I had finally reached Mecca, 8th and 33rd Street, Gotham City, the place where “The Greatest” said “Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, the hands can't hit what the eyes can't see…”, met reality in the “Fight of the Century”.   After 15 rounds, Smokin’ Joe Frazier dealt Muhammad Ali his first loss in 1971.

The walls still echo with her mincing steps of her size 6 shoes that daintily graced a 1962 stage. She approached the podium, the blond bombshell that sported a smile that disarmed stoic men.  A gentleman helped her out of her white ermine fur coat for the big reveal…a Bob Mackie sheer, living color of skin, form-fitting, marquisette dress, dotted with 2,500 sparkling rhinestones.

Nothing separated her from the dress, literally nothing, was the word on the street, so fit would be flawless.  Sprinkled with gems, sown up, and snug on her, as she called it was this flesh-colored souffle dress.  She crooned out the iconic words with a silky, sultry voice: “Happy Birthday to you… Happy birthday Mister President...” Sitting front center was Jack, JFK, at the Democratic National Connection.   It was Marilyn Monroe with all her platinum glory.  We had to say goodbye to Norma Jean, but her dress still stands under glass, temperature regulated at 60 degrees on Hollywood Boulevard, and in the Guinness Book of World Records as the most expensive dress in the world at $4,810,000.

Madison Square Garden was the happening place where the Black Mamba dropped 61 and handed out 3 dimes.  The tired, fickle crowd chanted M.V.P.  Gretzky’s Rangers hoisted up the Sir Frederick Arthur Stanley’s silver cup.  And in 1972, The Memphis Flash, the other King, the King of Rock and Roll, walked in and chaunted:

“They'll be, they'll be so lonely, baby
They'll be so lonely
They're so lonely, they could die.” 

The Garden now became the Heartbreak Hotel.  In time the pain of screaming girls eased as Elvis left the building, left the city, left this world.  But in 1984 Michael Jeffrey Jordan came as a guest, reopened broken hearts, and threw 33 daggers at the board.  He decided to rent space in the building, and then he finally owned it in the nineties, the New York Knicks, and repeatedly broke New Yorkers’ hearts with 6 rings.

I was 6 inches from the edge of my seat on the upper ring of Madison Square Garden and I was thinking: “I made it!”  The understandably fickle NYC crowd chanted: “We will, we will rock you.”  It was basketball combat, the New York Knicks versus the Seattle Supersonics.  Blue against green.  Gotham City versus the Emerald City.  Batman versus Green Lantern.  The garden was roaring for the up and coming Knicks.  Suddenly this 6’10 lanky kid got the ball at the top of the key, dribbled once, maybe twice, launched into the air, turned his disrespectful back to the 5 players, the team, the bench, the bleachers, the nosebleeds, the great city itself, dropped the ball between his legs, reverse dunked, and rocked the rim, the backboard, the house…went silent. There was a gasp and a hush.  I jumped up along with everyone in my destroyed row to figure out…who was this kid?

That was my first introduction to the National Basketball Association, the N.B.A.  On the parquet floor, and city playgrounds, they called him the Rain man.  His name at birth in Elkhart, Indiana, was Shawn Travis Kemp.  As the years passed, I saved my nickels and pennies, bought basketball cards and occasional tickets.  I saw the Round Mound of Rebound have a temper-tantrum on a scorer’s table.  Was he mumbling, “I am not a role model”?  I travelled to the Magic Kingdom and saw Lil Penny and Big Diesel.  I closed my eyes and still saw PG score a horror show in Brooklyn.  I saw the Slim Reaper, The Splash brothers, X-man, Mase, Action Jackson, and, last but not least, Uncle Drew.  Let’s give him a new name - Basketball Wizard.

I’ve never seen a G.O.A.T (Greatest Of All Time) perform in person.  I never saw The Captain of the showtime and his skyhook, Magic and his dishes, the Black Mamba’s finish-you-off poison, his Airness take flight, Meeka, or Serena on clay, or courts greener, Messi cleaning up, Tom Brady throwing touchdowns clear and sometimes shady.

I have at the very least the remainder of this year, and hopefully the next, to finally save up some more dollars and cents to see the D.I.E.  (Distinguished in Era).  They called him “The Chosen One”, from the jump, King James, a kid from Akron who stepped onto the world stage at 18, right from high school, who broke one of the most storied records in sports history since the first recorded Olympic Games in 776 BC, when Koroibos, a cook from the nearby city of Elis, won the stadion race.  From Gyro to High ro…ler.

The Captain of the showtime Lakers, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, generous, noble servant of the Powerful One, ended his career with 38,387 points and his smooth, gentle, unstoppable, unrepeatable Skyhook.  The King will surpass this record today, tomorrow, this week and he will add another jewel to his crown.  The jewels include a wife, a beautiful family, a school, commitment to craft, a beast mode work ethic, savant of sport, mastermind of game, loyalty to his tribe, and of course four NBA championships, four Finals MVPs, four NBA MVPs, 17 All-NBA selections, 17 All-Star selections, the 2003-04 Rookie of the Year award and three All-Star MVPs. 

I cannot tell a lie.  When Jordan retired the first time, I was in shock.  It was a 911 moment, the day when JFK, a first kiss, my first dunk, not minimizing the events, or removing the gravity, but in recall, a moment in time where you can remember with clarity and presence exactly where you were and what you were doing.  If we could coin a psychological and physiological term, it was an eidetic moment, a where were you when event.

It was Wednesday, October 6, 1993, I was seated on my bed in my southeast Queens room under a singular light bulb with my dusty light fixture that I hadn’t cleaned yet.  The temperature was about 59 degrees, the winds of change were coming from the south at 15 mph, and it was a lonely fall day.  My pop came up to the threshold and said: “Chris, did you hear what happened on the news?”
“What Dad? “I replied.

“Jordan retired.” He answered.

I went into shock.  I was trapped in a moment of a cloudy present that would become future clarity. What will we do, what will happen to the NBA?  Why? Why? Why?  Tell me why.

I was a Jordan, Chicago Bulls fan.  Yes, I was on a bandwagon, but the tune they were playing was: “We are the champions.”  And when their dynasty was over, I rested in peace.

Now this kid from Akron comes in and I fell into the same crowd of compare, compare, compare.  And that’s never fair, fair, fair.  Can he finish?  Does he have the assassin genome like Jordan?  Kobe has it. Can he take over a game? Is he clutch?

His gospel was different - no selfish flash, even though he could shine.  The rock didn’t swirl into a black hole vortex in his hands, never to be shared.  There was no iso in his bio.  If we are all boats navigating on the sea, when the tide comes in, we all rise.

People use the platitude. “You know what they say…”  Heh heh. “Teamwork makes the dreamwork.”

In actuality the whole phrase is from an author and clergyman named John Maxwell: “Teamwork makes the dream work, but a vision becomes a nightmare when the leader has a big dream and a bad team.” 

That’s probably what led the young prince to make a decision with talents.  He didn’t want to bury them.  In the 6th city they burned his effigy.  It was more than cavalier.  It was inquisitional, fire and brimstone, denunciation.  He was a basketball heretic, a Benedict; he didn’t merit it, just inherited it.  He did not nail 95 theses on a door.  He just wanted puzzle pieces, and a team on the floor. He wanted control, not just empty promises bold, and twitter trolls.

When the King ties the record, will he as the French shout: “Je lève mon chapeau!” when he ties the record with a Sky Hook? Will he shatter the record with a tomahawk dunk?  Or will be slash the record with a jab step three and then chase it with the silencer?

And then let the noise be silent.

On February 7, 2023 against the Oklahoma City Thunder, with a 14-foot fadeaway jumper with 10.9 seconds left in the third quarter, Lebron James seized the scoring record with 38 points giving him 38,388 for his career.

References

http://silverscreenmodes.com/the-10-most-expensive-movie-star-gowns/