This Book Has Balls Page 11

  You don’t have Gretzky without McSorley, or Yzerman without Probert. Your stars don’t shine without the confidence of knowing they have protection. Why do you think Kobe loved having Ron Artest around? Because he knew damn well if the shit went down, Ron was ready to go and throw for the greater good. The intangible tough-guy shit is real, and it represents the struggle of the people and the work ethic of the everyman. So, when you played Oakley like that, you set the stage for a rebellion, my man, and what you got was a backlash you didn’t see coming. Well, I’m here to let you know it wasn’t cool, it wasn’t right, and if you ask me, it was on some bitch shit that doesn’t fly in the streets.

  Oakley told you he’s not comfortable with five dudes getting in his face at once. Why would he be? You rush him like that, and his first thought is to swing. You’re lucky all he did was finger push the dude in the temple. And you saw how strong that finger was, too. That finger is no joke. He finger templed the dude, and the dude looked like his head might snap off. Dolan, you really thought it was a good idea to send your security goon squad and surround Oakley like that? Come on, my man. That was uncalled-for shit, and the crowd and the people let you know what they thought. The streets and the media were talking, and they weren’t feeling you, my man. And I was happy to talk to anyone who was on the fence.

  The next day I had a conversation with Fox Sports’ “all everything” personality Colin Cowherd. He didn’t understand why Oakley meant so much to Knicks fans, which was so bugged out to me that I thought he was actually kidding. I told him Charles Oakley means the same thing to Knicks fans that Eric Dickerson’s offensive line meant to LA Rams fans. The same thing Rick Mahorn meant to the bad-boy Detroit Pistons fans. I had to explain this to him, which again was baffling, but I had no choice. Don Corleone is not Don Corleone if he doesn’t have Luca Brasi. Oakley is our guy, and he don’t sleep with no fishes.

  He did it on the biggest stage under the brightest lights for ten years straight. It doesn’t matter that those Knick teams didn’t win a championship. Yeah, they came up short and it sucks, but we went down fighting, punching, finger wagging, and face smacking, and Oakley was on the front lines all day every day. And since we’re on the subject of disrespecting classic Knicks players, I have to say there have been a few other notable shows of disrespect to classic Knicks players and family members in the James Dolan era.

  James, you fired the great Marv Albert for questioning the team’s choices and abilities? Motherfucking Marv Albert is as much of a Knick as Walt “Clyde” Frazier, Willis Reed, and Patrick Ewing. He was a damn ball boy for the Knicks when he was a teenager at the Old Garden on Forty-Ninth Street and Eighth Avenue. He got fired by Dolan for questioning the Knicks? What’s the matter, man? I thought you had soul; I thought you understood loyalty. I thought you were in a blues band. What the hell, man? What’s the name of this band you’re in? Is it the Billionaire Blues Players of Madison Avenue? What are you even singing about, the sadness of chicken overcooked by a personal chef ? The angry nanny who wouldn’t do what you asked? Are you jamming to the pain of growing up wealthy and not understanding the common man? Send me the album; I’d love to hear it, as I’m a true lover of the blues.

  We are New Yorkers, man. We stand by our team through thick and thin because it’s in our blood, but you’re making it really fucking difficult. Maybe you don’t give a damn, since games are sold out no matter who’s on the court or what the team plays like. I don’t know, I don’t work in the front office, but I’m damn sure getting fed up, and the Oakley incident only pushed us all closer to the edge. I don’t need to recap the poor choices on and off the court by the Knicks’ front office in the Dolan Era; it’s too frustrating to articulate, I’ll start to mumble. The fans, as frustrated as we are, keep coming back for more. We boo, we complain, and we yell on Tri-State area sports shows all week long, but it’s falling on deaf ears. The Oakley incident represented all that frustration. Charles getting arrested inside Madison Square Garden after being accused of heckling owner James Dolan was Shakespearean, if you ask me. Oak said what was on every single one of our minds. He was the one who had the balls to say it, and he did. We all wanna go up to Dolan and say, “What the fuck have you done? You have taken the New York Knicks and turned us into a fucking joke since you got this building and team handed to you by your father, and you have ruined it, you fuck, you! Take your bullshit blues band and beat it, you spoiled little rich prick. And do yourself a favor and shave that funky-ass beard. You look ridiculous.” All Knicks fans have thought about saying that to Dolan. I hear people practicing that exact speech in the streets before game time, but no one has the balls to say it. But Charles Oakley did. One of the toughest, most beloved players in New York City sports history said what we all were thinking, and he paid the price. The fucking irony. Charles “the Sacrificial Lamb” Oakley. He spoke for the people, and you locked him up. Get the fuck out of here with that behavior. Rumor has it that a Knicks fan went down to the police precinct and bailed Oak out later that night. Only in New York. Listen up. You don’t want to turn the clock back to the Eighties when we could buy cheap seats and walk down and sit in the second row because the Garden was empty. You’re pushing your luck. Never disrespect your top lieutenant.

  The Eviction of Phil Jackson: An Absurd One-Act Play

  NOTE: Sometime during the summer of 2017, there was a secret trial held in New York City in the U.S District Court of Appeals, where Phil Jackson and his team attempted to reconcile his situation with the New York Knickerbockers. These are the actual transcripts from this secret trial.

  Inside the New York State Court of Appeals, the jury patiently assembles while Phil Jackson and his lawyer, Kurt Rambis, sit idly at the defense table awaiting opening statements from the prosecution. Michael Rapaport, representing himself, paces briskly back and forth in front of Phil and Kurt, staring them down as he prepares for the appeal. Kurt looks at him like he’s crazy. Rapaport waves an index finger at Kurt Rambis and Phil Jackson as if to say, “No, not in here, you don’t. This is my town.”

  Judge: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we will now hear the prosecution’s argument in the case of Phil Jackson versus the City of New York. Mr. Jackson has been granted a hearing in the U.S. District Court of Appeals following his “release” from the New York Knicks organization. The court will now hear from the prosecution. Michael Rapaport will be representing himself in the case. Mr. Rapaport?

  Rapaport stands up, takes out a cigarette, and puts it in his mouth.

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport, there’s no smoking in the courtroom.

  Rapaport: Sorry, Your Honor, I didn’t see the sign.

  Judge: There is no sign. It’s the law.

  Rapaport: Are you sure?

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport.

  Rapaport tucks the cigarette back into his suit and paces in front of the jury, all of whom already look mildly concerned.

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport, you have the floor.

  Rapaport: Thank you, Your Honor. I was dying for that cigarette . . . I want you out of this city, Jackson.

  Judge: This is no place for your personal sentiment.

  Rapaport: It’s all personal!

  Judge: Either present your case or I’ll toss it right out.

  Rapaport: Sorry, Your Honor. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury and of this great city of New York, I ask you as both citizens and fans of the New York Knickerbockers to please understand that this hurts me as much as it hurts you, but there is no option here other than to keep Phil Jackson out of the great city of New York and away from the Knicks. Phil Jackson has been rightfully fired from the Knicks, and I’m here today to say we want him far away from the city. Let Phil Jackson go back to his happy place, where he can meditate, relax, and nibble on some peyote, or go to Peru, where Ayahuasca is all the rage.

  Rambis: Objection!

  Judge: Overruled.

  Rapaport: I object to your haircut, Rambo! Did your head sleep with a raccoon?

  Ramb
is: Excuse me?

  Rapaport: What’s the excuse?

  Rambis: The hell does my hair have to do with anything?

  Rapaport: Aha! That right there shows that everyone was out of touch in this Knick organization, including you and your goddamn barber!

  Rambis: What?

  Rapaport grabs a piece of licorice from his jacket and rips into it.

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport, please refrain from eating in the courtroom.

  Rapaport: I’m sorry, judge. My blood sugar’s upside down, and no one told me not to eat in here.

  Judge: There’s a sign for that out front. Now move on.

  Rapaport: Thank you, Your Honor, and I’m sorry, his hair’s been an issue with me for years, and I did not mean to bring it up so soon in the trial.

  Judge: Don’t bring it up at all.

  Rambis: Judge, can we move on here? My client is exhausted and has to catch a flight to the Bahamas, where he’s going to get some R & R.

  Phil smiles blankly off into the distance, then tries to catch what looks like a fly. But there is no fly.

  Rapaport: Sorry to keep you awake, Phil; for someone looking to appeal a decision, you sure seem sleepy.

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport, please continue.

  Rapaport: Sorry, Your Honor; I just figured that if you want to make an appeal to come back to the city and maybe get your job back, you might want to be awake for the—

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport!

  Rapaport: We’re all fucking tired, Your Honor!

  Judge: Language!

  Rapaport: I’m exhausted, too!

  Judge: Moving on.

  Rapaport: Phil, did you or did you not hire Derek Fisher to be the head coach of the New York Knicks?

  Jackson: I did. He’s so nice and little.

  Rapaport: Did you consider that there were likely more qualified choices?

  Jackson: Is your suit yellow?

  Rapaport: What?

  Jackson: I love yellow.

  Rapaport: My suit is gray.

  Jackson: Okay.

  Judge: If we don’t get on with this, I’ll call for a mistrial. Continue, Mr. Rapaport.

  Rapaport: Mr. Jackson, is it true that you once played against the likes of Wilt Chamberlain, Elgin Baylor, and Jerry West?

  Jackson: Yes, that is true. We played against one another many times. I love the food trucks here. Am I coming back?

  Rambis: Not yet.

  Jackson: Okay. The gyros from the trucks in Columbus Circle are amazing.

  Rapaport: You’re gone, Phil.

  Jackson: They’re gone?

  Rapaport: You’re gone! You’re whacked-out, man. Mr. Jackson, are you sure you even remember playing against those guys? Or is it possible that this is something you have forgotten completely and have no recollection of ?

  Rambis: Objection!

  Rapaport: Snip the locks, four eyes, and stay out of the city.

  Rambis: I haven’t left!

  Rapaport: You will soon.

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport.

  Rapaport: Look at your fucking dome piece, Rambis!

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport! This is your last warning. Now move on!

  Rapaport: Okay, not a problem at all, Your Honor. I’m simply asking if he remembers playing with such legends, because I can’t figure out why the hell he hired Derek Fisher to coach the Knicks. Someone with absolutely no experience.

  Rambis: Your Honor, this makes no sense, and I ask that it be struck from the record.

  Rapaport: Not now, Mr. Mullet. I’m making all the sense!

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport, please remain on point before I toss you out of here.

  Rapaport: I’m sorry, Your Honor. This is all very emotional for me. I apologize. It won’t happen again. Mr. Jackson, did you know that Derek Fisher had no coaching experience at the time you hired him, and that I, too, was available for the job?

  Jackson: Why would I ever think about you as a coach?

  Rapaport: That’s a valid point but a stupid question. Aha!

  Rapaport whips out two 8" x 10" photos of himself holding a giant trophy surrounded by a team of dirty-faced ten-year-old boys in shorts and football jerseys. He thrusts the photos in front of Jackson and Rambis.

  Rapaport: I coached my son’s flag football team full of snot-nosed, uncoordinated kids with no athleticism to the Los Angeles North Valley twelve-and-under championship.

  Rambis: Objection!

  Rapaport: That is true! You can’t object to the truth! Stay in Peru!

  Jackson: I’ve never been to Peru.

  Rapaport: Lies!

  Judge: Objection withheld, Mr. Rapaport. What does this have to do with Mr. Jackson choosing you as a coach? Stay on subject here.

  Rapaport: Everything! It has everything to do with it! Derek Fisher did not have a coaching background. I did! Goddamn, it’s hot in here. . . . It’s sweltering. Can someone turn on the air-conditioning?

  Judge: The air is on.

  Rapaport: Oh, well, what’s it on, Your Honor?

  Judge: Seventy.

  Rapaport: I like it at sixty-five, if we could make that happen.

  The jury looks on in disbelief.

  Judge: The air-conditioning is staying as is, Rapaport.

  Rapaport: Not a problem, boss man . . . Mr. Jackson, are you aware that Derek Fisher was willing to fistfight his former teammate in the NBA, namely Matt Barnes, over a supposed love affair with a woman?

  Jackson: I was not. How great is that New York skyline? And you know you can eat anytime of night here? I know a dumpling place in Chinatown that stays open until 3 a.m.

  Rapaport: Are you on mushrooms, Phil?

  Rambis: Objection!

  Rapaport: Overruled!

  Judge: You don’t overrule. I do.

  Rapaport: Are you on acid, Phil?

  Judge: Mr. Rapaport!

  Rapaport: I’m sorry, Your Honor, but you can’t tell me Phil doesn’t seem hopped up on something.

  Judge: Continue. Please.

  Rapaport: Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, need I remind you that Mark Jackson and a host of other more qualified candidates were also available for the Knicks coaching job at the time?

  Jackson: I knew that.

  Rapaport: Yet you chose Derek Fisher?

  Jackson: I did.

  Rapaport: This is absurd! He led us to the worst record in franchise history in 2015!

  Jackson turns to Rambis and they have a quiet moment.

  Jackson: Is that true, Kurt?

  Rambis: It is, Phil. The team sucked.

  Jackson: No one told me that.

  Rambis: Okay, I’ll look into why nobody told you about it.

  Jackson: Thanks, Kurt. And could you look into those vape pens while you’re at it? And see about investing in an ice cream truck, too.

  Rambis: You got it, boss.

  Jackson: Thanks.

  Judge: Moving on. The courtroom will adjourn for lunch soon.

  Rapaport: That’s good, that’s good. There’s a great deli downstairs if you’re into pastrami, Your Honor.

  Judge: I’m not.

  Rapaport: They make a wonderful knish as well.

  Judge: I’m fine, thank you.

  Rapaport: Your loss.

  Judge: I’m sure.

  Rapaport: Phil, were you aware that under your tenure, the New York players were getting robbed for their money and jewelry?

  Jackson: I heard rumors.

  Rapaport: Rumors? It’s on record and in the news, as well as on video. Derek Williams had $750,000 worth of jewelry taken from his hotel room.

  Phil turns to Kurt.

  Jackson: Is that a lot?

  Rambis: It is substantial, Phil.

  Jackson: Shit. That won’t happen again if they let me have my job back.

  Rapaport: It ain’t happening, hippie.

  Jackson: He sounds so confident.

  Rambis: And loud.

  Jackson: We should all go to Rao’s. What a sauce they make.

  Rapaport: T
his is my point. The entire organization is lost. I’m talking about jewelry, and he’s talking about meatballs.

  Jackson: I don’t wear jewelry. I like tie-dyes and loose pants. Feels great on my legs. Has a nice airy feeling.

  Rapaport: You’re gone, Phil. You’re losing it. Cleanthony Early was robbed at gunpoint, and they even stole a tooth out of his mouth.

  Jackson: That has to be painful. I have a great dentist. He has such soft hands.

  Rapaport: Of course that’s painful, but not as painful as having to admit you got your fucking tooth stolen! He’s not Leon Spinks, for God’s sakes!

  Jackson: I don’t understand.

  Rapaport: Of course you don’t understand. Maybe this will help. They robbed those players because the New York Knicks lost all respect in this city. You think the great Patrick Ewing would have gotten robbed for his gold molar?