I was this many middle school years ago when I fell in love for the first time. It was 1988 and I sat with anticipation watching my first NBA Finals game in my purple-mom-painted bedroom. The pictures of a Rhythm Nation Janet Jackson, The Boys, and my dream car, a silver Mercedes Benz SL500, watched me as I cringed when Isiah went down. I’m from Chicago, Jorden was new and the Celtics and Lakers owned the NBA. I was in fifth grade, 5’7”, and puberty was making its home in my limbs. I watched basketball because the boys in my class did. My tomboy ways meshed better with the shorter pre-teen boys. Nobody liked Bird but, admired the new guy, 23. Unlike the guys in my class 23 didn’t impress me. I was a fan of Magic. His passes were jaw-dropping and Sports Illustrated raved about his past numbers and ability to play all five positions in one game as a new Laker. He was truly Magic in every sense of the word and, I was mesmerized.
Mesmerized until I saw Isiah limp to the bench after two falls and close his eyes, after finding a seat. I wondered what he was thinking. Could he hear the boos from the thousands of Laker fans? Did he hear Coach Daley at all? Did he want to quit and try for the ring next season? My new crush just sat there, barely moving, and his face was at ease but, I could feel his focus growing. A few minutes later it happened. He got up and I began to fall in love. Magic’s notable blind passes became minimized. Isiah Thomas’s struggles and attempts to win were spell bounding. I was caught up and hooked for life. Back then, I didn’t know much about him except that he was from the West Side of Chicago and had the best handles I ever saw. Yet, at that moment, I was caught up and wouldn’t believe it had I not seen it.
An injury, a twisted ankle occurred during a fast break. His foot landed on another’s in the worst way. Isiah was down but only for a minute or two. After coming back to the court, Isiah Thomas brought the Detroit Pistons back from a seven-point deficit and scored 25 points, a still-standing NBA Play-off record, all on one foot. There was no food posing, there were no drug infusions that stopped this man from transforming into a GOAT of his time. Nobody, but Zeke could do this and I was smitten. My heart melted and my admiration for men with gorgeous legs and perfect hamstrings took root.
Despite all the pain he endured and the magical points he acquired, the Pistons lost that game due to a false foul called on Bill Laimbeer. Probably the only time he didn’t foul a player. After that game, I became a Detroit Pistons fan and have never faulted my loyalty. Isiah’s dimple-filled smile, hypnotic handles, and sexy sculpted thighs kept me searching for their games on Chicago channels. As Jordan’s popularity grew, viewing games with Isiah in my city became few and far between. An Isiah Thomas poster took residence on my purple bedroom walls until I came back home from grad school in 2003. Battles between friends and family began as my crush grew and only intensified when I bought my first jersey. A bold #11 in white with red and blue piping. I begged my parents for an Isiah jacket but they, Bulls fans, said no because kids were getting jumped for Starter jackets and Nikes. A part of me still thinks they didn’t want to be seen making that purchase.
When The Bad Boys came back the next season to win what they earned in ’88, I lost a couple of friends and got countless side-eyes every time I wore Isiah’s jersey in Chicago. It didn’t matter, I felt included with fans from Detroit. My tears flowed with Dennis as he was presented his heart’s desire, the Best 6th Man award. I chanted BAAAAAD BOYS with them as I watched the 313 celebrate the well-deserved NBA championship in June 1989. I was with them and mourned the same as a hidden Isiah did while he, Laimbeer, and a Wolverine named Jalon Rose walked off the court. The Bulls had finally beat the two-time Champs but, paid no respect to The Bad Boys or the city of Detroit. Walking off was justified and still admired by this lonely fan from Chicago’s South Side. Something I still defend even now at family Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners.
Again, I’m a Bad Boy fan for life and proudly accept all the drama and disrespect given to a team that always wins championships despite the odds or who is on the team. I was with them again when Joe had the best game of his career but, lost his dad hours before tip-off. Despite that blow, the Pistons accelerated to the realm of NBA Kings, with back-to-back wins in 1990. True, although the Pistons only have three rings, I still feel a sense of Pistons pride knowing they won without Isiah, Joe, Bill, Dennis, and Rick during the strike in 2004. Chemistry between this new squad was different, less violent, but the same confidence and power of The Bad Boys. In 2004, the new winners chant, DEEEEEtroit Basketball, and I was right there with Chauncey, Rip, the Wallaces, and the other Prince, Tayshaun as a working adult. My purple walls were replaced by a townhouse in Missouri but, my eyes stayed glued to any Piston player, old or new. I follow the retired players that are now coaches and analysts on NBAtv, Sports Center, and YouTube channels. I’ve joined multiple Piston groups on social media and still cheer the Pistons and expect a championship every year, despite their losses outweighing their wins. You see, my Pistons’ loyalty runs deep red and is an unbreakable blue.
When The Last Dance aired, I watched 30 for 30: Bad Boys because it’s the only footage that matters to me, especially during The Bulls’ early years. Then the mean texts and negative texts and Facebook posts began. The same anti-Isiah and Pistons comments again. I felt like a Detroit resident and took on their mantra, PISTONS against Everyone! And began the resurrected stats I memorized during my childhood.
Almost twenty-plus years later, I cheer for the Pistons despite their sad stats and recent losses. Ivey, Bey, Stewart, and #1 pic Cade Cunningham have caught my eye and my DVD is set to record any game that airs on Xfinity. One day I will see a game in person, either here in Chicago or a few hours north, in Detroit. I’ll wear a new shirt that’ll says, #ChitownBadBoysfansince88, and be ready to stand my ground for my squad. Maybe, I’ll meet Mr. Thomas one day and we can discuss the rivalries over his Champagne, Cheurlin with his old teammates? Until then, I’ll keep cheering and hoping for another Pistons’ championship from Cade, Ivey, Stewart, Bey, and Bogdanovic in the upcoming years.
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