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men_s_basketball:artie_green [2006/11/29 00:36] 66.17.173.12 |
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- | ====== Artie Green ====== | + | ====== Artie Green #21 ====== |
- | While his career at Marquette never lived up to expectations, | + | {{ men_s_basketball: |
+ | **Nickname: | ||
+ | **Position: | ||
+ | **Height:** 6' | ||
+ | **Weight:** 180 lbs.\\ | ||
+ | **Born:** \\ | ||
+ | **Hometown: | ||
+ | **High School:** \\ | ||
+ | |||
+ | ===== Marquette Career ===== | ||
+ | He transferred to Marquette from Saddleback Community College. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Green averaged 8.7 points per game during his junior year and 7.9 points per game as a senior. | ||
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+ | While his career at Marquette never lived up to expectations, | ||
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+ | Nicknamed "The Grasshopper" | ||
+ | |||
+ | Green was the lowest draft pick of any Marquette player ever selected by an NBA franchise, when the Bucks picked him in the tenth round of the 1981 draft (225th overall). | ||
+ | |||
+ | ---- | ||
[[http:// | [[http:// | ||
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+ | GRASSHOPPER | ||
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+ | by Marion Boykin | ||
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+ | Well, it's High school basketball time. More specifically, | ||
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+ | Recently, I've come to know the mother of one of today' | ||
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+ | I told her that I once shot the jumper daily, and stole dimes from the broken phones in the streets of Harlem. I had seen it all from the Biddy leagues to the pros. And though I speak primarily about the Boxing ring, I'd seen dreams go up in smoke like airballs (shot too hard) that go over the top of the backboard. But I'd also seen success and jumpers that made it all the way to the NBA. Instead of boring her with a story she didn't have time to listen to, I gave her one I'd written for her and her son to read. It is the story of a Grasshopper. A real-life example that illustrated how the hoop could be hope, by showing how the surest lay-up, through bad aim, could be missed. | ||
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+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | |||
+ | Listen real closely and you'll begin to hear the beat. A repeatingly sharp thud, somewhat erratic at times, but mostly metered. A kind of heart beat in the Harlem community, where the pulse is checked everyday. The rhythm of the bounce can be heard from the early morning until after dark in any park close enough to get to. Here, the hoop is hope in a play where players and fans participate for the sake of one another. Heroes are made and legends appear, creating happiness and tragedies. The ball is powerful, filled with dreams where every point scored jerks a reflex that can be either a debilitating cramp or a surge toward victory, but often times defeat. | ||
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+ | I was a pretty decent player in my day, at least I thought so. My fakes and finger-crunching passes (made off my patented, Earl "The Pearl" spins), got me a bit of run in Bill Robinson Park, across from the famed Dunbar Apartments. But there were many levels to climb in playing this game, and I didn't climb very far. My thoughts about my own game wasn't shared by many, and so my path was cut early toward the seats. But while there, deep in the pine, I watched the game with the precision of a money jumpshot shooter. I saw them all, pros and amateurs, many of them right before my very eyes, as they magically went from nowhere to somewhere, and most times back again. | ||
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+ | Tournaments abounded here for all ages, but were glorious only to those with the power. You had to be good to be regarded as one of the best, and you had to be bad to be the best. High School ball, and the Harlem Pro Rucker Basketball Tournament showcased and panned them all, from the streets to the pros. The best didn't always go all the way, and the worst didn't always get left behind. Some made it to the top, like " | ||
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+ | These guys were bigger than life in their varied successes and failures. Some went to the top of the game from the streets, and some self-destructed at the bottom of the game in the streets. The successes and failures of street legends like Manigault and Hammond, are classics. Myths of the real and unreal, heard and recanted by every schoolboy hoping to flip the dream someday into a way out. I saw a last shot missed at the buzzer, by a legend that was created and destroyed. I saw this up close and personal in a particular view of the court, from the cheapest seats around. | ||
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+ | Bill Robinson (or Bill Rob, as we called it) was a " | ||
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+ | The older guys always had the court first, which meant whenever they got there it was theirs. We were always relegated to the half court and then shortly (at the end of a choose-up) to the off-court. I wasn't thrilled about this, and I did show some anger in my removal, but I didn't mind much as it was fun to watch guys who could really play the game. Guys that never brought a ball, but the ball was theirs. Finesse and organization was in every move and the pretty release on that jumper by hood-star, [[Butch Lee]] off the dribble, would make you say " | ||
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+ | Butch was real good but he wasn't the best there. Amidst his many successes on the court, there was another story evolving just as fast, maybe faster. Like I said earlier, we would all be sent to the sidelines to watch, all except Li'l Artie Green. He was a medium build kid of a dusty dark complexion, with nappy hair that he attempted to keep neat at all times. He was easy to laugh and quite playful around others. His higher pitched voice made you think that he must' | ||
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+ | **There was something special about [[Artie Green]].** I could never figure out how at such an early age, he could play like the older dudes (and they knew it, too). They would regularly pick him on their squads when the game was light or they needed a fifth man for a full. He was small, but he could somehow hold his own, as they chased him up and down the court trying to rattle him and make him cough up the ball. He did sometimes, but most times he shook them silly, with grace beyond his years. His handle, even then, was magical as he seemed to just have an invisible string on the ball, making it respond like a yo-yo at the slightest jerk. Artie was the big guys' favorite little guy and they took him everywhere, and after a while, they began to let him play. | ||
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+ | Artie' | ||
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+ | After a while, everybody was coming to the games just to see Artie Green play. You knew something remarkable would happen when this guy touched the ball, which happened almost immediately. All the players knew he was the man. The more gifted players resented his popularity, and tried at times to run the show. But quickly, the chant from the crowd was an instruction, | ||
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+ | All the applause and praise had done something besides make Artie great, it had also dulled his sense of reality and made life itself a hop from one game to another. His hanging out with the older dudes made him want to be like them and do the things they did. They were really suppose to be looking out for him, but they were actually helping to destroy a talent in the hood that hasn't been seen since. Artie had now matured into the high school ranks, and more importantly, | ||
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+ | The confidence had changed to arrogance somewhere along the way, as Artie would skip practices and show up late for games. Once, he even walked out in the middle of a game because the coach didn't start him, another time because he was pulled out for a rest. Even the officials felt his wrath, as he took the entire crowd with him one time after fouling quickly out of a game down on Lenox Avenue in Harlem. It was remarkable to see the five fouls come so quickly against Artie. The sixth one sent him angrily to the bench, but only to get his stuff. After some choice words for the ref. and a total disregard for the coach, Artie simply left, taking nearly the entire park of hundreds of fans cheeringly with him. Even the remaining players and officials stopped the game in total awe of the great exodus. | ||
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+ | Despite the bratty antics, Artie continued to excel, winning MVPs and Most Outstanding awards where ever he played. I remember truly believing that even though NY Knick, Walt " | ||
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+ | **Purely on say-so from Butch Lee himself, Artie was recruited by Marquette University.** Butch had told his coach of Artie, saying "If you think I'm bad, wait to you see this kid - he's unbelievable!" | ||
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+ | By the time he got to Marquette, life was gaining on him fast. School work was a problem (it had always been), not to mention that the recruiting head-coach had retired. The new coach was not impressed with Artie' | ||
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+ | His remaining time at school was disastrous, almost non-existent. At NBA draft time, the Milwaukee Bucks did Marquette a hometown favor and drafted Green in the final round of picks, the absolute last man chosen out of hundreds of players. Actually, even this was undeserved, as Green had no real resume to make the pros, he had (as always) only the still raw abilities. I heard he did well at the try-outs but in the end he was cut. It wasn't the worst thing in the world that could happen (at least it shouldn' | ||
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+ | Artie never graduated from Marquette, and remained in Milwaukee. Amidst the confusion and disappointment of it all, he escalated his acquaintance with drugs (a long time casual association developed by the homeboys looking out for him back on the block). He eventually wound up in trouble with himself and the law, ending up in prison. Looking back on it all, he was probably more prepared to fail than to succeed. Every summer visit home was greeted by supposed well-wishing homeys, that immediately got him as high and misdirected as an air-ball. He played in the tournaments under many of the negative influences of his environment. Drug dealers, playing out their NBA fantasies, would recruit him and others for their super teams. They gave of their talents in exchange for unlimited hits on the pipe, hard cash and the adulation of the crowds. | ||
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+ | Believe it or not, many of his friendly suppliers wished him well. They just wanted to in some way be a part of his successes, a part of the "Artie Green euphoria." | ||
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+ | They have long since remodeled Bill Robinson Park into a real basketball playground, with swings, a jungle gym and even a giant painting where the handball court use to be of the park's namesake, the great tap dancer, Bill "Bo jangles" | ||
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+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
+ | Grasshopper, | ||
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+ | I caught up with Ms. Cranford recently, and she told me that she and her son thoroughly enjoyed the story. Her son, Charles read it again and again, and could really identify with what it was all about. Preparing now to go on to prep-school, | ||
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