The Man in the Black Hat

It is often hard to classify a regular season game in any sport as absolute MUST SEE TV, but tonight lured me in.  Interestingly, I knew exactly what was pulling me, despite my first instinct being to chastise anyone seduced for the exact same reason.  I was a little kid watching a slasher film through the cracks of his fingers,  like that unfortunate accident at the side of the road you just can't help sneaking a curious, furtive glance at; I couldn't quite resist.

I wanted to see the carnage.

I was fascinated by the potential of a frothing, foamy-mouthed, bloodlusting mob.

I wanted to see them welcome home Lebron.

Instead I got exactly what the aforementioned usually provide; a quick flutter of emotion, a little bit of a tummy-ache and a quickly forgotten glance at a fender bender.  The NBA's version of "made ya' look."

The booing, vociferous as it was, seemed to fade in unison with the game's competitiveness.  A decline from fever-pitch to sour note, from mouthfuls of venom to simply the bitter aftertaste of sour grapes; electricity to a dull flicker of boredom.

I originally wondered why on Earth so many grown humans would feel compelled to attend a sporting event solely to yell derision to a near-billionaire they once adored.  It seemed a little silly, a little petty, heck even a little insignificant to me; and I spend my time writing about this sport! 

But it wasn't insignificant to the fans.  They taunted and jeered.  They screamed with passion.  It was honest and real and deep. You could see the pain on so many Cleveland faces. 

And then it hit me;  I understood what was missing.

The fans might have been tormented.  But they were alone in their agony.

There wasn't a single ounce of malice or torment on the faces of the players.  No anger visible from the actors in the "will he/won't he throw chalk" vaudeville act.  It was just another game.  Just another bunch of guys passing through town whom they've known and interacted with most of their lives: AAU, Summer Leagues, College, International Teams, All-Star Games and commercial shoots.  Game #20 of 82.  Barely at the quarter-post mark in the seemingly infinite horse race.

The fans had their target, but in truth, there hasn't been a true villain in a long time.  In this politically correct, TMZ'd 2010 sports climate we have eliminated any willing villains through pressure of social mores. We have efficiently ostracized the bad guy by hounding our athletes for the last ten years.  We parse their every word and dissect every facial tic and inflection in voice.  We kill someone over a quick, innocuous laugh on the sideline of a football game.  We beat our athlete's into public relations perfection though the powerful motivator of public approval and in so doing we eliminated a vital part of what makes sports so great.  We vanquish our villains long before our heros ever get a chance to.

Reggie Miller said it best before the game, "Lebron should embrace wearing the black hat." 

If only that were so.  If only that were possible.  Lebron the Villian?  Loads of fun.  Lebron the brand?  A multimillion dollar corporation better served with a polite quote and a beaming smile.  Muhammad Ali?  Not today's athlete.  They've been practicing far more than their jumpshots every day since junior high.  They've been practicing to be stars.  Like Mike.  If I could be like Mike...It's a catchy ditty to sing to while the Gatorade cash machine makes our athletes rich beyond any mere mortal's expectations.

Nothing like choking the life out of the opposing fans!

Reggie Miller is a sure-fire NBA Hall of Famer.  Five years after his retirement, you can bring a smile to nearly any Hoosier's face with the mere whisper of a good Reg-gie!  Reg-gie! chant.   Reggie Miller is synonymous with 1990's playoff basketball and larger-than-life clutch shots so big they could only be matched by his equally villainous persona.  The man in the black hat.

Here are some numbers that might startle you.  And I do this with a heavy heart and trepidation of besmirching my boyhood idol.  My wife and I have two dogs, Pacer (obvious) and Larkin (Reds SS, plus a "girlie enough" name to appease my wife).  If we ever bring a third into the fold, no doubt it's "Miller" time.  Okay... enough stalling...

Five.  Three.  Thirteen.

The significance?  Five; as in the number of All-Star games in Reggie's eighteen year career.  Three?  Yes, obviously three pointers, Reggie has buried more of them than any player in NBA history.  However in this case, the three means the best All-NBA voting Reggie achieved.  Third Team All-NBA.  He did it, you guessed it, only three times.

Thirteen.  The jeopardy answer to the question, "what is the highest Reggie Miller ever finished in MVP voting?"  Thirteenth.  He earned that distinction once and another time finished sixteenth.  In his other 16 seasons he received nary a single vote share.  Not one.

Transcendentally great player?  The numbers don't support it.  Memorable, dramatic, fascinating and polarizing?  Absolutely.  Perhaps no one in NBA history played the hero and the villain so well simultaneously.  You didn't have to love him.  You didn't have to hate him.  But if you loved basketball in the 1990's you had to choose one or the other.

The man in the black hat with a Superman cape.

In today's professional sports, twenty camera cell phones would have videotaped the quick change before Superman could tear out of the phone booth.  And it's a shame, because there can't ever be a real hero without an equally real villain.

Without an antagonist, Ishmail just went fishing.  With no Voldemort, Harry Potter is just flying circles on his broom. In a world with no Darth Vader, there can be no Luke Skywalker.  In a hyper-driven bat of an eye thousands of college-aged virgins are left to idle pimple-faced and bored in their parents' basements.

It wasn't always this way.  Julius Erving once connected on an overhand hay-maker squarely to Larry Bird's mug.  Charles Barkley decked Shaquille O'Neal.  The 1997 NBA Playoffs are known as much for PJ Brown hip-tossing Charlie Ward into the third row and the subsequent brawl that eventually resulted in Jeff Van Gundy clutching Alonzo Mourning's leg like a puppy embarrassingly humping dinner company.

"Unseemly" violence.  Heated competition not only to beat, but to destroy the opponent.  Unbridled, true, raw loathing.

And we loved every minute of it.

Several years ago Carmello Anthony threw a punch, a weak one at that, and received a 15-game suspension.  Twenty five years ago Kevin McHale clotheslined Kurt Rambis in a play that would have sportstalk hosts honestly discussing whether criminal litigation should result.  McHale wasn't even thrown out of the GAME. (watch here).

I'm not promoting violence and thuggery, but when emotions run strong and pure the occasional brawl results.  The fervor of all great competition and rivalry climaxes with the epic battle between good and evil.  It's a formula that has worked for filmmakers for nearly a century.  It's a formula that has worked for authors since the days of Homer's Odyssey.  And it's the formula that helped make the NBA great in the 80's and 90's.

Tonight's Cavs v. Heat game, for all the hype and crowd hostility had none of the true elements of good versus evil drama.  Mainly because the antagonist and protagonist were the same person, a simple illusion harbored only in 15,000 fans minds.  For better or worse, the days of true rivalry require a completely different mindset.  They need a willing villain.

Sadly, I doubt we will see any athlete intentionally don the black hat anytime soon... unless of course Nike can find a way to put a Swoosh on it.

Like the site?  Click here to get it delivered daily completely free!