February 25, 2015
by Jack M Silverstein (@readjack)
All I want to hear is love.
Don’t talk to me about prospects — ours for the playoffs or the talent that might replace him.
Don’t talk to me about fault — his or his coach’s or anyone else’s.
Don’t talk to me about the future — his with us or ours without him.
Don’t talk to me about legacy — about Penny or Prior, about Fields or Woody.
Don’t talk to me about pain — unless it’s his.
Don’t talk to me about anything other than what he means to you. As a Bulls fan. As a Chicagoan.
That’s all I want to hear.
For once, let’s strip his latest injury of any context other than empathy and sympathy. Let’s wish for goodness and joy to be heaped upon this man. For him to do what he loves safely and successfully.
Let’s close our eyes and picture him. The beauty of his body.
Dribble. Cut. Slice. Jump. Release. Splash. Smile.
36 and 11 assists in his first playoff game.
“Stop it! Stop it! What are you doing Dragic?”
“Why can’t I be the MVP?”
44 against Atlanta.
Three wins from the Finals.
Yes, we should remember all that.
And then think about his Adidas press conference.
The man who wanted to be announced as “From Chicago.”
Think about this man, not a rose that grew from concrete but a Rose that bloomed in Englewood, a man who wants to inspire not just the adults who pay to see him but the children who dream to be him.
Think about him and only him. Not the man in the jersey. The man.
Send him the smiles that he’s given us.
Send him care and support.
His name is Derrick.