Column

Saturday’s showcase event in the build-up to Sunday’s stellar All Star game highlighted that it is not just chance which has made the NBA such a formidable global sports brand: the sheer genius — in both performance and packaging — was breathtaking.

The annual slam dunk championship — of no great consequence where the fate of the league is concerned but developed into an exciting property nonetheless — was won by Nate Robinson who virtually lived out a David versus Goliath story in beating hot-favourite Dwight Howard for the title.

Robinson, at 5 feet 9 inches, must check in as among the shortest players in the league; at 6 feet 11 inches, Howard was not just more than a foot taller in physical stature, but is widely rated as the most exciting player in the NBA since Michael Jordan and has been pumped up as ‘Superman’ for showing much the same virtue.

Indeed, in keeping with the image-building hoopla that surrounds the NBA, Howard wore the red Superman cape before beginning his attempts, and it seemed a cinch that he would retain the title this year too when he won maximum points twice in the preliminary rounds. But Robinson was not to be intimidated.

In the play-off with Howard, the diminutive player, dressed in Kryptonite green to live up to his own hype, went one-up on Howard — literally and spectacularly. Robinson asked Howard to stand in front of the basket, then using his adversary as a prop, leapfrogged over him to slam dunk the ball into the net in a drill that was as fantastic as it was frenzied.

The crowd went berserk, the judges shook their heads in disbelief, and by global audience voting, Robinson won by a 53 per cent share of popular approval. That ended a day long fiesta of music, fun, mini-shows of skill sets by players, hype-laden training sessions of the rival teams for Sunday’s All Star match — all targeted at winning fan loyalty, at the venue and all over the world — with nary a foot put wrong, the organisational brilliance matched by the high quality of performances. This was unmatched sportstainment.

Who’s the tallest of ’em all?
No exaggeration, but Yao Ming, has to stoop to conquer. The reedy seven-foot-six Chinese, whose presence in the NBA has inspired his country to take to the sport big-time, cannot get into the elevator of the 5-Star hotel where the players are lodged, without bending his back.

Initially, one thought that Yao was displaying time-honoured Chinese courtesy by greeting people emerging from the elevator with a little bow, but that was clearly not the case when he went through the same motion with nobody else around.

If that’s a sight, hang around to watch Shaq O’Neal wade his way past milling supporters trying to get into the same elevator a little later. At seven-foot-one, he may be five inches shorter than Yao, but he is at least four times the Chinese in girth. So while Shaq can get into the hotel elevator upright, he can hardly do this front-on, and has to virtually slide in sideways.

In a sport where height matters so much for success, a Nate Robinson is an exception. Most players are six-and-a-half-feet or thereabouts. That might explain why almost all NBA megastars own fancy stretch limos, though one learns from insiders that this choice of car is not only for physical accommodation; it helps massage giant egos as well.

Of stretch limos
But superstardom in the NBA is not all about flash, dash, big bucks, hedonism and all-pervasive hype, one must admit. Some players reflect the candour and humour to show that they are human too. I particularly liked Allen Iverson’s laconic, sometimes self-deprecating, style of squaring up to issues which so many other players try to cover up in sanctimonious claptrap.

“I have been very good at times and I have been very bad at times,” he told an audience of mediapersons the other day. “At the end of the day, I just hope that the good times have been more than the bad times.”

With an unfussy approach like that, Iverson’s balance sheet surely must show more credit than debit.