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Why I'm a Utah Jazz Fan: Because My Mom Wanted Me to Grow Up and "Be Like John Stockton"

The Choir Boy

Mom's first fan crush.

I went to my first professional basketball game in the Great City of Utah-by-the-Lake as a 9 year-old kid to watch the Utah Stars take on the Kentucky Colonels for the ABA league championship in 1971. It was crazy days for Utah baller fans and a kid who patterned his school yard hoops style after the 6'6" Willie Wise, (who Sports Illustrated described as "the best two-way performer" in the league). The Stars beat the Colonels in Game 7 at home! Woot! Pro ball had arrived in the "City of Utah" with a frenzied explosion rattling the Salt Palace.

The Stars continued to happen and be a perennial contender until the bitter end in 1976 when the ABA blew up, with the catching fire NBA picking the Spurs and Pacers out of the scrap heap. Fortunately for the fan base and me, (and my mother, it turns out), pro ball returned to Utah in 1979 via a well-played theft of the New Orleans Jazz. While the first few years were rough, the Jazz were packing serious heat with Adrian Dantley, Darrell Griffth, Thurl Bailey, some freak of nature named Mark Eaton and the "Fastest of Them All" Rickey Green. This crew piloted the Utah Jazz to the Western Conference Semifinals in the 1983-84 season. Really good tickets were cheap and abundant. If you showed up for shoot-around the players did as much chatting with the fans as warming up. This was a team an always-love-the-underdog-city-by-the-lake needed to have.

And then some no-name choir boy from Spokane was drafted. While the Palace booed loudly when the pick was announced, (for gawd's sakes, at #16, while Olajuwon, Jordon and Barkley were off the big board, a homeboy named Devin Durrant -€” not kidding -€” was still waiting for a home), my Mom hardily approved the pick of the choir boy. (I still mourn what the Jazz could have done with the Bulls in later days with Devin Durrant).

My mother's Stockton fan crush was about to go into overdrive just as I graduated from college and moved back to the City of Utah to generally be an unproductive member of society. Part of this included making friends who worked for the Jazz FO that came with a constant stream of free floor seat tickets and MVP Room access. (This would NEVER happen in the current era)! Plus, Larry Miller. And Karl Malone. And the soon-to-be legendary Jerry Sloan. My mother suggested I should model my work habits after Stockton with disquieting regularity. She was watching more games than me and had the box score memorized before my first cup of coffee was on board. My Mom's crush went from cute to her making unsettling inquiries to the Jazz about her ability to trade me for "your young PG". I moved out to a sweet pad on 1100 East and surrounded myself with fellow playground hoopers who appreciated my talents.

We all know what happened next. The, (bow your head), Glory Years. "The Shot". The agony and ecstasy of almost being World Champions. My Dad, brother and I scoring free tickets directly behind the Laker's bench on Christmas Day 1997 and hear Magic trying to get inside Malone's head. (Quick sample. Magic to Malone, as the latter steps to the line: "Karl, you're a million dollar crybaby. This a man's game." As Karl calmly sinks the and-one).

And oh yeah, I'm a fan because I eventually took on a Stockton-like work ethic: sneaky handle, almost dirty defense, poise and no-whining attitude that has pretty much made me a HOF'er in my career, (well, at least in my mind). Mom is now 85 and while she says she is too old to go to games, she religiously watches every single one at home with my Dad. Thanks Mom, and I still don't think the Jazz should give up on Exum!

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