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Posted by Kelly Dwyer

It's been a memorable summer, for a host of reasons, but this isn't the point of this mess of blues.

The first week of September, for those of us who have been through a whole heap of first weeks of Septembers, has long been the dregs of the NBA calendar. The Draft has long passed, the free agents have settled, the second-tier free agents have moved on, the lingering veterans have yet to acquiesce, and media day is still a ways away. It's time, dear friends, for a bit of a throwback. A little nostalgia never hurt anyone beyond Abbie Hoffman, and I see no reason why we shouldn't litter the comments page (or my email inbox, or TrueHoop for today and tomorrow) with a gaze toward the past.

There has to be a beat, or an attempt at one, and that's why my memorable summer comes into play. I'm a month removed from visiting Memphis for the first time. A month removed from gawking from within Stax Records, dodging cars angling out of the sun in time to take a picture of the Hi Records studio, and sneaking furtive glances and hardly-condoned gropes of Scotty Moore's Gibson ES-295 at Sun Studios. It was an inspiring weekend. And yet, for all my love of all things Booker T and MG-ish, I came out of the time spent in Memphis boasting a freakish jones for the boys in Big Star.

Big Star, a band 12 of you have ever heard of, are best broken down by this Wikipedia entry; because I'm sure the lovely gents that run ESPN.com's NBA page have little interest editing this wannabe Michael Thomas-isms (check the back of Bloomfield/Stills/Cooper's "Super Session" for that reference) when we could be talking about potential recruits for Miami's backup point guard slot. That said, there's a reason why I'm bringing this up.

Certain solid feelings lend themselves to warm thoughts which lead to crash courses for the ravers - and you end up identifying certain songs/bands/melodies/Mellotron solos with certain points in your life. Because my life's visual play-by-play inadvertently involves tacky pro basketball uniforms as its overwhelming influence, the audio portion of the program can't help but be up for grabs.

Which is why I remember Big Star, a band I'd heard for five years before 1997 (when your heroes in the Replacements actually write a song about one of the lead singers in a band, this one being Big Star, you tend to pay attention), but was unable to secure a solid copy of the group's three albums before that fateful term. Luck shined on this pasty chap in 1997, it was two days before Memorial Day and two weeks past his 17th birthday, and a German import that included all three of the band's albums was available in the sticks he'd recently availed himself to.

Take it home, crank it, try to temper expectations, try to explain away why "Feel" sounds nothing like the Anglophile-awesomeness we'd heard so much about for lo, these many years. Press pause, watch a Conference Final game. Rockets/Jazz; the superstar Rox should have no problem with this geezer set - why are things so close? It comes down to a last shot, the Jazz overplay on Hakeem, overplay on Clyde Drexler, Matt Maloney is rightfully covered, and Chicago's-own Eddie Johnson (this is starting to feel el goodo) is left wide open with about a quarter-second to let fly with a 24-footer.

Money. The Rockets win. Johnson runs to the opposing basket, covering the floor at a pace that Rickey Green couldn't help but admire, and took in a series of hugs from a pinstriped lot that really, really wanted it. They wanted that ring. For a Bulls fan, wondering if the Heat (down 0-3) were going to be able to take a game from Chicago (they did, after Jordan played 36 holes before Game 4, and missed 21 of his first 22 shots), it was an unbelievable afternoon. Then the Big Star albums hit.

And here's where I want you to hit. Write in. What reminds you of what? To throw my hipster cred out the window, I thought I'd offer a few more suggestions:

• I still remember the smell of newly cut grass and either Queen's News of the World (for obvious reasons) and Queen II during the 1992 Finals.
• I can recall debating and not looking forward to (why couldn't the boys from Belleville work it out?) the upcoming Wilco/Sun Volt tilt during the early stages of the 1995 playoffs. Once the 1995 lockout ended, the Anglo version (Blur versus Oasis) had launched.
• I remember talking about Chicago's hideous pinstriped unis, introduced in a road loss to the then-hated (now pitied) Orlando Magic in November of 1995, with Urge Overkill's Eddie "King" Roeser after a show. He hated the uniforms, but also loved the spirits - which was quite apparent to this otherwise oblivious 15-year old in an Afghan Whigs t-shirt.
• I remember pumping myself up to certain cuts from Stevie Wonder's "Songs In the Key Of Life" during Chicago's 1996 playoff run. Obviously, the three-LP set was the deciding factor -- the Bulls wouldn't have won any of those games had I not made it through "Contusion" just seconds before tip-off. I also remember taking in a fair amount of Humble Pie whilst re-watching games that summer.
• I remember that Jimmy Reed, whether he knew it or not, had a big part in Scottie Pippen's foot rehabilitation during the 1997-98 season. I had a sense that Scottie knew about Jimmy's role.
• I remember Gil Evans' contributions with Miles Davis getting me through the 1998 lockout's winter, and the glorious 3M sheen of Donald Fagen's "Nightfly" disc warming the cockles of my David Falk'ed heart after the labor stalemate broke in the first week of 1999. From here, I'm just going to throw out names.
• Jason Caffey, T. Rex.
• Darrell Armstrong, "Blue Monk." (Soon, Bethlehem, soon)
• Combing my hair before school to look like this guy, wondering if Scott Burrell will work in the Triangle Offense.
  
• The Crusaders (the only band I could play my guitar along with quietly in a tiny apartment while still achieving a tasty tone, WHILE watching tapes of the 2002 Finals).
• Tyrone Nesby, the lockout year, and Bob Dylan's Albert Hall "bootleg."
• From bar to street to bookie, and Kenyon Martin as a small forward as a rookie.

More and more to come, but you have to start ...