EL PRESIDENTE
Username Retired in Honor of Lanny.
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From @blazersblog
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/04/22/magazine/marcus-camby-has-nobody-to-play-with.html
http://www.nytimes.com/2001/04/22/magazine/marcus-camby-has-nobody-to-play-with.html
The defining event of the season had come a half-hour earlier, as Camby's New York Knicks wrapped up a near-perfect victory over the San Antonio Spurs. With less than four minutes to go and the Knicks up by 20 points, San Antonio's Danny Ferry snuck a backhand to Camby's eye as they turned to run upcourt. Camby, a 6-foot-11-inch, 225-pound noodle of a center, has been criticized throughout his career for being unaggressive and prone to injury -- a recording of a crying baby was played on the P.A. once when he entered a game against his former team in Toronto. But here he took on an altogether new ethic, trying a retaliatory charge at Ferry, only to be held back by his Knick teammates.
While the officials were busy ejecting Ferry from the game for the flagrant slap, Camby noticed blood coming from a small cut over his eye. Suddenly he bolted across the floor, aiming a great roundhouse punch to the back of Ferry's skull. But Ferry ducked out of the way and the momentum of the swing sent Camby hurtling forward, butting heads with the Knicks' coach, Jeff Van Gundy, who was trying to intervene. Van Gundy fell to the floor, bleeding from a gash above his eye.
The trainers were immediately out on the court, ministering to fallen bodies. For a while it was hard to tell who was down. Even Camby didn't know. From where I sat, I could read his lips as he stood in the middle of the court, visibly embarrassed and muttering a series of shellshocked expletives.
It was after all this that Camby, now dressed in street clothes, found himself in the tunnel outside the Spurs' locker room. He was approached by the Knicks' general manager, Scott Layden, who like everyone else left in the building was worried that Camby was sticking around for another shot at Ferry. Someone had to attend to Camby to offer consolation or a reprimand. Instead, Layden stopped in front of him and said nothing for several minutes. He looked at Camby; he looked at his shoes; he looked up and down the hall; he looked at Camby again.
''Why didn't he speak to me instead of just being there and staring?'' Camby asked me later in a baffled tone. ''Why couldn't he talk to me if he was worried about what I was going to do? Instead, it's, 'Go get L.J.''' Layden walked away, and Larry Johnson, the most senior Knick starter, appeared in his place, still in his game shorts, shirtless.
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