on Sports
Stern Dress Code


Silliman on Sports
By Stan Silliman
Stern Dress Code Doesn't Dress Well

           One of our readers – Lonnie, the Lonz, Lowenthal – is upset, almost irate at David Stern’s new dress code policies for the NBA. So when something like this happens we at Silliman on Sports go into action. We asked the Lonz if he’d like to, on our dime, go up to interview Mr. Stern and get his take on the new policies. To our surprise, Lonnie said sure, his cable was down but he had plenty of rope, and we had no idea what he meant by that so we sent him to New York, which we found out was his former home prior to becoming a boot wearing Texan.

    Lonnie arrives at 645 5th Street, site of the Olympic Tower, elevators to the 15th floor and is shown to Mr. Stern’s offices by Lynetta. There he finds the hard working commissioner behind his desk all iced out in Makaveli low rider jeans topped by a 2pac Black Nostalgia tee, Phat Farm jacket and twirling his medallions. “Hey, my man, Lonz,” David greets him, “always good to meet a fan. Whazzup?”

    “Mr. Commissioner, I came to ask about the dress, but… what are you wearing?”
    “Oh, this?” says David “Just a little sumpin’-sumpin’ I yanked from the closet. Usually I run with my Sean Johns, but, hey, yo came on a Friday.”

    “I don’t know where to begin. Don’t you think your new dress code, making all the players wear business casual is a bit racist? I mean when they’re playing the games, they’re close to naked. Are you going to make them go though skin pigmentation treatments, also?”

    “Mr. Lonz, yo a lansman, ain’t you? “Stern huffs, “Quit kvetching, you putz. We imaging, here. Don’t be a hater.  Everyone gotta be down with sumpin’. I’m down wit makin’ the NBA the best product it can be. That means when we travel, they be no sunglasses, pendants, medallions, slanty hats. When our players travel, they representin’. By the way, what yo think o’ my Bentley pendent, here?”    
Stern Dress Code
    “That’s very cool, Mr. Stern, but what about the owners? You make the players conform yet the owners dress like billionaire doofuses – Mark Cuban, the Maloofs, the guy with the Jazz. Are you going to make them shape up?”

    “Kid, did you remember me saying no kvetching?” Stern gives Lonz a stern slap, “The owners are not employees. I can’t even get Mark Cuban to shave. Who can control the Maloof brothers? Someone in their organization flashed those horrible pics of D-town on the Arco Arena scoreboard. Maloof lets that ‘Pimp my Ride’ Xhibit guy sit courtside. If you think I can control these guys, yo can just grab yo biscuits and walk outta here.”

    Lonnie gets up to leave. Stern calls to him “C’mon back here, you fan, you. Get yo bozack back in here. It’s all good. These guys are all professionals, well paid at that. Look what the players are saying, even that goofball Dirk says he’ll buy a couple of suits. It’s not going to break him. Shawn Marion, he says it’s cool. T.J. Ford, Grant Hill, no kvetchers, there. When NBA teams walk through the airport, nobody’s going to mistake them for a band. Besides, tall guys look good in pinstripes. Us short guys like you and I… style in Sean John. Lose those boots, kid.”

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