ducks
06-13-2007, 05:27 PM
J.R. a fool in danger of losing it all
By Mark Kiszla
Denver Post Staff Columnist
Article Last Updated: 06/13/2007 12:25:01 AM MDT
The basketball career of Nuggets guard J.R. Smith is speeding down the highway to Hades.
And that's the least of his worries.
A funeral awaits a friend, while the law sifts through the wreckage of a deadly car accident.
What's infuriating is Smith tried so hard to live the lyrics of a rap song that he could now become tragic inspiration for a rhyme about a professional baller who threw it all away.
Born to a good home, raised by two loving parents and made rich as a teenager by the NBA, Smith was so desperate for the street cred glorified by hip-hop culture that he became a poseur, thinking if he wore baggy shorts half off his bum, then maybe Carmelo Anthony, Kenyon Martin and teammates who came up from mean streets would accept him.
Smith is a gangsta wannabe who got lost in a dangerous game of make-believe.
Feigning cool to hide insecurity, Smith found trouble more ways than you can count during the past nine months. He got suspended for a brawl in a game at New York. He got in a fight with teammate Jamal Sampson that the Nuggets kept hush-hush. He got booted from the playoffs by Nuggets coach George Karl.
"There are days I wake up and feel I don't understand J.R.," Karl said during the course of a season, in which a bad habit of letting trouble with players fester was never more obvious than with his mishandling of Smith. "I don't know if I'll ever get him."
Smith can be an arrogant man-child with more money than sense. But almost all his sins could be forgiven as the machismo of an adolescent acting before thinking.
Until now.
Now, a buddy is dead. And Smith must live with it.
"Basketball is not life or death. Unfortunately, this situation is. This is a tragedy for everyone involved," Nuggets vice president of player personnel Rex Chapman said.
The stupid, sad irony is 21-year-old Andre Bell died while rolling with an NBA star, but death did not find him outside a seedy strip club at 3 a.m., the way it would go down in a rap song.
The pitiful victim lost his life in the countryside during a spring Saturday, surrounded by soccer fields and horse farms, when a GMC Yukon driven by Smith allegedly ran a stop sign and collided with a Jaguar, hurling Bell from the sport utility vehicle.
"J.R. is devastated by the loss of his good friend," the Nuggets public relations department said on behalf of Smith.
But is he sorry?
Although the young player once amassed 27 points on his driving record in less than a year and a New Jersey prosecutor vows an investigation to determine whether Smith should face more serious criminal charges, there was no mention of an apology in the team statement released Tuesday.
Maybe Smith is more trouble than he is worth. Three seasons after entering the league as a first-round draft choice, the Nuggets are his third team.
Anybody who knows Smith, however, is tempted to do the same as Anthony did when the 6-foot-6 guard arrived in town. Melo threw an arm around the newcomer and protected him like a little brother, because J.R. was a small-town kid born down the clean working-class street from where Bruce Springsteen grew up, rather than in the nasty urban jungle of Jay-Z.
On the Nuggets, however, Smith was forever stuck being the li'l bro, trying to dunk louder or act crazier to prove he belonged. It was as if he needed to impress Melo, K-Mart and Allen Iverson, who all grew up earning scars from gritty existences that Smith only knew from watching "The Wire" on HBO.
Although he flashed gang signs after making 3-point shots, Smith never really knew what he was doing. There is a song by 50 Cent in which the rapper warns the life is too dangerous for a wannabe gangsta. Smith was too busy drowning in a culture bigger than himself to figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up.
"As a player coming out of high school, you're stepping into a man's world and you're not quite a man. J.R. is trying. That's the truth," Chapman said.
After a morning practice during the regular season, I remember Smith standing bare to the waist in the Pepsi Center, wearing a too-cool smirk as he watched Los Angeles players walk solemnly behind coach Phil Jackson as the Lakers took the court.
"Glad that ain't me," Smith declared. "Look at them. No singing. No smiling. Looks like they're all going to prison."
There went Smith, playing the fool again, poking fun of pros acting professional, eliciting laughter by making a joke at the expense of his life's work.
It was funny at the time.
But what will it take for the 21-year-old Nuggets guard to finally grow up?
If the loss of a friend doesn't scare him straight, then sooner or later, Smith will die a fool.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-954-1053 or [email protected].
http://www.denverpost.com/ci_6125722?source=rss
By Mark Kiszla
Denver Post Staff Columnist
Article Last Updated: 06/13/2007 12:25:01 AM MDT
The basketball career of Nuggets guard J.R. Smith is speeding down the highway to Hades.
And that's the least of his worries.
A funeral awaits a friend, while the law sifts through the wreckage of a deadly car accident.
What's infuriating is Smith tried so hard to live the lyrics of a rap song that he could now become tragic inspiration for a rhyme about a professional baller who threw it all away.
Born to a good home, raised by two loving parents and made rich as a teenager by the NBA, Smith was so desperate for the street cred glorified by hip-hop culture that he became a poseur, thinking if he wore baggy shorts half off his bum, then maybe Carmelo Anthony, Kenyon Martin and teammates who came up from mean streets would accept him.
Smith is a gangsta wannabe who got lost in a dangerous game of make-believe.
Feigning cool to hide insecurity, Smith found trouble more ways than you can count during the past nine months. He got suspended for a brawl in a game at New York. He got in a fight with teammate Jamal Sampson that the Nuggets kept hush-hush. He got booted from the playoffs by Nuggets coach George Karl.
"There are days I wake up and feel I don't understand J.R.," Karl said during the course of a season, in which a bad habit of letting trouble with players fester was never more obvious than with his mishandling of Smith. "I don't know if I'll ever get him."
Smith can be an arrogant man-child with more money than sense. But almost all his sins could be forgiven as the machismo of an adolescent acting before thinking.
Until now.
Now, a buddy is dead. And Smith must live with it.
"Basketball is not life or death. Unfortunately, this situation is. This is a tragedy for everyone involved," Nuggets vice president of player personnel Rex Chapman said.
The stupid, sad irony is 21-year-old Andre Bell died while rolling with an NBA star, but death did not find him outside a seedy strip club at 3 a.m., the way it would go down in a rap song.
The pitiful victim lost his life in the countryside during a spring Saturday, surrounded by soccer fields and horse farms, when a GMC Yukon driven by Smith allegedly ran a stop sign and collided with a Jaguar, hurling Bell from the sport utility vehicle.
"J.R. is devastated by the loss of his good friend," the Nuggets public relations department said on behalf of Smith.
But is he sorry?
Although the young player once amassed 27 points on his driving record in less than a year and a New Jersey prosecutor vows an investigation to determine whether Smith should face more serious criminal charges, there was no mention of an apology in the team statement released Tuesday.
Maybe Smith is more trouble than he is worth. Three seasons after entering the league as a first-round draft choice, the Nuggets are his third team.
Anybody who knows Smith, however, is tempted to do the same as Anthony did when the 6-foot-6 guard arrived in town. Melo threw an arm around the newcomer and protected him like a little brother, because J.R. was a small-town kid born down the clean working-class street from where Bruce Springsteen grew up, rather than in the nasty urban jungle of Jay-Z.
On the Nuggets, however, Smith was forever stuck being the li'l bro, trying to dunk louder or act crazier to prove he belonged. It was as if he needed to impress Melo, K-Mart and Allen Iverson, who all grew up earning scars from gritty existences that Smith only knew from watching "The Wire" on HBO.
Although he flashed gang signs after making 3-point shots, Smith never really knew what he was doing. There is a song by 50 Cent in which the rapper warns the life is too dangerous for a wannabe gangsta. Smith was too busy drowning in a culture bigger than himself to figure out what he wanted to be when he grew up.
"As a player coming out of high school, you're stepping into a man's world and you're not quite a man. J.R. is trying. That's the truth," Chapman said.
After a morning practice during the regular season, I remember Smith standing bare to the waist in the Pepsi Center, wearing a too-cool smirk as he watched Los Angeles players walk solemnly behind coach Phil Jackson as the Lakers took the court.
"Glad that ain't me," Smith declared. "Look at them. No singing. No smiling. Looks like they're all going to prison."
There went Smith, playing the fool again, poking fun of pros acting professional, eliciting laughter by making a joke at the expense of his life's work.
It was funny at the time.
But what will it take for the 21-year-old Nuggets guard to finally grow up?
If the loss of a friend doesn't scare him straight, then sooner or later, Smith will die a fool.
Staff writer Mark Kiszla can be reached at 303-954-1053 or [email protected].
http://www.denverpost.com/ci_6125722?source=rss