Russ previewed the Atlantic Division earlier this week, and I followed that up with Rondo, the Dreamer, and here's the fictional back story on Amare, inspired by his move this offseason to New York and his delving into his Jewish heritage:
Amare stands on the Brooklyn Bridge, suspended over one of America's great rivers by the stone and concrete and steel cables that once helped one of America's greatest cities cross into modernity. His yellow taxi is pulled up against the curb, smoking like a meteorite or a capsule from Krypton, the vapors rising from the yellow dented hood like steam off a desert lake. Are such scenes possible? They must be, for this is what the scene is. Are such scenes laden with irony? They must be, for here is a man, used to being hailed down by pedestrians with their hands raised like a holy man's trying to catch the spirit, now standing on the side of the road with his own arm extended, waiting to be rescued. Life does this to us: bouncing us back and forth, like a ping pong ball, between the stations of being what is needed and what does the needing, maybe there isn't even a distinction, like how Superman needed a planet where capes weren't in fashion in order to make his special.
