Ladies And Gentleman, John Starks!

A fruitful autobiography should resemble an epic, containing its beginning, middle, and assumed end. It’s non-fiction, yes, but when someone writes his/her life story—expecting throngs of people to willingly turn over their hard earned money in a well-balanced exchange—well, it better be interesting. America is a free country; as long as you’re literate and/or backed by a publisher, then write away. Let the world hear it.
However everything has restrictions. And when it comes to producing a sprawling autobiography, the largest one is you can’t be John Starks.
Starks was inducted into the Oklahoma Sports Hall of Fame on Tuesday night. Seven years ago, at the age of 38, the former Knicks guard—more known for his fiery, fearless emotions than his on court ability—penned a memoir. This should be the part where I give a brief review of the book, praising its elegant prose and virtuous message, but I’m not. Want the title? Too bad, not giving that either. Something about John Starks always rubbed me the wrong way; I never liked him and never will.
This post isn’t meant to be mean, and is probably being written for the sole purpose that exciting New York Knicks related news has become the internet’s white whale, but I’ll use this as an opportunity to voice a brief opinion on Mr. Starks. If he wore any other uniform and played in any other city, in any other building, the memory of John Starks would’ve faded to black a long time ago. There’d be no publishing house support or cushy community relations position. Starks was an on again, off again starter who didn’t back down from big moments, but never had enough fuel to keep his fire burning.
His performance in the Spike Lee/Reggie Miller 30 for 30 was fitting. Revisiting that rivalry was strange because neither team ever won a championship; it was the battle of who gets to be Michael Jordan’s dinner or Hakeem Olajuwon’s dessert. The answer: John Starks. That’s just how he was, brave to the point of lunacy, never thinking out his next move before acting in the present. He would’ve made a terrible chess player.

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