We were watching the last quarter of what would turn out to be the last game of the 2009-2010 Phoenix Suns season (although we didn’t know that yet). The Suns were putting up a good fight, but it just wasn’t their night. Still, they kept on trying, and with thirty-four seconds left to play Phoenix starter Grant Hill made a valiant effort to stop the Lakers’ Kobe Bryant from scoring. He failed, but as he ran by the Phoenix bench Coach Gentry commended him anyway, saying “Good defense.” That was when Kobe, overhearing the remark, shouted out a comment of his own.
“Not quite good enough.”
And then it was all over, and the Suns were out of the playoffs. And yet, as I watched Steve Nash turn and applaud the crowd before he left the court—commending them for their effort—the loss didn’t seem quite so traumatic. Because I knew that, no matter how the game, or the season, ended, there was still one thing I would always have going for me: at least I didn’t have to worry about my kids growing up to become Lakers fans.
Look, I know that Kobe Bryant is a great basketball player. I, too, am in awe of some of the shots he makes, the seemingly effortless three-pointers from eight feet behind the line. And I know that he’s worked hard to get where he is. But while he may currently be the greatest player in the NBA, no one is talking about nominating him for greatest teammate, because, as far as teammates go, he’s pretty damn lame. And why would I want my kids looking up to that?
Charles Barkley (another Sun) once famously said, “I am not a role model,” and although I think what he really meant to say was, “I don’t want to be a role model,” the truth is he was. (And maybe even still is: after all, at least he told the truth about why he was in such a hurry to get home when he was pulled over for that DUI a few years back.) Like it or not, the fact is that no matter what Charles or anybody else says, kids are always going to look up to sports stars.
And I’m not so sure that’s a bad thing. After all, something in our psyche must clearly be drawn to the idea that sports—especially team sports—parallel life, because the urge to use sports metaphors to describe real life problems is a universal phenomenon. And this isn’t only true in America, where we grow up on metaphors like “don’t be a Monday morning quarterback,” “down for the count” and “full court press.” In other countries (and sports) people talk about giving an extra effort in terms of “having a captain’s innings” or making a stupid mistake in terms of committing an “own goal.”
In my house, we use team sport metaphors as well. In fact, whenever I ask my kids to make any sort of a sacrifice (whether it’s going to the movie their brother picked out or sitting through one of their sister’s orchestra concerts), I tell them they need to “take one for the team.” And they do. Because we are a team.
Realistically, my son Clyde has about an .0001% chance of ever playing in the NBA. However, he has an almost 100% chance of someday being a part of some kind of a team. Maybe even a great one. Maybe even one of those rare teams where the players are so unselfish that the whole becomes greater than the sum of its parts. A team like this year’s Phoenix Suns.
Why is why, even though Phoenix lost the Western Conference Final to the Lakers, they’ll always be role models in our house.
In other words: Go Suns.