Nice little career capsule, right? So you might think. BUT YOU WOULD BE WRONG. Prior to this year's sudden interest in football, the only manly sport I ever watched was basketball. In the late 80s to early 90s. When Clyde Drexler played for the PORTLAND TRAILBLAZERS. The TRAILBLAZERS, people. The very first "my team" selected, yes, based solely on geographic proximity. Who gives a crap about the Rockets? He won the Olympic gold medal while he was a BLAZER. He was named one of the 50 greatest players in NBA history in 1996. In other words, his qualifications stemmed almost entirely from the period in which he was a BLAZER. He graced the Wheaties box as a BLAZER. To wit:
The only reason he played for the Rockets was because he wanted to win an NBA championship. Not that I can blame him - by 1995, the Blazers' glory days were fading (from what I understand, they have yet to cease fading). And he deserved one. But come on. He played in Houston for three fucking years. He played for the Blazers for OVER A DECADE. TWELVE YEARS. Houston doesn't get Clyde the Glide just because he grew up there. Or went to college there. Or even because he deigns to live there now. They passed him up in 1983 draft, fer chrissakes! And fuck ABC.
I concede that I may be overreacting to a miniscule biography from a news story on some stupid (yet strangely fascinating) show. But for a time, I was every bit the fiercely irrational, utterly obsessed Blazers fan. I bought that Wheaties box knowing full well that I never had & probably never would eat Wheaties. I watched every game. I knew every player. I would've worn the equivalent of the cheese hat for the Blazers. So, yes, dismissing nearly the entirety of a man's career as a result of sloppy/lazy/don't give a fuck research does ruffle my feathers a bit.
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