shanksta13
07-09-2008, 09:30 PM
This is an absolutely riveting article I found on ESPN about two former basketball ball stars and how one dunk changed both of their lives forever. An definite must-read no matter what sport you like.
"Tracy McGrady walks the hero's walk, gliding past smiling security guards and fist-bumping maintenance men in the bowels of the Toyota Center. His game against the Wolves, one assist shy of a triple-double, triggered crowd chants of "MVP!" and on this night last spring, as he moves through the tunnel, he looks every bit the part.
I catch his eye and ask about Bobby Jackson, the Rockets' latest addition. But that's only to get his attention so I can tell him what I'm really after. I want to hear about a guy he used to know. Kinda.
"Do you remember James Felton?" I ask.
McGrady doesn't break stride. "Nope," he replies.
A few steps on, he rubs his hand over his scalp and stops. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says, his face lighting up. "He was that guy. The dunk."
There's so much I want to tell him about what has happened to Felton since he last saw him, so much I think he should hear. McGrady first met Felton 12 years ago, in a redbrick gym on the campus of Farleigh Dickinson University in northern New Jersey. On that muggy July day, the wooden bleachers were packed with a mix of baby-faced teens in tank tops and middle-aged men in shiny sweatsuits. Everyone was there to watch the Outstanding Seniors Game at Adidas' ABCD basketball camp. For 40 minutes, fans oohed and aahed at each flashy crossover and howling slam. It didn't matter at all that 24 hours later, no one would remember which team had won.
They would remember, though, in crystal-clear detail, one spectacular moment from midway through the second half. It started with a greyhound-skinny, 6'8" kid grabbing a loose ball and flashing into the open court. Another player, this one an inch taller but just as skinny, gave chase. The crowd fell silent, tracking the two teens as they raced to the hoop.
One was a star. One was a nobody. In a little more than 10 years, one would have a $155 million contract, a 24,000-square-foot house with a nine-car garage and a sneaker with his name on it. The other, after spending time at five colleges and in alcohol rehab, would be dead."
Click link to continue reading:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=3471118&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab2pos1
"Tracy McGrady walks the hero's walk, gliding past smiling security guards and fist-bumping maintenance men in the bowels of the Toyota Center. His game against the Wolves, one assist shy of a triple-double, triggered crowd chants of "MVP!" and on this night last spring, as he moves through the tunnel, he looks every bit the part.
I catch his eye and ask about Bobby Jackson, the Rockets' latest addition. But that's only to get his attention so I can tell him what I'm really after. I want to hear about a guy he used to know. Kinda.
"Do you remember James Felton?" I ask.
McGrady doesn't break stride. "Nope," he replies.
A few steps on, he rubs his hand over his scalp and stops. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he says, his face lighting up. "He was that guy. The dunk."
There's so much I want to tell him about what has happened to Felton since he last saw him, so much I think he should hear. McGrady first met Felton 12 years ago, in a redbrick gym on the campus of Farleigh Dickinson University in northern New Jersey. On that muggy July day, the wooden bleachers were packed with a mix of baby-faced teens in tank tops and middle-aged men in shiny sweatsuits. Everyone was there to watch the Outstanding Seniors Game at Adidas' ABCD basketball camp. For 40 minutes, fans oohed and aahed at each flashy crossover and howling slam. It didn't matter at all that 24 hours later, no one would remember which team had won.
They would remember, though, in crystal-clear detail, one spectacular moment from midway through the second half. It started with a greyhound-skinny, 6'8" kid grabbing a loose ball and flashing into the open court. Another player, this one an inch taller but just as skinny, gave chase. The crowd fell silent, tracking the two teens as they raced to the hoop.
One was a star. One was a nobody. In a little more than 10 years, one would have a $155 million contract, a 24,000-square-foot house with a nine-car garage and a sneaker with his name on it. The other, after spending time at five colleges and in alcohol rehab, would be dead."
Click link to continue reading:
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=3471118&lpos=spotlight&lid=tab2pos1