This 7-foot-5 nice guy too good to finish last -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Sam Smith Special to ESPN.com OK, OK, we all were wrong. Yao Ming is going to be a lot better than we thought, and a lot faster than we thought. But let's not get carried away here. He is no Shaq, or Kareem or Wilt. Or Hakeem. That should be clear Friday when Yao faces Shaquille O'Neal for the first time. But Jerry West told us that last spring in Chicago when Yao had his first American workout for NBA executives. It was true then, and although Yao has shown more than what most didn't imagine or certainly see in that exercise then, it is also true now. Despite not having a Shaq-like mean streak, Yao Ming, right, should still stand tall in the NBA. Yao may well be the dominant center in the NBA in five years, which only might mean he's superior to Brad Miller. This is not to take anything away from Yao, who is going to be a terrific NBA player. Heck, he's one right now. But we're talking more of your Rik Smits or David Robinson-type centers than your monstrous O'Neal or Chamberlain. There probably is a proverb about getting a job done in all different ways, and Robinson will be in the Hall of Fame for doing just that. So it's hardly a shame to be compared with him. Of course, Robinson also was a guy who averaged 24.3 points and 12 rebounds as a rookie and almost single-handedly drove his team to the greatest turnaround in NBA history. The NBA is about numbers, and Yao's are nice: About 13 points, eight rebounds and two blocks per game. But hold off on the wing in the Hall of Fame. Just because many of us were wrong about the timing of Yao's impact doesn't mean we have to apologize and extoll him out of proportion. His team is hardly a lock yet to even make the playoffs, and it should be quite an education for him banging against O'Neal on Friday. However, he should do reasonably well because he can go outside and shoot, and he may very well choose to do so. O'Neal isn't what we'd call quite in playoff form yet, but his form of late has shown he's been playing a lot, though not always basketball. And who knows how O'Neal, really a softie when it comes to personal relationships, will react to his public slap over insulting comments he made several months back on TV while mocking Yao's language. O'Neal might feel brutalizing Yao would make him look worse, and it's not like O'Neal has done that to many lately when he's tried. The Rockets will surround him and dare Samaki Walker, like all teams do, and the Rockets will do their best not to expose Yao to an embarrassing one-on-one confrontation. After all, it is just one game. But the feeling is Yao will handle himself quite well, thank you. This is not just a special player, but a special guy. I've seen all the big galoots, the over 7-foot-4 guys, come into the NBA, and none has quite carried himself like Yao does. Most seemed somewhat embarrassed, perhaps ashamed, of their height. They slouched, they tried to hide behind teammates and they avoided media scrutiny and often eye contact. If Shawn Bradley could have curled up in his locker that first season in Philadelphia -- and he was no baby having returned from a two-year Mormon mission -- he would have. Not so with Yao. His sense of pride and dignity is as impressive as his physical dimensions. He walks comfortably, and almost doesn't look 7-5 or 7-6 because of his ease around people. He smiles frequently, moves easily among teammates and friends, and is the only bilingual athlete I've ever encountered who could do standup in another language. Americans, arguably, are the laziest people. No, we work hard. But we do so from a parochial perspective. Almost everyone in the world is fluent in another language. Americans rarely try. While Yao is quickly learning English, he seemed to inately understand the importance of humor in our culture. He is quick with a quip and defuses potentially embarrassing situations, like O'Neal's comments, with a clever retort or observation through his omnipresent translator. Some say Yao's English is good enough that he doesn't need the translator, but Yao has gotten so comfortable with his constant sidekick that he seems to enjoy having him around because of Yao's social nature. Able to do stand-up comedy in two languages, Yao Ming has already become a media darling. None of which would have been good enough to make him a legitimate NBA All-Star, which he deserves to be and will be this season. When Yao came to Chicago for that workout last spring, he shot jumpers, many from 3-point range. He ran the floor with a decent college player. He showed unusual shooting touch for a very large man and coordination. This is what we heard about Bradley. The difference is the basketball part, which Yao has shown in the NBA. Yao can roll to the basket, catch the ball on the move and finish. That's a sophisticated basketball move, one unusually rare in a big man. It's almost unheard of in a giant. He seems not bothered at all by post play, like many of the tallest players, showing he can go into the post, take the first bump and go down farther. It's something Yao didn't show anyone until he got to the NBA. We all saw Yao in the Olympics in 2000, and he couldn't do anything, even barely stay in the game. His team wasn't close to a medal. He looked better this summer in the World Championships in Indianapolis, but his team finished even below the miserable sixth-place showing of the U.S. and teams often took him out of the game. He was often seen stalking off the court in anger. Who knew how much difference it would make playing with real talent. Yao is a brilliant passer. Despite averaging just over one assist per game, he makes passes that make Magic Johnson proud. He can direct a ball to a teammate with a touch. He doesn't have to catch and gather himself. He thinks ahead of the play, like the great ones do. It's that notion people try to explain of seeing the game in slow motion. The great ones can anticipate what should happen, and then make it so. One big question for Yao is how mentally tough he'll be. It seems he will with the media blitz he has endured after playing constantly for his country before coming here late for training camp. And then there's that awful American food. No, it's not easy living in a foreign country, even one we know is so much better than his. Just ask anyone here. Yet, there was Yao after a mild knee sprain last week mocking injury to awaiting reporters before admitting to the scam. Bilingual practical joking. Who'd have thought of it? It took Shaq years to allow us to see his playful side, to say nothing of getting rid of his translator, Dennis Scott. But Shaq also came in at a time when there still were centers in the NBA, great ones at that. It may have been the greatest era for big men with Olajuwon, Patrick Ewing, Robinson and Alonzo Mourning. As a rookie, Shaq averaged 23.4 points and 13.9 rebounds, and he never was a great rebounder. In his first season, Olajuwon averaged 20.6 points and 11.9 rebounds playing with Ralph Sampson. Ewing averaged 20 points and nine rebounds and Mourning averaged 21 points and 10.3 rebounds. And forget Chamberlain or Abdul-Jabbar, or even years ago when rookie Walt Bellamy averaged 31.6 points and 19 rebounds. Yao is more skilled than powerful, more effective than dominant. Let's not get too carried away here. The face of basketball is not about to change. But with Yao around, it should have a nicer smile.
Rosen Gets It, Sam Smith Does Not Sam Smith, you must be a Dick Vitale disciple. "OK, OK, we all were wrong. Yao Ming is going to be a lot better than we thought, and a lot faster than we thought. But let's not get carried away here. He is no Shaq, or Kareem or Wilt. Or Hakeem. That should be clear Friday when Yao faces Shaquille O'Neal for the first time." No Mr. Smith, only self-proclaimed ANALYSTS like YOU WERE WRONG. Like Barkley, you're just so bent on being vindicated for the "I TOLD SO" line b/c you've been consistently wrong thus far into the season. Why keep "mooning" the intelligence of worldwide basketball fans if you don't want to get kicked in the ass? "The NBA is about numbers, and Yao's are nice: About 13 points, eight rebounds and two blocks per game. But hold off on the wing in the Hall of Fame." Here, Mr. Smith you are yourself jumping to conclusions by even entertaining "extreme" predictions. The most avid and interested fans in Yao's development are RIGHT HERE in Clutchcity.net. Yet if you cared to look around you'll find nothing serious about "Yao, Hall of Fame candidate." Don't presume that fans are so irrational to make such non-sensical predictions. Even Yao's fans back home are cautious in proclaiming Yao's "coming of age." "Yao may well be the dominant center in the NBA in five years, which only might mean he's superior to Brad Miller. " There you go again, playing the "cubby-hole" game. Let's "cubby-hole" Yao as better than Miller but worse than Robinson. Sheeesh. Where is the magical yardstick to make these comparisons? b/c I'm sure every NBA scout would want to have one. "Just because many of us were wrong about the timing of Yao's impact doesn't mean we have to apologize and extoll him out of proportion. His team is hardly a lock yet to even make the playoffs, and it should be quite an education for him banging against O'Neal on Friday." Mr. Smith, you were wrong. The "converse" to being wrong is not to "extoll him out of proportion." Why can't you just 'tell-it-like it is' instead of spinning this into some extreme editorial. In case, you can't "see-it-like-it is" maybe you should read more articles and get more opinions like those of Rosen. Nevertheless, Mr. Smith, you speak with way too much authority on matters where you've already been wrong. Show some humility and self-respect and learn to deal in sensible, not sensational, journalism. theSAGE
This one is so beautiful. It's like a poem. Enjoy. A Laker fan's confession A Lakers man, but not a Shaq fan By Eric Neel Page 2 columnist I know where my heart should be tonight. I remember dry, sun-kissed afternoons when I tried to dribble, stop and pop the way Jerry West would; remember hoping my yellow wristbands would provide some secret to balance and precision, some mainline to Clutch. Without even trying, I can still see Michael Cooper's socks, Bob McAdoo -- McAdoo alone in the corner -- Silk Wilkes' easy launch, and Spencer Haywood's double-jointed fingers. I see Worthy spinning baseline in my sleep, and wake up thinking about the 10-foot-high and tight-as-a-drum rotation the ball had coming off Kareem's fingers. As a Lakers fan, it's nice to see Shaq bring the titles to L.A. ... I know who I am. I know my blood isn't red, or even purple, but "Forum-blue" and gold. I know Ervin went for 42, 15 and 7 in Game 6 of the Finals in 1980. Know what games sounded like coming out of the radio in my grandfather's kitchen, and know what it was to feel the crush of tens of thousands, all joyful-crazed and misty-eyed, at the championship rally in '85. I know, too, great as Kobe is, he can be better, a lot better. I am a Lakers man. And if you ask, I'll tell you this isn't something you choose, it's something you are. I'll say there's no opting in or out, no day-passes in Lakerland. It's an inheritance and a lifelong commitment, a Corleone sort of thing. And I like it like that. I'm proud to be part of the family, eager to show off my creds to tourists and locals alike. But today ... today there are twinges and pangs, there is a certain unsettled something in me, a kind of wandering in my soul. I'm not thinking about history and devotion today, I'm thinking about style and flavor, about my taste for the game. And the thing is, truth be told, I'm none too fond of muscled put-backs. I've got no love for lowered shoulders. Three-hundred-plus-pound rim-rattlers don't impress me much (that's not true -- they impress me -- hell, they scare the bejeezus out of me -- they just don't delight me), and the rush-and-a-push-and-the-land-is-ours approach to working the block doesn't light my fire, either. ... but that doesn't mean Shaq is poetry in action when playing. I've hesitated to admit this, even to myself, but here it is: I can't quite (never have been able to) wrap my head and heart around the Big Fella. I'm a Lakers man, yes, but not a Shaq man. I take no pleasure in saying so. I know, after three straight titles, it sounds petty and ungrateful. And I swear, I've tried to love the Diesel -- the Diesel is family, after all -- but I can never quite get there. I've managed to appreciate the yeoman's work the Daddy does, and to feel for him as he struggles at the line, but I've never gotten carried away by him, never reveled in his game (this isn't entirely true, actually -- 'cause there was that alley-oop from Kobe, late in Game 7 of the 2000 Western Conference Finals against the Blazers that lit me up pretty good, and I do groove on the Big Man's mischievous grin -- but I'm afraid it's mostly true). I'm a child of middle-class America, I know about repression and avoidance, so like any good dysfunctional family member, I've done my level-best to keep the painful truth of my Shaqapathy hidden from view. Concentrate on the uniform, you love the uniform, I tell myself. Think about the team, about tradition. Be who you are. Be a Lakers man and keep your mouth shut. It works most the time, but I can feel myself straying from the path a bit in advance of tonight's game. I'm feeling a feeling for clever passes. I'm thinking about up-and-unders and ball fakes. I'm picturing feet moving, without the ball. Mid-range jumpers are falling -- turnaround mid-range jumpers, mind you -- and three out of every four free throws, thank you very much, and they're all going down like cool, clear water. Everything is angles and opportunities -- there's a spirit of invention blowing through the jasmine in my mind. And handle. Yes, there is handle; there is flow and there are skills in, off and of the dribble, as far as the eye can see. I'm spying the other side of Shaq Mountain and the view is sweet. I'm thinking about Yao, of course. I'm thinking about a combination of fundamentals and funk that makes Fu look pretty forced. I'm thinking the game is fun and I can't wait to see what's next. It's a dilemma. My heart -- which ought to be sitting vigil in the Lakers' front yard, just waiting for some poor Houston bum to make the mistake of stepping on the grass, ought to be snapping the reins and bringing the wagons into a full circle to protect my guys, ought to be giving its every beat to the now wickedly improbable four-peat mission -- is divided. If only he wore Forum blue and gold ... On the one hand, I figure I should say, screw Yao; he's just a siren sent to distract me from what matters, from my appointed, lifelong rounds as a member of Lakers Nation. Remember that moment in "Ghostbusters" when the guys try to clear their minds because the evil will take the shape of what ever they think of, and Ray thinks of the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man, and the gooey bad-ass comes rumbling their way? Well, part of me thinks Yao's sort of like the Stay Puff guy -- he's the manifestation of what I was thinking about, what I was hoping for, when I was deep in the ruts of Shaqapathy. It's my job to put him out of my mind, to resist his charms, because they can only visit danger and destruction upon my Laker house. On the other hand, I figure, you love what you love, and there ain't no fighting or fixing it. I love the Lakers (and not Shaq so much) and I've also got a major crush on Yao's game. There it is. So be it. Nothing wrong with it. If anything, it sounds like a formula for getting more enjoyment out of the game. And then I ask myself: What is the game? (Not just tonight's game, but the Game with a capital G.) Is it a friend-or-foe, inside-or-out thing, a territorial, nationalistic thing, a thing in which you're either for us or agin' us, and if you're for us, we love you and if you're agin' us, you must be put down? And I say, yes, of course it is. I say, what, did you let yourself entertain all this ambivalence about Mark Landsberger or Mitch Kupchak back in the Showtime days? Were their games so all-fire fun and lovely to watch? Of course not, but they were your guys, they were your guys and you were devoted to them. So shut up and rally round the Daddy like you know you should. But then I think, maybe the Game isn't so brutal and crude as all that. Maybe it's an ideal, a flow, a style. Maybe if you're a true devotee, what you pursue, what you follow is the art of it, wherever that may lead you. So I ask myself, do you follow Kobe and Yao, and T-Mac and Bibby, and KG, AI and MJ, even though they play for different squads, because each of them has, at one time or another, shown you glimmers of the lyrical, the magical essence of hoops played at and beyond the limits of what you imagined was possible. And I say, yes, yes, this is the sort of universalism the Game has at its heart -- when you thrill to these players out beyond your loyalties and affiliations you're actually taking part in the big, brilliant whole of the thing. So you see, I'm torn. I'm a jumble. I'm the Big Ambivalence. The NBA has been Shaq's world for the last several years; other centers were just visiting, and couldn't none of them push the Big Fella out of his favorite seat on the couch, or his favorite spot in the lane. Shaq was what Shaq was, and, in a way, since there was no legit alternative to his game out there, I could almost ignore him (I mean respect and appreciate him, definitely, but not focus on him, or focus on the fact that I wasn't feeling him), and still root for the Lakers. Now there's Yao. Now it's different. What is and what can be are going heads-up now. Two very different styles in a fight for the soul of the league and the heart of the game. In the end, I know Laker-love will trump anything I feel for Yao. But this tilt between him and Shaq, tonight and beyond, is so fresh and full of possibility right now that I'm just going to hang here with it for a while. Tonight, at 6:30 Pacific, my loyal heart and my wayward heart will be going beat-for-beat. Eric Neel is a regular columnist for Page 2. You can e-mail him at esn@cox.net.
Yao will change the way society thinks, too -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By Kevin Frazier Special to ESPN.com When Yao Ming arrived in Houston, Rockets owner Les Alexander said that his new 7-foot-5 center would someday be bigger than Michael Jordan. Yao Ming is just starting to conquer the NBA and the world. At first, that statement made me laugh out loud. But then again, I thought, Alexander didn't become a millionaire by making stupid business decisions. And thus far, Yao has made Alexander a man of his word. Yao is a heck of a basketball player who will eventually lead the Rockets to a championship. Yao is the real deal -- a shot-blocking, frapuccino-drinking, jump-shooting, money-making machine! And that, my friends, is key. Because money talks. When you speak the international language of dollars and cents, people listen, like in the old E.F. Hutton commercials. And once people are listening, the real fun begins. Business people are salivating at the untapped Chinese-American consumer market. That's approximately 2 billion people who have yet to view their first NBA-related infomercial. It's the financial wild, wild west. For the companies that sell sneakers, cell phones and other goodies and services -- you know, the stuff we just can't live without -- it will be a bonanza. Good news for the Phil Knights of the world. Better news for the Chinese-American population in search of a sports icon. Those people won't benefit financially but will gain by leaps and rebounds socially by Yao's mere presence. Think about how poorly the Asian-American population is represented on television. Now, in sports specifically. Sports, after all, play a huge role in influencing social change. In our great country, while people of different races, creeds and colors are accepted, Chinese-Americans are not adequately represented. At least not front and center. Well, until now. Thanks to Yao. http://espn.go.com/nba/columns/frazier_kevin/1493942.html
The Main Event By Bryan Williams On Nov. 25, 1992, rookie center Shaquille O'Neal squared off against Hakeem Olajuwon -- then in his ninth season -- as the Orlando Magic hosted the Houston Rockets. Though young Shaq was barely a month into his NBA career, he had already joined the top big men in the league stats-wise, averaging better than 20 points and 10 boards. Olajuwon, of course, had been putting up similar numbers for years, but at that time he was just entering his prime, when he would lead Houston to two championships and solidify his status as one of the all-time greats. Shaq and Hakeem picked up their games when they faced one another. Andrew D. Bernstein/NBAE/Getty Images On this night, the veteran would outplay the rookie individually -- Olajuwon posted 22 points and 13 rebounds to Shaq's 12 points and 13 boards -- but the Magic came away with a 107-94 win behind 30 points from Scott Skiles. When Hakeem retired following the 2001-02 season, Shaq's team had won 14 of 20 regular-season meetings, but when it counted -- the playoffs -- Olajuwon's record was 5-3, including a four-game sweep of O'Neal's Magic in the 1995 NBA Finals. Now an 11-year veteran with three titles of his own, Shaq faces Olajuwon's successor in Houston -- 22-year-old Yao Ming -- for the first time tonight. The hype and anticipation of this matchup has long been palpable, perhaps unfairly so to Yao, who isn't yet putting up nearly the kinds of numbers that both Shaq and Olajuwon did throughout their careers. But as Hakeem pointed out during an interview with ESPN this week, tonight's game will establish a tone for the remainder of their careers. Take a look at how Yao compares to the Shaquille O'Neal of both 2002-03 and 1992-93, then check out how No. 1 draft picks over the past 20 years -- including Yao, Shaq and Hakeem -- performed through their first 37 games.
He's a Bust! No, Wait; He's the Next Shaq! How Yao Ming's critics turned into his biggest fans. By Robert Weintraub Posted Friday, January 17, 2003, at 9:30 AM PT Should we say, "Yao!" or "Ain't no ming"? Tonight in Houston the likely starting center on the Western Conference All-Star team takes the floor against an opponent struggling to make the playoffs. That the former is Yao Ming and the latter Shaquille O'Neal is the biggest surprise of the NBA season so far. But the NBA's Long March has plenty of twists left, and don't be surprised if Yao hits the rookie wall in a few weeks. In China, the most games Yao played in a season were about 30, counting playoffs. He's on game 37 now, not even halfway through the schedule. In seven January games, his points average has dropped to 11 per game, down from 17 in December. A sprained knee ligament suffered over the weekend may be the warning sign of a body starting to break down under stress. Not that Yao's accomplishments should be taken lightly—he's still averaging 13 points and eight rebounds per game for the year. It's just that after half a season of being hailed as the Next Big Thing, those aren't exactly dominating numbers. What makes the Yao hype particularly nauseating is that the people pumping him the hardest are the same guys who were adamant that Yao would be a bust, a circus freak unable to compete with established NBA players. The hyenas on SportsCenter and sports-talk radio couldn't stop giggling after Yao's scoreless debut. The laughter crescendoed when the big fella was sent ass over teakettle by a crossover dribble when caught on a switch. Then, after Yao began to display excellent court awareness and a nice touch around the basket, the critics pulled a 180-degree turn worthy of the X Games. Suddenly, Yao was an Asian Bill Russell. ESPN's Stuart Scott worked some pidgin Mandarin into his tired faux-ebonics act. Charles Barkley kissed a donkey on TNT, then proceeded to kiss Yao's ass at every opportunity. Over at ESPN.com, Bill "The Sports Guy" Simmons went from guaranteeing Yao's demise to calling him the "most compelling player since Michael Jordan in his prime" and someone who "affects the game at both ends more than anybody since Bill Walton." I suppose that makes Cleveland's Zydrunas Ilgauskas, who betters Yao in every statistical category, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. This isn't particularly surprising—after all, the NBA, its licensing arm, its broadcast partners, and marketers great and small stand to profit enormously from Yao's success. Actual on-court greatness is less important than the trappings of greatness, i.e., magazine covers, network features, shoe commercials, and high-profile league appearances. Rest assured, if the NBA didn't allow online voting for the All-Star Game, making it easy for Chinese fans foreign and domestic to stuff the ballot box, the league would have found another way to get Yao involved in the big weekend. Actually, Yao's game still needs plenty of work. Last Friday in Atlanta, the Hawks showed the blueprint for corralling him. Theo Ratliff, giving away seven inches, shoved Yao out of the two spots from which he is effective, the left box and the lane just inside the foul line. When Yao did get off shots, Ratliff used superior quickness to alter Yao's pet move, an up-and-under scoop. Meanwhile, the perimeter defenders stopped Yao's enablers, Steve Francis and Cuttino Mobley, from running pick-and-rolls with Yao by bodying the guards as they crossed midcourt. The frustrated center finished with nine points, a technical for taunting, and long stretches on the bench. And while the Rookie of the Year award is already engraved with Yao's name, he doesn't deserve to win it. At 20, Phoenix's Amare Stoudemire is a far more advanced player. His ferocious dunks make the ESPN highlights, but it's his spacing and non-stop movement that make him so hard to guard. Yao found this out first-hand Wednesday when Stoudemire dropped 24 points and 13 rebounds on the Rockets, including an in-your-face dunk on big man; Yao settled for a quiet 11 points and seven boards. If only Stoudemire could sell mobile phones to 1.2 billion Chinese, he'd have a shot at beating Yao for the year-end hardware.
