Growing up, my life revolved around basketball; it even helped dictate who my friends were. At times, basketball was the only thing my friends and I had in common-well, that and the fact that we all had a favorite player whose signature moves we would spend hours trying to master.
My friends who liked Michael Jordan would work on the tongue and the “Air Reverse.” Those who liked Hakeem Olajuwon worked on the “Dream Shake.” The kid who liked David Robinson worked on “The Admiral’s Two-Hand Jam.” Even though a few kids liked Karl Malone, it’s safe to say that nobody worked on “The Pretty Boy Dunk.” It was times like these I felt like an outcast because my favorite player, John Stockton, didn’t have a signature move like the other guys.
I mostly blame my dad for this admiration of Stockton, which led to the awkwardness I felt during “Signature Move Practice Time.” Before my dad went under the knife for his second knee operation in four years, he was a pretty damn good basketball player. My childhood memories swirl around the numerous times I used to come up to the U on Saturday afternoons and watch my dad play basketball in what I thought was the hyper building before I knew it was called the HPER building.
After watching my dad play for hours against guys twice his size, I remember being impressed when I would watch Jazz games and I saw John Stockton copying the way my dad played basketball. Not only was I impressed that an NBA player would actually copy my dad, but I was equally impressed at how much better he was at playing basketball than my dad (sorry to burst your bubble, Dad, but it’s the truth).
From that point on, I was a John Stockton fan for life.
It wasn’t even the stats that thrilled or most impressed me. Don’t get me wrong, I jumped out of my seat when Stockton became both the all-time steals and assists leader and when he hit the game winning shot against Houston in the 1998 Western Conference Finals, but the stats just don’t stick out in my mind. It was a different aspect of Stockton’s game that made the biggest impression on me.
Stockton played the game of basketball to the best of his abilities, and he played it with as much guts and determination as anyone who has ever picked up a basketball.
I didn’t realize it in my youth, but aside from the steals, the no-look bounce passes and the pick-and-roll with Malone, Stockton did a signature move, something I like to call the “Payback from Downtown.”
The move only happened maybe once or twice a game, but you could see it coming like a Ute draw play on second down and 10. The play started when the Jazz were on the defensive end and the guy Stockton was guarding would beat him for either an open shot, or even a layup. Stockton would get the ball out of bounds with a look on his face like someone just cussed out his mother.
Stockton would yo-yo his dribble down the left side of the court, then accelerate once he passed the mid-court line. With Stockton’s defender on his heels, he would stop on a dime, pull up, drain a three-pointer and run back on defense, determined never to let the same guy burn him again.
If for some reason Stockton’s defender stayed home for Stockton’s three-point shot, then he pulled out “Payback from Downtown’s” little brother, “Payback Layup,” and would drive the length of the floor for an easy two points.
Besides all the assists, steals, no-look passes and paybacks, Stockton was the king at frustrating his opponents when they were playing defense.
For years, Stockton, who was a mere 6-foot, 185-pound guard, was called one of the dirtiest players in the NBA for the way he could set a pick. Stockton set picks on anyone; it didn’t matter who it was. The fact is, most guys who were bigger than Stockton didn’t like the fact that some little feller actually had the nerve to come set a pick on them, so oftentimes, they just tried to mow him over, and every time Stockton picked himself and his women-pleasing short shorts off the hardwood to mix it up again.
The one thing that cemented my admiration for John Stockton was something he did after a basketball game.
It is possible that Stockton has never taken a shred of credit for anything his team has done. He may have been a boring interview because he never stirred the hornets’ nest, but it always seemed he had more dignity than that. Instead, Stockton would point out all the positives that went on with the team. He never called guys out. After every loss it was evident that the guy didn’t like it, but there was a palpable sense of optimistic resilience in his voice that made him one of a kind.
In this day in age, with multi-million dollar contracts and every guy wearing the “I put the me in team” medallion around his neck, it’s kind of sad to realize that kids today don’t have the chance to appreciate athletes the way I did when I was a kid. Maybe it is a sign of the times, but it would be a little disappointing if the NBA didn’t have a guy who played and upheld the game the way John Stockton did.
