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2026 is when the SLAM ICONS project got going, a run of digital covers honouring storied players, teams and moments in basketball history. Here the subject is Latrell Sprewell.
Fandom is a funny thing. Strangers load their own beliefs and past tragedies onto young athletes, and the same people are quickest to vilify a player whose true story they never knew and never cared to learn. One strike and you're out, at least to most of these fans.
Fair enough: Sprewell had more than one strike. Those strikes answered pain from his past that nobody ever noticed or asked about, though.
A second chance came in New York, and the high-flying, scarily competitive All-Star took it. He was embraced, celebrated, even. The blue and orange's faithful cheered him on, ecstatically, right through the run to the '99 Finals. They gravitated towards him even as he kept gravitating towards the rim on power-packed 10-foot punches. Picture a whole fanbase below him, reaching out for a chance to dance with his special kind of havoc.
Not that he noticed. His past errors taught him to block out the noise, good or bad. Most of the time he was listening to Wu-Tang Clan in his Discman, getting ready to bring da ruckus. And he always did.
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