One of the funnier people on Twitter, netw3rk
writes about Stern and the Draft
With each consecutive pick, Stern got stronger, and the crowd grew weaker. By the sixth pick — Nerlens Noel to the Pelicans — Stern, feeling the boos to be insufficiently loud as to befit his stature, goaded the crowd with a beckoning come on gesture. By the 16th pick, the waning boos were dappled with a smattering of applause. By 20, the cheering had overtaken the jeers; Stern paused at the podium before speaking, taking the measure of the crowd. Then at 21, Stern unleashed a haymaker. “We've had to explain to our international audience,” said Stern, to a drizzle of tepid abuse, “that the boo is an American sign of respect.” Huge cheers erupted from the crowd, along with much sincere laugher. A skinny usher wearing a dreadlock tam the size of a small planet slapped me on the shoulder and screamed, “He loves it! He loves it!” Yes, I do believe he does. Stern’s swag on a trillion now. Two picks later, Stern laughed in everyone’s face. “Your enthusiasm seems to be waning,” he teased, pronouncing “waning” like a schoolyard bully who wants to know why you won’t stop hitting yourself. Then at 27, like a conductor calling his orchestra to attention, came the knockout blow. David Stern gives zero-billion *****.
By the 28th pick, I had seen enough. Call the fight, David Stern over Boos, TKO in the first. Time to stagger back downstairs, where all that was left were the mimes who turned out to be French who were actually pretending to be French. It was Stern’s last hurrah and he outlasted us all. As he left the stage for the last time, flanked by commish-in-waiting Adam Silver and Hakeem Olajuwon, the crowd was chanting “We want Da-vid! We want Da-vid!” After 30 years, he had won us over.