Acquisition: Sebastian Telfair's Jacket

People often ask me, "what is the weirdest thing in your NBA collection?"  In the past, I've given such answers as a Carmelo Anthony snow globe, Tim Thomas's left shoe, and Walter McCarty's autograph on a napkin.  I guess I've never been able to decide which of these things, among plenty of other weird things, is the absolute weirdest.  Going forward, however, I expect to provide only one answer to the "weirdest thing" question: Sebastian Telfair's jacket.

What you are looking at is the top half of the suit Sebastian Telfair wore to the premier of Through the Fire, a 2005 documentary focusing on Telfair's senior season at Coney Island's Lincoln High School.  It is hanging from my bedroom door.  I scooped it off the 'bay at a cost of $4.99, and I am not a smidgeon less than one hundred percent sure it's really the suit Sebastian wore to the 2005 Tribeca Film Festival.  The evidence is as follows:

• Sebastian Telfair discussed with Boston.com his custom suits by Joseph Abboud.  Joseph Abboud, based in Bassy's native New York, maintains a business relationship with the NBA.  This is probably why Telfair wears this brand of suit.
• Sebastian Telfair explained to Boston.com that his custom suits have his name on the inside.  Stitched into the inside of my Sebastian Telfair jacket is, "personally styled for S. Telfair."

• It's a perfect photo match with the jacket Sebastian was photographed in at the premier of his movie.  To determine this, I carefully examined the stripes, in particular where they are interrupted by seams.  The unique way in which some stripes align and others don't is consistent with the photo.
• I bought it from a seller in Brooklyn, New York.  Makes sense.
• It was $4.99.  Scammers have bigger fish to fry.

Even for $4.99, I might not have purchased Bassy's suit if Bassy wasn't basically the same size as me.  Listed at six feet, I'd say he's really about five-feet-ten.  I met him once (super cool dude, I might add; before a game, he randomly introduced himself to me), and I recall thinking, damn, he's my height!  For the record, I'm five-feet-eight. 

When I happened upon the auction for this jacket (one of the all-time highlights of my Ebay experience), I had hoped to find that it had been part of Telfair's NBA Draft ensemble.  As it turns out, he wasn't in attendance, so there is no Sebstian Telfair Draft Day suit; this being the case, that he wore this jacket to the premier of his film makes it probably the most notable Sebastian Telfair jacket. 

Naturally, I was super excited to try this thing on.  It's a little big, especially in the shoulders, but I could definitely wear it without anyone suspecting that it had once belonged to a professional basketball player.  I really, really wish I had the pants.  I suppose I can have a matching pair made.  Then I can go to work wearing former NBA lottery selection Sebastian Telfair's suit.  Certainly this will make going to work exponentially more enjoyable.

I See You, Rasual Butler

When it comes to the 2014 Eastern Conference Finals, I have a horse in the race.  I want the Miami Heat to win, and ultimately to prevail in their quest to win a third consecutive title.  It's no secret that I admire the way LeBron James plays the game.  But one player I might like as much as I like LeBron James happens to play for the Pacers.  That player is Rasual Butler, and when he checked into game two and knocked down a pair of triples, I couldn't help but smile.  Truthfully, I'm not sure I wouldn't have smiled had he drilled a game-winner, despite that such a dagger would've put my horse in dire straits.  To see Rasual connect on those two significant shots, it was special, because it took me back to a time when NBA basketball basically flowed through my veins.  Despite that Butler's Pacers failed to close out tonight, I wanted to share the following.

My fanhood of Rasual Butler first developed as a byproduct of my fanhood of his Hornets teammates.  When I got League Pass in fall 2005, I watched the Hornets often, especially during one mid-season stretch when the Rockets' Stromile Swift was sidelined by injuries.  2005 happened to be Chris Paul's rookie campaign, and the season the team had been displaced by Hurricane Katrina.  Wearing New Orleans across their chests and with the support of some zealous Oklahomans, the Hornets ran the Ford Center floor with an appropriate degree of passion.  Desmond Mason had been one of my original childhood favorites, and it was his spectacular slams that initially drew me to the team.  I also enjoyed the lightning-quick point guard combo of the aforementioned Paul and Speedy Claxton.  A young JR Smith added some spice to the recipe, and Chris "Birdman" Andersen quickly became a hero of mine.  Later, when Andersen was banned from the league for a positive drug test, I was devastated.  I watched the Hornets a little less after that, but I continued to keep an eye on them.  Looking back on it, I recall the team as having adopted Chris Paul's fiery, competitive personality.

Rasual Butler appealed to me because he was smooth.  Though he didn't play above the rim like Mason, or flashy like Paul, or explosively like Smith, I liked him instantly.  His stroke was butter.  His moves were fluid.  His demeanor was cool and constant.  It was Butler's fourth NBA season, his first with the Hornets after spending three with the Heat.  Though Butler's steady-going style contrasted with that of his teammates, he adjusted well under coach Byron Scott, setting new career highs in minutes and points per game.  Butler started occasionally, but his primary role was to provide a spark off the bench.  For a team that relied so heavily on a bunch of young players --- leading scorers David West and Chris Paul had virtually no NBA experience between them --- the Hornets performed well, finishing with a record of 38-44 despite playing in the association's unforgiving Southwestern Division.


Rasual played another couple seasons with the Hornets, whom he helped to the Playoffs with his 11 PPG in 2009.  Next, he signed on with the Clippers, who would rely on him to play 33 minutes a night.  The burden weighed on him, and it showed in his 40 percent shooting from the floor.  Despite the Clippers' flaws, Butler had some excellent games, including a 33-point explosion against LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers.  But none was as explosive as a second half he posted for one of my customized teams in NBA Live.

Every couple weeks, my step brother would visit and we would break out the XBox and go the full 48 minutes.  We always drafted our own teams.  My typical starting lineup was Rafer Alston, Jamal Crawford, Carmelo Anthony, Stromile Swift, and Kenyon Martin, while his squad never took the floor without Chris Kaman.  Clearly, rather than picking the best players, we chose our favorites.  Rasual Butler was a fixture on my bench.

I was getting obliterated at halftime, which was not the norm.  My step brother and I were very competitive at NBA Live; I might even have had an edge because it was literally the only game I ever played.  This time, though, I was down twenty, and frustrated.  Normally, I seldom substituted, but my frustration led me to bench a couple of my starters for the opening of the third quarter.  I inserted Rasual Butler and looked to run-and-gun.  Video game Rasual had a bit of a hitch in his jumper, and I hadn't ever used him much before.  It took me a minute to adjust my button pushing to his release, but I stuck with it.  I knocked a couple down, and I fed the hot hand. 

Rasual Butler finished the game with, if I remember correctly, 76 points, all of which he scored in the second half.  He was totally en fuego, and thanks to his marksmanship I had stormed back to take a two-point lead with only a fraction of a second to go.  I had already begun to bask in the thrill of victory, which Rasual Butler and I had stolen from the jaws of defeat.  Except we hadn't stolen it just yet.  Somehow, my step brother found, off the inbound, an open Peja Stojakovic in the near corner.  A three-pointer left Peja's fingertips, and the buzzer blared.  The ball arced across the television screen as I watched, helpless, frozen in mortal fear.  Peja's shot ripped the cord.  My step brother went nuts.  But then, Marv Albert explained that the officials would need to go to the replay to confirm that the shot was good.  Neither my step brother nor I had known this was a possibility.  Shocked by yet another unforeseen development, we waited for the call.

No good.  The shot was too late.  Rasual Butler and I had won the game.

Acquisition: Shelvin Mack Maine Red Claws Bobblehead

On March 31st, 2014, the Boston Celtics' D-League affiliate, the Maine Red Claws, gave Shelvin Mack bobbleheads to the first 1,000 fans in attendance.  Had I been aware of this promotion before it took place, it is more than a certainty that I'd have made arrangements to attend.  I am not ashamed to admit that this is the sort of thing that excites me --- I've always wanted a free SGA bobblehead to add to my collection --- and I live just a couple of hours from Portland, Maine, where the Red Claws play their home games.  But by the time I learned of the Shelvin Mack bobblehead giveaway, it was too late; the event had come and gone. 

Turns out I'm not the only one who missed Shelvin Mack bobblehead night.  Shelvin himself couldn't make it because he was busy making his only shot attempt in 14 big league minutes, helping the Atlanta Hawks defeat the Philadelphia 76ers.  No one, I surmise, has ever been happier to miss his own bobblehead night, because not only are Hawks paychecks substantially larger than Red Claws paychecks, but the Red Claws almost certainly faced stiffer competition than the Hawks did that night.

I'm no Shelvin Mack superfan, nor was I following college basketball when he, Gordon Hayward, and the Butler Bulldogs contended for the national title.  I've seen Shelvin play only the role of NBA backup, and he isn't the type to wow an unwitting spectator such as myself with trampoline ups or Rucker Park handles.  Understand, however, how extremely rare it is that a ball player of any consequence sets foot in my native state.  Thus, a ceramic version of Shelvin Mack --- former Washington Wizard, current Atlanta Hawk, a rotation player on a playoff team --- donning a Maine jersey is a must (the first time the Red Claws latched onto an NBAer, former high school phenomenon/K-State standout/Celtic/Knickerbocker Bill Walker, I drove to the team office and demanded to purchase his authentic jersey.  The team office obliged).

Upon learning of the Shelvin Mack bobblehead, I added Mack's name to my mental list of EBay search terms.  The first few weeks of my online pursuit turned up nothing, and I wondered if anyone would even bother trying to sell such an item.  I probably would've given up had one not popped up in a listing that closed on Mothers Day.  Not surprisingly, I was the lone bidder.  Days later, from New Hampshire, buried in a box full with packing peanuts, arrived Shelvin Mack. I dug him out and cleared him a space next to Keon Clark, which actually isn't a bad thing, as bobblehead Keon Clark is neither an alcoholic nor a convict; rather, he is a smiling Sacramento King who occupies one end of the front row of bobbleheads atop my stereo.  The front row is, of course, prime real estate, and is otherwise reserved for the likes of Ricky Davis and Stromile Swift.

Riveting tale, I know.  I had hoped Shelvin's 20-point explosion in Atlanta's recent game five victory over the Pacers would lead to an 8-1 upset, but the Pacers took the series in seven, even as Mack managed to put together another double-figure outing in the deciding game.  A Hawks triumph would've given the bobblehead a lot of added intrigue.