When ballers play soccer

I'm not the regretful type, but today, I really wished I had a genuine Spalding basketball. You see, if I'd owned one, I could have brought it down to Nike Field in Sara D. Roosevelt Park this evening, whereupon the likes of Baron Davis, Jason Kidd, Leandro Barbosa and Steve Nash would have gladly signed their names on its bumpy leather surface.

Alas, all I had was a France national soccer team t-shirt, and Thierry Henry left before I could persuade him to autograph it.

See what I mean by regret? How often does Steve Nash organize a free charity football match in New York's Lower East Side in which some of the NBA's best players rub shoulders with international soccer stars like Henry, Salomon Kalou, Claudio Reyna, Robbie Fowler and Steve McManaman?

Okay, I'm not entirely disappointed. After all, I got to pat Baron Davis's sweaty shoulder (yes, I had to reach up to do so).

Maybe the problem was that I got there too late. The game started at 5:30 PM, and by the time I arrived, there were only ten minutes until halftime. It took me all of halftime to wriggle my way to the front of the crowd of several thousand who were clinging to the fence surrounding the field (if you've never seen an urban soccer field before, it's basically a small pitch with no bleachers and a twenty-foot fence on the perimeter).

Everyone stood to watch, but it was worth it -- some of the world's best athletes were playing the beautiful game right in front of us. Steve Nash, a wizard with any rolling object, scored multiple times, athletically so. Fellow Phoenix Sun Leandro Barbosa, aka The Brazilian Blur, was on the same team, playing a sport he must have seemed destined to excel at growing up until sidetracked by basketball (of all things). On the other team, Jason Kidd wasn't half bad, but Baron Davis was by far the weakest player, lumbering around in orange Reeboks, black-rimmed glasses and a baseball hat. To be fair, everyone seemed to be having fun, especially Davis, who jawed with the crowd amiably. And it was hilarious to watch basketball players out of context. That defender looks really familiar. Hey, that's because he's Raja Bell!

It almost goes without saying that the pro soccer players performed well, but Thierry Henry seemed out of it, despite hearing pockets of the crowd chant his name. Kalou was the most active, scurrying all over the pitch and playing give-and-go with Kidd.

At the end of regulation, I didn't even know or care what the final score was. The small crowd that was allowed to sit within the fence quickly rushed the field and surrounded the players, Sharpies and jerseys in hand. I squeezed through a hole in the fence and tried looking for Henry, but he'd already been whisked away into a large black SUV. If I'd gotten to the game earlier, I would have noticed the SUVs were the best place to wait for players post-final-whistle. Kidd and Nash were being mobbed, but since I had nothing for them to sign, I decided to leave. Baron Davis evidently had the same idea -- he walked out the gate just as I did. I didn't have anything for him either, so I simply patted him on the shoulder (twice), wiped my hand on the France t-shirt, and said, "Good game, Baron," as the mob implored Davis to move to New York and play for the Knicks.

Yes, I know what you are thinking, and it is true: I now have Baron Davis's sweat on my t-shirt. Yes, I am wearing it right now. Who needs Thierry Henry's autograph?

Rare Air

When I was a kid, I really wanted a pair of Nike basketball shoes. I never got them because they were expensive, and a growth spurt meant that my feet outgrew new shoes in mere weeks, a fact that my parents took pains to drill into my 13-year-old head.

Remember back in the late '80s and early '90s when Air Jordans were just about the coolest things you could put on your feet? I'm not much of sneakerhead, and I never gave Jordans much thought until a couple of years ago when the red Jordan XX1 came out and floored me with all that beautiful suede. It's funny how you can develop an appreciation for a certain aesthetic if you are open-minded enough. I used to think Air Jordans were really funny-looking; now I think many of them are fantastic.

So that's why, today, I finally got my first pair of Air Jordans ever, the stealth XX3, and thanks to SoHo shoe retailer Michael K, I got them two days before their official release. Ah, to be an adult making his own financial decisions...
Like I said, I'm no sneakerhead, though some of my co-workers happen to be very serious about their sneakers. I mean, if they were looking for a new apartment, one of the requirements would be enough space to store at least a hundred pairs of sneakers, in shoe boxes. They are the reason that limited edition sneakers sell out fifteen minutes after they are released. I, on the other hand, own a grand total of six pairs of sneakers, three of which are so ratty that I wouldn't wear them in public. I also have one pair of Nike Air Max 360 running shoes, which are slightly, ah, under-used. So it's a big step for me to own a pair of Jordans, which is why I'm happy I waited until the XX3, the twenty-third iteration, came out (23 was Michael Jordan's jersey number, in case you somehow missed the '90s).

Now, while I love my new sneakers, I can't decide if I should wear them or leave them in the box. After all, what's the point of buying cool shoes if you don't wear them? These things are beautifully crafted; the pattern on the side is hand-stitched. On the other hand, Air Jordans generally appreciate in value over time, but only if they are deadstock (never worn, kept in the original box). Plus, there's no way I'd wear these to actually play basketball in. I'd be laughed off the court, but only after I get thoroughly schooled and the shoes get thoroughly stepped on due to my utter lack of game. So it may be a better idea to leave them in the box.

Howard, the dunk

I spent my Saturday night watching this on TV: the Orlando Magic's resident beast Dwight Howard flying toward the rim in his Superman getup to win this year's NBA Slam Dunk Contest. Hilarious and amazing. [Click through here for the full picture ©Getty Images]

Knicks at night

My friend Tyler and I went to the Knicks game a Madison Square Garden tonight. We've been to three Knicks games in the last twelve months or so, and the Knicks lost all three games. I said it the other day, so you already know: it hasn't been good for New York sports fans of late.

Still, watching the game was enjoyable, aside from having to tolerate the boorishly loud trio of Cantonese-speaking spectators sitting immediately behind us, and the home team, you know, losing the game. The visiting team was the Houston Rockets, notable for employing the greatest Chinese basketball player in the world, Yao Ming. Yao is also currently the NBA's tallest player, which is sort of like being the smartest student at Harvard. Some of his dunks were so impressive that even Knicks fans cheered despite themselves.

Oh yeah, and a number of celebs were in the crowd, including Zhang Ziyi, Ron Howard (who smiled amiably as the Happy Days theme song played over the arena speakers) and New York Giants running back Brandon Jacobs.

Fumbles

Glaringly obvious comment ahead: 2007 was a bad year for New York sports. The Knicks lost 15 of their last 19 games to end the regular season last season. Playoffs? Not even close. Two months into this season, they've won eight games. Eight out of 31. The Giants have more wins than that in 16 games.

Speaking of the Giants, they squeaked their way into tomorrow's AFC wild card game. I say squeak because there was a point in the regular season that New York fans began worrying their team wouldn't make the playoffs. Now that they're in, they have to contend with Jeff Garcia, an arch-nemesis if there ever was one.

In Major League Soccer (which, by international standards, is sort of like the soccer you play with your cousins on 4th of July weekend while waiting for the cheese to melt on the burgers), New York's Red Bulls were dismissed by the New England Revolution. (If this blog were titled One Year in Boston, there'd be plenty of good news in sports, by the way.)

I'd mention something about baseball, but it's too early in the day for rage and depression.

And what about my beloved Rutgers, the closest thing to New York's official college football team? They finished the '07 season with a 7-5 record, good enough to be invited to a bowl game so inconsequential that it's being played in Canada.

Winners and losers

My mother in-law, echoing a popular and accurate sentiment, often says, "New York loves a winner." This is especially true for the city's professional sports teams. Now, I'm no sports pundit, and the only pro sport I follow with any true conviction is basketball. Unfortunately for me, the New York Knicks, once an NBA powerhouse, has in recent years been about as exciting to watch as my cat's attempt to remove an ice cube from her water bowl. I did attend a couple of games last season at the famed Madison Square Garden, both times using free tickets, both times leaving disappointed as the home team sort of gave up altogether. I've never really been a fan of the Knicks, though, so it's hardly a personal loss.

For more successful sports organizations, there are always the Mets and the Yankees, New York's major league baseball teams. Confession: Having been born and raised in another country, I only recently figured out the game of baseball. Until about two or three months ago, I didn't know what RBI stood for. Until tonight, I didn't know what ERA stood for.* And I'm still learning. I don't know for sure if an understanding of various acronyms and statistical categories is essential to enjoying the "American pastime," but it sure does enhance the enjoyment for me. Tonight, as I watched the Yankees hold off perennial rivals the Boston Red Sox in the ninth inning to win the game by a precarious margin, it occurred to me that I might be in danger of becoming a fan.

It's not hard to be a fan of the Yankees -- they're the most successful North American professional sports franchise in history, winning 26 World Series championships (by comparison, the Boston Celtics, the most successful pro basketball franchise, have a paltry 16 NBA titles). Fairweather fans are a dime a dozen in this city, but still, you have to appreciate the support from the New York area for the phenomenal success of the Rutgers college football** team, who last year finished the season with a 10-2 record, the best in the school's history. Not too long ago, they were lucky to win two games in one season. When I was at Rutgers, several years ago, I never ever went to a game. In fact, when I was at Rutgers, I didn't even know how the game of football is played.

Rutgers is 40 miles outside of the city, but it's the closest you can get to a winning local college football team in a city that desperately wants a college football team to root for. I was on the train today heading back into New York from New Jersey, and in between standard announcements ("ThisstationstopisMetroparkpleasewatchyourstepasyouexitthetrain"), the driver came on the PA system to announce that "Green Bay is beatin' up on the Giants." Then he reported that "Rutgers is number nine in the country," meaning that the Rutgers football team was now the ninth-best*** college team in the nation, according to the AP Poll. In spite of myself, I let out a celebratory "whoo-hoo!" and the teenaged boy in a Nike baseball cap sitting next to me flinched and gave a me furtive glance, as if worried that I might behead him with my cellphone.

*Yes, I know I could have looked up these things online, or asked one of the many sports nuts I know, but it's been far more rewarding learning the game as I watch it on TV.
**By "football" I mean gridiron, or American, football. Not to be confused with "soccer" which, while indeed a beautiful game and one I grew up playing, is merely the second-greatest game in the world.
***Rutgers is actually ranked 11th. Apparently the train operator's information was as reliable as New Jersey Transit's schedules.