After Melo cut the braids the other day, I wrote this brief, off the cuff eulogy for a now-bygone NBA era of fashion.
Ryne Nelson at Slam, however, has infinitely more insight on the matter:
If you think hair is just hair, you’re dead wrong.
Prior to the 1976 season, Pete Maravich went away from the wispy mustache and flowing mop, trading it in for a clean-shaven, conservative look; he started throwing chest passes, making fundamental plays and was named First-Team All-NBA.
Larry Bird cut off his blonde road-kill mullet for the 1988 season. He responded with a 30-9-6 season and by far the greatest shooting campaign of any forward ever.
MJ went with the bald look in 1989, and put together his forgotten masterpiece–it was sandwiched between his first MVP and the subsequent Bulls dynasty–playing the point for Doug Collins, averaging darn near a triple-dip.
Steve Nash lost his locks for the 2006 season, and started barking at teammates, having guilt-free high shot-attempt games, and saw all of his talents concurrently peak.
Don’t say losing the hair means nothing.
There’s a good amount more about the symbolism that this represents for Melo and that he, on the eve of Obama, must also embrace change in his game to take his career to the next level. I suggest you read the rest.
In other cornrows news, Shoals similarly killed it yesterday with his Sporting News column. The main focus is that Iverson is as much a social emblem as he is a baller or, termed in the wonders of Jadakiss brevity, he “brought the hood to the game and they love him for the braids and tats.”
Allen Iverson’s never been just a basketball player. He’s a cultural icon, and has been for more than a decade. That’s a long time to remain relevant, which is why, at each phase in his career, Iverson’s image and the attitudes around him have shifted subtly — in no small part due to what city he’s playing in.
Shoals describes Allen’s polarizing persona in Philly, his amalgamation into the anonymity of Denver and the new opportunity for “reinterpretation” he will have in Detroit — a predominantly black city that will embrace his desire, grit and, hopefully, his unwavering commitment to being Allen Iverson.
Thus, his image comes full circle. A new career in a new town, but one where there’s no question he’s free to be himself — as opposed to Philly, where he was always dogged by the specter of racial strife, or Denver, where Melo made his persona redundant. This time, Iverson has the chance to once again prove he’s one of a kind, to distinguish himself from his imitators, and yet at the same time prove his appeal is more universal than ever. Not because the rest of the world has caught up with Allen Iverson, but because the world’s finally ready to let Iverson stay one step ahead of it.
Since I can’t possibly close this any better than that, here’s an editorial photo that essentially sums up AI’s two seasons in Denver better than any article I’ve read since the trade.
{ 0 comments… add your thoughts }