Me and The Pearl
If you’re a basketball fan of a certain age you have no difficulty conjuring up images of Earl “The Pearl” Monroe. His signature style, characterized by fluid jukes and shots that would be awkward coming out of the hand of almost any other player but were always under his command helped turn Monroe into a legendary guard, voted one of the 50 best players of all time in 1996.
Earl’s professional career began in Baltimore, but he was a member of the New York Knicks when I ran into him at the McBurney YMCA in the summer of 1974. Pearl looked slight on television next to the burly men who clogged the paint, but when he walked into the gym that day dressed in gray sweats he cut quite the figure. Shooting alone at a corner basket, like the other five or six guys in the gym I turned and stared. I approached him. The next several minutes changed my life.
“Excuse me, can I rebound for you?” Without looking in my direction Monroe responded, “Ain’t my basket,” which I interpreted as a warm invitation to share some on court time. Pearl drained a mid range jumper, I threw a bounce pass which arrived at his mid section. Another shot, another pass delivered correctly. Now he’s holding up his right hand, letting me know where he wants to receive the ball. Now he’s going farther away from the basket, faking out an imaginary defender, turning quickly and driving to the hoop. He’s so fast!
How fascinating to be that close to greatness, to study it under the microscope! With his back to the basket you could sense that Earl knew if he was 28 feet four inches from it, a bit closer, or slightly farther away. He had radar, a complete understanding of where his body stood in relation to the other objects on the floor. When he missed a shot Monroe would come in for a lay up and I’d push the ball back to him. Then it happened. An outside shot glanced off the rim. Earl trotted in, took a lay up…and tossed the ball to me.
Would you be nervous, getting ready to shoot before Earl Monroe? I wasn’t. I had a pretty fair jumper from 15 to 18 feet or so, but I went slightly beyond my range and swished the first shot, and then another...and another, and three more before I missed my seventh shot. I completed the ritual by running in for a lay up. Pearl fed me the ball and put his hand up for me to drive around. After it dropped in the bucket I looked around and the couple of people who’d been in the gym just a few minutes earlier had grown into an enormous crowd, all shouting at Earl, wanting a piece of him. Startled, I slipped out of the gym without saying a word. I looked around and saw Monroe heading towards another door.
A lesson was available to me that day, and I learned it. I wasn’t nervous because I wasn’t trying to impress Earl Monroe, myself, or anyone else. I was simply drinking in the experience of being close to greatness, and from that moment on I’ve never known writer’s block or had a fear of failure. It doesn’t matter who’s holding the ball, or who has talent…if it’s not you, or me, someone’s bringing it; the gift is always there.
12/16/2012
