FD Book Club: They Grow Up and Die

Josh Spilker writes about books at Impose Magazine and writes about music at Deckfight.

Before the game when Wade was talking about his retired No. 3 Marquette jersey that hangs in Bradley Center rafters, James told Wade he remembered watching him lose to Kansas in the Final Four.

"You weren't watching the game, you were riding around in your Hummer," Wade said.

"Yeah, I know, I watched it in there," James said. "I had satellite." -- from ESPN.com

If humor brings out our insecurities and fears, then this exchange was very funny. Not TBS funny, but an anxious funny. It’s easier to pass this off as a joke rather than acknowledge it as the truth, because actually, it's kind of disturbing

Is it defensive on James’ part? Is Wade joking showing some jealousy, since after all, he had to seek glory in the Final Four to earn national recognition? James had it as a high school sophomore, and ironically, would become even more famous for the Hummer at the heart of this exchange.

I read this quote shortly after finishing George Dohrmann’s Play Their Hearts Out which tells the story of Demetrius Walker, a would-be phenom touted as the next LeBron, and the circus that springs up around him. Dorhmann’s book follows Walker from age ten through his junior year in high school. During this period, Walker is celebrated, torn down and brought up again, all under the watch of fixer Joe Keller. A welder with limited playing experience, Keller discovered Tyson Chandler as a young kid before handing him over to a more established AAU coach. Chandler may have forgotten him, but for Keller, seeing what happened to the one that got away (and imagining the financial benefits reaped by the coach) propels Keller with an almost feverish intensity, with little regard for who is in the way.

We all understand, on some level, that this stuff goes on. It’s grimy and cynical, but there’s also something quintessentially American about it. Not only in the rags-to-riches trajectory of Walker and Keller, or the undeniable racial tension that, if nowhere else, is plain to the observer. If that seems to have the beginning of a mythology you’ve heard before, it most certainly does, because George Dohrmann’s book fulfills those American tropes. This is pure capitalism: Keller’s drive in taking advantage of a mostly middle school group of kids goes unchecked; Keller makes the money, the kids do the work. It’s the most basic feature of Dohrmann’s book, and yet is easy to overlook.

The “grassroots” or “developmental” basketball does not seem to protect or even maximize the kid’s best interests, only their college basketball eligibility. Keller shields them from accepting payment, because he’ll accept the payment and pay rent for them. His degrading deal-making at youth baskerball tournaments feels both seedy and like a cover-up, something like the tournaments being a legitimate front for his real business interests, can be passed of “doing what’s best for Demetrius.” No one ever offers a salary to Demetrius or one of his other players, but several deals are cut where Keller gets a salary from a shoe company and the kids get shoes. Keller provides a service, of sorts, but clearly ends up with the greatest short-term benefits.

What’s most bizarre about Walker and Keller’s story, and may serve to shock even the most jaded basketball fans, is just how much Keller stands to gain before Demetrius has even proven himself a future pro. Keller makes millions, taking advantage of hundreds of other middle schoolers who hope to achieve the same hype as Demetrius by enrolling in Keller’s Junior Phenom Camp. But just because your kid attends a camp with “Phenom” in the name doesn’t mean he is one, just like if your kid attends NASA Space Camp it doesn’t mean he’s an astronaut. Walker himself never lives up to the hype that has served Keller so well. From a basketball perspective it would have been better for Demetrius to have learned some more ballhandling skills at an earlier age, to not have practiced the “Red Sea” (in which teammates part for an 11-year old Demetrius to dunk) or depend on low-post moves that just involved jumping higher than everyone else. When he stops growing, he's like a broken toy -- misfit and no longer needed.



In 8th grade, Demetrius Walker was on the cover of SI as the next chosen one and Lance Stephenson was being followed by a documentary crew. We have to trust the way (i.e. the system) that basketball players get to the NBA and become successful that it will allow the best to come out on top, that neither hard work, nor connections, nor the number of All-Star Camps they make will be the ultimate determinant of future success. Or perhaps the secret to the system is understanding it’s a sham all along. There’s no telling that if Demetrius had ignored the world of AAU ball, that he still wouldn’t be in the same position he is now: a talented kid playing Division I basketball, maybe or maybe not with enough to make it.

It’s worth comparing Play Their Hearts Out to The Blind Side, which is universally regarded as a great act of charity. The essential difference is that Keller made money off of Walker and that, from the beginning, he insinuated himself into Walker’s life for that express purpose. But he does care, in his way. In the most publicized piece of this book, Keller skipped his wife’s C-Section for a basketball tournament after counseling a 12 or 13 year old Demetrius for his opinion. Keller did refer to Demetrius as “like a son” and if he believed in him that strongly, maybe he should have tried to gain custody of him. His mom was in and out of the picture and Keller was paying part of her rent anyway. Would Keller come off as evil if he adopted Demetrius along the way?

Maybe having someone care about Walker was better than no one caring at all, even if Keller enabled Walker to a certain extent to create excuses for his poor play. Walker may have never been at these crossroads of opportunity without Keller putting these dreams in his head. That’s AAU and grassroots basketball’s deal with the devil: players do, ultimately, benefit from the relative stability and pseudo-management that figures like Keller provide. Walker’s drive ebbs and flows, his confidence sometimes wholly dependent upon how much Keller pays attention to him. That said, Dohrmann takes some pains to show that when Keller didn’t show attention to other kids, it derailed them.

Joe Keller could be viewed as a smart businessman, he could be viewed as having poor moral character, he could be unscrupulous, he could be smart, he is probably all these things. Demetrius Walker, young as he is, is sometimes the victim, sometimes the hero, and sometimes both -- depending on who’s paying attention. We can safely assume the same of LeBron; "taking my talents to South Beach" is either arrogant and backstabbing or both an homage to old friends and a show of loyalty to new ones. It doesn’t make them bad people -- not even Keller -- nor does it absolve them of blame. It makes them American to a fault. But you can’t really blame anyone for that, now can you?

Swept Away

Hey, remember when that giant NBA history book came out, written by a writer I've in the past had lots to say about, and I didn't say anything about it? Or maybe you remembered that we're working on our own look at pro basketball's past, and figured "FreeDarko's too scared to speak!"

For those of you who care to hear my opinion on The Book of Basketball, kindly enter THE READING ROOM, where myself, Sherman Alexie, Tommy Craggs, Jonathan Lethem, Ben Mathis-Lilley, and Sam Anderson are talkin' Simmons. Presumably, you recognize all those other names. If not, you can meet new people, and read Sam's opening salvo, on the front page. So far, Sam, Sherman, and myself have posted; in the interest of self-promotion, here's a direct link to mine. We each get two, and are hoping for a lively comments section, too, so bring your Sunday best!

From the Many. . .

Big surprise, in college I was drawn to philosophy early. Eventually, I was bitten by the Continental bug, writing papers about Levinas and improvisation. Meanwhile, some notable percentage of my buddies in arms had gotten all Analytic on me. Those relationships were never the same again.

I've heard that these days, the two sides are trying to patch things up. The flights of fancy and grand systemic thinking that fascinated me decided they needed an anchor; on the other side, the Anglo stuff started to acknowledge stuff like culture, context, history, and the possibility that ratty, wild-eyed "thinking" had a place in methodology. I'm not sure if that's exactly how the equation works, but this reconciliation is a great way to bring up Pro Basketball Prospectus 2009-10.

While I'm aware of the futility, or at least the limitations, of box score stats, they're still an important part of player mythos for me. In short, you might be inclined to think of FreeDarko's interpretive ravings as a return to an even more primitive time, when sports were much more literature than science. That would put us on the Continental side of things: ecstatic, expansive, and possibly total bullshit. Then there's the world of advanced statistics, a positivism that dissolves phenomenon and their traditional measures of them into lies and inaccuracies, leaving in its wake a new, more precise form of inquiry.

Given all that, you'd expect PBP 2009-10 to only interest me so much. Any well-organized, impeccably-researched guide to every team, every player, and every important theme for the coming season, is fine by me; in this respect, this book is absolutely indispensable, and has very nearly hamstrung me when it comes to writing to writing my own previews. But I don't just respect PBP 2009-10, or find it a handy reference tool. It's insistently readable, consistently eye-opening, and, from where I'm sitting, an invaluable ally in the project FD has sought to undertake from day one.

To go back to that fateful split, the central cause for disagreement was over Truth itself. In a practical sense, it boiled down to whether Truth was ecstatic and sprawling or harsh and precise; follow through on that, and you end up with a disagreement over whether or not Truth actually exists or not. Any truce would proceed from the assumption that neither side had a monopoly on Truth—that each, in its own way, valued and sought to illuminate a different facet of the same phenomena. The two approaches would complement each other, provided they accepted this common purpose rather than focus on antagonization.



After reading over a few chapters of PBP 2009-10 early last week, I told Kevin that what struck me most was how funny it was. He was confused, and I couldn't explain what I meant—as readers of KP know, that's rarely the first impression you get from his writing. But then I settled on this passage about Lawrence Frank as my case in point:

Lawrence Frank is the dean of Eastern Conference coaches, entering his fifth full season at the helm of the Nets, yet he is also the second-youngest NBA head coach and will not turn 40 until next summer. Frank has generally been an average coach during his time in New Jersey, winning or losing depending upon the talent he has been given, and doesn’t have any clear statistical profile. If the Nets cut him loose at season’s end, Frank will get another chance quickly, and deservedly so.

It is virtually impossible to read that without laughing out loud. Why? Because it lays bare the sheer absurdity of Lawrence Frank's career, the mess that much of the East remains, and the bizarre culture of coaching hires in the NBA. Only a very, very small percentage of the Association makes perfect sense, lacks wondrous imperfections, or really does fit together like clockwork. PBP deconstructs traditional statistics to reveal something that's, well, more true than the usual drivel. Watching the TNT crew of experts last night, I couldn't believe how oblivious or wrong-headed they were. FD takes root in all the material that Reggie Miller fails to pick up on, but that's right in front of you every time you turn on the television. PBP is the other side of this coin, tearing down empty myths and conventional wisdom so we can see what a complex, and convoluted, game pro basketball really is—and what a bizarre state so many teams find themselves in. That can mean "totally fucked," but also "unique and beautiful like a snowflake." Or both.



Not to get all Oklahoma! on you, but I think there's a reason Kevin Pelton and I get along in real life. While our approaches couldn't be more different, stylistically-speaking, at the end of the day we both want to illuminate the NBA, to make sure fans get a chance to appreciate it as both well-considered quantitative analysis and as FD's poetic meltdown—the qualitative. At the end of the day, though, I know we're talking about, and value, the same league. Not just that, it's the same version of the league. Presumably, anyone reading FD feels like we make something about the NBA more clear than it would otherwise be. This clarity, this belief that there's a "real NBA" to be conveyed, is also the point of PBP 2009-10.

Note: I'm guessing that this Gelf piece by myself and Tom Ziller gets at some of the same stuff. Oh, and that Ziller fellow, he's like the embodiment of everything I'm talking about here. The grand synthesis, if you will. Track him down and haunt his house.