Citizen Sports: Dear Charles Barkley

fevereiro 22, 2022 Postar um comentário

Denizen Sports: Honey Charles Barkley

Shirley Rosenthal loved everything about the Sixers—especially Sir Charles. An open letter of the alphabet to an NBA legend whose humanity oft gets lost in sound bites

Jul. 12, 2019

Dear Sir Charles,

I want to tell yous about my bully-aunt, Shirley Rosenthal, who passed away in 2022 at the historic period of 88. I'd similar to talk to you virtually her because she liked to talk to me—and everyone else—nigh you.

A career secretarial assistant, Aunt Shirley married my dad's Uncle Norman and settled in the Southward Bailiwick of jersey suburbs, where she enjoyed her status equally the "unofficial mayor" of her local swim gild. She lived in a i-story ranch house with five pocket-size-but-cozy rooms— ahome if always there was 1. The few decorations in that home could exist divided, well-nigh exclusively, into three categories: family unit photos; elephant figurines; and Philadelphia 76ers memorabilia.

My aunt was a woman for whom small-scale acts amounted to something major. Simple kindness was her currency. To her, your moments of kindness were solid equally aureate, and she treasured them every bit such, through all the days of her life.

You come across, Chuck, Aunt Shirley loved the Sixers. She was a fan, homo—the real deal. A season-ticket holder for many years, she cared about the guys on the team the way she cared nigh everyone at the swim club: like they were part of the neighborhood. On the tabular array by her living room sofa stood a statuette of Mo Cheeks, an Allen Iverson bobble-head and—I'thousand non kidding—a Charles Barkley nutcracker. Even during the Sixers' history-books bad seasons a few years back, she watched every game. Do y'all know what information technology's similar to watch every single game of a team that terrible? That's how much my aunt loved her Sixers.

In her dining room, on a shelf, was a 5″x7″ photo album, worn in like a favorite pair of Converse All-Stars. The pictures show Shirley (with Uncle Norman behind the lens) at Sixers come across-and-greets in the mid-1980s. A effulgent Aunt Shirl with Dr. J, Mo Cheeks, Moses Malone, Bobby Jones, Andrew Toney … and a immature you.

She saw you at various events during your Sixers years, and she would tell folks—lots of folks—that several times you recognized her courtside and went over to hug her.

Those moments stayed with her, Chuck. She loved the Sixers, and boy did she dearest you. She talked about you with everyone as if you were her nephew. And I don't mean while you were a actor—I mean upwards until the day she died.

Some of her favorite Barkley moments happened when you returned to Philly while playing with Phoenix and Houston. Whenever your post-Sixers teams came to boondocks, Aunt Shirley would exist there next to Uncle Norman in their customary seats, holding posters she'd made for yous. "WE Dear & MISS Y'all SIR CHARLES," one said. "We WANT YOU TO Become A Band. YOU ARE THE BEST."

In my Aunt Shirley's living room—a space roughly 10'x18'—were two couches, a large decorative cabinet, and some terminate tables and chairs. In that location's not much space for stuff. Nonetheless backside 1 of the chairs, Shirley reserved a foursquare foot for two posters, wrapped in rubber bands, which she un-wrapped whenever anyone asked—and often even when they didn't. They were the signs from those games, Chuck. They stayed in her living room for nearly two decades. Stayed there even after Shirley left this World.

Do Something

What ever interested me, whether as a author or a relative, was what exactly y'all did to earn my aunt's devotion.

I think information technology comes down to three things:

You lot excelled on the court.
You lot entertained off the court.
In the few moments that you shared with her, you were warm, open up, and kind.

That terminal ane was the biggie. It's the departure between my aunt telling people she "in one case met Charles Barkley" versus telling them, "Exercise you lot see him? That's my Charles."

You lot weren't Charles Barkley to Shirley. You were Charles.

The fascination ordinary citizens accept with athletes is a curious matter. Perchance it's that sports stars are our warriors, in a sense—the men and women nosotros turn into heroes, the stories nosotros spin into myths. Before Bird vs. Magic, at that place was Hector vs. Achilles. Or something like that.

The fascination ordinary citizens have with athletes is a curious thing. Perhaps it's that sports stars are our warriors, in a sense—the men and women we plow into heroes, the stories we spin into myths. Before Bird vs. Magic, there was Hector vs. Achilles. Or something like that.

Whatever the reason for professional athletes' influence in our culture, the sheer weight and power of that influence is undeniable. Since the days of Babe Ruth (and likely before), sports immortals have held a identify of social importance similar to that of Hollywood icons.

To have this type of impact in a order tin be a approving—but non all superstars view it as such. Athletes, contrary to popular belief, are not obligated to be great people. Per your well-known comments , they don't have to exist role models. Pros are paid to accomplish athletic victories, not moral ones.

All this is to say: Thank you for being a genuine man being. For being real. For taking a couple moments, at diverse points along ii very different lines of life, to smile for a picture, throw an arm around a shoulder, and sign an shorthand. I know these may seem like small acts, only famous people like yous are asked to do them more often than seems reasonable, and I know information technology can't always exist fun. Yous should know that small acts add together up—and that each ane, although it may seem small to you, can make a giant difference to someone else.

My aunt was a adult female for whom minor acts amounted to something major. Simple kindness was her currency. To her, your moments of kindness were solid as aureate, and she treasured them every bit such, through all the days of her life.

I told my Aunt Shirley's granddaughter, Rebecca, that I intended to write y'all a letter, and that if nosotros were really lucky, you lot might even see it. Her optics—so oftentimes tearful during the years since Shirley'south passing—lit upward. "Oh, that would exist great!" she said. "That would make Bubbie and then happy, up there in the sky."

It would make her happy. It would make her smiling—and she had a great smiling, all warmth and celebration, like a friend who hasn't seen you in years.

Maybe you think her smile, and maybe you don't—it doesn't thing. She remembered yours.

And then on behalf of Aunt Shirley, and all the other Aunt Shirleys out in that location: Thank you, Chuck, for showing and then many who you always truly were.

Sincerely,

Sam

A Philadelphia native, Sam Rosenthal has written about sports, politics, travel and life for a variety of publications. He currently is a Content Strategist for Clio, and is preparing his debut novel for publication. Follow him at @SamRoseWrites. This slice originally ran in The Cauldron.

Photo: Charles Barkley with Shirley Rosenthal. Courtesy Sam Rosenthal