thatrapsfan
Superstar
This Jason Quick dude definitely has to write a book 
They really tormented this dude
People often ask me if I'm going to write a book about my time covering the Trail Blazers, a span that reached 13 seasons until this month, when I agreed to leave the beat and cover the Oregon football team for this season.
If I did write a book, I know what the opening scene would be ...
I'm at a baseball game at what was then called Pac-Bell Park in San Francisco. It'sApril 5, 2001, and a volatile and unpredictable Blazers season -- my first on the beat -- has what I thought would be a moment of respite.
But midway through the game, my cellphone rang. I looked at the blocked number, looked at the beer in front of me, and contemplated whether I should risk ruining what had been a pleasant night in the middle of a four-game trip.
The previous night, we were in Minneapolis, where the Blazers scored only 12 fourth-quarter points, blew a late lead, and lost to Kevin Garnett, Terrell Brandon and the Timberwolves. Like it had been for the past month, it was an emotional and temperamental locker room in Minneapolis, as a veteran group of players like Rasheed Wallace, Scottie Pippen, Steve Smith, Damon Stoudamire andArvydas Sabonis could sense a season was slipping away.
The Blazers were in the midst of losing 14 of their final 22 games, a monumental collapse that would see them fall from the best record in the Western Conference on March 6 to seventh place by season's end, and eventually a first-round playoff sweep by the Lakers. It was the year after the infamous Game 7 collapse to the Lakers in the Western Conference Finals and in theory, this was supposed to be an improved roster, with Dale Davis providing the experience that Jermaine O'Neal lacked, and Shawn Kemp the scoring that Brian Grant never did.
It worked for awhile. The Blazers started 30-11, and spent much of the winter see-sawing with Allen Iverson's Philadelphia 76ers as having the league's best record.
But by April, it was all unravelling. The team was divided about an effective, but controversial, move to put Bonzi Wells in the starting lineup and move Smith to the bench. And there was unease among the veterans about the mid-season additions of Detlef Schrempf and Rod Strickland. And the unpredictable moods of Wallace, in the process of setting an NBA record with 41 technicals, had become a distraction.
Even as I was enjoying my night, it was clear something was amiss with the Blazers.
I never knew how amiss until I answered that call.
"Shawn Kemp will no longer be with us," the voice at the other end said. "He's blown his career up his nose."
***
It was my welcome to the NBA moment.
I abruptly left the game, caught a cab back to my hotel and called back the voice on the other end.
I never have revealed who my source was for that story. And likely never will. But it came from what happened the night before, while I was in that tense and testy locker room in Minneapolis. Words were said. Heated things. Words not intended for my ears. As I left the locker room, I felt uneasy about it. So like the rube I was, I went back in and asked the person whether I could print it.
He said he would rather not have it out there.
I ended up eating the scene and not using the quotes.
I lost a sexy headline. But I earned some trust.
Over the next 13 years, the balancing act between gaining trust and telling the truth was the most difficult aspect about covering the Blazers. There was a time, as a favor to the coach, I sat on a story about a particularly troublesome player leading a group of Blazers to a strip club the night before a 32-point blowout loss. The coach said the team was close to trading the cancer and he was afraid the story would damage the trade efforts. He promised to tip me off when the trade was about to happen. That never paid off, however, as the Blazers were never able to unload the player.
I remembered early in my career being pulled aside by Stoudamire, who told me that no matter how the players treated me outwardly -- which at the time was insult after insult, intimidation tactic after intimidation tactic -- if I told the truth they would respect me. I took that to heart, no matter how difficult it was. And there were some uncomfortable times.
A month before the Giants game in San Francisco, I wrote game story with shaking hands after Pippen charged at me from across the locker room in Vancouver. He had been ejected in that game, and had been sulking in the locker room, attempting to extinguish his ire with Coors Lights. In the postgame locker room I started asking questions about the team's downfall, and I could see him eyeing me from across the room.
I was trying to understand why a team so talented could lose for the second time in four days to the lowly Grizzlies, and look so unattached in the process. I was getting mixed messages from the players, some seemed to be getting irritated with the unreliability of Wallace, and some seemed to be losing faith in coach Mike Dunleavy. But nobody would give me anything concrete that I would feel comfortable writing. Soon, there was just three of us: Stoudamire, myself, and Pippen -- still stretch out on the wooden bench across the locker room, eyeing me warily. There was no locker room chatter now, and any words carried throughout the room.
When I asked Stoudamire whether the team was still behind Dunleavy, Pippen sprang like a panther. The next thing I knew, I had Coors Light spittle in my face.
"You haven't been around long enough to be poking around like you are!" Pippen screamed.
I said something along the lines of people deserved to know what was going on, but in truth, I was trying to maintain my composure while trying to stand my ground. Somewhere between Pippen's first words and my retort, Stoudamire bailed. It was just me and the 6-foot-8 legend and his booming voice. And boy did he let me have it.
It created enough of a stir that locker room attendants rushed in and got between us, pushing me out the door. My hands were shaking so hard when I got to my computer that I'm surprised I was able to even write my byline, let alone a story.
The next day, it was like nothing happened. Not a word from Pippen. Not a peep from Stoudamire.
The next year, Dunleavy was gone, Maurice Cheeks was hired and the dysfunction continued. During the height of the Blazers' frequent run-ins with the law, I appeared in a segment on a national NBC halftime show, which chronicled the team's problems and fall from grace. The team watched the segment on the flight home from their game, and Pippen became enraged. He informed the media relations staff that I was not to be allowed access to him.
Despite the warnings, the next game I did what I always did: Popped my head through the media scrum around Pippen's locker and asked him about the game. Pippen gave me a cold stare, looked around for the media relations director and blurted, "I told you to keep him away from me!" before abruptly ending the interview session after three questions, much to the chagrin of the gathered reporters.
And there was the time in the Rose Garden when I witnessed Bonzi Wells flip off fans behind the Blazers bench and toss a water bottle onto the court. I don't know if I was the only one to see it, but I was the only one to write it, and the team ended up suspending him. At a practice shortly after, a ball zipped precariously close to my head and against the wall, returning directly to the person who threw it. Standing there with the ball, and a cold stare, was Bonzi Wells.
Through it all, I always remembered what Stoudamire told me. Soon, I would understand that in covering a team, the truth is a powerful thing. It's the ultimate defense.
They really tormented this dude
i never seen that before. and 
shyt
