The Procrastinator

By: Ryan Pravato

This former Association act cannot for his life remember
the blur, the stir, the unheralded journey of his NBA tenure,
seven in eleven, he donned the jersey of many a team
but all his hopes of settling down would be but only a dream,
if only this guard hadn’t resembled a trainer stretching out Hakeem
or a new ball boy, eyes wide, full of unfazed esteem,
he might have gotten more run for his body,
the vagabond himself, the lefty, John Crotty.

Heart, flare, grit, mean, and lean
undrafted but he lasted, that provocative skinny bean
man that cat could get around
he’d tee it up, unleash from downtown
and he’d attack, remember the dunk along the base line
Jordan came over late, eyed the ascension— the Garden shrine
started from the Tulsa blacktop, ended in New York fame
man I’d pay to see John Starks play one more game.

Lightening quick, so slick, feverously on top
serenely cream of the crop
dribble drive, pull up, hit the J
put the D on tape delay.

Fourth pick in ‘05, a maniacal surprise
I must despise the guys in ties
did they not realize
the actual size of the prize?

Mamba got the bling instead of kid sting
lifetime achievement believe it
only a ring can prove this thing
if no cigars are lit the critics won’t quit.

Rift the franchise from the Crescent City
then see it cease to survive
another team’s gift spells another’s pity
One must crumble, the other thrive.

Ryan misses both Johns equally. Tell him which John you desire more at rotavarp@yahoo.com.