3.02.2005

Before I get old

I don't like dying. I don't like those moments where I realize that, like all creatures under the sun, I am destined to one day return to the earth from which our one common ancestor once sprang. Every once in a while, though, I see in the future something so perfect, so riveting, that skipping forward—and bringing myself that much closer to mortal reckoning—doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

Tonight's NBA Nation (I know some of you are watching): Magic, Kareem, and the Chief get together to gab about old times and put their lives of victory in perspective. Fascinating as it was, I couldn't help but think forward three decades, to when today's stars will be convened to good-naturedly yap via the magic of teleconferencing. The possiblities are endless, and endlessly amusing: old AI, old KG, old Peja, old Kobe, Senator Allen, old Webber, old Q, old Ricky Davis, old Toine, old Etan Thomas, old Jason Williams, old Marbury, old Shaq (any difference there?), old Yao, old Zach Randolph. . . the future looks bright indeed. This new generation might be the saving grace of the league, but the guys that came right before them—the ones that Bill Simmons today said "almost killed the league" —will enterntain us in their later years like no one before or since.

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