Ask me the greatest moment of my childhood and my answer without hesitation will be the 1992 NCAA East Regional Final game between Duke and Kentucky. That was the day I fell in love with a gangly Duke sophomore who had a flat-top (Fresh Prince style). Ordinarly, I would have fallen in love with Christian Laettner, the leader of the team, but I had been told by my brother's friend that he was gay (I found out years later this was untrue). I figured no point in loving someone who would not love me back (wise for a third grader) and turned my affection to Grant Hill.
In 1994, the Detroit Pistons drafted my love and I knew than we would be together forever. I would go to Duke to be a sports broadcaster and he would come back for a game and would fall hopelessly in love with me. His mother, a lawyer and Hillary Clinton's college roommate, would adore me and take me in as the daughter she never had. His father, former Dallas Cowboy running back, would dote on me and marvel at my sports knowledge.
This dream was dashed in the summer of 2000. As I prepared to leave for college, Grant prepared to rip my heart out with his decision to join the Orlando Magic.
Eight good years we had together!! Jerseys, posters, dolls, cards, videos! All of it worthless. The Grant Hill for MVP campaign I waged for the 1996-1997 apparently was not enough for him. All my unwavering support through the rough playoff campaigns when he all but disappeared was forgotten as he walked out the door.
After that I gave up the NBA. The idea of seeing him in another uniform was just too heart breaking. Little did I know I would not have to see him in another uniform often as his arrival in Orlando was plagued with injury after injury. No longer would Grant Hill's name be whispered in the same sentence as Michael Jordan. Instead he joined the likes of Harold Miner and Anfernee Hardaway as those who never lived up to their "Next Jordan" labels.
I saw Grant last night for the first time in years; he was in an Orlando jersey. He looked well, and played alright but I can't say that it didn't hurt. However, it hurt a lot less knowing he had also been miserable since the break-up.
A broken heart for a broken ankle, almost seems like a fair trade-off.
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2 comments:
LOL...I wanted to go to Georgetown so that I could marry Allen Iverson!!! Crazy Points tied 1-1!!!!
eww. gross, alicia. there is no g'town love when i'm around.
(nor should there be any duke love, while i'm on the topic, but i'll cut jane some slack since she had her heart broken by a duke player and, presumably, has abandoned that silly idea.)
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