LeBron James' alleged confiscation of a tape in which Xavier sophomore basketball player Jordan Crawford executed a two-hand dunk on him took on a larger life of its own than it would have had the tape been made public.
The story of James getting dunked on during a pickup game at the LeBron James Skills Academy by now has made the rounds several times over -- not to mention piqued the interest of basketball fans of what that scene might've looked liked.
Hmm. ... My first thought that comes to mind is Michael Jordan reversing course baseline against Patrick Ewing and throwing down in a classic Bulls-Knicks confrontation. My second thought is of Nate Robinson using Dwight Howard as a prop and jumping over him in the NBA Slam Dunk competition in February.
In any case, I began to wonder what the cameramen recording the event must have thought of The Chosen Brat after he reportedly dispatched a Nike official to take possession of the tapes.
Which got me to thinking about my worst encounter with a famous athlete: Baseball Hall of Famer Brooks Robinson. Do these cameramen now see James the way I remember the Orioles' great?
At this point, please allow me the privilege of doing some name-dropping -- it's pertinent to this blog. I promise. And it's not like I have an extensive list.
In my years as a writer as well as a sports fan, I've talked to such luminaries as legendary college basketball coaches John Wooden UCLA), Bobby Knight (at both Indiana and Texas Tech), Don Haskins of Texas-El Paso (or the more famous Texas Western that was the subject of a major motion picture); tennis star Andre Agassi, former NBA player Charles Barkley, former NFL great Tony Dorsett, current NFLers Steve Smith (Carolina Panthers) and Steven Jackson (St. Louis Rams). I have a minor relationship with Chicago Bears linebacker Brian Urlacher and am fairly confident he'd know my name if he saw me at any random event.
Urlacher is a good guy; I wish his "handlers" would do a better job of counseling him and taking care of him. The others -- some have been gracious and some surly.
As for Robinson? I would not let him in my house even if he were to take over for the late, great Ed McMahon and appear at my door with a multi-million dollar check from Publisher's Clearinghouse.
The year is 1970. I was a 6-year-old lived in a Los Angeles suburb, Hacienda Heights. My father, my uncle Gil and I attended a California Angels (my apologies to today's youth or those averse to baseball lore; they're now known as the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim in California, USA, planet Earth) baseball game with the Orioles in town.
Even though I was a Dodgers fan, Robinson was one of my favorite players, like a Johnny Bench, a Roberto Clemente, a Willie Stargell. Robinson already was either a 10- or 11-year All Star -- not sure if that game was before or after the 1970 All-Star game -- and a member of a 1964 World Series champion.
We arrived at the park early and had pretty good seats a few rows up from the field on the third-base side. Robinson was tossing the ball around with a couple of teammates when both my dad and uncle called out to Robinson, asking him to toss me a ball.
Even though I was a brilliant 6-year-old, I admit my memory of what transpired could be a bit skewed. I do recall my uncle calling Robinson a couple of times. I don't remember him or my father being obnoxious toward the Baltimore third baseman.
"Hey Brooks, this kid's one of your biggest fans! How about tossing him a ball?" my uncle called to Robinson, or something to that effect.
This is what I like to refer to as my, "Won't you please, Mr. Robinson?" moment (sorry Simon & Garfunkel).
When Robinson was done playing catch, I recall him looking over at us, and I swear he looked right at me ... and then TOSSED THE BALL TO ANOTHER KID A FEW ROWS AWAY!
For the next half-hour (or four hours, depending on whether you ask my dad or me), my dad and uncle had to deal with a 6-year-old sobbing uncontrollably.
The Angels beat the Orioles that day, and that was the day the Angels became my second favorite team because they beat the evil Oriole.
That moment scarred me for life in terms of my worship for Robinson. Robinson went on that season to lead Baltimore to another World Series victory over the Cincinnati Reds, and he was named Series MVP. I guess karma didn't exist back then.
I've long hoped that fate would provide me with a chance encounter with Robinson and I could at least bare my soul for some closure. It's coming upon 40 years. My faith is waning.
Brooks, if you're out there, call me, tweet, something! If not, "Here's to you, Mr. Robinson:" PTPPTHPTHTHPTH! Boo! Hiss!
I'd love to hear of other tales of woe in personal dealings with sports figures; it might help my road to recovery so that I may someday (sniff) learn to trust (sniff, sniff) in sports heroes again.
Keywords: Andre Agassi, Art Garfunkel, Baltimore Orioles, Bobby Knight, Brian Urlacher, Brooks Robinson, California Angels, Charles Barkley, Cincinnati Reds, Don Haskins, Dwight Howard, Ed McMahon, John Wooden, Johnny Bench, Jordan Crawford, LeBron James, Los Angeles Angels, Michael Jordan, Nate Robinson, Patrick Ewing, Paul Simon, Roberto Clemente, Steve Smith, Tony Dorsett, Willie Stargell
