what dreams may come

Nate Robinson played professional basketball last night for the first time in 30 days. D'Antoni called his name, and he didn't move. He said he didn't understand his coach. He just sat there, on the bench, like he always does, until a teammate told him that the coach wanted him to play. So with 3 minutes left in the opening period Nate comes into the game. In total, he grabs 41 points, 8 assists, shooting 18 of 24 from the field. He hits the last two shots for the Knicks to force OT, and scores 11 points in overtime. He scores 19 of the Knicks last 22.

Over in Jersey, we call Nate High Risk/ High Reward. There's this feeling, that putting him in the game is like going for a three pointer to win-- if you hit, you're a hero, and if you miss, you deserved to be questioned on why you didn't just play for the tie, find an easier shot. He's the polar opposite of compatriot David Lee, who gives solid numbers every night, but lacks the turn-it-up ability of real superstars.

But we have to question this easy way of thinking, this racialized differentiation of David Lee, white, Mr. Reliable, and Robinson, black, the Sparkplug that Couldn't, the Brainless Wonderboy. These are the stereotypes of an NBA that has been "overrun" with black players who are "all athleticism and creativity, but no brains." This way of thinking speaks more to an American insecurity with the dominance of black athletes in professional sports than it does to any truth about the "racial essences of ballplayers."

Last night, Nate, 5'9", was practically walking to the basket. That he scored 19 of the Knicks last 22 is one thing, but he was doing it on layups. The Hawks periodically threw Mike Bibby (crafty veteran), Joe Johnson (superstar), Marvin Williams (young-star-on-rise), and Josh Smith (high-flying-shot-swatter), out to guard him, to no avail. Note that Bibby is the shortest of these men, at 6'2", while Smith and Williams are both 6'9", a full foot taller than Nate. With ease he dribbled around each, finding his way to the cup time and again, using hesitation moves to literally get uncontested 2-footers. When they tried fouling him, he still made the shots. When obvious fouls weren't called, he still made the shots.

Only after a long stretch of finding layups, already in full turn-it-up mode, did Nate take what traditionalists call The Bad Shot, a contested pull-up 30 footer with little time taken off the shot clock. Naturally, he sank it, hopping up and down towards a howling Knicks bench after the Hawks were forced to call timeout.

We must question The Bad Shot. We must free ourselves from the chains of tradition, and think, for a long while, about this Bad Shot. Statistical evidence has shown that being "On Fire" is a questionable proposition. Then we must also question statistics. Because "On Fire" is a feeling buzzing through a crowd, a general notion that when the ball leaves the hand, it will find the net. The and-1 play is its proof, that contact will do nothing to deter Hot Hand from scoring. But the deep 3, The Bad Shot, this is the true meaning of On Fire, and we must accept that in hindsight, it was always going in.

Which leaves us with Nate, still a Knick, still sitting on the bench for attitude problems, for making bad decisions, who, when given even a glimmer of playing time, leaves the net in a heap of ashes, who doesn't see the other 9 players on the court, but a clear and open path to the basket every time the rock is in his hands. Our only recourse is to blame ourselves for what we have done to him, for planting the seed in his mind that he is anything but a baller. For using him as the racialized and criminalized symbol of risky basketball. This is the side of Nate that remains unspoken, that who we think he is is actually just who we say he is. Last night, he was saying something to us.