Why do players so seldom criticize other players? Hint: Show them the money.
View full sizeCarlos Boozer made one of his infrequent appearances in Cleveland since leaving the Cavaliers, harassing Daniel Gibson on this first-quarter play at The Q.CLEVELAND, Ohio -- Miami Lite came to town Wednesday night in the persons of Carlos Boozer and Joakim Noah of the Chicago Bulls.
Boozer left the Cavalers, after becoming an "early bird" free agent with their consent in 2004. He deceived gullible former owner Gordon Gund about his intentions, then left for a richer offer in Utah, his nose preceding him by several degrees of longitude. He signed with the Bulls as a free agent this summer.
Noah knocked the entertainment possibilities of our fair city in the playoffs last spring and recently mounted his soap box to criticize one of the derogatory chants ("Scottie Pippen! Scottie Pippen!") directed toward LeBron James last week.
It does not matter in the slightest how the Cavs handle the slurs of this moment on the civic honor. They mishandled the return of James so completely, in such a hurtful, even craven fashion, that they have lost the good opinion and much of the interest of their fan base.
It came as a shock to fans when Cavs players hugged James before the game and allowed him to chirp away without apparent objection during it. Reporters were less surprised, although no one expected Old School coach Byron Scott suddenly to turn into Lenny Wilkens. After Charles Barkley laid out the Cavs' Craig Ehlo in the playoffs years ago with what would later be considered a textbook example of a flagrant foul, Wilkens stood, pursed his lips, looked unhappy, then sat back down.
A bit more vim was expected from Scott, whose team, since the return of James, has been smoked more often than country hams until Wednesday's revival.
For their part, fans don't realize that players always stick up for other players -- no matter how contemptible is their effort on the floor, no matter how insulting is their manner of leaving, no matter how vast are the consequences of their defection.
I remember asking James in 2004, at Olympic basketball training camp in Jacksonville, Fla., if he could foresee problems playing with Boozer, also a member of the team, in the wake of his ugly departure from the Cavs.
"Carlos had to do what was best for his family," said James, significantly omitting that this meant Boozer would also do what was worst for his integrity.
James was 19 years old then, but he had been a commodity to people in basketball for years. He knew everything was up for sale.
How was poor Boozer to scrape by on the piddling $40 million the Cavs were offering for six years, anyway, when Utah could spring for $68 million over the same term? Why, Boozer might bruise his butt with such a skinny wallet to cushion him during all those years.
After James actually left money on the table to take Miami's free agent offer, I asked former Indians pitcher CC Sabathia about "The Decision" two and a half weeks later. The Indians had traded Sabathia, rather than lose him for nothing because they could not outbid the Yankees or Red Sox after the season. Sabathia pitched superbly as a Rent-an-Arm in Milwaukee before becoming King Midas with the Yankees.
Sabathia stood by James.
I tried Josh Cribbs, the People's Choice, in the Browns' training camp. The embodiment of desire and recklessness on the field, Cribbs had cleaned out his locker after last season, predicting he had played his last game here unless his sore contract received a serious money massage. The Browns then showed him the money.
Cribbs stood by James.
I talked to Oscar Robertson, who was so Old School in his play that he should have been written about on parchment with quills. A pioneer in achieving free agency for NBA players, Robertson stood by James.
I've covered the NBA since 1974. Even then, coaches were complaining about excessive fraternization between opposing players. One of the dynamics of that era was a feeling of brotherhood among black players, fostered by the civil rights struggles of the 1960s.
But a bigger reason, to steal a line from football's Jim Brown, was green power, not black. No player was going to infringe on another's ability to get more money or otherwise make himself happy. Not then, not now, not ever.
There are exceptions in the biggest rivalries -- Celtics-Lakers, Yankees-Red Sox, a Browns-Steelers game. But, basically, they make nice. They are all Chosen Ones.
Those complicated pregame handshakes really are the way initiates know they are all members of the same fraternity. Pro sports is a millionaires club. Mr. Morgan is a gentleman with Mr. Rockefeller because money talks.