Howard Cosell

So I had this dream. Howard Cosell is standing on Wilshire Boulevard near the La Brea Tarpits. He is alone, but very much alive. In vintage Cosell fashion, he holds a microphone in hand and is reporting on the Coronavirus as if it were an epic sporting event.

Hello again everyone, it's Howard Cosell. It's good to be here with you. It figures to be a monumental battle today, one that does not need any buildup. In one corner we have the crazed conspiratorial crackpots, the delusional denizens of our arrogant terrestrial sphere. Weighing in at 7.5 billion with a prognosticated diminishment of 4.8%, please welcome the citizens of planet earth.

In the other corner, a brash and truculent rookie, a provocateur of pestilence, an instigator of immolation ready to assert itself atop the pandemic podium, please welcome COVID-19.

Every indication is that the humans are taking this bout with less than the necessary solemnity appropriate for this juncture. It is quite apparent to this trained observer that they are not suitably garbed and do not have the facial covering requisite for such a barbaric battle. The opponent is obstinate and unwavering in its mission to subjugate the hubristic humans.

Just a few short months ago, the virus was toiling in impoverished anonymity in a foreign land. It tussled in undistinguished wet markets sustaining itself on putrid pangolin and the bloated buttocks of barbecued bats. But then, November 17, 2019, a silent rumble was heard from a small village in Wuhan, China. Unbeknownst to the world, a beast was unleashed. From these humble origins, the opponent quickly rose through the ranks to become a ruthless, contemptible contender for king of terra firma.

We watched in awestruck consternation as the virus vanquished all opponents. Some never believed this little-known adversary would have the audacious temerity to challenge our species. But the skirmish has escalated in intensity and it now appears to this reporter that the hominid heroes of yesteryear are in for the battle of their lives.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my charge to be dispassionate and evenhanded. But I would be less than candid if I acknowledged any personal bent toward impartiality. It's time to take off the gloves and ameliorate these microscopic marauders. I call it like I see it and I say this clash is one for the ages. This is Howard Cosell signing off. (5" x 7", black ink print)

Kobe

When I heard the news of Kobe Bryant's death, my first instinct was to call my father. My dad died back in October and we'd always bonded over the Lakers. I yearned for his voice to help me make sense of Kobe's passing.
     I spent the next week immersed in news articles, sports talk and Kobe YouTube clips. I spent hours on the phone with friends commiserating and speculating on the cause of the accident. I drove to Staples Center and walked among thousands of grieving Lakers fans. No one wanted to accept reality. 41-year Kobe Bryant, Los Angeles's favorite son, was gone and he was not coming back.
     Kobe was complicated.  He was brash and petulant and often rubbed people the wrong way. There was the sexual assault accusation in Colorado and the feud with Shaquille O'Neal. In the 2006 playoffs against Phoenix, Kobe refused to shoot costing the Lakers the game in order to prove that his teammates were awful. His own coach Phil Jackson wrote that Kobe "was uncoachable."
     Kobe was a basketball prodigy. His skill set was unmatched and his work ethic legendary. To watch Kobe play basketball was like watching Baryshnikov dance or Bobby Fischer play chess. His jump shot was elegant, his footwork sublime. He was a tactical master able to exploit opponent weaknesses and psych out rivals with Jedi-level trash talk. Unlike anyone since Michael Jordan, Kobe's strength was his tenacity and willingness to do whatever was necessary to win a game. This is why Lakers fans loved him. He gave everything he had and became an on-court role model for how to live life with passion and commitment.
     The day Kobe died Los Angeles had it's heart ripped out. People were dazed and confused. Kobe was like a superhero. He can't die. If he dies, what chance do the rest of us have? Everyone was glued to their phones waiting for news updates. When the revelation came that Kobe's daughter also died, people lost it.
     Speculation immediately arose about the cause of the accident. The morning was foggy. Law enforcement helicopters were grounded. Yet Kobe's pilot was given permission to fly. Everyone I spoke with asked the same question. Did Kobe urge the pilot to fly despite the dangers? This seemed like a Kobe move. Or did the pilot himself feel pressure to please his A-List client?
     It was reported that Kobe and his daughter received communion at an Orange County church prior to the accident. This prompted a friend to suggest that Kobe accomplished his duties on earth and was being called back to God. But what about his daughter, I asked. "Sometimes people get swept up in the energy field of others." My friend, like everyone else, was trying to make sense of the senseless.
     Watching an interview with Tracy McGrady on ESPN, I heard a story about Kobe's early days. McGrady shared how 17-year old Kobe predicted his future in the NBA, how he'd win multiple championships, win MVP and score more points than Michael Jordan. All of these things came to fruition. Then McGrady added a coda. Kobe used to say, "I want to die young. I want to be immortalized."
     When I heard McGrady's words, I thought of the biblical passage about the power of the spoken word. "The tongue has the power of life and death." Kobe's will was indomitable. Combined with his passion, he was able to impress upon his subconscious a vision of fame and success. He spoke his future into existence. Did his statement about dying young play a part in his destiny?
     Kobe always wanted to be better than Michael Jordan. His primary competitor in this regard was Lebron James. The night before the accident, Lebron eclipsed Kobe's career scoring total. Kobe was gracious, tweeting "Much respect my brother" (his final tweet). Less than twelve hours later Kobe was dead. The sequence of events is surreal. Lebron breaks Kobe's record threatening Kobe's pursuit of immortality. Kobe dies in a tragic accident and his name is immortalized forever.
     Like my friends, I've been struggling to process the tragedy. Kobe brought me so much joy his death was like losing a friend. I've always yearned for life to make sense. Kobe's death makes no sense. We're all going to die. This is a fact that unites us and gives life meaning. Maybe the only lesson is to appreciate every moment since we don't know when our final day will come. (6" x 7", black ink print)

Babe Ruth

There's a famous story told by the legendary sportswriter Fred Lieb about Ty Cobb and Babe Ruth from the 1920's. The two stars were scheduled to share a cabin on a Georgia hunting trip. Cobb refused. When asked why he said, "I've never bedded down with a n---- and I'm not going to start now."

George Herman "Babe" Ruth, the most renowned baseball player of the 20th Century, the embodiment of a time when only white athletes played pro sports, may have been black. It was not just his "broad lips and wide nose" hinting at mixed heritage. Or the fact he loved to date black women and spend evenings at the famed Cotton Club in Harlem. It was that many of his contemporaries believed he was black.

During the 1922 World Series at the Polo Grounds, a Giants player named Johnny Rawlings shouted racial slurs at Ruth. After the game, Ruth burst into the Giants locker room and challenged Rawlings to a fight. Only when Ruth noticed the baseball writers standing nearby did he calm himself. According to biographer Robert Creamer, Ruth begged the journalists not to write anything about the incident. He told Rawlings, "I don't mind being called a prick and a cocksucker but none of that personal stuff."

Ruth had an affinity for black ballplayers. After the Yankees won the 1927 World Series, Ruth joined a barnstorming tour against Negro League teams. He befriended Satchel Paige, sat in opposing dugouts and mingled in the segregated stands. This upset the racist baseball commissioner of the day, Kennesaw Mountain Landis who wanted to prevent integration in the major leagues. According to baseball historian Bill Jenkinson, Ruth sought to become a baseball manager after he retired. He "didn't get the job because Landis...knew if hired as manager, Ruth would have openly supported signing black ballplayers." Ruth never became a manager and baseball did not break the color line until after Landis' death.

Ruth was born in Baltimore in 1885. His parents were of German ancestry. He was raised in poverty and only one of his six siblings survived infancy. His father owned a saloon and his mother was an alcoholic. After his mother had an affair with one of his father's bartenders, his parents divorced. At age seven, Ruth was sent to the St. Mary's Industrial School for Boys. During his time at the orphanage, he was taunted with the nickname "n---lips."

Early on there were rumors that Ruth had African-American ancestry. His parents were less than faithful and it was possible Ruth was illegitimate. Ruth passed for white and enjoyed all the benefits of a white man in American society. It wasn't uncommon for African American celebrities of the era to pass for white. Actress Carol Channing had a black grandmother. Oscar winner Merle Oberon had an Indian mother and white father.

From a historical standpoint, Ruth's background is significant. He enjoyed white privilege during a time in America when racism and the KKK were thriving. For Ruth to have mixed ancestry would cause heads to spin from Alabama to Arizona. He always denied the rumors. Of course this was in his self-interest. Jackie Robinson would not break baseball's color line until 1947, one year before Ruth's death.

There was never hard evidence Ruth had a multiracial background, only supposition. He empathized with black athletes like he empathized with all who were underprivileged. Perhaps he was a black baseball player in the same way Bill Clinton was a black president.

In a 2001 article in Gotham magazine, film director Spike Lee related that his father, a huge baseball fan, always said Ruth had "some of the tar brush in him." Lee suggested that if DNA testing was appropriate for Thomas Jefferson's remains, to see if he fathered children by slaves, then perhaps Ruth's remains should be tested as well. (7" x 7," black ink print)

Phil Jackson

The year was 1982 and Phil Jackson was out of work. He'd retired from the NBA after a 12-year basketball career and he had no post-athletic job prospects.  He took a junior college aptitude test and was told he was best suited for a career as a teacher or a minister.  He and his wife June opened a sports fitness club in Flathead Lake, Montana.  Jackson pondered enrolling in law school or obtaining a degree in psychology.

Out of the blue, a call came from the owner of the Albany Patroons, a minor league team from the Continental Basketball Association.  Would Phil like to coach the team?  Jackson agreed.  From these humble origins a legendary coaching career began.

Phil Jackson was born in 1945 in Deer Lodge, Montana.  His parents were both Pentecostal ministers.  Growing up, Jackson assumed he would be a minister as well.  His mom's daily message was "Listen to no one but Christ." They preached that Armageddon was at hand and they encouraged the practice of speaking in tongues.  Jackson earnestly attempted to speak in tongues but nothing came.  A preacher friend of the family suggested that Jackson undergo a childhood exorcism. Jackson's father refused.

Jackson's home environment was austere.  Dancing and television were prohibited and the only reading allowed was the Bible, the Encyclopedia and Reader's Digest.  He did not see his first movie until high school.  Jackson had a curious mind and a craving for knowledge.  He excelled in sports, starring on his high school basketball team.  With his gangly arms and sharp elbows, he developed a reputation as a ferocious rebounder and a scrappy defensive player.

Jackson attended the University of North Dakota where he played basketball for future NBA coach Bill Fitch.  His college teams did well, coming in third and fourth place in the 1965 and 1966 NCAA Division II Tournaments. Both years his team lost to Southern Illinois and their star Walt Frazier (Jackson's future teammate on the New York Knicks).

During college, Jackson studied philosophy, psychology and religion.  He read the writings of Ouspensky, Gurdjieff and the Sufi mystic Vilayat Inayat Khan. He began exploring faiths beyond his own, reading William James' The Varieties of Religious Experience.  His first exposure to meditation came in a college class on eastern religion.  He also started drinking beer and dating girls, something he'd not done in high school.

After college, Jackson married his girlfriend Maxine and they had a daughter, Elizabeth.  He considered joining the ministry but was drafted in the second round by the New York Knicks.  He felt pro basketball was something he could play for awhile before going on with his "normal life."  He was a limited offensive player but his intelligence and hustle earned the respect of Knick coach Red Holzman.  Holzman said of Jackson, "He may play lousy at times but he won't ever play scared."

Living in a big city was foreign and Jackson felt out of place on a Knicks team that was packed with stars like Walt Frazier, Willis Reed, Bill Bradley and Dick Barnett.  In his first two years, he struggled.  He earned a reputation as a dirty player and was often sent into the game to disrupt opposing teams with elbows, knees and physicality.

In the 1968-69 season, Jackson injured his leg.  He began drinking, smoking pot and taking psychedelic drugs to numb the pain.  He struggled to move efficiently on the court.  Fans booed him.  He posted two angry fan letters on his locker.  1) "You're the worst player ever."  2) "Last year I hoped you'd get hurt and sprain your ankle.  This year I hope you die."

Jackson had his first surgery after the 1969 season.  A piece of his hipbone was grafted against his lower vertebrae.  After the surgery, his body was permanently injured.  His marriage was in shambles as well.  (He would divorce Maxine in 1972.)  He watched from the bench as the 1970 Knicks won the NBA championship.

Jackson's injuries derailed a more promising playing career.  But they began his coaching apprenticeship.  Holzman had Jackson break down opponent tendencies and he questioned Jackson about strategy and substitution patterns.  The Knicks ran an early version of the triangle offense emphasizing constant movement and a strong-side focus on guards.  Every player on the Knicks knew their role.  After the Knicks traded Walt Bellamy and Howard Komives to the Detroit Pistons for Dave Debusschere, Jackson learned an important lesson.  "The Knicks had to become less talented to become a better team."

Jackson returned to the court in 1971 and recommitted himself to basketball. He became a spark plug off the bench and his constant hustle made him a fan favorite.  He was a key reserve on the Knicks team that won the 1973 Championship.  He celebrated in Los Angeles by dropping acid with a young woman and spending the next day "tripping on the beach."  He later wrote that the experience gave him a sense of "the awe of God."

Jackson's favorite book was Robert Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance and his favorite off-season activity was taking cross-country road trips on his prized BMW motorcycle.  On a 1971 road trip, Jackson camped in Flathead Lake, Montana.  He fell in love with the area, bought land and built a house. The spot would come to serve as his spiritual retreat.

Though his grandfather had taught him that Native Americans "were shiftless drunks and weren't to be trusted," Jackson empathized with the plight of Native Americans.  He cherished the teachings of Lakota Sioux medicine man Black Elk and he gravitated to customs like smoking tobacco in peace pipes and attending sweat lodges to purify his soul.  In 1973, Jackson began giving off-season clinics for Native Americans in Montana.

That same year he met June Perry.  The two were married and would spend the next thirty years together.  Jackson bought a loft in New York's Chelsea neighborhood from an ex-drug dealer named Hakim who'd recently turned to Islam.  Hakim advised Jackson to stop smoking pot.  "You can refine things by fire but nothing is refined by smoke.  Marijuana only clouds your head."

Jackson's playing career lasted 13 years.  After retiring as a player, he turned to Buddhism and Zen meditation as a way to calm his restlessness and anxiety.  Unsure of his next career move, he embraced the Buddhist concept "if you have a clear mind and an open heart, you won't have to search for direction.  Direction will come to you."  The 1982 phone call from the owner of the Albany Patroons provided this direction.

In the Continental Basketball Association, Jackson coached in arenas that had no heat, roofs that leaked water onto the court and crowds that numbered in the hundreds.  The Patroons played games in the decrepit Albany Armory, a building designed by Isaac Perry who'd also designed the New York State Inebriate Asylum.  Public bathrooms were located next to the team's locker room so fans using the bathroom could see players showering.

The team played in towns like Oshkosh, Casper and Rapid City.  Jackson drove the team bus, a crossword puzzle poised atop the steering wheel as he navigated snowstorms and dirt roads.  As coach, Jackson developed a player-friendly style emphasizing ball movement, motion and strong defense.  His mantra was "keep it simple."  He believed in allowing players to make their own decisions on the court.  He didn't over coach, abiding by the Taoist message that "the Master does nothing yet he leaves nothing undone."

His most problematic player was Frankie "Jumpshot" Sanders.  Sanders was a prolific scorer with an attitude.  He refused to run Jackson's offense and challenged his leadership.  Jackson simply sat him on the bench.  After several games, Jackson walked to the end of the bench and asked, "Are you ready to play?"  Sanders said "yes" then came in and scored like crazy.  Years later, Jackson used the same technique with Dennis Rodman on the Chicago Bulls.

During Patroon practices, Jackson ended each session with a meditation and prayer circle inspired by a passage from the book Black Elk Speaks.  "The sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle."  The concept of the circle became a theme of Jackson's coaching method.  The circle unites the group, is fluid, begins and ends at the same point and is the shape of the basketball and the hoop itself.

As Patroon coach, Jackson began his practice of giving books to his players to read.  Each book was inspired by the player's unique personality.  Patroon player Rudy Macklin said, "He made a point of trying to know what was going on inside of us, psychologically."  Jackson continued this practice as an NBA coach.  He gave Michael Jordan Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison, he gave Shaquille O'Neal  Siddartha by Herman Hesse and he gave Kobe Bryant The Art of War by Sun Tzu.

Though his methods were unorthodox, Jackson quickly achieved coaching success.  After a slow start, the Albany Patroons came together and won the 1984 CBA Championship.  Jackson went on to coach in the Puerto Rican league where fans tossed fruit, batteries and dead chickens on the court.  His inability to speak Spanish taught him to rely on silence and body language.

Jackson sought a job in the NBA.  Invariably he was turned down.  His counterculture reputation scared away potential employers.  In 1987, he was given a chance. Jerry Krause, general manager of the Chicago Bulls, hired Jackson as an assistant under head coach Doug Collins.  Jackson befriended fellow Bulls assistant Tex Winter who taught Jackson his vaunted Triangle Offense.  When Collins was fired in 1989, Jackson was promoted to head coach.

Jackson became the most successful coach in NBA history winning eleven rings.  His list of all-star players included Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Kobe Bryant and Shaquille O'Neal.  None won a championship until Jackson was their coach.  Jackson retired from coaching in 2011 due to health reasons and sought a position as an NBA team executive.  Though he was engaged to Jeannie Buss, part-owner of the Lakers, the Lakers let him slip away.  This past year, he was hired as President of the New York Knicks.  Like the concept of the circle, Jackson had returned to where his NBA career began.  The Knicks are hoping his presence will result in their first championship since 1973.  (5" x 6", black ink print)

Chick Hearn

It was 2002 and the Lakers had just beaten the New Jersey Nets for their third straight NBA Championship. Being a huge Lakers fan, I took a subway to downtown LA to check out the parade. As I watched the double-decker buses carrying the players down Figueroa Avenue, I noticed Chick Hearn standing at the front of the first bus.  He was leaning against the top rail, his hair dyed purple, his shirt drenched with sweat and champagne.  While Shaq and Kobe waved to the crowd, Chick stared straight ahead.  This was his ninth championship as Lakers announcer and at age 85, he was exhausted.

Less than two months later, Chick suffered a fall at his Encino home that took his life.  The world's greatest basketball announcer was gone and Laker nation fell into mourning.

Francis Dayle "Chick" Hearn was born in 1916 in Aurora, Illinois.  He played basketball at Bradley University and he earned his famous nickname from a prank played on him by teammates.  He was given a box of sneakers and when he removed the lid he found a dead chicken inside.

Chick Hearn became the Lakers play-by-play man in 1961 after the team moved from Minneapolis to Los Angeles.  His announcing style featured an enthusiastic, rapid-fire delivery peppered with colorful phrases and an offbeat sense of humor. Chick invented many of the terms that have become common basketball parlance.  These include: Slam Dunk, Air Ball, Finger Roll, Give and Go, No Harm No Foul, Dribble Drive.

Chick also coined a number of phrases that became known as "Chickisms."

"94 x 50 Hunk of Wood"--referred to a basketball court.

"Bunny Hop in the Pea Patch"--when a player was called for traveling.

"The Mustard's off the Hot Dog"--when a player made a mistake while showing off.

"Yo-Yoing Up and Down"--dribbling the ball.

"Got caught with his Hand in the Cookie Jar"--a blatant foul by a player.

"Throws up a Brick"--a terrible shot.

"Heart-Brrreeak!"--a shot that goes in and out of the basket.

"Ticky-Tack"--a foul call when minimal contact is made.

"He couldn't throw a Pea in the Ocean"--when a player's shooting has gone cold.

"Put him in the Popcorn Machine and he's covered with Butter"--When a defensive player leaps in the air from a head fake and the opposing player scores on him.

If a player tried an impossible shot that had no chance of going in, Chick would say:

"He has two chances, slim and none and slim just left the building."

If that same impossible shot actually went in the basket, Chick had an alternative call:

"He throws up a prayer...and it's answered."

Whenever the Lakers had a lead that Chick deemed insurmountable, he would launch into his most famous phrase which guaranteed a Lakers victory.

"The game is in the refrigerator, the door is closed, the lights are out, the butter's getting hard, the eggs are cooling and the Jello is jiggling."

From 1961-1965, Chick missed only two Laker games, one due to laryngitis and the second after he missed a plane flight.  In 1965, Chick began a new announcing streak which would reach 3338 consecutive Laker games.  The streak came to an end in 2001 when Chick had cardiac bypass surgery.

Chick was possibly the most beloved of all Lakers personalities.  In the days when the Lakers played at the Forum, fans could walk up to Chick before games and have a conversation.  He was always friendly and smiling and he'd often mention a fan's birthday or offer a get well sentiment live on air.

Chick was also brutally honest.  In 1998, Chick was honored for broadcasting 3000 consecutive games.  The Lakers were losing to Orlando at halftime and after accepting his award, Chick told the crowd, "The Lakers look like dogs.  If they play the third quarter like they played the first half, I'm going to buy them Alpo."  The Lakers went on to win the game by double figures.

In 1991, Chick Hearn was inducted into the NBA Hall of Fame.  He had a street named after him in Downtown LA and his name was hung from the rafters inside Staples Center beside Laker greats like Jerry West, Wilt Chamberlain and Magic Johnson.  In 2010, a bronze statue of Chick was christened outside Staples Center.  Chick is the only non-player to receive such a statue.

Chick and his wife Marge were married 64 years.  They had two children, a son Gary who died of a drug overdose in 1972 and a daughter Samantha who died from complications of anorexia in 1991.  

When Chick died in 2002, flags at Los Angeles City Hall were flown at half mast. Thousands of fans and numerous Laker greats showed up at Chick's funeral. Cardinal Roger Mahoney told mourners: "I am going to go outside and look up in the sky, because I think for the last time we will see the meteor go by and we will wave so long.  This one's in the refrigerator."  (6" x 8", black ink print)