I tried three times to read this all ot he way through to decide if I hated it enough to post it. Each time I, almost magically, found myself on another article or website before I was done. I still don't even know how it ends. $10 bucks to anyone who can read this all the way through and write a short summary. http://www.chron.com/cs/CDA/story.hts/sports/bk/bkn/1215290 Olajuwon trying to fit in By FRAN BLINEBURY Copyright 2002 Houston Chronicle TORONTO -- As class reunions go, it wasn't exactly like finding out that the math club geek you used to hit with wads of paper grew up into Bill Gates. In fact, if he were being paid by the minute at crunch time these days, Hakeem Olajuwon would more closely resemble Enron than Microsoft. Allsport Kevin Willis, left, and Hakeem Olajuwon, who played together in Houston for two seasons, renew acquaintances Wednesday. While the Rockets were letting another close-game situation leak through their grasp like a handful of the ocean, the Dream could once again only fantasize about making a difference. Or even being on the floor. After being replaced by Antonio Davis five minutes into the fourth quarter, Olajuwon merely watched. He watched the Raptors almost blow a 16-point lead before taking a 109-103 win over the Rockets. He watched his new team beat his old team. He watched his old friends and his new running buddies. He watched a 19-year-old Houston rookie, Eddie Griffin, step up with the kind of confidence and make the big plays that he himself did so many years ago. He watched the Rockets continue to dance with misery, losing Walt Williams to a sprained right ankle in the third quarter and having to make their 18th start of the year without Steve Francis, who keeps suffering from severe headaches. Olajuwon's only minor headache comes from not being able to contribute when games are in the balance. On Wednesday, he played 31 minutes with a team that does not seem to know what to do with a low-post center. "Six points, five rebounds and two blocked shots," Olajuwon said. "I know I can do a lot more for this team." For those kinds of numbers, the Raptors could have gone after Kelvin Cato. Except, of course, he'd have cost a lot more. "They all have to get comfortable with me," Olajuwon said. "My time, I think, will come." More than any of that, this was a night for the past to meet with the present, for lingering hurt to be soothed by the balm of warm memories, for the possibilities of the future to be embraced before moving on. A night when you finally had to accept that the greatest player in the history of the franchise now wears purple on his jersey rather than the dark blue, white-striped, cartoon-bearing, classically dignified uniform of the Rockets. "It's strange, eerie, to see him on the other side," said Rockets coach Rudy Tomjanovich. "I never thought it would happen. Never. "I've watched him a few times on TV, and he doesn't look right in that uniform. He is still the guy who put us all on the map as a franchise, as champions, and I think when people around the world think of Hakeem Olajuwon, they identify him with Houston. It's like Babe Ruth-Yankees. There will always be a connection. "But I understand why he wanted to move on. The guy wants to go for one more championship. This is a team that was one shot away from the Eastern Conference Finals last season and is closer than we are. I can't fault the guy for being so competitive." Tomjanovich and Olajuwon met at midcourt about an hour before the opening tip in what became a hug-a-thon. There were embraces with Cuttino Mobley, Moochie Norris, Kenny Thomas, virtually every member of the Rockets' traveling party. "I told him I hope he gets his dream, another shot at it," Rudy T said. Olajuwon had been looking forward to the meeting, to finally bury any leftover feelings from the breakup. "I've expressed my opinions," he said. "Now we move on, and everybody tries to do their job. "It was very strange though to see the guys, to play against them. It will be harder (March 5) in Houston, to go back. But this was difficult, too. It was good to see Rudy, to let him know that everything that happened has been for the best. I'm very, very happy now in Toronto, and there are no hard feelings. "The biggest problems I had during the game were talking and joking with the guys and then remembering that they were on the other side. And it was hard not to pass the ball to the wrong team sometimes." If there were flashbacks to the past, they were provided by the teenager Griffin, who dropped in three 3-pointers in the space of 2 1/2 minutes and nearly brought the Rockets all the way back. They were shots born of the poise that says you know you belong. Different shots, longer shots, but crucial shots once taken by a rookie named Olajuwon. "He's a different player than Dream, does different things," Tomjanovich said. "But he reminds me of him because each night you watch him and say, `Oh, now he's adding this and that to his game.' That's the way it is with the great ones. They keep taking it to the next level." Olajuwon nodded. "I see great potential in him," he said. "The difference from my time is that when you were the No. 1 draft pick, you were expected to come right in and dominate. Charles (Barkley), (Michael) Jordan, myself -- we did that. It's why they drafted you, why they paid you." Now the Rockets continue paying dues with their string of misfortune, lack of health and growing mountain of missed chances, while the Raptors pay Olajuwon to be a spectator with games on the line. A team on the way up that keeps stumbling met a legend on the way down who won't concede. It was, like all reunions, bittersweet.
Just putting this in this thread for historical purposes. I urge you to direct all feedback regarding this installment of Oatmeal's Rocket Diary to Dakotas thread. Regards, CBFC And in conclusion, this team is simply borrrrrrrrrrrrrrring By FRAN BLINEBURY Copyright 2002 Houston Chronicle I'm bored with the Rockets. Not angry, disappointed or frustrated. Not annoyed, exhausted or irritated. Not piqued, enraged, infuriated, incensed, chagrined or disillusioned. Just bored. Stiff. If a once-proud franchise falls in the forest, and there's nobody there to listen, does it make a sound? Another season ended Wednesday night in Portland, not with a bang or a whimper. The Rockets are like a painting of black cows in a field at night. There's nothing to see. I would like to say that at least once or twice during the past five months while watching one of their games on TV -- nobody actually goes, do they? -- I was inclined to pick up a throw pillow off the sofa and, well, throw it. That would mean I'd have to care. And I don't. Because I'm bored. Stiffer than knotty pine. It's the worse thing, really, you can say about a sports team. That nobody gives a flip. Do they? You can turn on the radio to sports talk, and between unsolicited calls about the Rockets, a co-host on one of those miracle diet supplements that let you eat like a horse by just taking a sip before bedtime could have wasted away into Celine Dion. It is a sad state of affairs. Not the Rockets' record, which is their worst since 1984. The sheer, utter boredom. I would rather watch grass grow, paint peel, water boil or snails race than watch another season, month, week or single game of this. C-SPAN gives you better variety and more creative excuses. For three years now, the only reason to even punch the remote and tune in a Rockets game is to guess whether it was Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder or Huggy Bear who dressed my buddy Calvin Murphy on a given night. If it's not the jack-up-another-3 offense that rocks me to sleep, then it's the lack of defense that puts me into a light coma. My eyes are glazed from reading that Rudy Tomjanovich said he liked the effort when for the third straight season this looks like the same 12 hamsters in clown suits running around the wheel. My ears are bleeding from hearing "the shots just didn't fall." I'm bored. Stiffer than Al Gore. Bored from looking at the stunted development of Steve Francis as a point guard. He is a wonderful athlete, a spectacular specimen, and he can jump over the moon. But the Rockets will not take the next step back to the playoffs and become something worthy of my time until Stevie Franchise starts playing as much with his head as with his legs and heart. Francis is supposed to be the team leader, and that means he must act like a professional, from something as serious as getting a thorough evaluation of the health problems that have caused his migraines to something as fundamental as showing up on time for practices, planes and games. It's time for Rudy T to start demanding -- not asking -- more of Francis and of all of them. Rather than continue to cultivate the image on the free-agent market that they will do more to pamper players than a Ritz-Carlton, the Rockets must wake up and deliver a product that stirs our passion again. I have a season ticket's worth of ennui. From hearing Rudy T make comparisons between Michael Jordan and Cuttino Mobley. From hearing general manager Carroll Dawson say time and again that the Rockets have been able to rebuild after the championship years without hitting bottom like Boston and the Lakers. For starters, the Lakers were out of the playoffs for one year. For another, this is the longest non-playoff stretch for the Rockets since 1972-74. If this isn't the bottom, it's close enough to have scraped a few backsides. They are not interesting enough to boo, this collection of conscienceless jump shooters who are sent onto the court every night with a game plan that is a road map to mediocrity. Yes, I am bored with spacing. I am bored with 19-year-old Eddie Griffin being groomed to become the second coming of Matt Bullard. I am bored with Moochie Norris as something other than just an ordinary backup who happens to have funny hair. I am bored with hearing how everything would have been different with Mo Taylor. If he makes that big a difference, then his salary should be tripled. I am bored with the tales of Glen Rice, who is done, finished, over. Bored with the thought of another high lottery pick, another teen chosen and having to wait another three or four years until he gets a clue. Of course, I am bored with Kelvin Cato. Stiffer than a double shot of Wild Turkey. There is dishwater that isn't as dull as this act. Oatmeal that isn't this bland. I saw, in person, every game of the 14-68 season in 1982-83. Those Rockets were bad, horrible, inept. They were, at times, laughable. But never this mind-numbing. The next year's club went 29-53, yet would be en route to putting together Hakeem Olajuwon with Ralph Sampson. And the future was bright. Now, nearly two decades later ... uh ... what were we talking about? Oh yes, the Rockets. I'm bored.
