Some Funny Shi%%5

Sunday, the phone rings. It's my man in D.C.

"Dog, you have to get down here quick!" The sound in his voice is of straight panic. "I just saw Franchise (aka Steve Francis) drop 62 on these cats up here in the Kenner League. The real League ain't ready!"

"Dog, I can't bounce," I tell my man. "Got mad travelin' and hustle to put down this week."

"Ah, there you go, sellin' out," he says. "Who in the NBA is more important and real than Franchise right now? No one, son. See, back in the day, you?da been on a plane. Now ..."

Scoop had to holla at Kobe on Monday and Marbury on Wednesday. (Fernando Medina/NBAE Photos)
"Now what?" I spit.

"Man, whatever," he responds. "Just tell Karl Malone I said wassup."

"Money, I'm tellin' you real, this ain't a good week ..." I get the dial tone.

Monday, the phone rings. "Scooouuuupp!" the Jordan-like voice on the other line says.

"'Sup, Kobe? They workin' you?"

"Naw, not that hard. Lightweight, you know," he says.

"Wedding still on? I want an invite."

"You know it."

"So tell me about the new shoe ..."

For the next 15 minutes, Kobe and I talk about what brothas talk about: nothin'. He got jokes, I got a few. We talk about the Iverson trade rumors; we even talk about the Republican convention -- in Kobe's hometown, Philly -- and how deep he's into it, if at all.

"I've been following it a little bit," he said, "but not enough to make an opinion."

I stay stuck on shoe mode. Reminding Kobe at the end of our convo that I'm a sample size 9 and that to keep my image up, I need a pair of the new KB8's before the drop date of Nov. 1. He ignores me. I had to try.

Tuesday ... you know. "Dog, when are you coming back to New York? Because the Main Event is rippin' Rucker up silly."

"B, I'll be in NYC tomorrow," I tell him. "But I'll be on some other shine."

"Who?" he asks.

"Man, if you build with me when I get there, you'll see."

"How you gonna come to the City in the summer and not do Rucker? Dog, on the real, you slippin'," my nephew says to me, upset. "See, 'cause back in the day ..."

Twenty-four hours later, I'm lampin' in the swollen photo studio in the heart of Tribeca. A c.r.e.a.m. colored drop-top Bentley rolls up. Three brothas get out. The driver has on no shirt, no jewels, Tommy draws peekin' above a pair of mesh shorts and some beat-up black Air Force 1 lows.

"Scooouuuupp!" I hear the yell from across the room.

"Steph Lover, what up son?" Pounds and hugs. Daps and love.

"Man, I seen you interviewing Kevin McHale on TV with a 'do rag on your head." Stephon is telling me this story. "I was like, 'That's my man!' Only you would come like that, Dog."

"You know," I say to him, being very honest as he slips a Nets home Marbury jersey on over his shoulders for the photo shoot, "sometimes they let the wrong brotha in the wrong venues."

"Yeah, but you ain't the wrong brotha and you know that."

Nice words to hear.

We talk about the fact that he has yet to make an All-Star team and how he did the right thing by leaving Minnesota to come back home.

"God has a plan for me," Steph said. "All of this stuff I've been going through over the last couple of years ... it's only made me stronger. Just watch." Flash, the photographer licks off another one.

Thursday night, cellie rings. "Dog, where you at?"

"I'm at the crib. Why?" I respond, inquizz.

"'Cause tomorrow you gotta check out this young high school dude named Will Bynum who's murderin' 'em at the Pro-Am."

"Look, fam, I have to be in Orlando tomorrow ..." The minute it leaves my mouth, I can hear it coming.

"Oh," the other line says. "So the high school ballers ain't yo thang no more since you big time, huh? All of a sudden Grant Hill's priority. I see, I see. Don't worry, 'cause I used to remember the days when you would break your neck to catch a young boy that ain't nobody heard of yet. Yeh, I see where you at now. I'll holla."

Before I even get to break down the ballistics, the aftermath had set in like Dre. It was too late to explain. I was guilty before proven guilty. But still ...

Friday morning, I walk into a dark gym. At the far north corner is a player with a single spotlight shining on him. It's just him and a photographer. As I enter the stage, I hear what has become the ritual: "Scooouuuupp!"

"T. Mac, what up baby?! You rich now!"

We both laugh. It's the day after Tracy McGrady and Hill got put on by the Orlando Magic, and the photographer has some ideas to make T. Mac look more valuable than the price tag that was just placed on his neck. I bookend my week.

"I talked to your man on Monday," I tell McGrady, talking about Kobe.

"Did you ask him who his best friend was?" he asks me.

"Naw," I say.

"Call him, ask him," Tracy says, leaning his shoulder into the camera, showing off the T. Mac tat. "Ask Kobe who his best friend is, then call me after you talk to him and tell me what he said."

Tracy McGrady and Kobe Bryant, best friends? Nah. Never. Anyway.

Saturday, no phone -- airplane. Now I'm thinking. I missed Steve Francis, Main Event and Will Bynum for interviews with Kobe Bryant, Stephon Marbury and Tracy McGrady. If the three marks that called me last week are reading this, ask y'all self, "Who's the Mack?"


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"And Raul missess the Penalty in the 89th minute of the Euro2000 and Spain is sadend again" by Spanish Fan

 

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"And Raul missess the Penalty in the 89th minute of the Euro2000 and Spain is sadend again" by Spanish Fan