Players and Teams Who Never Should Have Been

The Dream in Splendid Raptors Purple, But Of Course

Certain things just don't look right. Guys in skin-tight blue jeans. Crown Victoria sedans sitting on 26s. Carlos Beltran's hair.

The same can be said of athletes, particularly those who spent large portions of their career with one team and then put on a new and unfamiliar uniform. The phenomenon is exacerbated with big stars. In researching our previous post on the decline of starting pitching, we utilized the phenomenal resource that is the baseball almanac. It was there we were reminded that our beloved Doc Gooden, in addition to donning the pinstripes of the evil empire and sporting Chief Wahoo atop his noggin, played for the Astros and Devil Rays.

Wait, what? Yes, time seems to have contributed to memory erosion (OK, probably a little more than time along, but that is besides the point). During our life span of our sports fanaticism, there have been a few player moves we simply failed to ever come to peace with. These might not have been the last stop for these stars, or even their shortest stint, but something about seeing those players in those jerseys was simply irreconcilable.

For these folks, we've either truthfully forgotten, pretended to forget or are still actively seeking to eradicate their memory in certain duds. Our list has a slight slant toward a few of our favorite local teams. Don't hold it us against us. Hit us up with yours in the comments.

Patrick Ewing (Seattle Supersonics)
Whether fans care to admit it our not, Patrick Ewing is arguably the greatest Knicks of all-time. He was a pillar of a team that competed at the highest level for nearly a decade with the 7-ft Hoya in the middle. And while he earned his ticket to the Hall this year, the spectacle of #33 in Sonics green never felt right. Even Orlando wasn't as bothersome as Patrick was already on his way out and, besides, at least blue looked familiar on him. This did not...


Emmitt Smith (Arizona Cardinals)
Long before he was making us all dumber via his ESPN commentary, Emmitt was a pretty solid NFL running back. OK, like really, really solid. For 13 seasons, #22 was a fixture in the Cowboys backfield and formed that nasty triumvirate with Aikman and Irvin that football people can't seem to talk about enough. During his decade plus in Big D, Emmitt started at least 14 games every season and rushed for over 1,000 yards ten straight campaigns. Then he went out West and put on an Arizona Cardinals jersey. And it was just...weird.


Wayne Gretzky (St. Louis Blues)
The Great One made his name in Edmonton. He won cups. Hollywood seemed the perfect stop during the late 80s and early 90s. The best player in hockey makes the Kings relevant in L.A. Perfect. Even Gretzky's swan song in the Big Apple didn't feel all that funny (sure it helped that I was a Rangers fan). But one season wedged in between L.A. and NYC was a bit different than the others. "Ladies and Gentlemen! The Captain of your St. Louis Blues, Wayne...Gretzky!


Hakeem Olajuwon (Toronto Raptors)
Was it a Dream or did Hall-of-Famer Hakeem Olajuwon really end his 18-year career in Toronto after 17 seasons as a Houston Rocket? At least he wasn't sporting one of those vicious-looking dinosaurs across his chest.


Eric Dickerson (Atlanta Falcons)
There was Rams Dickerson and Colts Dickerson. When did this Atlanta Falcons Dickerson come about? Apparently the Falcons were trying to catch lightning in a bottle that had already drifted to sea, or, more likely, just some publicity. Unfortunately for them, Dickerson carried the rock all of 26 times for 91 yards before hanging up his cleats for good.


Brian Leetch (Boston Bruins)
Leetchy should have never left New York. He didn't want to go. We didn't want him to go. It's kind of like the whole Tom Glavine Atlanta thing but the other way around...or something. For some reason, #2's trek up to Toronto didn't bug us. Perhaps it's because they actually care a lot about hockey up there, so we figured it was probably pretty cool to play in front of those fans. But the Bruins? That was unacceptable.


Dominique Wilkins (Boston Celtics)
'Nique is a Hawk. He's the only thing good that ever happened to that franchise. He is the face of the organization. As far as I'm concerned, he never played in Los Angeles or San Antonio. And he certainly never suited up for the Celtics (/steadfastly refusing to acknowledge previously stated facts).


Randall Cunningham (Dallas Cowboys)
Here's another one that simply doesn't compute. Minnesota? OK. I remember that. It was a few years. It was exciting. Randall was still an Eagle in everyone's head, but the Vikings thing didn't seem totally bizarre. But heading to the Cowboys after 11 years in Philthadelphia? The former Eagle...to the dreaded Boys? Of course this was then followed by the logical final stop in Baltimore. Sure, Randall the Raven. Puh-leez.


Jerry Rice (Seattle Seahawks)
The best receiver in the history of the NFL. The most potent quarterback-to-wideout combo of all-time. Many would argue Jerry Rice is the best football player to ever step on the field, at any position. But if you would have asked a fan in the 80s and 90s which was more probable, they may have actually chosen the option that Rice would appear on an ABC reality show called "Dancing with the Stars" over the possibility of Rice ending his career in a Seattle Seahawks uniform. Luckily, we got to experience both (tongue embedded in cheek).


Michael Jordan (Washington Wizards)
I won't even pretend I wasn't fired up to see MJ lace them up again, no matter the team. I was. Everyone was. But it was not the same, and it probably wouldn't have mattered what the uni. Somehow, though, it looks even goofier on a poster. Jordan is in wearing RED on posters. He is flying, gliding, dunking...his tongue is out. He is not wearing long goofy white spandex and a knee brace, and he is definitely not passing the ball.

We know there are others that rocked your sports-crazed worlds at the time (and maybe still do). Which sight could you never come to grips with? Pete Rose with the Expos slightly before we were old enough to know that was weird comes to mind. Montana in Chiefs red (never bothered me that much, but I'm sure it was like nails on a chalkboard for the West Coast folk)? Bonds as a Ray. Whoops, getting ahead of ourselves. Who else?

A Short White Kid's Best Toy Ever: Honoring the Jordan Jammer

Seven Feet of Pure Heaven

You can wear Michael Jordan shoes...

You can wear a Michael Jordan shirt...

But you're never gonna feel like Michael Jordan...

Until you can jam like Michael Jordan.

Words that helped define a generation. As we stand days away from the 2008 Slam Dunk competition, we felt obliged to honor a true legend.

All due respect to the human highlight film, Dr. J and dunk champions of yester-year from Spudd to Dee to Sky, but they are mere blips on the radar screen of dunk history. One single moment outshines them all. A solitary debut of such magnitude that it shaped the pre-pubescent lives of millions of white kids in America. We are of course referencing the Lil' Sports launch of the "Jordan Jammer" in 1987.

Ahhhh, what a glooorious year. Bless you, Ohio Art. Check out Retro Junk for the stand-alone clip or to see the commercial that changed it all you can also hit up the YouTube video below (just FF to the 1:13 mark and/or enjoy the My Little Pony ads for added non-sports-related entertainment).

The Jordan Jammer, if you are not a Gen-X/Yer or were locked in a closet during those decades, was a gift from the heavens to millions in the late 80s. I was ten years old at the time and couldn't wait to have at my Jordan Jammer. Without perpetuating stereotypes irresponsibly, the 7-foot Jordan Jammer (that distinction is quite important, as many of my friends actually referred to their hoop as the 7-ft-jammer and ignored the endorsement of his airness) was marketed to sports-crazed little white kids who would never approach the rim on a 10-ft hoop in their lifetime and whose basketball careers would undoubtedly fail to extend beyond high school.

Don't believe us, just watch the commercial again and behold the awkward pasty-white lefty soaring through the air with whatever is the opposite of grace. Hopefully, those 80s marketers got their due, because the Jordan Jammer done blew the f up. Every one of my vertically-challenged friends had one. It was the toy around which playdates were arranged, kept and cancelled (busted Jammer? forget you, I'll go to some other kid's crib). All around my suburban NYC community, there were heated one-on-one match-ups taking place in basements and dens multiple times per week.

Those who chose to show off their game by tossing the little orange rubber b-ball from the perimeter? Pansies. Bona fide sissy-pants. You went strong to that seven-foot goal or you didn't come at all. After all, it was the Jordan Jammer not the seven-foot-work-on-your-outside-game-toy.

I'd pay top-dollar to go back in time and watch a video reel of my dunk repertiore. It was breathtaking. I was less of a glider than MJ, so I rarely took off from the foul line (or that arbirtrary line at the end of the couch deemed the foul line). No, my game was more of a bullying tomahawk-infused style. I preferred to always go to the rack with two hands and finish it off with a stare down over my feeble four-foot-nothing opponent. Regardless, it was still a thing of beauty.

However, one dunker in our neighborhood was without a doubt the most feared. We will call him only "Jesse" to prevent further misguided ill-will aimed at his childhood actions. Simply put, Jesse was our White Chocolate Thunder. J-Man eradicated Jordan Jammers. He was our 'Nique, combining a level of strength and serious hops that none of us could come close to rivaling. Years later, Jesse is by far the best streetballer among us. Back then, he was a painful dilemma. Invite him to your house and be witness to a spectacle unlike we had ever seen. But, at the same time, put your beloved Jordan Jammer very clearly in harm's way.

For many of us, the chance to see Jesse unleash his fury was too strong to resist. And, unfortunately, many of us paid the price for the indulgence. Legend has it J took down anywhere from 5-10 of our Jordan Jammers. And that was in our little neighborhood alone. There's not telling what he did outside of our town, in greater NY or even out of state. Neither sand, nor water-filled plastic bases could stop him. Any other props aimed at strengthening the Jordan Jammer were similarly rendered useless. How many he ultimately destroyed is something we may never know.

But all of it...the arrival of our very own Jordan Jammer...the battles waged...the memorable dunkers of our youth...and J-Man...ahhh, we will forever cherish the memories.