New York City is a magnet for superstars and celebrity types, so no one is surprised to see say Magic Johnson or Justin Timberlake and his bad perm walking down Broadway on any given day. In fact, most New Yorkers are so used to these sightings that few even bat an eye. Plus, as I learned shortly after I arrived in this city six years ago, it's definitely not cool to gawk at all the famous people -- that type of behavior is only expected of tourists.

So when Michael Finley strolled into the Blue Fin restaurant in the W Hotel in Times Square -- the new hot spot -- on Thursday night, few heads turned. Even I thought, "oh, I think that's Finley," as I nodded my head toward him and smiled before digging back into my plate of red snapper. The sleek guard gave me a smooth brotherman nod in return and kept moving, looking relaxed in his Jordan sweatsuit and freshly-braided cornrows.

An hour later, my friend and I decided to move to the tres trendy lobby bar upstairs and people watch -- who cares what the natives think? (Plus, he was visiting from D.C., which officially made him a tourist.) We grabbed two drinks for $23 and headed for the plush, overstuffed white leather lounge chairs. Excellent. We both had a full view of the entire lobby.

Minutes later, I noticed Darius Miles and Quentin Richardson step out of the elevator and walk over to the registration desk. Then in walked rapper/Spud Webb-wannabe Bow Wow, his mom and a tipsy, overloaded luggage cart. Now I knew something was up. Why were so many ballers in town? The season had just ended last night at Conentinental Arena with the Lakers beatdown of the Nets; maybe they were still in town from attending the game?

Switching quickly back into work mode (I'd just left the office three hours ago) I dug into my bag for a pen and notebook and started to approach the Clippers to find out what was up. But Miles and Q ran a fast-break though the lobby and by the time I squeezed through the crowd of apple martini-drinking waifs and guys with permanent orange suntans and perfect teeth, it was too late. Miles and Richardson had dashed back on to the elevator. Maybe they'll come back down, I thought as I situated myself on a cushioned bench in front of the elevator. It was nearly midnight, but the place was jumping.

I didn't have to wait long. With the next swoosh of the stainless-steel elevator doors, out poured Baron Davis, Gucci bucket hat pulled way down over his eyes, retro jersey Reggie Lewis No. 35, two-way pager in hand. He was tapping in a message so he didn't see me standing right in front of him until he started talking to a public relations woman who was waiting for him. Just by coincidence, my friend also knew the woman waiting for Baron and had been trying to hook us up for a few months. He quickly introduced us and gave me the opening I needed to holla at Baron for a minute. I wanted to thank him for doing a story with us during the season and of course find out why he was in town. Maybe ask him about the move to New Orleans next season.

But Baron had other things on his mind: "I need a good chiropractor," he said to the woman standing by. "My back needs an adjustment and a good massage. Can you find someone to come to the hotel in the morning?" he asked. The woman, explained to me that Baron, Darius, Elton Brand, Q. Richardson and Finley were all in town to shoot a TV special with Bow Wow for the premiere of his new movie Like Mike. The NBA players would be balling in the morning at Rucker Park against some of the best playground players around: Bone Collector, Whole Lotta Game and Lenny Cook, to name a few. And if Baron didn't get his back right, he might not be able to play tomorrow. Problem was she was from LA and had no clue who to call.

So like any friendly New Yorker, I offered help. Plus, it's a scary thought that someone with a multi-million-dollar body would allow any Yellow Pages chiropractor to crack his back. I could see the headlines now: "New York doc Breaks Baron's Back." I couldn't let that happen.

"Hey, I have a friend who's a doctor, knee surgeon, maybe he knows someone. I'll give him a call," I said. Luckily, Dr. Ian Smith was still awake at 1 a.m. I quickly explained the situation to him and he fired off some medical questions: "What's wrong with his back? Why does he want to see a chiropractor, he needs a real doctor; has he considered surgery? I don't know, I might have to take a look." Typical doctor. In the end, Ian recommended a simple massage, skip the chiropractor, too dangerous. And he promised to find someone who could come to the hotel in the morning.

Good deed done for the night, I decided to head home. It was 1:30 a.m. And after a week on the road covering the Tyson fight in Memphis and the late night NBA playoff games, I could use a massage myself. "Hey, nice to meet you. I hope you can come out to Rucker tomorrow," the PR woman said. "I'll try, sounds good. I'll call you," I said, heading for the door.

As the NBA players loaded into the white stretch Lexus and Navigator limos idiling curbside ready to take them to the next hot spot, I flagged down a trusty Yellow Cab and headed home. Just another night's work in the big city.

Roxanne Jones is deputy editor of ESPN The Magazine. E-mail her at roxanne.jones@espn.com.