January 3, 2009 5:04 AM

Get a roll of stamps and mail it in...unless that's too much work

THE WORST PERSON IN THE WORLD

(apologies to Keith Olbermann)

Tracy McGrady

Mark it down. It was Jan. 2, 2009, 1:16 left in the third quarter, when there was a seismic shift in the Rockets' world, when the tectonic plates opened up and swallowed an era. The official play-by-play sheet simply says: Jamario Moon slam dunk. Anybody who was watching at the Air Canada Centre or on TV knows it was the precise moment that Tracy McGrady quit on the Rockets.... It was Moon driving in from the right side of the basket and seeing McGrady stop running, practically hold the door open and offering to carry Moon's books home from school as he went by for a dunk that would have been more contested in the pre-game layup line.... "McGrady could have made some kind of effort," said veteran play-by-play man Bill Worrell.... "You don't just give somebody an open dunk," said color commentator Matt Bullard. For crying out loud, these guys are paid employees of the team and they had the guts and integrity to say out loud what everybody sitting at home and falling off their sofas knows.

I'm normally loathe to consider athletes important enough for a "Worst Person in the World" selection. After all, what do they really have to offer but entertainment? Most athletes, while decent, well-meaning sorts, contribute nothing to society. That's not their fault; that's simply the nature of what they do. I'm not sure what I contribute, but at least I can point to a material benefit I leave of my customers with. Athletes? Not so much.

Professional athletes are, in fact, pretty much Exhibit A for a lot of what's wrong with American society today. Overpaid, overhyped, and all too often possessed of a hyper-inflated sense of entitlement, far too many athletes seem to view mere mortals (i.e.- anyone not possessed of their superior talent and skill) as having been put on this Earth in order to bear witness their ever-expanding greatness. It's not their fault; we created this system. All they're doing is availing themselves of it's benefits.)

Number One on my list this morning is Tracy McGrady of the Houston Rockets, who, despite making roughly a gazillion dollars per season, has apparently misremembered the meaning of the words "pride" and "hustle". Even I can remember from my schoolboy basketball days (I was known as "Air Stillborn"...and for reasons I really don't want to get into. Something about having a 2.5" vertical jump.) that basketball is a team game. Yeah, you know...."there's no 'I' in 'team'". If one person isn't hustling, everyone suffers. Then again, when you're Tracy McGrady, and you view everyone around you as your "supporting cast", can you blame the guy for taking the season off...even when he's on the floor? Actually, yes...yes, I can. And I do.

In an economy where people who legitimately work hard are losing their job through no fault of their own, McGrady seems to think that he was to the manor born. This latest incident, while clearly perhaps the most egregious of his career full of cheap, childish antics, is nowhere near unique. McGrady long ago ago developed a reputation for selfishness par excellence, and while his surpassing talent has often carried the Rockets, it's all too often also been the millstone around their collective neck.

Whatever his gripe happens to be this time, there can be no excuse for giving up on his teammates while he's on the floor. Houston's fans, who to their credit have attempted to overlook McGrady's childishness over the years (fans will do that when they think they might get a championship out of the deal), really ought to let McGrady have it with both barrels when the Rockets return home. They deserve better...not that McGrady has it within him to see past his own bloated sense of entitlement and self-interest.

In a day and age when increasing numbers of everyday Americans are wondering how and if they'll be able to pay the mortgage, the light bill, AND feed their familiy, Tracy McGrady should be ashamed of himself. He gets paid a truly obscene amount of money for hanging out with other hyperglandular men and chasing a round ball up and down a hardwood floor while wearing baggy shorts and overpriced sneakers. This world does not revolve around him, despite what he might think.

If there was anything resembling justice in this world, teachers and nurses would pull down six and seven figures, while Tracy McGrady would be hustling Dilly Bars at a Dairy Queen. Then again, when you have a guaranteed contract, who (&^%$#@ cares?

(Stephon Marbury, please pick up the white paging phone....)

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This page contains a single entry by Jack Cluth published on January 3, 2009 5:04 AM.

How 'bout them familee valyews? In 2012, she'll be a grandmother! was the previous entry in this blog.

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