This Book Has Balls Page 5

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  Yeah, I know he drove his coaches bat-shit crazy and could shoot you in and out of a game in the same half, and I know the “practice rant” seemed off the wall, but he was always, always, always A to the I. And let me be clear: I agreed with him during that rant.

  He was on TV during that press conference telling it exactly how it was: “Practice, we in here talking ’bout practice, I’m the franchise player and we talking about practice.” This makes total sense to me. He went out every day, busted his ass on the court, put his body and life on the line, and you’re asking him about practice? Half the game he’s about to crash onto the floor or flying into the stands for an out-of-bounds ball. He needed to take a few days’ rest. Plus, AI was your star.

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  Iverson had the looks, image, and swagger of a superstar. He carried himself like there was a red carpet under him at all times. He was on some real James Dean shit. He should have been the face of the NBA. Who else did they want, Steve Nash? No offense to my man Stevie Nash, but he looks like Kelly Leak, the burnout in the original Bad News Bears movie. But I also felt like AI was a genuinely shy person. He didn’t want to talk to the press. Why should he want to? He’s not a debutante. He’s not a gossip. So what, he liked to keep it close to the vest with the press? He just never seemed comfortable, like LeBron and Magic did, when it came to talking to the press, and he made no apologies for it. He was just doing him to the power of 10.

  I remember the press was on AI because he said, “Some days I don’t feel like going to shoot around. I don’t even feel like playing basketball every day.” The headlines read that he wasn’t grateful to play pro and he didn’t care about his team and all sorts of bullshit. He was telling it how it is. The fucking truth. You think anyone likes working at whatever job they have every single day? I don’t give a shit if your job is tasting candy, you’re not going to love it every day. As much as AI loved playing ball, it’s still a JOB. Who the hell loves their job every day? No one. I have a damn cool job, and of course, I love what I do, but are there days when I’d rather be home on the couch with a case of Snapple, drowning myself in processed sugar? Yeah. It happens. It’s natural. I don’t care if you’re in the NBA, NFL, NHL, MLB, CFL, the Rolling Stones, or Coldplay. (I don’t know why the hell I threw Coldplay in there. They just seem really happy all the time.) Let a man express the way he feels and move on. AI’s honesty bothered you? Too bad. He went hard when he went to work, and that should have been all that mattered.

  Iverson wasn’t the best shooter, his form was not perfect, and, sure, when he passed, it felt like he was doing it reluctantly, as if saying, “Here, man, but you know I’d rather shoot.” He was one of the best ball handlers ever, but not the best. His shot selection was off the wall at times, but so the fuck what? He attacked and kept coming relentlessly. All art, all day. He went harder on the floor than anybody every game, every possession, and you felt it!

  I don’t give a shit; you can teach shooting, passing, and defensive footwork all you want, but you can’t teach that inner drive to kick fucking ass every play of every game. You can’t teach toughness. There’s no class for getting the shit knocked out of your 160-pound body and hopping back up and going at it till you’re bleeding. This is something you’re born with.

  I know Jordan was a savage, and Bird was a cold-blooded killer, and Kobe wanted to step on your throat, but watching Allen Iverson attack was like seeing a live fucking statement. He came out skipping up and down in warm-ups, getting his Me Against the World mentality going in his head, thrashing his body come game time, crashing to the floor, falling out of bounds, smashing into the stands, and then walking away, headband tight, cornrows set, MVP of that game.

  Watching Allen Iverson play told you everything you needed to know about him as a person. You could feel his heartbeat. You could feel his pain when he lost and his joy when he was winning.

  Watching Iverson play articulated the beauty, pain, chaos, and struggle that made him a true artist on the floor. Thank you, my man. Watching you play made me feel alive every single time, and that’s what great art is supposed to do.

  The Michael Rapaport Celebrity Scouting Report, Volume 1

  By now I’m sure a lot of you are saying to yourselves, “Rapaport, you’re talking an awful lot of shit about pro athletes. Does it have anything to do with the fact that you’ll never be one?” No, it doesn’t, but if it bothers you, then let’s take a little break and talk some shit about people I actually know and have played against. So here you have it, the very first “Rapaport Celebrity Scouting Report—Or, Celebs Who Think They Can Ball.”

  Common

  One of the most respected and influential rappers to ever do it, a prolific actor, one of the most well-rounded talents in our industry, and he’s never seen a jump shot he didn’t like. Gives 100 percent of himself on screen and shoots 100 percent of the time he gets the ball. My man was incredibly believable in Just Wright as a pro ballplayer, but something tells me passing wasn’t in the script. When he’s not shooting a flick or TV piece, he’s shooting the rock, whether open or not. I have been open in front of you for six straight years, my friend, and I’ve never seen a ball near me. I’m open, man—pass me the rock, please. Maybe it was “the incident” that made him this way. If you don’t know about “the incident,” allow me.

  It was the 2011 Celebrity All-Star Game, and our team was playing against Justin Bieber’s team. I called a quick pregame huddle and told my squad, Do not allow Bieber to cross you over or make you look bad, because the public will know about it, and, worse yet, your friends will never let you live it down. I even said foul the Canadian Jack Rabbit if you have to, but do not let him make you look bad. Well, when we came out of the time-out, Common reached out to D up the frail pop icon and got crossed over, ankles broken, and straight shook by the singer. Common took it on the chin but went on to do enough quality work that “the incident” is rarely, if ever, brought up. Sorry for bringing it up, my man.

  Justin Bieber

  Small, scrappy, unpredictable, and Canadian. He makes great use of his dancing feet as well. I played against Bieber in the 2011 Celebrity All-Star Game, where I was trying to go back to back as the MVP. It wasn’t meant to be that year due to a toe issue I never brought up. Bieber was quicker and more competitive than expected but made countless unnecessary extra moves, showing off for the screaming girls who showed up. He dribbled between his legs while no one was checking him and went behind the back twice alone. I have to admit he took a few hard fouls from me and handled them like a champ. He popped right up off the floor like a backup dancer who fell during a Grammy performance and wasn’t going to be embarrassed. Biebs took MVP that year. Good shit, bro.

  Ice Cube

  A Top Five or Top Ten MC on anybody who knows anything about rap music’s best-of list. Rapper turned mogul. Brains of the operation. My costar in Higher Learning, and even threw me a dope cameo bone in Next Friday. However, he also rapped, “Get me on the court and I’m trouble, last week fucked around and got a triple double” in a song. Great lyric, kinda, sort of hard to believe. Cube can legit play; don’t get it twisted. However, I’ve balled with Cube, and I need to see some tape of this triple double. Not saying it didn’t happen; I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind an eyewitness or even some verbal proof that this alleged triple double didn’t just rhyme with the word trouble. Ice Cube really does have a tricky old-school game. He’s not shy about calling for the ball or shooting the rock, and he will absolutely run down-court before seeing if it goes in the hoop. His confidence sort of outweighs his ability, but if everything I touched turned to gold, platinum, and box-office bonanzas, I’d be crazy confident, too.

  Tobey Maguire

  Solid actor, but his competitive nature doesn’t match his skill set. Goes hard every single play, just not sure where he’s going. Nearly kills himself and everyone in his path with or without the ball. Tobey plays hoops like he’s running from a fire and isn’
t sure who to tell about it—frantic, rolling around on the ground for loose balls, and periodically diving for a ball that’s not there. Hypercompetitiveness works to his advantage. If you like scrappy reckless abandon, you want him on your squad.

  Adam Sandler

  Sandler is passively aggressive and oddly deceiving. He’s got the same game as the old guy on the court with the black socks high above the calf business and gym-teacher nut huggers from the Seventies. Sandler looks like everyone’s uncle, then buries you for twenty without sweating. Great low Jewish center of gravity mixed with slow feet that somehow find the perfect position to score. His thousands of hours of “lunch breaks on set” basketball paid off. He’s got true-blue “box out” ass and an uncanny knack for making passes that look fucked up when they leave his hands but somehow find their man.

  Brian McKnight

  Grammy-winning singer who can croon a girl’s panties off, trick her into liking you, and then dunk on her brother. McK-nice can shoot the lights out from three-point land, and the release looks as smooth as he sounds. Also impressive is his ability to take it to the hole and go hard. He drove by me once and whispered some R&B shit like Isaac Hayes. He crossed me over, and all I heard was, “I didn’t want to have to do this to you, but I did, Michael.” However, he is a ball hog. That solo artist life’s got you forgetting about good old-fashioned team ball.

  Drake

  Rap skills are solid, the voice is original, the dedication to the craft is strong, but he shot a fucking airball during warm-ups for the Kentucky Wildcat game, and I can’t let that slide. Drake’s game is fast and slow at the same time. His hands move fast while his feet go slow. It’s tough to explain, but it may be some Canadian post–Bar Mitzvah shit.

  Kanye

  Yeezus rented the entire Staples Center for his birthday, and the shit backfired. All reports have Bieber winning MVP once again that day, and my sources tell me Kanye wasn’t happy about it and tossed out Bieber’s gift to him at the party. Kanye’s game is all shoulders and sprinting for no reason. His inability to find the open man has more to do with him not looking than it does with his passing skills. No reports, videos, or cell phone footage can be found of the day Bieber stole Yeezy’s b-day from him.

  Will Ferrell

  Amazing center of gravity, strange amount of athleticism from a body that doesn’t scream sports, and the low-post game is bafflingly solid. Hands down the funniest athlete in the world, he is nearly impossible to defend due to laughter. Every play is another SNL skit. He uses humor on offense and defense, which gives him a hilariously well-rounded game.

  Leo

  Number one on my All-Time Great Stickmen list, so it irks me that he’s also got a solid post-up game developed while training for The Basketball Diaries. His expensive trainer taught him a pivot spin move that he still uses fifteen years later and is tough to defend. Leo’s got long arms, and when it looks like he’s nowhere near you, somehow he’s hand checking you. Thank God his jumper is absolutely nonexistent; otherwise he’d be too perfect a human.

  Mark Wahlberg

  Excellent actor, real-deal media mogul, could run for office at this point but should take some time off running on the hoop court. Mark’s got speed, agility, and strength, but they all belong in football, rugby, or street fighting. The finesse game is not his thing, and he’s been known around town to call suspect fouls that are still talked about in celebrity circles. I played with him during the Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch days, and there wasn’t one thing funky about his basketball skill set. However, Wahlberg’s work ethic is undeniable, so I would never count him out.

  Kevin Hart

  Once had fantastic speed and incredible athleticism. Now both are gone and have been replaced with humor and wealth. The Philly native had a legit all-around aggressive game equipped with handles and lockdown defense. K Hart is impressive at five foot six, with no fear of driving the lane with the big boys of normal height. I hate to say it, but Father Time has stolen both the quickness and the vertical. It may be that you’re weighed down by the massive box office receipts or the millions in cash, but the facts are the facts, and the days of lightning quickness and fearless drives are behind you. Congrats on being the new king of comedy, but now we’re the same speed, so I’ll see you when I see you.

  Queen Latifah

  The Queen’s game is no joke. Not afraid to mix it up with mere mortals and bang in the paint. La goes hard with either hand and will have you scratching your head and confused by the fadeaway. It’s original. It looks like she’s falling down backward, but she’s actually fading away. If she shows up in the ponytail, you’re through. Not one for trash talking, I’ve seen her bust 23 and leave without talking to anyone before, during, or after the game.

  Woody Harrelson

  White Men Can’t Jump in real life either. Played with him a bunch. He’s scrappy, and his jumper is disjointed yet somehow on point. He looks like he’s tripping over a curb when he shoots. It’s impossible to block his shot because even he doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Loves to talk shit and won’t back down. Strangely strong calves, but his finger roll at the net isn’t as good as his joint-rolling skills on the bus.

  Wood Harris

  The Wire’s Avon Barksdale is legit on the court and has a shit-talking game that’s easily on par with his acting game. His oversized Doctor J hands that seem too big for his body are his greatest assets. I’ve seen him dunk on fellow SAG and DGA members with odd slow-motion yet impressive one-handed slams that left the union members stunned and upset about their own game.

  Nick Cannon

  Multitalented TV mogul and an underrated stickman, Nick can play almost as well as he dresses. He comes fresh as can be, hair tight, shoes on point, and two shirts minimum per game. Solid fadeaway but lazy on D. On D, he looks like he’s thinking about hosting another show. Nick’s got too many jobs to be great at hoops these days.

  George Clooney

  I once lost a best of three one-on-one series to George on his personal Warner Bros. court during his days on ER, but I was off that day and played without breakfast. Questionable calls were made, but he won fair and square, pretty much. George’s game is confusing because he’ll foul you, talk smack, and then be friendly. It’s a real mind fuck. Also in my defense, George was making a million an episode at the time, and the fear of injuring him hampered my usual aggressive style that would have locked him down. Plus, I didn’t want to scar the face of the Sexiest Man Alive. Something about him being so handsome and sweating on me took my mind out of the game. The fucker beat me two out of three and went on talk shows and bragged about it. My street cred hasn’t been the same since.

  Breckin Meyer

  Short, fiery game, and does an uncomfortable amount of running around. The guy never stops moving, even in a half-court game. He’s running around somewhere right now for the hell of it. I guarantee it.

  Sacha Baron Cohen

  Borat is one funny dude, but unfortunately hoops is not his thing. Post-up game is confusing because he’s tall in position yet looks completely lost. His jumper is nowhere, but he’s such a nice guy that I feel bad athletics didn’t make it into his genes.

  Dean Cain

  Superman can ball. Heavy-handed and big-bodied when he’s thinned out, Cain’s got a legit jumper and can run the point if he has to. Great court vision, and his hair is fucking amazing.

  Denzel

  Balled against him years ago at the YMCA, and he always brought his outdoor game indoors. Behind-the-back passes and long-range jumpers followed by quick shit talking; he was well rounded out there. He’s also oddly strong, and I can see why he breaks shit in every movie. He plays like he’s always on the verge of pushing you down.

  Jaleel White

  Urkel could ball for real. Solid handles, good fadeaway, tight jumper, never hogged the rock, but the fact that he was Urkel fucked a lot of people’s heads up on the parquet floor, especially when he was talking smack.

  Will S
mith

  Great dude, solid game, yet lacked a little speed. Respectable Philadelphia-style game. Hates playing defense, but a deceptively strong lower body. His wind was suspect until he did the movie Ali. After Ali, the Fresh Prince was too rich to play in public, and there are no up-to-date scouting reports.

  #MadShaming

  MAD SHAMING: (verb) When a person tries to cover up feelings of being pissed the fuck off to avoid the shame of showing anger in public.

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  One of the best and most scandalous examples of public Mad Shaming was when the Seattle Seahawks beat the Patriots in 2013, and the first-ballot, shit-talking Hall of Famer Richard Sherman ran over to Tom Brady and asked this question: “You mad, bro, you mad?” and Tom Brady didn’t respond. Not a word. But you could see on his face that Tom was thinking, Yeah, you fuck, of course I’m mad. We just lost, I played like shit, and your dumb ass intercepted me, and now you’re running over to me with some passive-aggressive bullshit asking me if I’m mad? Yeah, I’m fucking mad, bro, I’m really fucking mad. Now take a walk, fucknuts, before I smack one of those dreads off your head, bro.

  Now, it’s very well documented that I can’t stand Tom Fucking Brady, but in that moment, I was on his side 100 percent. Because that “You mad, bro, you mad” from Richard Sherman was straight up MAD SHAMING. It was captured on camera and laid out in very basic terms. Tom Brady did not and would not articulate his true feelings of anger and frustration because of his fear of showing feelings in public, and he was very publicly and very mercilessly Mad Shamed.

  The Richard Sherman Mad Shaming incident was replayed over and over and over for weeks on sports shows. It became its own hashtag, #YouMadBro, and somebody even opened an @YouMadBro account on Twitter. Am I Mad, Bro? You bet your sweet fucking ass I’m mad, prick lips, but the fuck if I’m going to show it right now. Why? I ask. Why not show it? Why not get mad? Go ahead, get mad, get real mad, and embrace it, people.