What It Felt Like to Guard Stephon Marbury
For one free-agent rookie, it was like trying to cage The Hulk when he’s turned green
I’m having a panic attack, floating in a black void of space and star-popping cosmos, clapping at Stephon Marbury so he’ll look at me.
Defending Starbury is the stuff of my nightmares—both in real life and in my consciousness. In the actual dreams, I’m watching my younger self sprint down a court chasing Marbury — except he’s staring down at me from the cosmos. That’s weird. Can he see me up there? Cheers, taunts, and voices whisper as a basketball court opens underneath me like an extraterrestrial Slinky pouring into the fifth dimension.
I’m in the basketball Upside Down, like Stranger Things. There’s tension here. I can see the crowd, but they can’t see me. They’re snickering and puffing and piffffffing. Everyone can see young Trevor Huffman trying his hardest. I have to warn him, I think. I have to warn myself. I start ripping my arms through the weightless black void to get closer.
“Trevor, can you hear me? Don’t let him go left. Back up, man. Let him hit the jumper.”
But young Trevor is not listening. He is thick and muscled, and his eyes are steely brown and full of determination. Young Trevor squats 500 pounds and wants to…
