By Dan Evans
Special to Salt City Hoops

Baby, I told you not to call me at this number. (Phil Velasquez, Chicago Tribune / July 9, 2010)

The trouble with analogies is that they often are so specific to the person giving the analogy that rarely does it translate well to the people hearing it. We’ve all spent our fair share of time listening to someone comparing why life is like [insert their passion here]. Unfortunately, I don’t understand how life is like sewing, nor do I care. With that in mind, I want to close the book on the Carlos Boozer Era with a small-ish comparison.

When I was in high school, I dated a girl that I thought was way out of my league. Before “Jen”, I’d dated only girls that were available to me, not the girls I necessarily wanted to date; I never strayed from my place in the food chain. I assumed that was where I belonged and I was happy to take what I could get.

Along came Jen. She was on the Drill Team and dated guys with nice cars. We hit it off in class (I told jokes, she laughed). Soon our relationship moved outside of school and we started hanging out. Eventually we were dating and having fun… when I learned what I was dealing with.

Jen was used to a ton of attention; she was used to getting her way. More importantly, she was used to guys who pandered to her nonsense. Given my dating experience with girls who were simply grateful to be around me, navigating Jen’s world was a bit of a shock. I was so excited to be dating her that I put up everything she did: the inconsistencies, the weird excuses, the tantrums, and the general brattiness that a very spoiled person shows. After a month or so, I started to sense her pulling away, which made me even more desperate to keep her, and even more eager to please her. This, of course, was annoying to her and eventually drove her to break up with me.

The day came, I was sad, and felt sorry for myself for a minute. But as time went on I could see her brattiness more clearly and eventually realized I dodged a bullet. After the dust settled, I realized that I could date an awesome girl AND be happy – a huge revelation at the time. I saw Jen last year at a party, and couldn’t help but feel sorry for the guy she was with. Imagine the crap he puts up with.

So, all that talk brings me to Boozer. When he signed with the Jazz he was the first major free agent to come to Utah. (When Jeff Malone and an aging Jeff Hornacek are your competition, it’s an easy win). As a fan base we were so excited to get him that the unwise among us neglected to give proper weight to the fact that he double crossed a benevolent blind man to come to the Jazz. Huge red flag. (Another red flag?  Renting his house in LA to Prince. It’s like something narrated by Charlie Murphy in a Dave Chappell skit).

We were so excited to have a major free agent choose us that most of us didn’t do proper due diligence on the investment. We bought into his story about teaming with Deron Williams to bring the Next Stockton-to-Malone. We got stoked about the 20/10’s he’d post, and about the ambidexterity. It was exciting!

The 04/05 season set the tone: he started out well, and then injury struck. 51 games played.

05/06 missed more than half of the season due to injury. At the end of that season, I remember much of the talk about him being about getting rid of him. We were sick of him. Hated him. Couldn’t stand him. 33 games played that season.

Preseason in 06/07 was all about how he was excited about the team, wanted to play hard, etc. Boozer’s back was against the wall, and he delivered his two finest statistical seasons. I distinctly remember after the 07/08 season being very hopeful that he’d extend his contract.

08/09: Injuries, trade rumors (if you remember, almost constant that season), and listless play. After the season, with rampant speculation that he’d opt out of his contract, he decided to do the noble thing and stay for another season. No need to mention that he decided to stay in Utah in the weakest market for free agents in years, but only after testing the market. 37 games played that season.

09/10: Another exercise in frustration with the Boozehound with inconsistent play being chief among the frustrations. From a fan’s perspective, Boozer appeared to play hard when he felt like it, not play hard when faced with even the smallest obstacle, and team chemistry suffered since nobody could know on a given night which Boozer they’d get. The season ended in disappointment with Boozer sitting out the pivotal last game of the regular season with a sore rib, and of course, he decided to leave. He was always all about taking care of himself.

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The Jazz fan reaction was fatalistic, outraged, depressed. Most of the chatter was along the lines of: “KOC is screwing up the franchise, we can’t keep anybody here long, Utah is a bad place to play, etc.” It was two straight weeks of fans and the local media talking about the Jazz being a little kid in a big boy world. Then something wonderful happened: The Jazz traded for Al Jefferson.

Jefferson is not too far off the Boozer path statistically, several years younger, and bigger than Boozer. His opening press conference was something of a revelation: He was grateful, happy, and even a little giddy to be a Jazzman – stopping just short of kissing Deron Williams on the mouth. He showed the type of unbridled enthusiasm usually reserved for kids at Disneyland. He even spoke about how Utah is an awesome place to live and how he wants to recruit other free agents. To hear him speak that way was refreshing. It was a huge relief to not only bolster the Jazz roster, but bolster it with someone so happy to be here.

See, the Jazz have plenty to offer a free agent. The Jazz have been a winning team for a quarter century, boast a top 3 point guard, one of the best coaches in the game, a very smart management team, and an owner willing to improve the team. The Jazz don’t have to put up with guys like Boozer to have production. The pieces are already in place to attract the types of free agents that the Jazz need to build a consistent contender. Now all we need as a fan base is to start acting like we’ve been there. If we do that, people will come.

I, for one, am looking forward to a brave new era of Utah attracting free agents who are excited to be here. In the meantime, we will enjoy another winning season, and perhaps someday we’ll have an awkward encounter with Carlos Boozer at a party. Hopefully he’s in a good place and is having success. But what a nice feeling to walk away relieved to be in a better place ourselves.

Dan Evans is a new contributor to Salt City Hoops. Follow him on Twitter.

by Brian Henderson
Special to Salt City Hoops

Can I bring these guns into the ceremony? (Photo: ESPN.com)

Karl Malone will be inducted into the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame on Friday, joining only 295 other individuals who have ever played the game. Like many in Jazz Fandom, I want to give my own tribute to the Mailman in anticipation of his enshrinement into basketball immortality. For an unprivileged teenage kid from Salt Lake City, I had an unusual opportunity to interact with Karl Malone.

Before my senior year of high school, I managed to land a job as a ball boy for the Utah Jazz. (Before I became a ball boy, Karl opened a shoe store in Salt Lake City, where during the grand opening, I met an executive with the NBA who would become a dear friend and life mentor to me, and who has opened more doors to me than I can begin to count. I owe Karl big for that.) Karl’s upcoming induction ceremony has given me an excuse to reminisce on my experiences with him during that 1993-1994 season. You can find all the stories you want about whether he is the best power forward to have ever played the game. The numbers are there, as are the awards (minus the elusive titles). Instead, I want to tell you a few personal stories about Karl Malone off of the court, and how they reflect the same traits that made him great on it. Character counts in this walk to the Hall, if not formally, then certainly in the place taken by players like Karl in the minds of fans in the pantheon of basketball’s greats in Springfield, Massachusetts. Here, then, are a few anecdotes. (Forgive my personal indulgence in this post.)

It took me two years of Rocky Mountain Revue summer league hard labor, phone calls, letters, notes, stop-by’s, and even local celebrity endorsements–thank you, Ron Boone–to become a Jazz ball boy. (To this day, it is the hardest work I’ve ever done to get a job.) But in the end, after toiling through the fall 1993 training camp with my heart pounding through my chest during every practice, hoping against all odds that I would be hired, I got my opportunity when the “boss man” simply said, “First home game is next Friday. Show up at the arena at 4 o’clock.” I went through the roof. Instantly, my unrelenting pursuit paid off. Two years felt like ten to this teenager. As far as I knew, I was the only ball boy who managed to overcome zero connections to the front office, the players, or the coaching staff. I remember thinking, on behalf of all the kids in Utah who had ever dreamed about having such an up close and personal experience with the team, that I would take none of it for granted. With college looming, I knew I only had one season on the job. So I savored every minute of it.

We all know Karl had a lion’s heart on the court, and we all saw how he wore that heart on his sleeve in the spotlight–his relationship with Larry Miller serving as Exhibit A. Tears flowed between the two like Niagara Falls in a rainstorm. Karl’s energy and expressiveness on the court, and his interaction with fans, made his game truly entertaining to watch. Remember his “poster pose”? Or his unbridled celebration with Stockton and Hornacek after “The Shot” against Houston? He showed the same heart in private, too. He was always helping people out away from the cameras. He didn’t want the recognition for those moments. I admire him for that. I was one of the people he wanted to help. About 3/4 the way through that season, before a home game, he called me over to his locker and asked me if I had plans for the summer. “Let me send you down to New Mexico. I’ll get you a job at one of my car dealerships. You’ll have a great experience and save some money for college.” It was a generous offer, and one I turned down with some difficulty.” Just let me know,” he said. “I’ll get you a job if you want it.” It wasn’t the right situation at the time, but I have always appreciated his gesture. There are a thousand stories like mine, I am sure of it. Karl’s heart made him great on the court, and off it as well.

Karl Malone was a workhorse. The second most productive workhorse of all time in scoring, behind only Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. His on-court production was unrivaled and his blue collar mentality drove his entire career. After all, he did play all 82 games for ten seasons, and in the others only missed a handful more with the Jazz. In a recent interview with KSL-TV, he said, ”Not one time did I step on the floor physically and think that somebody was in better conditioning than I was.” He was simply always prepared, and got the job done. One night, after a game, the team was headed straight from the Delta Center to catch the charter flight for a road trip. But Karl had called in a food order–for everybody. “Do you have a driver’s license?” he asked me. “Yessir.” (It was not the time to admit that my only accident had come in the heart of downtown during the past NBA season on the day I skipped school to sneak into the Delta Center and watch Michael Jordan and the Bulls practice. Jazz fan Karma, no doubt.) He pitched me his wallet and the keys to his massive truck (with a two foot lift), and told me to be back in 25 minutes. I remember thinking, ‘Wow, now that’s trust.” Later, I realized I was about the safest place for his keys and his money, since he would have had me drawn and quartered had anything happened to his truck, or his wallet, or his food. So I tore off in Karl’s ride (after almost needing climbing gear to get up into it), grabbed the food (after convincing the restaurant employee the call wasn’t a hoax by showing him Karl’s driver’s license), and made it back in time to pass the food onto the bus as it was backing out of the arena. Karl got it done, by any means necessary on the court, and off it as well.

Finally, my greatest thrill that season happened with the entire team, but represents what Karl made us all feel during his 18 seasons with us in Utah. As the team marched through the 1994 playoffs, excitement in Utah built to a fever pitch. We dismantled David Robinson and the Spurs in five games during the first round. Then, the epic Denver Nuggets series went seven games before the Jazz prevailed. It was May 23, 1994. Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals was in Salt Lake City. As was the pre-game custom, the ball boys lined up on the court to form a gauntlet through which players passed and high fived us and one another during team introductions. The eventual NBA Champion Houston Rockets were in the building. The house lights went dark. The notorious Delta Center crowd roared to life. The deafening noise ricocheted off every corner of the building. The air was electric. Fireworks lit up the court. The entire building rocked in anticipation. I was standing on the court with the team, twenty thousand people screaming for the Jazz to defeat the favored Rockets–Hakeem, Mario Elie, Kenny Smith, Robert Horry, Sam Cassel and company. Could we do it? As longtime PA announcer Dan Roberts introduced the last of the starting lineup, one of the players hooked me with his arm and dragged me into the team huddle somewhere near center court. In the middle of a scrum with Karl, John, Jeff, and the rest of the team, I was pummeled by them all–play punched and jostled around until I was dizzy. The huddle broke. The lights came on. The team ran to the bench. Looking up at twenty thousand people screaming for a Jazz victory, I was alone on the court, and ambled off feeling like I was at the center of the basketball universe. I was. That’s how Karl made all of us feel. He put us at the center of it all.

So, as Karl heads to the Hall on Friday, congratulations are in order. Yes, he’s human. Yes, the Jazz fell tantalizingly short every time. But Karl made us believe.  And in every one of those moments, we were all thrilled to be part of it. We all owe Karl big for that. Here’s to the greatest power forward who ever played the game. The guy with the lion’s heart, and the unrivaled work ethic. The guy who gave this 17 year old kid and everyone else an opportunity to be part of one of the greatest careers in NBA history, and who took care of so many of us away from the limelight along the way.