Stern mandate fashion mistake
For some reason, muzzles not mentioned
Reading the details of the NBA’s new player dress code yesterday, a newspaperman in gross violation of fashion’s every law kept thinking about a powerful scene in Spike Lee’s film Do The Right Thing. It’s a montage in which various representatives of neighbourhood ethnicities exchange venomous epithets. A black man slurs Italians as “ pizza- slinging, spaghetti- bending” expletives and much worse. An Italian returns fire with a “ gold- chain- wearing, fried-chicken-and-biscuit-eatin’ ” reply.
Going down the list of things NBA players are no longer allowed to wear on team business, it was hard not to mentally edit David Stern into that scene. The new dress code prohibits chains, pendants or medallions worn over the player’s clothes. It forbids headgear of any kind, meaning no ’ do rags or ball caps. It shuns wide- legged denim for something called “dress jeans.” And it mandates that every player not in uniform sit on the bench in a sports jacket. ( Muzzles are not required attire, although Stern would no doubt appreciate voluntary compliance on the matter.) Cut to Lee, then, directing a close- up of the 63-year- old commissioner sneering into the camera and foisting a tirade at the players the dress code so clearly targets. “You platinum-chain- wearing, ’doragbaggy-pant-drooping, White- America- scaring, league- imagewrecking punks . . . ”
There are those, indeed, who will laud Stern for asserting some control over a league that many feel is in need of an image makeover. In the wake of the Malice at the Palace, in the ruins of Kobe Bryant’s sullied image, the NBA — frightened into action by Stern’s 2004 assertion that it is losing popularity in the red, or more conservative, states — has spent considerable resources on a facelift, hiring as a consultant Matthew Dowd, the opinion maker who helped get George W. Bush re- elected.
This corner, where appearances are worth as much as a thrift- store tuxedo, was nearly convinced that the dress code was an incremental step in the right direction. It certainly didn’t seem too much to ask for a bunch of millionaires to throw on a blazer and a decent pair of pants. There are bum’s-eye dressers in every port, from Steve Nash, who favours scraggly jeans and Tshirts, to Tim Duncan, who enjoys slightly less scraggly jeans and T- shirts. A scrub- up couldn’t hurt. And besides, the players negotiated the dress code into last summer’s collective bargaining agreement, albeit without knowing exactly what was going to be in it. But then came the details, specifically the rule prohibiting the wearing of chains outside clothing. It was suggested to Jalen Rose, an occasional wearer of industrial- weight necklaces who is the Raptors’ most outspoken player, that the no- chain rule targeted a certain constituency, and not white guys.
“ Yeah? Which guys wear chains outside of their shirts?” said Rose, playing dumb for effect. “ No comment. I’m going to let the individuals who choose to fight the rule fight the rule. It is what it is.” What it is is a needless edict that says a lot more about Stern’s opinion of AfricanAmerican players than we wanted to know. What else would you expect from a league that once airbrushed Allen Iverson’s tattoos from his very skin for the cover photograph of an NBA publication in the late 1990s, only to watch him become perhaps the most popular player of his generation; that once banned Michael Jordan’s newfangled red-and-black sneakers for transgressing an on- court dress code, only to have those sneakers become the most famous footwear since Dorothy’s ruby shoes? NBA players are entertainers, not office workers. Stern is banning sunglasses worn indoors, which seems as crazy as Kofi Annan asking Bono to remove his shades when the United Nations hosts the rock star. Who, exactly, is offended here? The NBA stays popular, it seems, in spite of itself. For all its image problems, it made more money than ever last season. And while Stern seems on a mission to wipe out the me- before- us thinking that led Latrell Sprewell to turn down a $ 21 million ( U. S.) contract with the words, “ I gotta feed my family,” he can blame himself for spending decades marketing stars over teams, for glorifying one- on- one over all- for- one. How does a neutering of hip- hop culture’s locker- room influence reverse the downfall?
Folks didn’t fall in love with His Airness because he favoured Armani; they fell in love with the dunks, then the dominance.
Iverson isn’t popular simply because he shuns the establishment in favour of his ink and his prototypical new- jack garb. He’s popular because he’s a marvel to behold on the floor. James Naismith will surely rest in peace knowing diamond-encrusted platinum crucifixes have no place in his game. If the Pope ever shows up courtside — and the NBA is talking about a European road trip next autumn — somebody tell him to lose the jewellery. Who can doubt that season-ticket holders in the red states are sleeping better knowing that Stern is doing his best to turn his wayward tricked- out ballers into khaki- wearing, line- toeing, yes- sirring corporate drones?