Some of my fondest early memories are of lying in my boyhood bed, in a high-rise New York apartment, listening to Marv Albert and his color man, the "Big Whistle", Bill Chadwick, on the radio call New York Ranger hockey games from Madison Square Garden. They would describe, in a cadence and rhythm that became so familiar and comforting, how the Ranger's GAG line of Jean Ratelle, Rod Gilbert and Vic Hadfield broke out of their own zone at the 7th Avenue end of the Garden, weaved their way through center ice and across the opponents' blue line, to then score at the 8th Avenue end of the Garden. Back then, there was a goal judge that sat in a tiny plexiglas booth in the first row of the stands right behind the goal, and Marv would introduce us to the judge each night. It was all magical.
And it was just one small part of the treasure of growing up a New York sports fan back then. Clyde Frazier and Joe Namath in their mink coats. Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman turning a hapless Mets franchise to the Amazin' World Series Champions. Yankees Fritz Petersen and Mike Kekich trading wives and children, something as a pre-teen I had a tough time getting a handle on. Reed and DeBusschere, Bradley and Monroe. Julius, "the Doctor". Red Holtzman, Gil Hodges, Billy Martin, Weeb Ewbank. The U.S. Open at Forest Hills. Willie Mays. The ponies at Aqueduct. It was culture. It was theater. It was exciting. Long before Showtime came to L.A., New York was the show.
Fast forward to today, and I've lived in the DC area for decades now. For most of that time, I've found the local sports teams particularly uncompelling. I arrived in this town just as the obsession over, and love affair with, the Washington Football Team would hit an invisible inflection point, leading slowly and inexorably to despair, disgust and failure. The team was moving from RFK Stadium, an intimate, if unbecoming, dual-use 1960s era Brutalist monster, to FedEx Field, an equally soulless cylinder of steel, sitting alone in the middle of nowhere in Prince George's County (it wasn't quite alone, actually, for it shared a particular part of Landover, Maryland -- RalJon -- with the City of Praise Evangelical Church and a decaying mall) and somehow leading fans to feelings of nostalgia for RFK. Dan Snyder was about to begin his reign of terror, buying the franchise from the Jack Kent Cooke estate (Cooke, incredibly, also owned the Lakers before selling the team to Jerry Buss) embracing every possible way to alienate the diehards until he was forced to remove tens of thousands of seats from his stadium so he could perpetuate the Big Lie of his day: that there was a long waiting list for Redskins' tickets.
With the exception of a few years here or there -- Bryce Harper's rookie season; Mia Hamm's years with the Washington Freedom; the Chamique Holdsclaw-led Washington Mystics; the National's championship run -- the teams here have not drawn me in. I was almost there in the early years, as I found myself listening and feeling a special warmth from Jon Miller's radio calls of the Orioles' games. It was Marv, but even better, with impersonations, humor and joy. He was a treasure, and one that would be summarily, pointlessly, and foolishly discarded by the Orioles' heartless attorney owner, Peter Angelos, after Miller showed the slightest bit of independence -- and fealty to the truth -- in his special, mocking way. Sort of like NPR trading out Morning Edition's first host and genuine original, Bob Edwards -- and his conversations with the likes of Red Barber -- for Steve Inskeep and a series of unmemorable, cookie cutter hosts and everyday, run-of-the-mill reporting.
This year, though, a funny thing happened. I've found myself taken by two teams -- the Wizards and Capitals -- and two DC players, one new and one not-so new: Russell Westbrook and Tom Wilson. The trade of John Wall for Westbrook was a godsend. Wall had elite talent, for sure. But Westbrook brings a commitment to the game and to his teammates that is extraordinary. He comes to play every night, and with that, he has transformed his team. To see a player of his stature, on a team that was, for a time, 20 games under .500, give everything he has, game after game, night after night, until he alone transforms a group of mid-level players into winners; it's amazing to watch. No load management here. It's been a fun season, and I can't wait for the playoffs.
Which brings us to Tom Wilson. He's been in the middle of controversy this week. Here's why --
I happen to know something about hockey goons. When the Philadelphia Flyers would come to New York back in the early 70s, Marv would ably describe the Flyers' Dave Shultz, "The Hammer", and his antics. I then went to high school in New Jersey, halfway to Philadelphia, and listened to Gene Hart call the games on WMMR and make excuses for Shultz, who was on the Flyers to be their enforcer. Everyone knew it. That was his job. But Wilson is no Dave Shultz. He’s a hot head for sure, a young man with Gronk-like tendencies. But he is also a good hockey player, and from what I can tell (and I willingly admit, I can't tell much), a good man. He doesn’t do the things he does just for the sake of being a goon and getting guys hurt. He plays hard and fights hard for the team and sometimes gets carried away and crosses a line.
These are not excuses. When he crosses over that line, I think he should be punished, like everyone else. But Wilson doesn't seem to be driven by inflicting pain. His fighting seems to come from a value system that leans toward team and loyalty just a bit more than self-focus. When an opposing player messes with a teammate, he instinctively comes to that teammates aid. Sure, he looks out for himself, too, and not that long ago signed a long term deal that pays upwards of $5 million a year. But at the same time, as a twenty-something, he seems genuinely committed to the shared enterprise that it his team; and even to the shared enterprise that is the Washington, D.C. metropolitan area. And his own self-interest will often give way to that commitment.
Here's a bit of that side of Tom Wilson --
Is Lebron's commitment to racial justice admirable? Yes. Steph's commitment to the Howard University Golf Program? Yes. The WNBA players' commitment to voting rights in Georgia? Yes.
Is Wilson's commitment to his teammates, to his family and to his community admirable? I think so. Is he a saint? Certainly not. Are his contributions on par with Lebron's, Steph's, and the WNBA's? I don't think so (but I'm not certain). Should he tone down the rough stuff? Yeah, or at least be a little more careful, and definitely lay low for a while. But if I have to make a choice, I'm on his team. A good man. A good pirate.
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