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By Hannah S. Brown
The title may a bit misleading because, as a woman, I'm not about to break down the interworkings of Man Crush to a bunch of male basketball junkies who, no doubt, are crushin' on some baller as we speak. This is merely a plea for understanding.
My 12 year-old son (let's just call him Andrew) has been man crushing like crazy going on 3 years now and, quite frankly, it's weird. It always begins preseason with talk of some player I've never heard of but no doubt get to know very well by the time March Madness rolls around. First it was O.J. Mayo, then it was Brandon Jennings, after that, Ty Lawson, and now its Mike Rosario.
My view of a Man Crush is probably lopsided and womanly bias. From the outside looking in it appears to be an unhealthy obesession that results in a continuous babbling on about a player as if the man crusher is being paid to endorse him for GreekGods R Us. For boys (and maybe grown men, I don't know), it's SLAM and Sports Illustrated picture clippings plastered all over the bedroom walls with the magazines' remains strewn all over the floor amid dirty socks and smelly shorts. It's viewing the player's 40-second high school game clip on YouTube over, and over, and over again. And it's defending the player even when he sucks to the utmost, making the man crusher look as dumb and irrational as the "masterminds" behind the drafting of Danilo Gallinari.
But I have learned one thing, and please correct me if I'm wrong. A Man Crush can be recanted and revoked at any given time. How do I know this? I'm still ticked about the fifty plus dollars I dished out last season to buy my kid the #5 Ty Lawson jersey he bugged the hell out of me for. Then good 'ole Ty proceeds to twist his ankle and go soft on the team for the rest of the season. Man Crush dead. Fifty plus dollars wasted. Boy with #5 UNC jersey now wants #50 UNC jersey.
Just my two cents on what doesn't make sense. I'll leave you men to your crushes.
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