Friday, July 30, 2010
As I sat in my hotel room in Sacramento with my elbow throbbing and the rest of my joints not quite what they used to be, I had to think about my future a relative lack thereof. It was evident that my days in the NBA were limited. At one point, I was on top of the depth chart, but now I was feeling the pressure of all that water on my head. When the team takes a first-round draft pick who happens to play your position, you get the hint that they might be searching for a replacement. When you're drafted out of high school, your joints don't hold up until you're 40 like the college graduates. I was only 34, but I already felt like someone twice my age. The problem was that I didn't want to admit that I was going downhill. When you play a sport and are constantly praised for your amazing fitness level, it's hard to admit that you don't quite have it anymore. But it was becoming obvious to me, I had to face the facts and deal with what looked like a painful rest of the year for me and my body.
Photo by Colin Gregory Palmer on Flickr