It wasn't supposed to end up like this. Who let this happen?
June 6, 2018:
My alarm goes off at 7:30 a.m. I wake up, go into my brother Brendan’s room and tell him to get up. He's snoring pretty loud so I have to repeat myself a few times. We have a flight to catch from Philadelphia to Cleveland. It’s Game 3 of the NBA Finals and somehow we’re both working it.
Thanks to many years of training from my Dad however, we were built for this moment. Some of my earliest memories involve attending Philadelphia 76ers games. I remember vividly being so excited when Chauncey Billups gave my friend Sam and I a peace sign when we were like 10 years old. Or when some dude on the Bucks named Mark Pope signed my shirt and me being so excited as if he were Larry Bird. Or when Eddy Curry told a ballboy to give me his armband after a Sixers-Bulls game. The list goes on.
Despite neither Brendan or I being Sixers fans, my Dad continued to fund our experiences with season tickets all the way from elementary school to high school. Right next to the visitors tunnel. We had the system down to a tee, with everything from pre-game preparation to sneaking our way into acquiring postgame passes.
Ben Gordon postgame. Kirk Hinrich jersey on back.
If the Celtics were coming to town on Tuesday, game prep would start on Monday morning. We’d look at their roster and figure out our autograph targets, whether it be the 10th man or the second assistant coach. There was no messing around. If the team wasn’t on a road trip, we'd target a player to ask for their shoes. S/O to Charlie Bell.
Most Sixers games start at 7:00 p.m., so to be safe, we would leave our house in the 5:00 p.m. range to make sure we were there right when doors opened an hour before game-time.
At 6:00 p.m., the floodgates would open. It was the ultimate rush.
Who would be on the floor warming up? Would they sign? I better get a good place to stand. Does my pen work?
We would come fully prepared, with photos printed the previous night of everyone ranging from Dwight Howard to Rafer Alston (special thanks to my Dad for letting us run through so much ink). When the games ended, we’d push and shove everyone and anyone out of the way to try and get a sweaty headband. There were a few ways to go about this.
Ask the player pre-game and more than likely they would say yes, but by the time the game is over they wouldn’t remember so….
Ask them at halftime. If their team is winning the odds are they’ll be in a better mood to give it to you
Make eye contact with them towards the end of the game and motion to their arm or head. If they nodded yes, give yourself a high five, you’re getting that bad boy.
It was intense. It was dramatic. It was dog eat dog and every man for himself. Brendan had some epic streak his senior year of high school where he got a sweatband in like 20 straight games or something. He was on some legendary stuff. I distinctly remember Paul Pierce tossing his headband in the crowd and Brendan lunging himself on a chair a row above our seats, stretching, catching it, pounding his chest screaming “OH YEAH!” It was and still is the most athletic thing I’ve ever seen from a fan at a sporting event.
Flash forward now. It’s been 10 years since Brendan caught Pierce’s headband. Pierce is retired and now he and Brendan are colleagues at ESPN, both covering the NBA Finals. This is the fourth consecutive year Brendan has covered the Finals, but this one is different. His brother is joining him. Spoiler alert: That brother is me.
@NBA and @ESPN in action at the 2018 NBA Finals. And Kevin Durant and Stephen A. Smith I guess.
For the last three years I watched from afar as Brendan covered the finals, both proud and envious, wondering if I would ever get that chance. Not once thinking I'd not only get that chance, but with him by my side. It was a culmination of all those nights we spent trying to find a way to get that one last autograph.
This was the third major sporting event we had both covered over the last year (NBA Draft, All-Star game), but this one felt different This wasn’t a pre-season Sixers-Nets game in 2007. We weren't waiting in the pouring rain outside of the Toronto Raptors hotel to get autographs. This was the NBA Finals and everything had prepared us for this moment, together.
Something tells me our work is not yet done. We're just getting started.