I Need Space...

Note: This one has been editted since I don't really feel the same way about the subject as I did when I first wrote it. So due to lack of relevancy, I editted it to reflect closer to my current feelings. It's also got the play by play of the infamous Father's Day Card Story.

Originally posted on March 31, 2004.

New York Liberty tickets went on sale yesterday. I'll be going to 2 games, hopefully.

Coincidently, they happen to be against the Sparks. One preseason in May, one regular season, about a month later. I probably won't go to any others unless the Liberty somehow meet the Sparks in the finals. I've seen stranger more far fetched things happen, don't laugh.

I know I said coincidently, but I lied. It's not a coincidence that the only games I want to go to are against the Sparks. It's no coincidence that I am not scheduling my summer around the Liberty this year they way I did the past 2 summers. I always rooted for the Liberty because they were the NY team. But in 7 years, they've given me more heartache than the Knicks have in 20. I'm an Aries, I love hard. Happy Birthday to me by the way(3/29).

So as I did with the Knicks, I need a breather. That means no memorabilia decorating the walls, no staying up late to watch or listen to games while they're on their west coast road trip, no team t-shirts for every day of the week, no more letting a basketball game ruin my mood. I need some space.

Now that Teresa Weatherspoon is in LA, I no longer feel guilty. I can scream it from the top of my lungs, the Liberty are BORING. I no longer have to hide the fact that even though I'm a huge Spoon fan and want her to win a ring, I was so elated that the Liberty didn't make the playoffs. Some things just should not be televised and the Liberty's offense is one of those things.

Last season, I often found myself surveying the crowd, reading the media guide again, daydreaming or cracking jokes with my little brother while the Liberty made the Mike Fratello Cavs of the mid 90's look like today's Sacramento Kings on the offensive end. Hate to be the cornball I sometimes am, but the Liberty's offense was offensive.

I had to hide my disappointment for two reasons. One was knowing how much my mother spent for tickets and since she cut down the money tree in the backyard, we no longer have money to burn. The other was my loyalty to Spoon and VJ. It is the same reason I couldn't dare to contemplate turning my back on the Knicks until Patrick Ewing and John Starks were gone.

Knick games were the highlight of my day. I watched every game. Rushed to finish my homework before the 7pm pregame show with Al Trautwig, ate dinner parked in front of the living room tv, watched the first half, rushed and did the dishes during halftime, got back in front of the tv in time for the 2nd half and cheered my Knicks to victory. Then without failure, I went to bed, either very happy or very upset. Patrick Ewing, John Starks, Charles Oakley, Anthony Mason, Pat Riley, Jeff Van Gundy, Derek Harper, Chris Childs, they were family. I cried when Starks got traded. It was the end of an era. An electrifying, emotional, resilient representative of everything NY, even if he was from Oklahoma or wherever, was gone.

I was still a Knick fan because that's what real fans do, but I started paying a little more attention to this Liberty team. Spoon quickly became my John Starks reloaded. They had the same electric, magnetic, intense game and personality on the floor and seemed to be just as likeable off it. The only difference was, that as many shots as Starks took, Spoon passed up.

There may have been better players, but Spoon was the most exciting even when she wasn't on the floor.

Now, I was doing the same routine for Liberty games that I had done during the NBA season. Eventually, my mother sensed my devotion and became a season ticket holder. Every game, without fail, I rooted for the Liberty and rooted extra hard for #11 the way I did #3. Every loss, I felt. '99 was an especially tough year, since both the Knicks and Liberty lost to Texas teams in the finals after a career defining shot.

But last season, it seemed to all make sense. All of the years of rooting for Starks and Spoon seemed to pay off.

As usual, my brother and I went to the Liberty game vs. the LA Sparks and hung out afterwards. We then realized it was the day before Father's Day. Since it takes the players FOREVER to come out after games, we knew we could head over to Manhattan Mall for a few and still be back in time for our tradition of making sure our Liberty girls were not fashion misfits. No, we're not the crazed, get trampled for an autograph types. We've gotten a few, but on our own terms. The most we usually ever do is make eye contact with the players and give them a nod or if we're close enough a handshake and a few words.

So we went to the mall and picked up a card and a gift and made it back to our usual spots in front of Tupelo's. Like always, when Spoon comes out after making those crazed, get trampled types wait for long over an hour, there's a bumrush at the Player's Exit, which is how my brother and I know it's her.

So she comes out, does the Hancock, says cheese about 99 times, walks and talks, gives a few pounds and is on her way to the lot.

My brother then says aloud what I was thinking. We should get her to sign the Father's Day card. Now mind you, my dad is not a women's basketball fan, or at least he won't admit it, but for some reason he's always given Spoon love. It's not that he's sexist, or maybe he is, but for some reason the WNBA's never been his thing. But Spoon seemed to have some type of advantage. Why, I don't know, but we figured it would be a cool gift for him.

So we make our way up the block to Spoon, get her attention and ask her to sign the card. With her signature smile she said sure, no problem. Yes problem, no pen.

But thanks to Tamika Whitmore, that problem was solved. Spoon wrote a nice message to Pops, signed the card, and could have kept it moving, without fault, but she didn't. Instead, she hung out and joked around with us for a while.

It wasn't as if I was speaking to some sort of celebrity or some woman who's played ball across the globe, represented her country in the Olympics, been an ambassador for women's athletics, or a role model who's been in rap videos, and hangs with superstars.

It was as if I was talking to a regular person who knew regardless of everything she's accomplished, she's just that, a regular person.

It also felt good to have the one athlete that liked even more about off the court than I did on it, other than Starks, treat my brother and I as if she was genuinely happy to be in our presence and not that we were holding her up or wasting her time. She was a cross between a gracious athlete and the cool mentor at the local gym. She treated us like we were 2 people she knew rolling up on her in the middle of the block. Maybe it was our approach.

Since I'm a cynic who usually doesn't do autographs, for any person who isn't signing a blank check, that was refreshing. In an age where everyone thinks they're a superstar and everyone's Hollywood, Spoon's down to earth attitude was very much appreciated. This was after a tough loss during probably her toughest season, no less.

Pops loved the card. It was the only card he's ever actually looked at for more than 3 seconds. It still rests on top of the mantle in the living room in full view and everyone who asks about it gets the story.

So now that Spoon's in LA, I can keep it real. It's not a coincidence that now that Spoon's gone, I need space. It is an odd coincidence that Spoon is now an LA Spark, the same team that beat the Liberty that day last June when we got the card signed.

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