After the brawl at the Palace in 2004, the league has actively attempted to separate itself from everything hip-hop. The public was further grouping together rap music, blackness and basketball, a terror for a league dependent on mostly white season ticket holders. Dress codes specifically banning do-rags and chains and age limits preventing kids — almost always black — from jumping to the league straight from high school were just two of the ways the NBA quickly tried to stem the tide.
Consider the five-year conquest over. On the first night, during the rookie/sophomore game, three of the league’s brightest and cleanest- cut young stars took center stage. Dwight Howard and Dwyane Wade, two immense talents and marketer’s dreams, coached the squads, dolled up in spiffy suits.
On the court, sophomore sensation Kevin Durant scored a record 46 points, displaying the diverse skill set that has propelled him into the league’s elite. The soft-spoken Texas alum, who also won the H-O-R-S-E contest the following night, falls into line with Howard and Wade, a group of superstars that are the future of the league: no missed practices, no criminal records, no excessive tattoos, just good wholesome players with bright smiles in the mold of Magic Johnson and Grant Hill.
Speaking of missed practices, Allen Iverson wasn’t talking to the media “about practice,” but instead about his signature cornrows, which were now resting not on his head but in a barber’s dustpan. Not since Dr. J’s afro had a basketball hairstyle represented more than Iverson’s ’do. The man who personified the league’s shift into this “hip-hop era,” the player who spit on league demigod Michael Jordan when he said, “None of my heroes wear suits,” had symbolically de-hip-hopped himself. When asked for justification as to why he cut his braids after 14 years, he said, “Obama is president now. It was time for a change.”
Nate Robinson was another player looking for change, or rather to change, after making the dunk contest finals. The 5’9” Knicks guard bolted to the locker room, coming back in a green jersey. Dwight Howard, who won last year with Superman’s “S” across his chest, had finally met his “KryptoNate.” These shenanigans came after workers wheeled in a 12-foot hoop for Howard’s second dunk, along with an NBA-brand phone booth in which Howard could change into his Superman get-up. The phone booth, the 12-ft. hoop and Robinson looking like a slice of lettuce didn’t elicit oohs and ahs, it didn’t bring about screams of surprise and excitement and it was so hilariously staged that it reminded me of my favorite Hulk Hogan and Incredible Warrior memories.
Underlying the harmlessness of some hoopers playing superhero is a very serious and in my opinion very calculated decision by the league. Last year, the league nixed Howard’s idea to raise a hoop up to 12 feet during the dunk contest. This year, not only did the league agree, but they provided the phone booth prop and the special green jersey for Robinson. Why would the NBA suddenly play along?
In the ’90s, David Stern compared the NBA to Disney, saying, “They have theme parks, and we have theme parks. Only we call them arenas. They have characters: Mickey and Goofy. Our characters are named Magic and Michael.”
University of Texas at Austin professor John Hoberman commented on Stern’s Disney quote in his book Darwin’s Athletes, writing, “This mythifying, deracializing strategy transforms black athletic superiority into ‘magical’ entertainment — the fabled leaping ability of the black player is incorporated into playfully surreal television.”
Could Stern and the league have been purposely deploying the “deracializing” strategy once again during the 2009 dunk contest? We will never know. But intentions aside, the final product speaks for itself, and the Superman vs. KryptoNate battle serves as another in a series of league decisions that place the players’ blackness on the backburner.
The night after the absurd charade of a dunk contest, the All-Stars took the stage. Shaq began the evening wearing a white mask and dancing with the Jabbawockeez; he ended the night arm-in-arm with co-MVP Kobe Bryant. Shaq, whose prior relationship with Kobe was the NBA’s equivalent of rap beef, made waves when his animosity spilled onto a club stage after last season’s NBA Finals. The recording of his expletive-laden, anti-Kobe freestyle brought rare negative attention onto Shaq. The league’s decision that the undeserving O’Neal should share game MVP honors with the true MVP, Bryant, ended the weekend with yet another phony moment with image and marketing written all over it.
During halftime of the otherwise unremarkable All-Star game, the league presented former Celtics star Bill Russell, the first player to expose the NBA’s racial quotas in the ’60s, with a large 75th birthday cake. Along with the cake came the announcement that the Finals MVP trophy would now be named after Russell. Meanwhile, John Legend performed his song “If You’re Out There,” the anthem of the NBA Cares commercials which show players performing community service.
In one weekend, with the wave of his ever-present and all-powerful hand, David Stern squashed the league’s most famous beef, deracialized the most racially-coded action in sports (the dunk) and transformed the league’s first outspoken and politically-minded black star into a loveable grandfather character.
But the most powerful image was that of Iverson without his cornrows. Iverson credited President Obama, who, during his campaign, had to sever ties with Rev. Jeremiah Wright. The Illinois senator had to denounce his pastor for mainstream acceptance just like the NBA had to push its connection with hip-hop to the margins. Implications be damned, their success depended on it.