And 1 Addiction
Posted Thursday, November 20, 2008by Zach Harper - You Can Email Zach at zharper@talkhoops.net
I admit it. I was part of the problem. I should have known better because I’m someone who has studied the NBA since I was six years old. I’m obsessed with the game of basketball, and yet I damn-near let it die out. It was how I imagine becoming a drug addict happens. Someone gives you a free sample, you try it out, and you’re in awe of what you’ve just experienced. It’s stuff that you’ve never been exposed to, but the second it fills your senses, you wonder how you ever lived without it.
For nearly a full decade (maybe even a little bit longer), the street ball era has been mainstream and in full swing. It took White America by storm and showed every little pasty, pale pubescent kid with a Wilson Evolution that you didn’t have to play at the park all of the time to learn how to be flashy. All you needed was someone to put his moves on video and you could watch it for four or five hours a day while shoveling pizza bagels and Mountain Dew into your gullet. Black guys with large hands, skull caps, and over-sized shorts performed illegal basketball moves that were designed to drop someone to the ground, trip somebody up, and maybe even score once they were done enjoying their own pizzazz. And it was great. It was inspiring. It was an art form as creative as cubism and making everything on a canvas blue.
When someone asks me who my favorite artists are, I generally come up with great writers and unique basketball players. To me, Philip Champion (aka Hot Sauce from the And 1 tour) is one of the greatest artists of my generation. He’s a terrible basketball player. He can’t defend and he shoots like Mateen Cleaves. But he’s an artist with the basketball and has shown more creativity with a 22-ounce leather/rubber sphere than the music industry has given us in a decade. He, along with guys like Rafer Alston (Rucker Park version, not NBA), Aaron Owens, and Tim Gittens are all artists who have inspired more of today’s youth than Barack Obama himself.
However, these artists nearly destroyed the foundation of their craft, through no real fault of their own, with oversaturation and the improper education of their fans as to how these works of art came to fruition. Let me take you on a journey to explain how this addiction to street ball nearly cost us the NBA.
The Free Sample
When the NBA became a star-oriented marketing campaign that hit a huge peak with Michael Jordan and then an even greater peak when a rookie named Allen Iverson freed himself up for a jumper by pulling a double crossover on MJ, it was only a matter of time before the NBA stars became more show than substance. Guys like A.I., Kobe Bryant, and Steve Francis were anointed as greatness before they actually proved themselves. But that’s not when the street ball era took off. That’s when it was first carving its own space in every basketball fan’s circle of trust.
I’d say that roughly eight years ago, I did my usual ritual each time I received a paycheck – I deposited it in the bank and headed straight for Foot Action to buy some basketball shoes. I pretty much had zero responsibilities, so I usually decided to go buy another pair of And 1 shoes. And 1 was my go-to brand ever since I saw a shirt talking trash in a Macy’s store around 1995. From then on, if there was a need for basketball clothes/shoes, I tried to make sure that it was branded with the faceless grey guy and a clever way of degrading the competition. When I purchased my shoes that morning, I was given a free tape with some odd artwork on it. The cover read, “And 1 Mixtape Volume 2.” It meant nothing to me at the time. I had no idea why I received it and didn’t really care to pop it in the VCR (much like most people who received a copy of Celtic Pride).
During that weekend, I was really bored and popped in the VHS. My ears were flooded with underground rap and I was immediately sucked in. I saw guys pulling moves and passes that I had rarely seen from players, other than the occasional Mark Jackson no-look pass or the stretch of 15 minutes in a game where Jason Williams decided he wanted to put on a show. I saw guys spinning the ball on other players’ heads, the ball being bounced off of people’s heads, bounce pass alley-oops, and some spectacular dunks. I was introduced to Shane the Dribbling Machine, ½ Man ½ Amazing, and Main Event. I picked Headache as my favorite player from the tape and immediately wanted to go play some basketball to figure out what they were doing. I empathized with Jesse Spano when she got hooked on caffeine pills, only I didn’t have a Zack Morris to save me.
I showed the video to my friend Andrew and he immediately remembered getting a similar tape from the previous year. He had never opened it but he recognized the style of artwork from the VHS cover. He found the tape and we watched “And 1 Mixtape Volume 1” about a dozen times. It featured a 14-year-old kid who wore #11 and was absolutely killing people on the court. He pulled off moves that I had never seen and was referred to as Skip to My Lou. Headache had officially been replaced and I quickly figured out how to stylishly skip on a fastbreak while bringing the ball into the frontcourt. I did a little research and discovered that the player was none other than Rafer Alston. I recognized the name thanks to my obsession with the NBA and knew instantly that I had to find a way to see a Bucks game.
All My Friends Are Doing it
By the time Mixtape Volume 3 was about to be released, this And 1 phenomenon was no longer a secret. And it definitely wasn’t underground. You had a smattering of people waiting outside of Foot Action on release day. You had to buy a pair of And 1 shoes to get the VHS; there was no other way to buy it. I had shown it to all of my friends and we were swooning over the next possible volume of this growing collection. There were now commercials on TV days before the tape was released that showed some ridiculous moves that seemed impossible and at the very least a production of CGI. But they weren’t.
(I know what some of you are thinking -- And 1 isn't the same as streetball. I agree that And 1 is not the same as what's played at Dyckman, Rucker, or maybe even Venice Beach. But in the mainstream sense and to most NBA fans, And 1 was the closest thing to streetball that they will ever experience. So for the sake of argument and this article, we're making And 1 synonymous with streetball.)
The And 1 company was introducing the cash cow that would vault them into the forefront to battle Nike, Reebok, and Adidas for basketball shoe supremacy. Nike had Jordan, Reebok had Iverson, and Adidas had Tracy McGrady. But only And 1 had a lanky, skinny kid named Hot Sauce and the Atlanta-raised street ball legend was the new star of basketball in the United States. As it infiltrated White America and Asian America and every other sector of America that we had, it seemingly was more acceptable for college kids and NBA players to bend the rules of play.
Steve Francis was a star for no reason and Jason Williams was looked at as a god. The NBA was blatantly ignoring the players’ going against rules like carrying the ball, palming the ball, and traveling (more than usual) because it was providing young fans with a reason to fall in love with the NBA. Even terrible players like DerMarr Johnson were getting a chance due to their ability to cross over the occasional Summer League player who wasn’t Rick Brunson. Not every young male in the country could tell you who the governor of his home state was, but he could tell you every move that Hot Sauce had and every time that he got it to work against someone.
What We Love Rejects Our Drug of Choice
The NBA and, more importantly, its corporate sponsors enjoyed the NBA’s success and its revenue from this boom in interest. If you had a guy consistently making SportsCenter’s top plays every night with highlight moves, then he was going to be easy to sell. In fact, the NBA accepted it to such a degree that they licensed DVDs that showcased the best street ball moves from NBA action. Even though an image problem was forming from the “urban style” NBA players emulated (that’s a PC way of saying the league was becoming too black), attendance was still as high as ever.
The NBA was trying to survive and stay relevant in an era that featured the NFL rising to unparalleled success and Major League Baseball turning a blind eye to steroids as its gates were filled with a deluge of homerun-seeking fans. The NBA didn’t have a star to fall back on like when Jordan was patrolling the United Center. Allen Iverson was eye candy on the court but unable to dominate in a way that the truly great ones could. Kobe Bryant was in the vast shadow of Shaquille O’Neal and constantly ridiculed by Phil Jackson. Vince Carter decided that instead of turning his ability and athleticism into the kind of force the NBA yearned for (seriously, he could have been a Jordan level of popular if he had had a heart), he would do just the status quo. He wasn’t interested in being great. He just wanted to be popular. With no star the NBA had to embrace the streetball style for a short time. It couldn’t allow guys to blatantly break the rules, but it’s no coincidence that ratings went up every time Iverson dipped his hand underneath the ball before he crossed over a defender.
But eventually the And 1 craze died out, and it began to happen as the NBA enforced more ball-handling violations and implemented a dress code for those to follow. Corporate sponsors were no longer willing to promote young, rich black males who had the mentality of Sidney Dean over Billy Hoyle. They wanted their products to win first and look good second in terms of everybody who wasn’t a new-found star. LeBron James and Dwyane Wade entered the NBA as the streetball craze was fading and the NBA was getting back to basics – promoting stars. Was it done for the sanctity of the game? Were we not ceremonious enough in getting back to our roots? Were we just tired of “ghetto black guys” getting all of this limelight despite the fact that they weren’t in the professional leagues?
In a word – yes.
Rehab
Older players seemed disgusted with the way the rules were ignored. The more features we saw on legends, the more we realized that the purity everyone loves to self-righteously and publicly yearn for wasn’t in today’s game. Perhaps the game was, in fact, too black for corporate America. Just because they had brainwashed the leaders of tomorrow didn’t mean that the leaders of today, who were signing the checks of most of these players, were willing to shell out the money to keep this movement going. The game WAS too black in the mind of middle-America, where whites are prominent and buying season tickets. It speaks to a level of racism that the election of our first black president a few years later is only beginning to deal with.
I know what some of you are thinking as you read this – “Why is this being turned into a race issue?” Well, it’s not turning into a race issue; it partially is a race issue. Playing streetball, playing flashy, and “playing a black style of game” are never equated in society to playing fundamental basketball. Steve Nash put on one of the greatest point guard runs we’ve ever seen, which ended up earning him two MVP awards. We celebrated his fundamentals during this accomplishment because his was nothing like the streetball style of NBA play we had experienced in the previous couple of years. Every behind -the-back pass was necessary. His jumper was perfect form. And he was white – Canadian, but white. He represented a shift from black culture basketball to the perceived white culture basketball that sponsors would rather give their money to.
Kobe Bryant and Allen Iverson lost their wide, eye-catching crossovers and became more compact, quick strike players. Fundamentals earned you notoriety for playing the game “the right way.” Steve Francis was no longer relevant. Stephon Marbury was a complete albatross. And Moochie Norris would never be heard from again after he gave Don King his hair back. Fundamentals were the new flash. And it was probably a good thing.
Don’t get me wrong: I loved the interest that the And 1/Streetball movement brought to basketball. A guy like Corey Williams might not have made a nice name for himself in the D-League if it wasn’t for this movement. Rafer Alston might have never received the attention that helped him carve his spot in the league if it wasn’t for this movement. Not a single white person would know who Kareem Reid was if it wasn’t for this movement. But it infected the NBA after a certain point and hurt the quality of play. The young men who would become draft picks and soon enough draft busts were more into glitz and glamour rather than dribbling with their heads up and making the right play. Fundamentals were no longer being learned.
If the NBA hadn’t turned its back to streetball, the NBA probably wouldn’t be what it is today. Maybe Chris Paul would be more like Stephon Marbury instead of the second coming of Isiah Thomas. Maybe LeBron James would be taking six steps on his way to the bucket instead of the superstar-required three. Maybe Brandon Roy and Deron Williams would be more interested in making highlight reels on YouTube instead of making the right play to help their teams win. The league simply had to ignore what sustained them for years when they were sans stars or risk completely stunting the basketball growth of today’s youth.
Kids are stupid entities. Get over yourself if you find that offensive; they are. They’ll mimic whatever you hype up in front of them. It’s better that they learn the fundamental way of dominating that Chris Paul shows on a nightly basis than the way Steve Francis tried to do it when he was more concerned with embarrassing Troy Hudson than with putting the ball in the hole. The right way of playing is more important to the future of the game than the flashy way of playing. It makes those rare boisterous moments more meaningful. It makes them more spectacular. And that’s what the NBA learned from this streetball, mainstream fad. Streetball is better appreciated on an underground level, like Aesop Rock and the Liks. And the NBA is better appreciated with more fluidity in its game.
I don’t look at the streetball boom as a bad thing for the world. I enjoyed it. I reveled in it. I mimicked it (I’m a stupid kid at heart). It was exciting, addictive, and beautiful. I appreciate Pee Wee Franklin and Connie Hawkins as much as the next guy. And someday, when technology allows us to hang .mov and .mpeg files on our walls as framed artwork, I’ll have my favorite artists displayed proudly.
But I’m glad the NBA and I kicked the habit. I’m glad that Supporting the Habit is no longer a danger to the NBA.
Photos Courtesy of flickr.com, hoopsvibe.com, and espn.com, respectively.
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