|
|
California Love
|
|
|
More on NBA
- Articles - History - Nicknames - Photos - Players - Screensavers - Videos - Wallpapers More Articles
- AND1 articles - Hip-Hip articles - Notic articles - Slam Nation articles - Streetball articles |
On a plane headed to California, you're looking out the window at the mountains and rocky earth that separate the West Coast from the rest of America. You have the sense of traveling - not just normal travel, but faraway travel, as if you are leaving one world and flying to another. You land at Los Angeles International Airport and catch a cab underneath a palm tree. The sun is soft today, softer than you thought it would be, considering you feel like you just flew to the other side of it. And that's just it, you think. You feel like it's a different sun for a different world. And as you remember the reason why you came across those canyons, you know one thing for certain: Basketball has to be different out here. The playgrounds have to be different. Several hours later, you're outside of Veterans Sports Complex in Carson, just south of the city. By now, you've rented a car. The radio is full of the Dogg Pound, of Compton veterans, Long Beach and Eminem. You're in Killa-Cali, fo' sho. The radio, if nothing else, has proven that. Your quest is specific. The main question revolves in your mind: Can West Coast ballers hang with players on the East Coast and Midwest? Or have they all gone Hollywood soft? Presently, there are children dribbling around the concrete courts right outside of Veterans. Inside, the courts next to the weight room are emptying after today's serious runs. DeAnthony Langston, your tour guide, is waiting for you. The tour is through the overworld of West Coast playground basketball. It's a fact that the culture of basketball, whose roots seemingly lie in the East, also has a place out West. Understand, it's the year 2000. The gods of Rucker Park have danced across television screens. The legendary figures of Chicago's South and West Sides are mainstream conversation between serious hoop heads. Cities like DC, Philly, Detroit, and Cleveland have left their separate marks on the annals of playground basketball. The hoop world in general knows very little about the style of play that exists west of the Grand Canyon. Very few Easterners know how the West Coast really gets down. So you are on a quest. A quest for understanding. The first stop is here, in Los Angeles, the city where basketball history has been made over and over again in the Inglewood Forum and on the UCLA campus. But what about the playgrounds? "When you think of West Coast basketball, you know, guys from the Midwest and from the East be like, 'Oh, they're soft'," DeAnthony says. "But that's not the case. You got some tough ballplayers out here, man. Starting with our two greatest ever from L.A., Marques Johnson and Raymond Lewis." DeAnthony grew up around the courts of East Los Angeles. He is careful to point out the fact that the style of West Coast ball differs by side of town. According to him, East L.A. ballers hold less finesse than their West Side counterparts and are 'harder.' D operates the Real Run Summer League, which features some of the city's finest young talent, along with some pro players. When you ask him about the differences between West Coast and East Coast basketball, he points to the actual makeup of a city like Los Angeles in contrast to a city like New York. "There's so much stuff to do out here," he says, waving his arm as if to take in the wide expanse of beaches, glamorous avenues, glitzy nightclubs, and beautiful women. Over the course of a stay in California, you will hear it said again and even notice it with your own eyes. In most everyone's mind, the classic setting for real, grimy playground ball is inside a steel-caged court, sitting between high-rise project buildings. That is the classic scene. But here, in sunny, southern California, the ghettos are different. There is more space. The architects of poverty have built outward instead of upward. The Venice Beach courts, home to classic playground history, contrast greatly with the courts of North Philly or the Crilla's Foster Park. "L.A. [ballers] just have everything. You play every position, you learn how to get down on everything," D tells you. "If you come into the gym and you're not ready, you're gonna get busted up in the Real Run. They had that [flashy play] on the East Coast. That's their thing. We're just more with this all-around game. [Rucker ball], that's showmanship. We got real basketball out here that people want to sign contracts to. Overseas, NBA." But a notable factor about the playground scene in the City of Angels is the absence of serious ballers in the city's parks. The collegiate atmosphere of L.A. seems to have sucked up a great deal of talent that would otherwise be found on the playgrounds. "The best ballers, they always go up to UCLA," says Kris Johnson, son of legendary L.A. playground baller and NBA star Marques Johnson. Kris, who was raised within the Southern California basketball world, was himself a part of a national championship at UCLA. "If you want to talk about the best runs in the country you gotta talk about the UCLA summer tournament leagues. To be honest there are a lot of prima donnas on the West Coast. That's just how it is. You grow up in this lifestyle, it's like, 'I'm gonna play inside, forget outside.' The 'Hollywood' influence is inevitably gonna be there. But there's no place in the country, as far as competition day in and day out, like UCLA. That's why everyone comes to L.A. [And] no matter where you're from, if you come to L.A., you still gotta come and show what's up. To me, this is a Mecca." Every city forces its influence on the children borne to its basketball courts. The arrogance and attitude of New York has pushed its players to become superior ball handlers. The brawn and harsh realities of Chicago weather have forced its ballers to learn their way to the hoop. And in L.A., the grace and glory of Tinseltown has bestowed upon the city's ballplayers a love for the game's most poetic two points. "We can shoot that thing," Kris says. "You got more of the handles [on the East Coast]. It's 'ooh and ah', you know, guys go crazy over the shakes. Out here, its like, Ok, shake - but you gotta finish. If you miss it, nobody's running out the stands." Says Jason Crow, Real Run player and Paul Pierce's high school teammate: "There's no AND 1 Mix Tape. Just jumpers, rebounds, dimes, and defense. We give you triple doubles [on the West Coast]. We don't do all that handling for fifteen, twenty seconds." When asked why the West Coast players are usually found running in indoor summer leagues instead of outdoor parks, J Crow talks about what he sees as the maturation of the West Coast. "We've all honed our games on this ground," he says, pointing at the concrete outside Veterans. "We got tough on this ground, we earned stripes on this ground already. We've already been Don'd. We don't play streetball and be satisfied with that. Reputations have already been earned. Right now it's all about money. We're tryin' to do bigger things - NBA, money overseas. We're businessmen." It's an early Saturday morning in September, and Dinos Trigonis's Fullcourt Press Fall Hoops Classic is goin' on inside the Lynwood High School gym. This is where, every fall, you can find some of the best young talent in the state, as well as ballers from Nevada and beyond. There are three simultaneous games running all day, and the atmosphere is symbolic of what you have come to learn about West Coast playground ball: It's indoors, it's organized, and it's fierce. Above all, again, it is organized. College scouts crowd around the courts, watching Cali's finest. Young standout players like Tyson Chandler, Evan Burns, Dijon Thompson and Harrison Schaen are not outside today, in the parks. They're inside, with jerseys on, performing for the benefit of their future. Remember, this is business. The 7-foot-1 Chandler is the tournament standout. His size makes him a dominating force, but it's his jump shot that symbolizes his L.A. roots. You first realize he has a J when he busts one from behind the three-point line. Then another. And another. A seven-foot plus center who can shoot the ball like a guard? Pure Southern California. Evan Burns has also caught your eye. The Fairfax junior is a 6-foot-7 all-around threat. For several games, you watch him run point guard and off, slashing to the rim, constantly elevating over opponents' heads with swooping glides to the hole. Evan's game is beautiful to watch; he reminds you more of a Chicago ballplayer, except he holds a little bit of that Hollywood flash. The games themselves are more physical than you've heard West Coast basketball is supposed to be. Still, the level of physical play doesn't approach the same level of fundamental, borderline 'pretty' ball. Here, there is no lengthy ballhandling, no Rucker-type highlights. "It's more of the finesse," Dinos Trigonis explains. As the organizer of the Hoops Classic, he has an annual courtside view into the soul of California basketball. "I think part of that could be attributed to the Lakers back in the 80s because of Showtime." The difference in influence between the coasts is this: In Eastern cities, the playgrounds were a self-sustaining institution. Ballers in the parks were influenced by the ballers before them. In Los Angeles, the colossal influences of UCLA and the Lakers have pervaded the streetball and the high school players. "The biggest difference is there's a lot more streetball on the East Coast," says the Celtics' Paul Pierce, a product of the sun-drenched streets of L.A. "The East may be a little more physical than the West. The West Coast guys got a lot more flash. They shoot the J." Paul may be a part of L.A.'s last generation of kids to earn their game through sessions on hot asphalt. His ball education wasn't attained solely in gym tournaments. "I grew up in Inglewood," he explains. "So I played at Rogers Park, Garden Park, I played at Venice Beach a lot. I got my share of streetball. And it helped me out as far as mental toughness." As was said before, the names that have escaped Los Angeles playground lore are not as commonly whispered as the legends of New York, Philly, and DC. But Southern California players like Ray Lewis, Marques Johnson, John Staggers, and James Allen are definitely a part of any playground history lesson. But, walking the streets of Los Angeles today, you can see the clear separations between East Coast/Midwest ball and what you have learned about the West Coast. You think you understand it. Until you go to Oakland. In New York, stories are created constantly at Rucker Park, inside the West 4th cages and other courts throughout the city. In Chicago, basketball tales have been created atop courts like LaClair Park and the 31st Street cages. In cities all over the East Coast and Midwest, the memory of playground legends are inscribed like biographies on hallowed courts. That's the way immortality works. So when you get to Mosswood Park in Oakland, you are not surprised to feel the aura of history there. No other park in Northern California holds as much basketball lore as the Mo'. It is the left coast's equivalent to the Rucker (if corporate sponsors are smart they'll lock down a tournament at Mosswood now). These are the courts where the Bay Area's finest once put it down on the regular. Accordingly, this story is solely about the past. The future of the Bay's street basketball has been written about before. This here is about the cats who did what they did 10, 15, and 20 years ago. The cats who gave Oaktown a distinguished rep and made it impossible for the city's Eastern counterparts to ignore what was going on out West. So on a warm September night, the historians of Bay basketball gather outside of a crowded bar and discuss hoop. The Golden Bear's patio is filled tonight with brothas who played with and against some of the Bay1s most ridiculous ballers. As they begin to talk, the night air becomes thick with legends. *** "You gotta talk about Hook," Carl Foster says. Foster is the marketing director for the Slam-N-Jam youth basketball program and mediator for tonight's discussion. Before the session can really begin, Hook Mitchell's name has already been dropped like a release date. "If you wanna talk about playground legends, the conversation begins right there," adds Calvin Andrews, a Richmond cat who himself built status on Bay courts. "When [you] say that one name, it's on. Hook Mitchell is the legend. You can hear all the stories in the world, but you'll never believe it until you see it. He's done inhuman stuff, unreal stuff." Demetrius Hook Mitchell is the Bay's most notorious legend. Every cat with at least minimal knowledge of playground ball has a Hook Mitchell story. The tales of his leaping ability are common place. Jumping over cars, bikes and people wasn't no thing to Hook. Before his descent into narcotics hell, Hook was nothing but heavenly. In a published interview earlier this year, Gary Payton said: "He was better than me, Jason Kidd, J.R. Rider, all of us out of Oakland. He had major, major game. 5-10, dunkin' on folks, could do anything he wanted to do. If he'd just kept his head straight, he1d be in the league right now, dominating." Instead, Hook lives in a prison cell and in other folks' memories. "[Hook's] college teammate Marco and I are on a fast break, a two on one," begins Foster, reminiscing over one of his favorite Hook stories. "He's on the left, I'm on the right. He's pointing, like from right to left, so I'm thinking [he's gonna throw a] lob. So I go for it, I jump up to catch it and almost at my apex I feel a body just bang me out of the way in the air. And then I land on the ground and look up. It's Hook hanging on the rim. The gym is clearing out. Remember, I'm on his team. He had just bumped me out the way and went and got [the ball]. And here was the crazy part; I never saw Hook. And afterwards, I go up to Marco and I'm like, 'Marco, when you were waving like that weren't you telling me to go for the lob?' And he was like, 'Nah, I wasn't telling you to go for the lob. I was telling you to get the hell out the way.'" Hook's stories usually go something like that; they most often concern his ability to explode to the rim, jumping over anybody or anything in his way. His story, like others, was written on courts between the West and East Bay. |
|
|
Other
- About this site - FAQ - Forum - Guestbook - Incorporation with us - Links - Main page - Mail Me - Stuff |
AND14EVA is always looking forward for the incoraporation with the other basketball websites and with people who are willing to become a part of this website's stuff. If you are interested in incorporating with us rather working together contact the administrator on e-mail rather post all your suggestions in forum or leave the post in the guestbook. | |
|
Copyright© 2004, AND1 4EVA. All rights reserved.
Site Build "For The Love of The Game". AND1 4Life unconditionally.
| ||
|
Counters
|
|
Counters
|
