THE SADDEST PART of covering sports, I found early in my four-decade career, was when an athlete, so dependent on the full function of his or her body to earn a mighty good living, suddenly could no longer count on its cooperation.
As a rookie on the Knicks beat in the late 1970s, I watched a young, promising forward named Toby Knight chase a long rebound into the corner during a preseason game against the Celtics in Portland, Maine. As he turned to outlet the ball, his knee buckled, An ACL tore.
I visited him in the hospital, brought him a book, before surgery but this was before advancements in technique made returning to full health from that particular injury likely. Knight did come back but only a shell of his former self and was gone from the NBA soon after. A lefty, he had a sweet jump shot, th0ugh nothing quite as pretty and seemingly without a limit to its range as Jason Tatum's.
It seemed pretty obvious to most people watching Tatum writhe on the Madison Square Garden floor Monday night what had just happened. Me, especially, having torn my Achilles tendon almost a year ago chasing a tennis ball, slouching forward and pushing off my right ankle with my racket in motion.
I wrote about the injury and my decision--for now--not to play tennis anymore and risk further time sacrificed to rehab recently for New Jersey Monthly Magazine. But how much of a hardship is that? What am I giving up that can't be replaced by competing with myself, instead of a few fellow aging hackers, on an elliptical machine or a jog in the park?
Tatum? He's sitting at home by now, waiting to trade a splint for a boot, worrying about putting his foot down too soon, wondering if he'll be back within or after a year and how much of his extraordinary physical gifts he will still have.
He is 27 with his whole life ahead of him, just not sure how much of it will continue as a Hall of Fame basketball life. My older son got to hang around with him once at a mutual friend's birthday party in Manhattan. Said he seemed like the nicest young guy. Comes across that way to those in the media who have covered him. Committed to his craft and to his team.
In my post-newspaper years, I still watch a fair amount of NBA, especially playoff ball, without a specific favorite team. I make up the rooting as I go along. A year from now -- perhaps a little sooner, or later -- I'll be rooting for Jason Tatum to return as the 42-point lethal weapon he was in that sickening moment when he went down at the Garden, and out.
As a rookie on the Knicks beat in the late 1970s, I watched a young, promising forward named Toby Knight chase a long rebound into the corner during a preseason game against the Celtics in Portland, Maine. As he turned to outlet the ball, his knee buckled, An ACL tore.
I visited him in the hospital, brought him a book, before surgery but this was before advancements in technique made returning to full health from that particular injury likely. Knight did come back but only a shell of his former self and was gone from the NBA soon after. A lefty, he had a sweet jump shot, th0ugh nothing quite as pretty and seemingly without a limit to its range as Jason Tatum's.
It seemed pretty obvious to most people watching Tatum writhe on the Madison Square Garden floor Monday night what had just happened. Me, especially, having torn my Achilles tendon almost a year ago chasing a tennis ball, slouching forward and pushing off my right ankle with my racket in motion.
I wrote about the injury and my decision--for now--not to play tennis anymore and risk further time sacrificed to rehab recently for New Jersey Monthly Magazine. But how much of a hardship is that? What am I giving up that can't be replaced by competing with myself, instead of a few fellow aging hackers, on an elliptical machine or a jog in the park?
Tatum? He's sitting at home by now, waiting to trade a splint for a boot, worrying about putting his foot down too soon, wondering if he'll be back within or after a year and how much of his extraordinary physical gifts he will still have.
He is 27 with his whole life ahead of him, just not sure how much of it will continue as a Hall of Fame basketball life. My older son got to hang around with him once at a mutual friend's birthday party in Manhattan. Said he seemed like the nicest young guy. Comes across that way to those in the media who have covered him. Committed to his craft and to his team.
In my post-newspaper years, I still watch a fair amount of NBA, especially playoff ball, without a specific favorite team. I make up the rooting as I go along. A year from now -- perhaps a little sooner, or later -- I'll be rooting for Jason Tatum to return as the 42-point lethal weapon he was in that sickening moment when he went down at the Garden, and out.
