Today is Labor Day, which means I'm skipping drunk brunch with my friends to bring you this story. I hope it's a good one.
Yesterday I snuck into the All-Star "All-Style" show before the All-Star Game in NYC. It was surreal, one of those Top-10-Moments-In-Your-Life kinda things. There were several steps involved to get in but the main ones were: 1. Own a suit, 2. Act privileged enough to be there.
So after throwing on my finest Billy Hoyle sneaks and standing in -100 degree windchill, the clipboard person buys that I'm important enough to own a boat or something and I'm handed a blue wristband. Inside it looks like kind of a weird tiny ballroom, with chairs surrounding a runway that extends from the stage and...well I'm just gonna say it, it must have looked like a floppy dick from above. But a classy one, given the decadent locale.
I'm serendipitously directed by an assistant to a spot near the front row. There weren't like tickets or seat numbers or anything, and since the chairs weren't exactly bolted to the ground I just picked mine up as she walked away and...made it the front row. Like tacked it onto the end of the row. I don't even know why I did this, as if getting in had made me high on confidence and I couldn't stop. Maybe I should do this again and try out at the NBA Combine (I should not).
Suddenly I look up and OMG I'M STARING INTO CAM NEWTON'S SMILE ACROSS ACROSS THE FLOPPY RUNWAY-DICK. I freaked out over this because he's SuperCam, who brought me 3 straight fantasy football titles, and you don't care about that but it's an excuse to show you the picture I took: https://imgur.com/dxhJWdn
A director soon comes over the PA, telling us that this is a filmed show and instructing us to do some clapping to be edited in later. (I didn't realize how many reaction shots they piece together after-- there were several times they cut to Cam smiling at a Kevin Hart joke during the actual broadcast but he had literally left the venue when the joke was made).
And then LeBron walks out: https://imgur.com/pxWGVAa
I knew he was producing the show but didn't think he'd actually be there. Everyone whipped out their phones-- despite the PA Director's earlier pleas-- and this is of particular note because the audience was full of NFL players and NBA family members and real "high fashion" folks, who once the show got underway could really care less about snapping pics of other legitimate All-Stars like James Harden.
Harden, decked out here in high-tops so glitzy I nearly panicked that my life was just a dream up until that point and I'd soon be waking up in 10th grade geometry class: https://imgur.com/VHBm6UP (Also I was called for a foul taking this)
Luckily none of that happened (not just because I would fail a geometry test right now). And regardless of whether the rest of the audience was having such a glitzy-dream-crisis, they still ignored legends like Shaq or Barkley when they arrived onstage. LeBron was the only one with this pull, and it was reminiscent of Bill Simmons' description in The Book of Basketball years ago-- a complete whirlwind of attention. Jordan-esque.
But LeBron quickly disappears to the back to be replaced by Shaq, my favorite athlete of all-time (sorry Cam, he had an enormous cardboard-cutout presence in my room for much of my childhood). He's intro-ed by Carrie Keagan, who is a very nice person in addition to being very beautiful, and basically had Shaq/Chuck/Kenny licking their chops the entire night to the point I was kinda uncomfortable. But anyway Shaq's role is "MC" for the evening and he quickly makes his way over to the DJ area where said MCing will take place.
WHICH IS RIGHT THE FUCK ABOVE ME: https://imgur.com/EYiSNIV (photo courtesy my brother who was watching on TNT, thanks bro)
I summon the testicular fortitude during a break in filming to chat at him, and he kind of laughs and points (CUE STRUGGLE NOT TO PASS OUT). Later I move him in for a selfie, which is admittedly more of a reverse-photobomb, but given Shaq's propensity to regular-photobomb other folks I consider it a PERSONAL. VISUAL. MASTERPIECE: http://imgur.com/7gaPrSn (though of course I make a double-chin in the greatest photo of my life)
The show itself was cool-- seeing Harden, Boogie, Klay, etc. all up close was pretty mesmerizing-- but it became clear early on that, with Chuck and Kenny carrying the judging, this was more about entertainment than fashion. And in that sense, production should've invited way less of the snooty "high fashion" folk and way more of the excitable, NBA-invested fans who otherwise would have to sneak their way into such an event. Especially since the stars themselves, parading down a runway to little audience reaction, seemed a little stiff too.
In fact, with Chandler Parsons and JR Smith obviously the final two, Carrie tried to pull some personality out of them as the judges tallied their final scores. She asks why they think they should win the "Diamond Bowtie" prize (straight from the Ernie Johnson collection), but neither of them give her much to work with.
And so here is where I decided to do my fellow, not-"high-fashion"-folk, Real-r/nba-Bros-Who-Weren't-Invited-To-This-Thing justice.
Carrie asks JR Smith again: "C'mon, why do you think you should win?"
And I yell, like shout, right next to the stage: "TO BRING A CHAMPIONSHIP TO CLEVELAND!"
Everyone turns and looks at me. In a split-second that feels like all 50 years of title drought, I imagine Mr. PA Director coming over the loudspeaker to yell cut and instructing to re-film the segment. I imagine security swooping in to physically-- very physically-- remove me from the venue. I imagine Shaq's lasting impression of me as a sad, skinny lad being dragged away like that scene in Liar, Liar. "I'M JOSE CANSECO, I'M JOSE CAAAANNNNSEEEECOOOOOOO!!!!!"
BUT INSTEAD...they turn, and both JR and Parsons point at me and say "That's truuuue!" in sync. Kenny and Chuck share a laugh. And I nearly ascend into heaven.
LeBron comes back out to award the bowtie in a super rushed ending: https://imgur.com/NnxvxvM
And suddenly the show is...over. I feel like Cinderella ready to ride my pumpkin home.
But LeBron doesn't take off. He leans against the set, probably taking a break from the gabillion things he has going on that weekend.
I'm in full-on childlike wonder at this point. I know I should leave him alone-- hell I know that prior to his return I might've mumbled "fuck the Heat" and just left-- but I know this will probably never happen again. I yell "Yo 'Bron I'm from Cleveland!"
He ignores me. I know he's heard me. I start to think this is maybe a bad idea, but I know I have to try again or it's gonna stick with me. This guy meant a lot to me, to my family, to people I care about, to the place that I'm from. I've been emotionally invested in him one way or another for a long time. He has every right on earth not to acknowledge my existence, just like I had every right on earth not cheer for him again even after he decided to come home.
"'Bron I'm from Cleveland!"
He comes over this time and daps me up. I can only muster a "Go Cavs man" before he's moved on to some suited peeps who whisk him away.
Meanwhile some people have gone onto the stage to take (more legit, less exciting, fewer double-chinned) photos with Shaq and others. I assume these are the wildestly-important of the wildly-important peeps in attendance, and begin to make my exit...
...just as a lady directing traffic declares "You can only come on the stage if you have a BLUE wristband!"
I whip around in time to see some poor unfortunate orange-wristbanded people are being turned away. I glance down at my blue-- totally non-descript blue, literally a laser tag game later that weekend involved more complex-wristbanding than this place-- and make my way up to the stage.
And meet JR: http://imgur.com/3ylUmnN
Super chill dude-- got to chat with him a bit, walk with him into the back of the venue, and tell him good luck and shit before being smushed onto an elevator with him...and back out into my awaiting pumpkin chariot (aka the E-train).
But not before passing a totally chilled-out Zach Lavine, casually sitting on a couch eating Subway, mentally preparing himself to soon dunk his way out of slavery to the Monstars. Also Elena Delle Donne and I made eye contact, we kind of smiled at each other, and listen I can't be sure but I thiiiiiink she'll never remember me ever again.
All in all it gave me a lot of feelings. Awe at the superstars, excitement at pulling back the curtains on the production, regret at not slipping Klay a joint so he'd miss the playoffs on a drug suspension. But more than anything I was forced to reflect on LeBron-- I booed him religiously as a member of the Heat, and yet here I was reduced to an 8-year-old fan in his presence. They say to never meet your heroes, but seeing LeBron as a real in-the-flesh dude helped me humanize him as one. And understand that sometimes a hero's journey sees them stray...but then sees them come back, more self-realized, and still able to save the day. And if we can't learn things like that from our heroes, then what's the point in having them?
So the next day I went and bought a LeBron All-Star jersey. And then that motherfucker brought us a championship.
It was a good time.
Like how EVERYONE IS HAVING A GOOD TIME AT DRUNK BRUNCH WITHOUT ME RIGHT NOW