Dan’s Papers February 10, 2012 danshamptons.com Page 12
Kidd
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an imaginary foul line, turn around, and try to get in again, this time as a Net knowing he was behind 2-0. I might miss that second shot—I have, since I am only five eight, a hook shot that can clear tall defenders and swish through the basket— but not often enough to have ever made any team as a youth. Now here, as a Net, I’d try the lazy hook shot and miss, and then, of course, it would be the Knicks who would come up with the ball and head back out to the top of the key for the next try at the basket. I think you get the idea. I’d try whatever next came to mind. Perhaps I felt that I’d gotten free to try a three-pointer—my three point line was simply “far, far away.” If that missed, it would be back to the Nets. Or on some occasions, a rebound taken again by the Knicks might get an extra special try again. I’d sometimes call a foul. I know this is impossible, it’s only me. I’d trot back to the foul line, bouncing the ball and try one and one, underhanded – I shoot fouls underhanded. After that, it would be back to the action, all of which was being narrated by the sports commentator Marv Alpert, who had this wonderful way of saying “…and he SCORES!” or after a long three pointer “…yessssssss!” And I’d pump my fist in the air and continue on. I suppose if you watched this from afar you would think I was just practicing shooting hoops. But I’d go on and on. And the game would be swaying back and forth between the two teams, first one team ahead and then the other, as the fans went wild.
On occasion, and I don’t know how to explain this, one of the two teams would run a streak. This is just like in a real game. Perhaps the streak was happening when I was a Net. The Net would shoot and score then a Knick would shoot and miss. Then it would happen again. Sometimes one side or the other could run a streak of 10 or 15 points with the other side just missing and missing. Marv Alpert would declare that team “cold.” There’d be a time out in the hopes things would change. Sometimes it would. It was here, very often, that Jason Kidd would pull out the stops. Honestly, I didn’t really know or care who the players were for either the Knicks of the Nets. Neither team was playing well during this era, although the Knicks were at least marginally better. But I sure knew Jason Kidd. If the Nets went on a streak and were coming up to even with the Knicks, it would be Jason Kidd, now clearly identifiable by the announcer, who would lead the charge. He’d throw the ball in—I’d bounce it off the garage door—and someone would get it and swish, two points. Or he’d throw it in and he’d get it back himself and then wham, hit a three-pointer. All I can say about this is that during these runs, particularly when it was a run being engineered by the Nets with Jason and his razzle-dazzle passes down through everybody, the crowd would be on its feet and I, as Kidd, would be making that happen. I was experiencing very high levels of adrenalin at these times. I will say that in the early years of my Jason
Kidd game, my shooting was not as sharp as it was to become later on. In 45 minutes, I’d play until one of the two teams reached 20. Later, I’d play until one of the two teams reached 40. Game over. I didn’t keep track of which team won more than the other, but my sense of it was the Nets won more. And clearly it was the fantastic Jason Kidd who made that difference, sometimes at the end, sometimes just before the buzzer with a three-pointer fired from just in front of the grill of the car parked way down and blocking the ball from going down the driveway. What a shot! After that, sweating and panting, I’d dribble the ball up to my front door, head inside, drop the ball into the wicker basket, take off all my clothes and run into the shower for five minutes, then dress and go down for breakfast. It would be 8 am. It’s been several years now since I’ve been out there. From time to time, I take the ball out and try a shot. But my touch is gone. At least for now anyway. You know how it is. Use it or lose it. As for Jason, he still plays and you can tell he still sees the whole dynamic of the moment in his mind, but he’s in his mid-30s now, not his mid-20s, and he can’t execute quite the way he used to. Still, he finds flashes of great moments. Also, he has left the Nets. The Nets, through bad luck or bad choices, never could get the dominant seven-foot center, who would have been the yang to Kidd’s ying and send them (continued on page 18)