From the Editor’s Desk: Focus ⭐

In the summer of 1980, I attended the KC Jones Basketball camp with two of my cousins as a gangly 13-year-old. The camp was in Lake Placid, New York, which had just hosted the Winter Olympics, though future camps would be held at Norwich University in Vermont. But this trip was notable to me for a series of random experiences. The drive there in my uncle's little BMW, so unlike my parent's car. Listening to Queen's The Game, which had just come out, on cassette tape on repeat during the drives to and from. And getting to see my new hero, Larry Bird, in person.

KC Jones was an incredible human being. In 1980, he was an assistant coach for the Boston Celtics, the team he had won 8 championships with as a player two decades earlier. His annual summer basketball camp was an incredible experience for so many reasons, one being that Jones a continuous presence day and night and would thrill the kids by joining them in pickup basketball games. But that was a treat I discovered only after attending. Going into this camp, the big draw was that Celtics players would show up and speak with the camp and show off their skills.

This was always fantastic. That first year I attended, I got to see legendary point guard Nate "Tiny" Archibald. Backup center Rick Robey, a crucial kind of role player that's almost completely disappeared from the league in the 21st century. And, of course, Larry Bird.

Bird had just completed his magical first season with the Boston Celtics, at the time the greatest single-season turnaround in NBA history. He led the Celtics to a bruising Eastern Conference Finals series with the Philadelphia 76ers, which the Celtics lost in 7 games. But he was clearly special, and like most Boston sports fans, I was looking forward to another decade of championships. But mostly, that summer, I was just looking forward to seeing Larry Bird.

It was disappointing, as is so often the case when you meet a hero. I've told this story elsewhere, but the short version is that I was seated at the outside of a half-circle of kids watching Bird shoot around, clutching a Kodak Instamatic camera, just taking in the surrealness of this encounter. And then a shot banged off the rim and arced high through the air in my direction. Bird backstepped to catch it before it hit the ground, and in doing so, he tripped over me.

Larry Bird. My hero. Tripped over me.

Which is bad enough. But he also swore at me, as if I had done something to cause this, had somehow come there to sabotage his career before it really got off the ground. Those were the only words we ever exchanged, as I was in shock and he never thought to apologize. And after a moment of terror and awkwardness, I just got up and slowly walked away.

Bird never came back to the camp, but he did lead to Celtics to three championships and could have easily won more were it not for various physical problems that I still feel responsible for. I continued to attend KC Jones basketball camp each...