Baller

Just wanted to share this piece, a fantastic defense of LeBron.

Still, second best to Luol Deng’s last night.

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Now playing: Danger Mouse & Daniele Luppi – Black
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Take a Penny, Leave a Penny

Every now and again, and more and more as basketball season approaches each year, Anfernee Hardaway pops into my mind. Growing up, he was my favorite player- it was posters of Hardaway that adorned my walls, not Jordan or Mullin or Grant Hill or Shaq. I adored Penny because Penny could do things with the basketball that no other man on the planet could, or should even have been able, to do- things that defied the laws of this world according to my seven-year-old self. More than that, he had personality, charisma; he brought a certain pizazz that few possessed, and fewer still, perhaps only Jordan, could capitalize on. He became a brand unto himself, with the slickest kicks on the block and even a Lil’ doppelganger selling Air Pennys to the masses.

Penny Hardaway was a boom-shaka-lacka, razzle-dazzle, bona fide superstar.

Was.

Today, he is nothing more than an afterthought, Fredo Corleone in the bigger picture. Penny Hardaway the phenomenal talent is forever eclipsed by Penny Hardaway the tragic figure- the all-world ability rapidly stripped out of him by injury after injury. It is almost impossible for us to remember the player he was because the nagging question of what could have been is always at the forefront of our mind- that is, if we choose to have him in our minds at all. Sometimes it is easier for us to just forget Anfernee Hardaway, and, lamentably, for the same reasons we still consider him beloved: he is potential wasted; all that we could hope for morphing before our eyes into a cautionary tale. While some still cling to the dimming light of Hardaway’s former glory, more find it convenient to have him out of our memories altogether.

Even more unfortunate, however, is that, for all of his talent and superstardom, Hardaway could have been a bridge to something greater even than himself. You see, when he was in his prime, we all thought Penny was the Second Coming- of Magic, of Michael; someone with the million dollar smile and the million dollar skills to oversee a new age of the NBA. What is only clear now, years later, is that in reality, Hardaway was- or should have been- John the Baptist, heralding the coming of the King… because in so many ways more than Penny was Magic after Magic, he was LeBron before LeBron.

While part of James’ legacy is that he is an unquantifiable force- there has never before been a creature quite like LeBron on this hardwood earth- one cannot help but feel that his greatness might be more appreciated if, perhaps, instead of merely watching him demolish the numerous records and statistics pitted against him, we had someone to measure LeBron up against. A gauge. A bar. A prototype. A model we could watch him rise up over and surpass while we marvel and gape. We would still be Witnesses, only this time to someone we were at least somewhat familiar with instead of something undeniably transcendent but altogether unknown.

Penny could have been- should have been that benchmark.

Alas.

Perhaps it is better this way. Perhaps, as LeBron continues to establish his dominion over the art of basketball, breathtaking play by breathtaking play, we can simply sit, admire, and let it be what it is. Perhaps Penny Hardaway is meant to be seen only in glimpses- the occasional “did-he-just-do-what-i-think-he-did” alley-oop or no-look pass or impossible scoop shot- as his spirit lives on in an electric new generation of guards… while he himself is left behind by the game he gave his heart and his legs to.

Perhaps.

Every now and again, I wonder.

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