- Russ an easy target for subset of basketball twitters, but dog that dude can pass a basketball 8 hours ago
- I hope no one writes a “student beats the teacher” story about Boylen’s Bulls beating Pop. 8 hours ago
- Is that game that knocked spurs out of playoffs? And are bulls just better balanced without Zach Lavine (one game sample, heh)? 8 hours ago
- Spurs, what da fuck? Just took a steamy dump in the river walk 8 hours ago
- Jerami Grant wearing some of my least favorite Jordans (7s), but I’m not even mad. Love that dude. 9 hours ago
Just messing around, getting triple doubles
NBA Biographical Sketch #9: Malik Sealy
February 14, 2014Posted by on
Ohh, Malik Sealy. Black skinned with occasionally unkempt hair, pride of the Bronx with lanky arms dangling. 6’8” with wiry muscles that stretched across the wings of the court. Built like a skinnier, darker Scottie Pippen. I know him as much for his city roots, for his St. Johns tenure as I do for his pro game. He was pure NYC like Felipe Lopez, Chris Mullin, Mark Jackson and Johnnies orange of the Lou Carnesecca days. He was Bronx-born, St. Johns raised and Minnesota died. I can’t expand on his basketball career without acknowledging that he was killed at 30 in car wreck in Minnesota of all places – a world away from the borough that raised him.
His pro journey was a split between the sun-faded highways of Los Angeles as a Clipper and a trans-Midwestern expedition with stops in Indiana, Detroit, and finally Minnesota. He was a mediocre shooter from distance who started less than half of his games as a pro. He was a steady pro of the supporting variety, a glue guy who averaged a hair over 10ppg for his career. When I think of a comparable modern-day player, it’s coincidence that another Minnesota player comes to mind. Corey Brewer is similarly productive, but with a completely different style and set of histrionics.
But as I’ve written this, I struggle to separate Sealy’s life from his tragic death. It’s an unfair memory that taints what would ideally be a fond, lighthearted memory with a few softball jokes. But what’s there to joke about when a 30-year-old man had his life taken by a drunk driver?