Glimpses of Young David Robinson
A recent Mike Monroe column began with this stirring hypothetical:
It is nearly impossible to overstate the impact David Maurice Robinson had on the sports landscape of South Texas, but it is simple to try.
Imagine San Antonio without the Spurs.
Tonight I was reminded of these words while reading through some old articles about David Robinson. Let’s stuff some banana peels into our DeLorean DMC-12 and step back into the 1980s.
A July 6, 1987 SI article begins with this eerily unfamiliar description of Robinson and San Antonio.
Just two years ago Robinson withstood the lure of cold civilian cash. Instead of transferring from the U.S. Naval Academy to get on a fast track to the NBA, the superstar stood by the service. Now, because of that decision and the consequent two-year hitch he’ll soon begin serving, Robinson faces more options than a Wall Street broker. In a nutshell, he can 1) sign with the Spurs and still maintain his amateur status for the next two years; 2) not sign with the Spurs, reenter the draft in ’88 and sign with the team that picks him then; or 3) shun his ’88 suitor also and become a free agent shortly after the ’89 draft. “It’s a great option to say that two years from now I can play with whomever I want,” Robinson said last Wednesday in the Georgetown office of his adviser, Lee Fentress.
The gifted center says he hasn’t ruled out the Spurs, who had a 28-54 season and finished next to last in the league in attendance. Not once did Robinson consider firing off a Boz-like letter suggesting that the Spurs—who play in the nation’s 45th largest TV market—spend their pick elsewhere.
A couple years before, January, 1985, SI caught up with Robinson just after he “sprouted to 6’11””. They teach us a little about his academic life. He was, for example, “so well coordinated he received an A in plebe gymnastics [Osbourn Park High]—an astonishing feat for such a big man.” And his Naval Academy pursuits don’t much resemble the current business of one and done stints:
“Basketball is important to Robinson, but at the moment it isn’t his first priority. A math major, he is taking 18 hours of thermodynamics, physics, navigation, computer science and advanced calculus. Last semester he had a 3.22 grade-point average. “Homework?” He laughs. “It varies from too much to way too much. At first, everything seemed unfair: no radio, no TV in the hall, no McDonald’s on Tuesday nights. But what you get at the end—the responsibility, the respect, the security—keeps you going. You learn to cope, not complain, and problems don’t bother you after a while. I also like the guys here. We wear uniforms and march, but we also party.”
The Spurs, it turns out, did not get their cerebral reputation from Gregg Popovich and Tim Duncan. They were cast as the smart kids back in 1990, as well.
As he relaxed in a Miami hotel room a few hours before his San Antonio Spurs took on the Heat not long ago, center David Robinson pulled out a portable keyboard, placed it on the bed and said, “I think I have the second movement of the Pathtique down pretty well.” That would be Beethoven‘s Sonata No. 8—Opus 13, if you’re scoring. When the word movement is mentioned around the NBA, the subject is usually offense, but Robinson knows of what he speaks. He proceeded to play the Pathtique quite well, his long fingers gliding over the keyboard as expertly as they glide over the basketball while he’s sizing up a free throw.
Finally, it was nice to learn that all the talk of David Robinson revolutionizing the game is not dusty nostalgia. Caldwell Jones’ 17 year career bridged between the ABA and NBA. “No other big guy I’ve ever seen is anywhere as quick and fast as him.” Yes, Caldwell, that’s how I remember him too.
The past is a strange place.
(HT: Matthew Molina for the SI links)
