. His name was Shareef Abdur-Rahim. The gym was packed with fans and, more significantly, college head coaches. Bobby Cremins, Coach K, Rick Pitino and many, many more. Since my Dad and I were working the door, we didn't get to see much of the game. Shareef balled out, his team won and many of fans and coaches headed for the exits.

After the conclusion of the first game, my Dad and I were off the clock. But I wanted to stick around and watch more basketball. Game 2 was a team from Pittsburgh vs. the Charlotte Royals. Pittsburgh featured a bruiser named Danny Fortson, and the Royals featured an unheralded recruit by the the name of the Antawn Jamison. Quickly, it became clear that Jamison was way better than advertised, as he hit shots from all manner of angles in very unorthodox ways that we'd also see him do successfully for many years to come. And, true to form, late in the second half, Fortson got into it with an opposing player, followed by a verbal altercation with a ref, and he got tossed as the Royals pulled away to victory.

At this point, my Dad and I would've been more than happy to go home having earned a little extra bread and having watched some good ball. But again, I could not get enough basketball at that point in my life. So we decided to stay for the nightcap. And that decision to stay for game 3 changed our lives.

The third and final game featured the #1 ranked team in the nation. They were from Memphis and boasted top 10 recruit Lorenzen Wright (RIP) and were coached by his father. They looked the part of a top AAU team. Big, long, athletic, and very well outfitted in some sweet Nike uniforms. Memphis was matched up against a nondescript team from Cleveland. When Cleveland came out they looked rag-tag to say the least. Their uniforms were old and well worn (reversible jerseys with faded, cracking numbers) and the were led by what my Dad and I thought was the coach's kid when they came out for layups. We may have even laughed at the scene of this small guard who couldn't be much more than 5 feet leading the team out for warmups (I was 5'6" at the time so I didn't have much room to judge someone on size).  I can only imagine what Memphis was thinking.

Then it came time for the tip and the "coach's son" walked out on to the court. I'm quite sure that my Dad and I weren't the only people thinking "What the fuck is going on?" I'm also quite sure that all of us quickly realized what the fuck was going on. The tiny guy (5'3") dominated the game from tip to buzzer, He was a one-man press. Hounding the Memphis guards all over the court and repeatedly taking the ball from them as they tried to advance up the floor. He was running the offense for his team and setting his teammates up all for easy buckets. He also managed to drop 40 points in the process while leading his unknown Cleveland team to a comfortable victory over #1 Memphis. At some point late in the game while my Dad and I guffawed over the game being played by this amazingly talented little guy, my Dad spotted a guy a couple rows from us (the stands were pretty empty at this point in the evening) wearing an Eastern Michigan polo in the stands and said, "I bet you'd like to have him." It just so happened that the guy was an Assistant Coach at Eastern Michigan. He calmly replied, "His name is Earl Boykins and he's playing for us next year." 

 

From that point on, my Dad and I had a new favorite player who we made a point to keep track of during his collegiate career. We followed him at EMU as he became a two-time all conference point guard that led his team to the NCAA Tournament and eventually finished second in the NCAA in scoring during his senior season. And then we lost track of him for a bit. Until my time in college when Earl made it to the NBA. I sent my Dad the ESPN article about him making the league and we followed his career intently from there out. Earl would go on to play 13 seasons in the NBA, even averaging double figure PPG for 5 straight years (a career high 15.2 PPG in 2006-2007 for the Nuggets) and bring my father and me much joy while doing so. 

I bought my Dad an Eastern Michigan Basketball shirt for Father's Day a couple years ago and he wears it all the time. I'm not sure what the point of this story is. Never judge a book by its cover? Little moments between a Father and Son mean more than you ever realize in the moment? Bite me, Randy Newman? Yeah, that's probably it.