When I say a kid....You have to realize
that he’s about 5'8" or so......Saleem Stoudamire towers over him, and he’s
my height, and I feel like a midget when I pass by these guys in the
hallway. Five Eight seems generous, somehow.
It doesn’t help when he’s got a scruffy beard that a thirteen year old would
scoff at, or a mild expression on his face that never changes even when he’s
sticking a game winner in the hoop. His arms look too short for his stocky
body, and his calves are running back thick, looking nothing like a real
basketball player’s legs. His hair is non-existent, he’s either shaved it
off or he’s the biggest two-month old on the block.
Well, Dallas was getting their as.....s handed to them by the Atlanta Hawks,
and then to my complete surprise this kid comes into the game. I kept
looking at the scorers table for them to wave him back, or the refs to start
laughing and wave Mbenga over to do his dirty deed.
To my surprise, it didn’t happen, and they acted like maybe he was supposed
to be in the game after all. Then the PA announcer said that Jose Barea had
just entered the game.
No, wait a minute.
Jose Barea is bigger, isn’t he? Has to be a brother with a Peruto Rican
name, because that guy can play. I’ve read about him, he’s been on the NBA
radar for a while, he played I think at Northwestern or some other
basketball non-powerhouse, and had unreal stats. Twenty points or so and ten
dimes a game....Something like that. He dominated the Portsmouth Camp,
making the rest of the crew look like they were sick, when it was Jose who
was sick, bad, and totally rad.
I knew he’d been playing for Dallas, and I’d scanned the brothers for a
smaller guy who looked lightning fast, whose eyes saw everything on the
court including the sweat bead that had dropped on the last warm up shot
before the game started. I didn’t see anyone who fit those shoes.
Especially the mild faced ball boy just calmly laying it up and looking like
he was going to fall asleep.
Then......He touched the ball.
It fit nicely in his surprisingly comfortable handle, and he dribbled the
rock like he owned it. Remember the kid in the Fantastic’s, the little blond
kid who blurred as he ran? I know where they got the idea. Jose. He was at
half court, and then he was dishing it off to a wide open man like Johnny
Stock used to do, left handed without picking the ball up, completely off
the dribble. That’s not easy. Apparently it is. Next time down, he blurred
by a much taller defender and pulled up for a rock solid jump shot of
perfect form. Two. Cripes, yimminy and holy cow. Who is this guy? He goes to
the hole anytime he wants to, draws fouls like flies to a picnic. His legs
look like stumps, except when they’re going so fast you can’t see them.
And the whole time, his expression doesn’t change.
And then I remembered those hit man movies where the assassin’s face didn’t
change expression at all. Those cold eyes that gave nothing, just empty
holes of black obsidian shining back at you.
Bingo.
Oh, he won the game for Dallas, I think. Doesn't matter. I was so entranced
at watching the kid play I kinda lost track of the score.
Overtime, I think. He scored twenty, had eight dimes or so in a part time
role.
But...Let you in on a secret. Want to have fun? Want to see what a
basketball player really looks like? Just tune in on any game that Jose
plays in and sit back.
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