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Tom Knott: Get Lost Jordan, Malone, Ewing
5am -- November 20, 1998
OPINION
NBA upper-class worried only about the
Benjamins
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By Tom Knott
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
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[M]ichael Jordan, goodbye.
Karl Malone, so long.
Patrick Ewing, enjoy the rest of your life.
America no longer needs you and the NBA.
America no longer needs your egos, lack of
perspective and grand pronouncements.
You are not saving the world. You are not
even saving the whale.
You play a game. Correct America if this
is wrong.
The leading players of the NBA can't see
the obvious. They are alienating their fan
base. They are hurting the game. They are
fighting for a higher cause. And that cause is
Ben Franklin. Show the players the Bens.
They are not willing to accept 50 percent
of the revenue from the owners. They want 60
percent. They want 70 percent. They want it
all.
The pronoun "they" is not intended to be
inclusive. The players are being managed by a
few big names.
The lockout is not about Rusty LaRue. It
is not about God Shammgod. It is not about all
the players who bounce from Europe to the CBA
to a seat at the end of the bench in the NBA.
It is not even about C.J., even if C.J. is
eternal.
Billy Hunter is not motivated by the
no-name players or the middle-class, although
he claims to feel their pain.
Hunter does not show up to the talks with
LaRue at his side. He does not have his picture
taken with LaRue. He does not commiserate on
the telephone with LaRue.
And why should he? Hunter knows the deal.
He knows LaRue is in the NBA today, in the CBA
tomorrow and looking through the help-wanted
ads next week. Hunter knows that as much as
one-third of his union membership is just
thankful to be in the NBA and not at all caught
up in the issues of this labor spat.
The no-names go along with the union not
because they believe in the issues. They go
along because of peer pressure. Is LaRue going
to question Jordan or Ewing? Is Marty Conlon?
Is Bruce Bowen? Is Kebu Stewart?
Right. Kebu Stewart.
This one is for you, Kebu.
Ewing can't sleep at night because of his
oppressed comrades.
When you think of the great uprisings of
the 20th century, you think of the Bolshevik
revolution and the NBA's $2 billion fit.
Many of the leading players justify their
ridiculously inflated salaries by pointing out
that their careers are short.
It seems they have no choice but to pursue
a $40 million contract instead of a $30 million
one. The $10 million is the difference between
ordering a plain pizza and ordering one with
extra cheese on it.
The players apparently believe they have a
right to be set for life by age 25 because of
their ability to dribble a basketball. They
think it is written in the Constitution. How
can they be expected to know otherwise? They
spent one year at State U. and took golf, AIDS
awareness and music appreciation.
Memo to the players: Do what most people
do. Get a real job. Or go to the stoplight at
the Key Bridge entrance to Georgetown. Find
yourself a piece of cardboard and write these
words: "Will work for food."
You looking for sympathy? Look it up in
the dictionary. It is between blockheadedness
and unrealistic. Now get out of here with the
set-for-life nonsense.
The players believe they are victims of
the owners.
Unfortunately, the players don't make good
victims, not when they step from their
chauffeur-driven limousines in fancy suits and
expensive jewelry.
The owners put up all the money and accept
all the risks and then have the gall to want 50
percent of the revenue. Where did the owners
get this idea? How unreasonable of them.
The principal figures on both sides are
scheduled to talk again Nov. 20.
This is America's cue to be hopeful.
Here's one hope: Stay out. Go away. Call
it a season. See if anyone really cares.
It may surprise the players to learn that
there is a big world out there and it does not
revolve around basketball.
Americans have bills to pay, children to
raise and leaves to rake. They don't need the
aggravation of the NBA. They don't need the
insults. And they don't need the 1998-99
season.
Copyright © 1998 News World Communications, Inc.