Late Tuesday night, I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. I answered the phone with the typical excitement one has for a phone call at 2:30 in the morning. Fully expecting a drunken conversation with a forgotten friend, I was ready to answer, mumble it's late, and hang up, but to my surprise, the call was from Kevin Garnett's agent returning my request to interview a player I've always admired for his defensive intensity, all-around skill, and passion for the game. That was in April and I never expected any feedback, let alone an interview. After all, I am just an unknown blogger for an unknown blog from an unknown town in Virginia. Not everything goes as expected. I got an interview with KG, and Game 3 of the NBA Finals may not have been the moment of crisis that everyone believed it to be.
Before arriving at the cafe in Chestnut Hill (where we agreed to meet), I was overcome with a nervous energy after thinking of the pure intensity with which he plays, and I wondered to myself if this volatility is for real or if it's all a show. And who could blame me: what with all the incessant screaming, chest pounding, and browbeating. No one could be that intense, or could they? That's when I found out the truth. I walked up to the all-star, greeted with a hug, and as I escaped his embrace I got the following shot where he screamed at the top of his lungs about the availability of his favorite breakfast pastry.
This was certainly the most interesting situation I had ever been in, being screamed at about the availability of scones, a snack usually reserved for quiet tea parties, hosted by gentle grandmothers. I tried my best to take it in stride. We had coffee. He had the scones he was looking for and we moved on to the next stop, the neighborhood grocery store. As we were entering the store, I wondered to myself what could he possibly be shopping for, I mean he must have a personal chef that does the shopping and cooking for him. Then I noticed KG was already at the other side of the grocery store, moving a mile a minute and talking even faster. Somehow I caught up to him, only to have him yell at me once again.
After his agent explained to him that I was not an employee of the Whole Foods store and that I'm the photographer following him for the day, he responds by informing me he just really needs apple sauce, that his craving for the food burns deep within his gut, and I didn't question the man or his cravings, no matter how odd they appeared to be.
We searched for apple sauce over the next twenty minutes. He wanted "the southern kind with the redneck on the jar" (I was previously unaware that there was more than one type of apple sauce). Thankfully, I found someone who worked there. Before explaining what I was looking for, the clerk said "You're here with KG aren't you? Here's the apple sauce he wants." Dumbfounded, I asked how he knew what we wanted, and without skipping a beat, the clerk states, "KG comes in here twice a day for the same thing, and he never remembers where it is."
After handing off the apple sauce to Kevin, he responded by beating his chest and putting his head through a glass door in the milk aisle. After regaining his composure, we headed to his last errand. The last stop would be to pick out his outfit for the local Emmy's, for which he was presenting an award for best public access show. Once inside the clothier, I sat down expecting a long drawn out search for the perfect suit. Before I could check my watch for the time he appeared from out of nowhere dressed in a tux.
At that point, he introduced himself as if he were James Bond, prompting me to decide that my time was up, the interview was over. I had learned almost nothing about the man, other than when he screams that it's not just for show. It's just who he is, whether on the basketball court or in a grocery store looking for apple sauce. The man is G, KG! and he wants everyone to know that the Celtics still have a few bullets left in their gun--consider Game 4 a warning shot.
Before arriving at the cafe in Chestnut Hill (where we agreed to meet), I was overcome with a nervous energy after thinking of the pure intensity with which he plays, and I wondered to myself if this volatility is for real or if it's all a show. And who could blame me: what with all the incessant screaming, chest pounding, and browbeating. No one could be that intense, or could they? That's when I found out the truth. I walked up to the all-star, greeted with a hug, and as I escaped his embrace I got the following shot where he screamed at the top of his lungs about the availability of his favorite breakfast pastry.
This was certainly the most interesting situation I had ever been in, being screamed at about the availability of scones, a snack usually reserved for quiet tea parties, hosted by gentle grandmothers. I tried my best to take it in stride. We had coffee. He had the scones he was looking for and we moved on to the next stop, the neighborhood grocery store. As we were entering the store, I wondered to myself what could he possibly be shopping for, I mean he must have a personal chef that does the shopping and cooking for him. Then I noticed KG was already at the other side of the grocery store, moving a mile a minute and talking even faster. Somehow I caught up to him, only to have him yell at me once again.
After his agent explained to him that I was not an employee of the Whole Foods store and that I'm the photographer following him for the day, he responds by informing me he just really needs apple sauce, that his craving for the food burns deep within his gut, and I didn't question the man or his cravings, no matter how odd they appeared to be.
We searched for apple sauce over the next twenty minutes. He wanted "the southern kind with the redneck on the jar" (I was previously unaware that there was more than one type of apple sauce). Thankfully, I found someone who worked there. Before explaining what I was looking for, the clerk said "You're here with KG aren't you? Here's the apple sauce he wants." Dumbfounded, I asked how he knew what we wanted, and without skipping a beat, the clerk states, "KG comes in here twice a day for the same thing, and he never remembers where it is."
After handing off the apple sauce to Kevin, he responded by beating his chest and putting his head through a glass door in the milk aisle. After regaining his composure, we headed to his last errand. The last stop would be to pick out his outfit for the local Emmy's, for which he was presenting an award for best public access show. Once inside the clothier, I sat down expecting a long drawn out search for the perfect suit. Before I could check my watch for the time he appeared from out of nowhere dressed in a tux.
At that point, he introduced himself as if he were James Bond, prompting me to decide that my time was up, the interview was over. I had learned almost nothing about the man, other than when he screams that it's not just for show. It's just who he is, whether on the basketball court or in a grocery store looking for apple sauce. The man is G, KG! and he wants everyone to know that the Celtics still have a few bullets left in their gun--consider Game 4 a warning shot.
