Ricky!
Ricky Rubio announced this week that he'll be retiring from the NBA. But where he stands in the pantheon of Utah Jazz guards was undeniable to my son.
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More professional athletes are taking time off for mental illness than any time I can recall, ever.
Simone Biles. Naomi Osaka. Serena. [No last name needed, there.]
There's one thing all of these athletes have in common: they're women.
This past August, Cleveland Cavs guard Ricky Rubio announced that he'd be taking some time off from basketball to address his mental health issues. But, Rubio didn't give anyone a timetable on when he'd return. From his Instagram page:
“I have decided to stop my professional activity to take care of my mental health. I want to thank all the support I have received from the [Spanish national] team to understand my decision," Rubio said, in part.
"Today #family makes more sense than ever. Thank you. I would ask that my privacy be respected so that I can face these moments and be able to give more information when the time is right."
The former Utah Jazz guard took a risk by saying he'd be taking a break from international action when Spain is the odds-on favorite to win the upcoming FIBA World Cup. Ricky Rubio is arguably the the highest-profile male athlete [sorry, Kevin Love] around the world to have made such an announcement.
But let's keep it real.
Rubio, now just 32 years of age, has been playing in the pros since he was 15. This past week, he finally put his NBA basketball playing days behind him when he announced his retirement.
Like a basketball Zorro, Rubio [known only as Ricky in his early days] was swashbuckling fools out there on the floor as he zipped the rock behind his back through the painted trapezoid, finding his teammate for an easy basket.
Back then, it looked like Ricky was rewriting the script on how guards played. And YouTube was the only way you could watch him play but oh my, could he play.
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American Idol
Fast forward the tape to 2017 when my youngest boy was looking for a hero. Mom walked out of his life for a minute to deal with some things—so my son kept dribbling. And dribbling and dribbling, watching YouTube videos on our desktop computer between dribbles.
It just so happened that when my son, who first picked up a basketball at age 3, pulled up words like "sick dribbling" and "basketball tricks," old videos of Ricky Rubio popped up from those searches.
"Hey, dad! That's Ricky Rubio!!" exclaimed my son, who showed me every video he could of the then-Utah Jazz guard doing crazy ball tricks back in the mid-2000s. At that very moment it seemed like my son had forsaken his previously announced allegiance to Donovan Mitchell that he made, watching the All-Star dunk contest earlier that year.
Between that contest and a moment in our livingroom, my son had come to the realization that he had hands that were fairly large like his Dad's and so he could fire a one-handed pass. He could dribble the ball like a yo-yo for eight years old, and hit you with some wicked crossovers, too.
On the day that my son met his Jr. Jazz team in third grade, he only had one request. "Can I have No. 3?" he asked the coach. The coach smiled and said, "Ricky!" My son pumped his fist in the air and high-fived the coach. "Let'sssssss gooooo..." he yelled, dribbling his basketball as low on the ground and as fast as he could, doing crossover after crossover while we stood there. The coach laughed and patted my son's head.
A Special Connection
When I'd take my son to Jazz games he'd celebrate from his seat in the rafters any time Don or any of the other Jazz players scored. But when Ricky was in, my son could hardly contain his excitement.
He leaned forward in his chair in the nosebleed section with a grin. "Dad! DAD!! Did you see what Ricky did?" my son asked.
My son would leap from his seat, giggle and try to imitate what Ricky did way, wayyyy down on the court, dribbling the giveaway mini ball he got in the aisle. It was as if he was playing alongside Ricky, and a few people turned to watch him try and execute crossovers with such a tiny ball for a minute.
But what I remember most about what Ricky Rubio did for my son is that Ricky's videos saved my son. His jersey saved my son from having to remember how painful it was when his mom and I split. It saved him from having an awkward childhood in a rough West Kearns neighborhood.
It saved my son from being thought of as an outsider at school and gave him a purpose that he could translate on the basketball court where kids and teachers alike would stand and watch, and ooh and aah at the magic tricks he'd perform at every recess. I know this, because his 5th-grade teacher told me so.
My son would put his basketball down, eventually, as genetics on his mom's side kicked in and started catching up with the size of his hands. My son moved on to play football, but that work ethic that he learned from those old Ricky Rubio videos is still there when I see him bite down on the mouthpiece and play.
That's what Ricky Rubio meant to my son. And in the three magical seasons when Ricky was here in Utah, between grades three and five for my son, he unknowingly gave my son back his childhood. So I thank Ricky for doing that. I don’t know if Rubio will ever read this article, but I want him to know that in his time of great need, there are fans in Utah who still care about him.
Be safe and be well. See ya next time.
Thanks again for reading Brian Vs. Utah and my weekend story. Subscribers are already aware that I’m hard at work on my upcoming book SPORTZZ FRUM HOME.
This was a lovely read. As I always say when I post comments here, I don't speak sports but always find so much good/human stuff in your essays it doesn't matter. : )