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  Here I was about to shake the hand of my hero. He was a man I considered a great friend, yet we’d never met. I got to the Champ and shook his right hand, which was shaking lightly from the Parkinson’s that had taken over his body, and I leaned down just a little bit and said, “Champ, you have meant so much to me for my entire life, and it’s a such an honor to meet you.” I stood up, ready to move on, but couldn’t budge. I literally couldn’t move. I leaned back down right next to his ear, and without thinking, I whispered, “I know you’re okay, Champ. I know you’re doing okay and I love you,” and then I stood straight up. God and Kevin Corrigan as my witness, Ali quickly looked me in the eyes and motioned with one finger for me to lean down again. I leaned down right next to him. I thought the Champ was going to say something, but he kissed me right on the cheek. I couldn’t believe it. I started crying, literally sobbing, and wrapped my arms around him as though he just saved my life. I said, “I love you so much, I love you so much, Muhammad.” At this point I was out of my body and tripping out for real. I kissed his right hand, and I remember noticing at that very moment that his hands were huge but also incredibly soft for a man who had used them to give out so many beatings. I finally stood up, and I was still crying and I wasn’t sure why. I know I wasn’t crying because I felt bad for Muhammad Ali. I think I cried because I literally loved him so much. I also wanted him to know that I knew he was “okay.” I have always heard him say in the press that he didn’t want people to feel sorry for him because of what the Parkinson’s disease had done to him. He always made it clear that he was happy and he felt like he had a blessed life. I hadn’t expected to get so emotional when I met him; it just happened.

  The Greatest of All Time passed away on June 3, 2016, and not a day goes by that I don’t think about him, and I only met him that one time. I recently read an article in which Lonnie Ali talked about how common it was for people to have an emotional reaction to meeting Muhammad. It happened to me right then and there, and it’s something I will never forget.

  The Skinny-Jeanification of Sports

  SKINNY-JEANIFICATION: (noun) the softening of athletes due to the “look at me” culture that’s been growing in sports as a result of the “selfie” generation’s desire to promote themselves before bettering themselves.

  The Skinny-Jeanification of sports has taken over, and it’s a major concern—not only of mine but of some of my favorite fellow ranters. I recently saw Jalen Rose hang his head after seeing what athletes were wearing at their postgame press conferences. As Jalen Rose and others have noted, the problem is bigger than just the dress codes and fashion. The Skinny-Jeanification is some real monumental bitch shit.

  Now, there’s a misconception that Skinny-Jeanification is solely about athletes showing up to games or press conferences looking like they’re ready for a Gucci runway show in Paris. This is not entirely true. Yes, Skinny-Jeanification was sparked by the new fashion styles of people like Cam Newton, who showed up for games and interviews dressed like a member of a Sockless Barbershop Quartet or Pinocchio’s giant twin brother in a bow tie and bright mismatched colors, or Dwayne Wade, who looked like a mannequin that got robbed before he made it to the display window at Macy’s men’s store in Manhattan. I love you, D-Wade, but burn that short-sleeve blazer you so proudly wear, and let’s act like it never happened.

  Odell Beckham’s search for the perfect shade of magenta hair had us all fucked up and only made things worse. When Odell was voted top five best dressed at the 2016 Met Gala, and numbers one through four were Rihanna, Katy Perry, Beyoncé, and a Thai male supermodel without a name, the fashion world thought they had a new god—a gold-tipped, ball-catching, superathletic fashion god. Well, they didn’t. Even my main man Russell Westbrook, the single-season triple-double record holder, is out of control. Yo, Russ, you’re rolling around like every day is Halloween. This season alone he was the Little Drummer Boy one day, followed by looking like Pat Benatar on her “Hit Me with Your Best Shot” tour, and then strolled into an afternoon game looking like Fabio had fucked Kurt Cobain, and no one had the balls to say shit. Well, I do, because I can’t help it. Westbrook is wearing a piece inspired by the movie Black Swan, and no one’s batting an eye? Fuck it, go ahead and break out your Pirates of the Caribbean gear, Russ, and call it a day, because there’s no turning back now. Rock the mask from Eyes Wide Shut if you’re feeling it. Listen, like I said, this ain’t just about the outfits, and I’m not a fashion icon. If you YouTube me, you’ll see me on three talk shows wearing the same shirt on every one of them, and they were all shot in the same week. I’m aware of my limitations when it comes to fashion. I dress strictly for comfort, recognition, and price point; fuck it. But like I said, the dress code is just a symptom of an entirely bigger problem.

  So, allow me to quote the great Keith Sweat here when I say, “Something just ain’t right.” Skinny-Jeanification represents the softening of the entire sports world, and it could bleed into the youth of today if we don’t nip it in the bud. Skinny-Jeanification is a side note and an offshoot of the Me Generation steeped in selfies and self-promotion and “Hey, guys, look at how interesting I am while I’m showing you my BRAND.” I get it. Branding is part of the world we live in now. It’s an overused fucking word that has every athlete in the world thinking they’re so damn original that they can build a business around their unique BRAND. Well, guess what the best brands are made of ? Great fucking products. Yeah, the brand needs to be good before it can be sold, my man. These guys are thinking about their brand before thinking about getting a championship. You’re thinking about your branding and marketing when you need to be thinking about your defense and your off-season workouts. How the hell are you going to build a brand when you’re just average? Of course, there are a few exceptions—there always are. LeBron James can show up in a fishnet half shirt with a mermaid tail and eyeliner and it’s absolutely fine. Why? Because he’s got the personal statistics, team statistics, and the championship rings to prove it. But some of you dudes are missing the point, and you’re spending an hour cropping your selfie when that hour should have been spent figuring out how the fuck you’re going to stop Kyrie from going left on you every time. You know what would look great with your Manolo Blahnik shoes and your Comme des Garçons silk shirt in your heavily filtered selfie from the yacht of a billionaire you never met? A fucking championship RING.

  The Selfie Generation wants to be like Mike, but it doesn’t want to work like Mike. Mike wasn’t trying to dress like a nine-year-old Japanese girl to promote his brand. Mike didn’t dress for shit because he was too busy staying after practice shooting free throws for five hours. Mike didn’t take pictures of himself because he was working on his defensive footwork to stop Magic and attempt to keep Larry Bird from busting his ass the next week. Mike didn’t have time to pick out an outfit that looked like a Ken doll because he wanted the ring.

  These guys are so busy documenting every aspect of every single day that there’s no way they can be improving on the court and on the field. I get it—it’s a different time in the world. But it’s really not. It’s still about being great, not about being seen. These motherfuckers grew up watching so many episodes of Entourage that they think they’re all gonna be Vinny Chase. You ain’t the centerpiece of the world, Holmes. A lot of you dudes are gonna wind up as Johnny Drama if you keep snapping selfies and skipping free-throw practice. Wake up.

  All Everything superstar Steeler wide receiver Antonio Brown went live postgame on Facebook from the Steelers’ locker room with his teammates walking around butt-ass naked. He even recorded tough-as-nails, hard-core, all-business Coach Mike Tomlin giving a postgame speech that should have been private. The speech was amazing, and I was even knocking out sets of push-ups after hearing it, but it wasn’t for the public. You’re a motherfucking Pittsburgh Steeler, not a fourteen-year-old girl at a One Direction concert. Harry Styles ain’t checking for you, AB. Try that shit during the terrible Terry Bradshaw days, and Jack
Lambert would have shoved that cell phone so far up your keister you’d be shitting out selfies for a month. How the hell is this behavior okay? Skinny-Jeanification is real, and it’s spreading like wildfire. It’s making these guys soft and self-centered, and it’s even turning them into head cases.

  Boston Celtic and supposed tough guy Marcus Smart took himself out of a 2017 NBA playoff game because he said, “I didn’t think I was playing well.” Are you fucking nuts? Can you imagine John Stockton taking himself out of a playoff game because he thought he was having an off night? You think Pistons bad-boy leader Isiah Thomas would ever remove himself from a game because he just wasn’t up for it that day, to leave room for someone else to come in and play for him? Zeke played a Finals game with a broken ankle. Did Moses Malone ever take himself out of a game because he had just thrown away a pass? Hell to the no, to the No No No.

  Focus on your game before you focus on your brand. Unless you’re coming out with a clothing line called Twelfth Man on the Bench or Almost Made It jeans, you need to shift your focus. You’re not all LeBron, Russell Westbrook, D-Wade, or even Ezekiel Elliott, the Dallas Cowboys running back who almost broke Twitter by showing up to the 2016 NFL Draft in a motherfucking button-up shirt tucked under to show off his belly button. But Zeke earned the right to wear whatever he wants going forward after having one of the best rookie seasons ever.

  The point is, be great at your job before you’re great at social media and dressing yourself. Stay that extra few hours in the gym like the great ones did, and don’t Snapchat your every moment doing what you’re supposed to be doing—then we can let you slide with the nut huggers, clown shoes, and purple bow ties. Now put your fucking cell phone down and do an extra wind sprint.

  The Bachelor of Montana

  POSTSCRIPT: Phil Jackson, sitting in a rocking chair on his porch, smoking a cigar, and looking out over his multimillion-dollar Montana ranch, dictated the following letter to the great people of New York and the fans of the Knicks. The song “Old Man” by Neil Young can be heard playing in the background.

  “Hey, New York, Phil Jackson here. I felt like I needed to share a few things with you so we didn’t part ways on bad terms. Damn it, is that a llama? Hold on. Hey, man, come on, not on the lawn! That thing shits like an elephant. Where the hell did he come from? Just snuck up out of nowhere.

  “I have to be honest, I didn’t plan on any of that stuff going down the way it did in New York. I never saw it coming. I wanted to win badly when I got there. I was trying to do my job, and next thing I knew there was an owner singing in a mediocre blues band and I was tweeting at my own players, which is not my style. I don’t tweet. My grandkids do that crap, not me. I lost it for a minute. Damn, this cigar is good. I love a good cherry finish at the tail end of an inhale. I wasn’t myself in New York, man. I was falling asleep at random times. I was beat. But you try being in your seventies and staying awake through all that shit. I had to nap. There were days when I double napped. You ever have a two-nap day in New York City? It doesn’t even feel right. There are cars and buses and people making noise. Sirens rushing down the street. Bum fights on the corner. That’s how tired I was. I napped through all of that shit and still woke up tired. Hey, mountain lion, get out of here, man, I’m trying to focus! Jesus, that thing looks so calm, but could probably kill me if it was mad. Hope it’s in a good mood; I’m not running anywhere. Is this thing even on? Hold up, let me see here . . . all right, it’s working.

  “New York, let me again say I’m sorry it didn’t work out. I love New York and I love its people. But I’ve got a good life now, and I’m enjoying it. The air is fresh, the people are kind, the mushrooms are medicinal, and the mountain ranges are perfect to wake up to. I’m here in Montana, clearing my head and taking long walks and listening to the birds talk it out among themselves. They’ve got some beautiful birds out here. These aren’t New York City birds. These birds are relaxed, just cruising through the sky nice and easy. Life is peaceful here. Two days ago Doris and Eloise came over from another mountain, and I took out my eleven championship rings while sitting around the table and having some tea, and that felt good. Is that a crane? Holy shit, man, I just saw the biggest damn bird I’ve ever seen. That thing looked like a flying dragon. I love Game of Thrones. Mother Nature doesn’t ask you permission for anything out here, it just starts dropping these little jewels in front of you.

  “By the way, being single out on the range isn’t too bad. I was going to do some online dating after my last big public breakup, but turns out it’s not for me. I went on one of those sites, and they asked me what my favorite thing about myself was, and all I could think was, shit—I’m Phil Jackson. I won eleven NBA titles and had an amazing career and life, what the hell else do I need to type in? You want me to put in that I mastered the triangle offense and showed the world a way of playing they’d never seen before? I don’t think that would be appropriate. You want me to put down ‘I turned two NBA franchises around, and that’s almost impossible to do in this league’? Not really my style. Was I going to take out an entire page on playing with legends? No. I don’t need to. I’m not going to write down things like ‘I’ve made millions of dollars doing what I love, and I never really have to work again if I don’t want to.’ I would never write that down. I don’t do arrogance. I do peace and humility and cigars. So, needless to say, I’m not online dating, and Doris, from what I hear, has a beautiful sister who loves square dancing, fire pits, and bird watching, and, by gosh, that sounds great to me. All that high-society shit I was dealing with and high-profile relationships I was in, that ain’t me. I’m an old jock from North Dakota who loves loose-fit clothing and a home-cooked meal followed by a good cigar and a vape here and there. Though the new vape shit is sort of strong, so I don’t take more than one hit of it. That shit will have you staring at your hand for two hours wondering if it’s connected to your body.

  “Either way, when it’s all said and done, I hope you all look back someday and realize there were some other things happenin’ in New York that I couldn’t control. It wasn’t all my fault, I’m telling you. My God, that butterfly is stunning. Is that thing purple dominant? You never see that. Wow. Anyway, there was a ton of shit going on in New York that you could never understand. You try being an avid music lover and having your owner show up at three in the morning in the Village to sing like shit in a blues band that doesn’t want him in it, man. It messes your head up. I couldn’t focus over there; there were too many damn distractions, and I don’t do well with distractions anymore. I’m mellowing out in my old age.

  “Listen, you guys, I just don’t want to get into all that went wrong; let me just say that I wish it was different, you know. I love that city and I love the game of basketball. It’s given me everything I could have ever dreamed of for my entire life. And right at this moment I’m dreaming of some warm biscuits and polishing up those championship rings for fun before I set them back on the mantel where they belong for the neighbors to enjoy. I’m good now, you guys. I think I’ll mosey on inside and talk to you later, New York.

  “I hope one day we can all get along again, and if we do, great, and if not, well, that’s life. Hey, llama, not again, man!”

  —Phil

  The Greatest Ever Eva!!!!

  I’ve talked an enormous amount of shit in these pages, and I’m sure I’ve even offended more people than I actually planned to. But this book wouldn’t be complete if we didn’t wrap it up with the only debate that counts: Who are the Top Five Greatest Athletes of All Time?

  This right here is the All-World, All-Comprehensive, Non-Debatable, Undeniable Michael Rapaport Top Five Greatest Athletes of All Time. We’ve all thought about it and battled with our friends over it, but the debate is finally over. You can take this list, keep it in your pocket, and break it out at parties, picnics, or anytime the topic rears its head. Now, let’s do this once and for all.

  At the top of my list and holding firm at the number one spot is Se
rena Williams! I know you’re thinking, Rapaport’s going outside the box with tennis, and look at how politically correct he’s trying to be by choosing a woman as number one. Not true. I understand some of you cretins don’t even think tennis is a legit-enough sport to appear on my list. Well, it is. And guess what: it’s not about the sport as much as it’s about Serena’s absolute, 100 percent, ridiculous domination. Twenty-three Grand Slam wins, the last one while she was pregnant, plus twenty-one singles titles, and I don’t even need to talk about what she and Venus did to the poor players they beat up in doubles over the years. And let’s just be real: when I went on her Wikipedia page, it had so many colors, graphs, and lines for countries and places where she wrecked opponents that I had to get off the page before I had a seizure from staring at it. Serena Williams has a lifetime record of 783–130. Did you hear that? No one in her sport has ever come close. So, coming in at numero uno and not going anywhere is Serena Williams.

  Now, number two has me a bit more confused, since there are so many damn athletes and sports. Shit. There’s an argument for Tony Hawk or jockey Little Willie Shoemaker, but I don’t work like that. On my list, you need balls. You need to throw a ball, hit a ball, dribble a ball, catch a ball, or run with your balls flying to make the list.