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| Open
Letter |
July 12, 2010
By Ron
Richards
Open Letter To The Jazz and Greg
Miller.
I don’t understand. I’m hurt, confused and
depressed. Let me give a short explanation
of my NBA leanings, and then I’ll let on why
I’m ready to whittle my wrists with a dull
knife.
I’ve been a faithful Jazz fan for umpteen
years, ever since the team stepped off the
airplane so many years ago…..Did they have
jets then?
I guess it doesn’t matter, they got here.
They then proceeded to flounder for a few
years, until a comedian in a coach’s suit
turned the franchise around almost
single-handedly. Thank you, Frank Layden.
Along with Greg’s dad, Larry Miller, the
Jazz gradually became respectable, became
the home for two of the best ever, and
should have won a couple of championships.
But thanks to the greatest player ever
anointed by the NBA, they fell just short.
Didn’t matter to me, I was hooked the first
day the franchise was announced. I’ve been
an NBA fan for more years than I care to
admit in mixed company, and I freely confess
I watched on live TV a bunch of Bill
Russell, Wilt the Stilt, Jerry West and all
of the greats since then. It was black and
white back then, in more ways than one. Not
much black at first, whole lot of white, but
things gradually changed until the present
day composition of the league came to pass.
Goodness I loved the NBA. I had my own
version of Wilt’s dipper, baseline fade-away
turn around with one hand, I had them all.
Jerry West had nothing on me from the top of
the key, except he made a whole lot more of
them, and playing decidedly better
opposition. Sorry, Phil and Bruce. My
neighborhood buddies were both under six
foot tall, while I towered over the magical
barrier by a good inch. Maybe an inch and
half on a good day. Hell, with some of these
shoes they’re wearing these days, I was a
legit 6’3”.
So except for a small thing called talent, I
fancied myself waiting in the wings for my
NBA call-up, until recently when I passed my
sixtieth birthday and finally realized it
wasn’t in the cards.
Get the picture? I have lived, breathed, and
even died several times following my
favorite team. Doesn’t matter what round of
the playoffs it’s been, it always hurts.
So that’s why I’m at a loss to understand
what’s going on with the Jazz.
Oh, I’m not complaining about letting Carlos
Boozer go. I’d have been one of the first to
whine if the Jazz had signed him to a max
deal. That might have done me in right
there.
And while I almost cried when the Jazz
traded Eric Maynor for a trade exemption
that they’ll probably never use, it didn’t
bother me that much. I learned how to sleep
again over a couple of weeks time. Some day
when Eric is blasting the Jazz and racking
up assists, I might have a seizure or
conniption fit. Don’t know which one is
worse.
And I saw the writing on the wall for Ronnie
Brewer when Kobe dared him to make a jumper
in the playoffs two years ago. Give me that
same shot at sixty years old, I’d drain more
of them than Ronnie could. What’s wrong with
that picture, besides the white-haired guy
needing oxygen every two minutes?
No, it’s not so much what they’ve done, it’s
what they haven’t done.
Maybe it isn’t fair to Kevin O’Connor, who
probably has tried to get deals done, but
had less success than this old geezer on a
senior dating website. If he was clever like
me, he’d embellish our scrubs a little bit
more, polish them up so to speak, just like
I have to do to play the game.
I keep waiting for a trade. And wait. Then,
I wait some more. It’s worse than waiting
for a geezer chick to click on my doctored
photo and want to get to know me. Sometimes
it’s hard to stay awake that long without a
nap.
And we never, never hear about what might
have been. KOC won’t talk about it. Just
once, I’d like to hear him say that Memphis
wanted to trade Mr. Gasol for Kirk Snyder,
but we had to turn them down. Memphis might
have gained a valuable resource inside the
joint. Some of those prison hoopsters are
pretty good.
Just once, I’d like to hear Kevin say that
we got the best of the Blazers. Remember
when the Blazers threatened everyone in the
league if we signed Darius Miles? MEMPHIS
signed him. Memphis, for crying out loud.
I’d have gotten on the phone to Kevin
Pritchard myself, rubbing it in. Damn
Blazers, anyway.
Now we’ll probably lose Wes Matthews, signed
by a team with more money and bile than
sense. You tell me why you would pursue Wes
Matthews if you have Brandon Roy on board.
Make sense? Kevin Pritchard trying to sink
the Jazz from the grave?
I’ve heard so many times I want to puke
about lateral moves not really helping a
team. Well, how about a non-lateral deal?
Do KOC and Greg Miller know we’re all (Jazz
fans) losing hope? After getting that poor
season ticket holder booed so badly he needs
post-battle fatigue therapy, KOC said we
won’t be booing after two years. Yeah, I’ll
probably be dead. Actually, I do like
Hayward and what I’ve seen of him. I think
he’ll be terrific.
But I need something else. I need the Jazz
to actually make a deal. Bring in O. Okafor
for that much ballyhooed trade exemption.
Take a freaking chance, for heavens sake. DO
SOMETHING.
It’s all I need. I just need to know the
Jazz, KOC and Greg Miller really care. So
far this summer, they’ve done squat, and
struck out while doing that. Can you say,
constipation? I can. It’s called…..Doing
Nothing.
If I’ve learned one thing in my lifetime,
it’s that if you don’t take a chance now and
then, your life will not change. In fact, it
will probably get worse.
I’m not happy about losing Kyle Korver, I
can see where his game is redundant with
Hayward around. I might not even puke if we
don’t match Wes Matthews contract, but I’m
going to go stark, streaking mad if the Jazz
don’t bring in a big man by free agency or a
trade.
Yes, I’ll remain a Jazz fan, regardless of
how bad it gets.
But please, please, please………
Bring us a big man, KOC. Bring us a shooting
guard for insurance if Matthews bolts and
Hayward isn’t quite ready.
I don’t know if we’re building, holding a
fire sale, or playing it smart before the
lock out happens next summer.
I just want to see the smallest point of
light on the horizon while bobbing up and
down in the lifeboat. Have you ever been at
sea, really at sea where the waves rise far
above the boat you’re in? It’s a humbling
feeling, knowing you’re at the mercy of
Posiedon. It’s a scary, hopeless realization
knowing things can and will change in less
time than it takes to talk about it. Most of
the time, you’re just fine.
But keep on this voyage too long, Kevin and
Greg, and the sea will claim her own. Bring
this ship into safe harbor, cross the bar
and head for home.
Take a chance, if necessary. Faint heart
never won fair maiden, or signed Brawny
Ballplayer.
Please.
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