by Rasmuth » Wed Apr 03, 2013 1:00 am
I was sitting silently with Coach Willis in his office, both of us drinking stale coffee, when a door leading into the locker-room opened and Carmelo clumsily entered, clearly uncomfortable with the crutches he was sporting. Willis and I glanced at each other, both under the impression he was staying overnight in the hospital, in bed...off his leg. These were direct doctor's orders.
The somber mood of the team immediately lifted as Carmelo made his presence known and the whole team took their turns greeting him. Daymeon rushed over, not sure how to proceed, but in the end wrapped his arms around the surprised Carmelo, and after a moment, Carmelo hugged him back.
“Oh man, I’m so glad you’re here,” Daymeon said, relief evident in his voice.
Carmelo spoke loud enough for the whole locker-room to hear. “You don’t think I’d miss this, do you?” Laughter and various exclamations, ranging from that’s right, atta-boy, you know it, that’s what I’m talking ‘bout, erupted from almost all his teammates. The instant transformation of the mood in the locker-room was amazing to witness.
Coach Willis and I exited his office and joined the commotion in the locker-room. Carmelo looked a bit sheepish as we approached him. He shook my hand and then Coach Willis’s hand.
“Boss…Coach,” he said.
“Good to see you tonight, Captain” I answered truthfully, “Though I thought I was to understand you would be off your feet tonight.”
“Technically…I am off the leg,” he said with a nervous grin, tapping the metal alloy crutch against a nearby bench. “I’m being careful,” he added, just loud enough for Willis and I to hear.
“You take it easy, son,” Coach Willis added confidently, just a little louder than normal, so the whole team could hear. “We’re gonna need you in the finals.”
With that, the whole locker room erupted with cheers, hoots and hollers.
“How you feeling, Carmelo?” Kenny Horton asked loudly.
Before he could answer Amare Stoudamire yelled playfully from across the locker room: “Anything to get a day off, you lazy bum!” The players erupted into laughter again.
Carmelo slowly lowered himself onto a nearby padded bench, visibly wincing. All his teammates noticed and instinctively they gathered around him. Worry was visible on all their faces.
“Listen guys,” he said, breaking the sudden somber silence, “You all know how to play this game and you all know how to win, playing this game. Trust me, I’d rather be on the hard-court with you, playing tonight, but I can’t.” He shifted his butt on the bench, cautiously stretching his bum leg, trying to alleviate a measure of his discomfort. Suddenly, he sucked in a near-panicked deep breath though clenched teeth, his face twisting in miserable pain.
The room became remarkably silent; you could hear a proverbial pin drop.
After about ten seconds, his face finally relaxed and Carmelo, visibly relieved, continued. “But I’m not worried, you know why?” he said. None of his teammates dared to speak. This was the Captain’s locker-room now.
“I’ll tell you why I’m not worried. This team is bigger than any one player. I’m not saying we’re not important, but that’s exactly what I’m getting at. We are all important, whether we start the game or not, whether we play 35 minutes or 7 minutes.”
I could see some of the players beginning to nod with agreement. They understood exactly what he meant; they were a part of it.
Carmelo looked at me momentarily. “Mr. Davis brought each and every one of us here for a specific reason, but also for one main, singular purpose. That purpose was so we could be a team. Not just a bunch of individual guys doing their own thing, but to be a team. He brought us here so the sum of our parts could be better than the individual parts alone.”
He glanced at Coach Willis.
“It’s Coach’s job to make sure that happens, and guess what…it did happen. Everyone in this locker room has worked hard and it’s been a long season…a tough fight, but I believe we are the best team, top to bottom in the NBA. How else can you explain this? Look where we are tonight, right now. Its game 5 of the Eastern Conference Championship, and you aren’t at home watching the game on TV…you are all here. No one expected this before the season started, and I mean no one.”
Carmelo hesitated, looking into the eyes of every player before he continued on. He placed his arms around Daymeon, who was on his right, and Ty Braun, to his left.
“Bring it in guys,” he said. The whole team tightened the circle around him and they all put their arms around each others shoulders. For a fleeting moment I could kick myself for leaving my camera on Coach Willis’s desk. Carmelo looked over his shoulder at both Coach Willis and me. “You too, Coach…boss.”
We walked over behind Carmelo; I patted his back with my hand before I left it resting there. “We are a team,” he finally said. “We are a team unlike any I’ve ever played with before. That is the god’s honest truth. I know you guys would prefer I play tonight, but honestly, you don’t need me out there on the court. Of this…I am sure.” He again looked around the circle of teammates. If they were looking to hear a legendary pearl of wisdom to close out his speech, one perfect line that would be quoted as long as memory exists, they were disappointed.
But they heard everything they needed to hear.
Let’s go out there and kick some royal Brooklyn ass!!!” he exclaimed.
The whole team erupted, yelling and hollering again, pumping their fists in the air, clapping each other’s backs, all kinds of high-fives and variations that I just couldn’t really grasp. But, the effect was entirely cathartic. It was like a different team traded places with the team that was here just fifteen minutes earlier. My eyes locked on Greg Oden for just a second and my first thought was he was an old looking 31, at least in basketball terms. The game he loved so much had not been kind to him in the last decade, its treachery cruel with its result.
That being said, the infectious grin plastered on his face and remembering his huge last second game-winning bucket just two nights earlier, I couldn’t help but be reminded of something I’d said to Dick Amstar just yesterday, we pursue glory. Nearly everybody seeks to attain it in some fashion, so very few achieve it. I could honestly say at this point, no matter what the outcome of the remainder of the playoffs, this team in my opinion, already achieved glory.
It was almost time to take the court and the players began drifting around, preparing to hit the tunnel and get introduced to the frenzied home crowd. Carmelo sat alone with Ty Braun, the man who would get the majority of minutes in his spot. I was still near, I leaned slightly to listen.
“Hey man, I know you were unhappy with me playing your small-forward minutes and that you really don’t like power-forward much,” Carmelo was saying.
Ty looked embarrassed. “Well,” he said slowly, “it was that way at first, but not now. I’ve grown accustomed.”
Carmelo smiled. “The good news is you get to play small-forward all night tonight and because of your willingness to be flexible, you are a better player now than you were last year. Your time at power-forward has been good for you, and your game.”
I looked at Coach Wills and I could see by the glint in his eyes, he was as impressed as I was. The players began filing out into the tunnel leading into the openness of the arena.
“Just one more thing,” Carmelo said. The 25 year old Ty looked at his Captain expectantly. “Just have fun and play the game. You know how to do that, right?”
Braun nodded, a slight grin on his lips.
“That’s all this is Brauny,” Carmelo said, his nickname a play on the Brawny paper towel brand. “Just another game at the playground, and we all know who was the best player in those games, the player who flew over his opponents like Superman over tall buildings.” Carmelo poked him with his index finger in the shoulder, punctuating his point.
“I was,” Braun said softly, but assuredly
“Now, go get ‘em” Carmelo said, clapping Braun briskly on the shoulder. Braun stood and nodded. Then he turned and trotted up the tunnel to catch up with the team.
The three of us watched him go and I leaned over and carefully helped Carmelo up. “This isn’t cool,” he half whispered, clenching his teeth. "Damn spasms are killing me." He gingerly held his right foot off the ground as he positioned himself on the crutches.
"Didn't the meds from the hospital help?" I inquired.
Small beads of sweat dotted Carmelo's forehead. "I'm sure the muscle relaxers and whatever else pumped me with will help soon enough, but I wouldn't let them give me painkillers, I hate how they make my head feel."
I stood there a moment before I quickly grabbed my camera, amazed at the mental strength and fortitude of this man. The three of us moved towards the tunnel, the cacophony of noise steadily gathering momentum in the building, Coach Willis shook his head, smiling.
“Damn, Carmelo,” he said, “and I was planning a rip-roaring speech before the game. All fire and brimstone and sufficiently laced with well-placed vulgarity. I’ve been working it in my mind all day.”
Carmelo grinned; his crutches make their distinct, unmistakable sound as he moved with us up the tunnel. “Sorry, Coach, didn't mean to rain on your parade.”
“Well, it was that one, or the win won for the Carmelo speech. I hadn’t quite decided yet,” Coach Willis added with a smile. He turned towards the team. “Let’s go, boys!” he yelled, as they ran onto the court, the appreciative home town crowd erupting into raucous celebration.
Carmelo and I stopped and waited a few moments, letting the team get their undivided attention from both fans and media. I knew once Carmelo and I entered the arena, all eyes would shift to us, at least until we settled into our seats.
“Watch the game behind the bench tonight,” I said as we started moving. “I want you to tell me what you see on the court in this game tonight.
“Okay, boss,” he said. “I don’t watch too many games this way, should be fun.”
I looked at him and all I could see was disappointment in his eyes.
I couldn’t help but worry, though I remained silent. I hoped one more year would be enough time for Carmelo to resolve the end of his playing career.