I was present when Eddy Curry’s career began to fall apart.

In the summer of 2008, the Knicks held training camp at my school, Skidmore College. As a player on Skidmore’s basketball team, I was one of a handful of people allowed to watch the training camp. Mike D’Antoni had just been hired in New York, Allan Houston was attempting an ill-fated comeback, Stephon Marbury’s head bore the mark of his sneaker company, Nate Robinson half-assed a number of drills, David Lee saw the Skidmore volleyball team and remarked that spandex were what he missed most about college, Jerome James asked my buddy to fetch him a sandwich during the middle of practice, Zach Randolph grabbed rebounds like a vacuum and consistently exhibited the excitement of a pre-schooler meeting his favorite television character, Quentin Richardson told me the Knicks would be lucky to make the playoffs, and Eddy Curry never practiced once.

There were rumors that Curry was going to practice every day. He was sick, I heard once. He just needed to lose a few pounds, I heard another time. My buddy saw him working out in the Skidmore weight room. “But he just kind of chilled. And he looked even fatter than before,” my buddy said. Now, those reports would elicit a duh. But then, Curry was coming off a 13-point, five-rebound 2007-’08 season. He had slowed severely since the ’06-’07 year and clearly gained a bra size or two, but he was still a productive player.

He was productive, that is, until D’Antoni’s first training camp arrived and Curry became a ghost, a rumor, a no-show and ultimately, one of the worst insults a player can be labeled, an expiring contract. There would be similar rumors for the remainder of Curry’s remaining three years with the Knicks — he’s almost ready, he’s working out hard, he’ll play soon — but he would play only ten games during the next three seasons, earning $31 million for all his hard work. His fully guaranteed six year, $60 million contract finally ran out at the end of last season. But it could still be one of the reasons the NBA lockout continues.

Guaranteed contracts have reportedly become a sticking point in the NBA’s labor negotiations. Before Game 4 of this year’s NBA Finals, according to the Washington Post’s Mike Wise, a number of owners met with approximately a dozen players and the topic of guaranteed contracts was broached.

As usual, Mark Cuban offered his two cents.

“When we had Tariq Abdul-Wahad, he didn’t seem to want to train, didn’t really want to practice — he really was interested in a lot of things besides basketball,” Cuban said. Cuban then complained about Abdul-Wahad’s guaranteed six year, $40 million contract. “And I’m stuck with that,” Cuban said. Even if Abdul Wahad spent all of his time eating cannolis and drinking mimosas.

A lawyer for the players union then mentioned that J.J. Barea made only $1 million per season. “How about that?” he said. “You’re getting a bargain in a guy like J.J. Barea.”

That was when David Stern spoke.

“All right, you want to go tit for tat, I’ll go tit for tat,” Stern said. “I’ll see you J.J. Barea and raise you Eddy Curry.”

The owners, Wise writes, “are sick of paying premiums for damaged goods.”

And the players union, of course, does not want guaranteed contracts to die. Sure, Eddy Curry didn’t deserve $60 million to buy all the Krispy Kremes he desired. But the Knicks signed him to that contract in the first place, and the players contend they should honor the contract.  For players who have a ten-year career span — if they’re both good and lucky — guaranteed money would be a major concession in the negotiations.

Players Association Vice President Maurice Evans briefly mentioned guaranteed contracts in an interview with Sports Illustrated’s Sam Amick.

“The deal we’ve been offered would so drastically alter the game as we know it today,” Evans said. “The offers have been so pathetic that it’s hard to even talk about it when we’re informing the guys. We’re $7.6 billion apart [over the life of the proposed deal].

“Again, when you realize all the components that they’re trying to take away, and trying to take out of the [collective bargaining agreement] that’s already in effect — the guaranteed contracts, grandfathering in [contracts], the [salary-cap] exceptions, Larry Bird [rights]. You and I have already talked about this many times, but [players] are really starting to get it and they’re willing to sit out for as long as necessary to get us a fair deal.”

Evans is not thrilled, to say the least, about the owners’ last proposal.

“It’s not my job to critique [David Stern's] salary,” said Evans. “I want him to make money. That’s the whole point is we want everyone to make money.

“But he’s the one who wants everyone to suffer losses. … The guy tells us it’s the recession and all these different things, yet they want to experience all the growth over the next 10 years while we experience none. When you look at it that way, it’s extremely disappointing.”

The players are ready to negotiate, Evans said. They will make more concessions. But they are willing to miss this whole year or more if the owner’s do not meet them halfway.

Meanwhile, for the first time since before he arrived at Skidmore College, Eddy Curry has become more than a rumor, more than an expiring contract, more than a gigantic waste of soft hands and nimble feet and impressive touch. He’s now ammunition for the owners. Ammunition for Stern. A $60 million warning that guaranteed contracts can go frighteningly wrong.

I appreciated the results, of course, when Nate Robinson’s six-year old son decided to tackle his older teammates in practice. Like a miniature version of Rodney Harrison, Robinson’s son followed through on his hit, then gave a momentary glare at the destruction the hit left behind, a look that said “I just ruined your day”, or “my father will really enjoy it if I stare you down after I demoralize you in front of his 372,000 Twitter followers”, or maybe just “if Roger Goodell catches wind of these hits, I’m going to be suspended whenever I make the NFL.”

But Nate, Nate, Nate, you will never be accused of maturity. After the second big hit a hurt child laid on the ground, and meanwhile Nate laughed his ass off. I understand being proud of your son for laying the smack down. I get it. When — not if — my kid becomes the next sensational professional athlete, I’ll strut around like a peacock and tweet liberally about everything my son accomplishes. I’ll make Twitvids of my son’s windmill dunks, twitpics of him holding MVP trophies and 140-character-or-less messages like, “My son’s the greatest thing to happen to earth since the invention of basketball.” I will absolutely be an obnoxious parent. But laughing hysterically while a little kid lays on the ground, potentially injured and definitely full of shame, seems a bit much.

Full disclosure: I am only picking nits about Nate’s parenting methods because the NBA lockout gives me nothing to write about whatsoever. If I could write about Nate’s tendency to shoot 28-foot pull-up jumpers on 1-on-4 fast breaks, normally at a juncture of the game when his team can least afford to waste a possession, I would love to. Or I would love to discuss Nate’s attitude that resembles rays of sunshine, the way he cheers until his vocal cords can’t cheer anymore even when he gets zero playing time.

Instead, I’m stuck analyzing the way Nate watches his six-year old son play football. I am officially a casualty of the NBA lockout.

At least it’s an excuse to post Nate’s own football highlights.

I care that Jeff Green traveled to the White House to meet with a crew of wounded veterans called the Wounded Warriors. It’s a kind gesture from Green and obviously a wonderful cause. Green should be commended for his work in the community, and especially because he offered his time to soldiers who risked their lives for our country, soldiers who now need wheelchairs to play basketball.

But when it comes to rooting for basketball players (programming note: I’m going to sound quite cold-hearted in three… two… one…), I root for their athletic prowess and on-court mentality, not the extent of their community service. Hell, sometimes I don’t even need a reason to root for one player or root against another one. Cheering for sports teams and players can become confusing.

Producing on the court or on the field is the best way to earn praise. That’s why Albert Haynesworth has a chance to become a Gillette fan favorite, even though the former Pro Bowl defensive lineman is, by all accounts, a king-sized dunce. Judging by my Facebook feed, Chad Ochocinco has already become a fan favorite, the oversized personality with a smile as quick as his first step, even though he comes to Foxboro with a reputation as a locker room distraction. Manny Ramirez was a king in Boston until his oddities began to outweigh his fierce bat, Rajon Rondo’s a king although the Celtics once nearly traded him for behavioral issues, and fans could always overlook Glen Davis’s quirkiness until his production started to dwindle.

Then there’s Kevin Garnett, who could commit five or six murders and still be on my A-list of players to root for. I would even root for Garnett if he possessed all the talent of Mikki Moore, because Garnett plays the game like a lion would — you know, if lions could play basketball. Hell, he plays the game like Nicky Santoro.

Santoro was the muscle man in Casino. Watching that movie last night for the first time (I fell asleep in the middle of it, so don’t spoil anything — yes, I feel a little bit like my father when I pass out during the middle of a movie, and no, that’s never a good thing), I was taken aback when Santoro stabbed someone to death (or close to it) with a pen (I think), all because the person had called Santoro’s friend Ace Rothstein an asshole. I can’t quite envision Garnett stabbing someone to death with a pen (he prefers the ball-tap method of violence), but when Rothstein began to describe Santoro, I kept thinking of Number Five.

“You beat Nicky with fists, he comes back with a bat,” said Rothstein. “You beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun. And if you beat him with a gun, you better kill him, because he’ll keep coming back and back until one of you is dead.”

Delonte West lives by the Nicky Santoro rules, too, and I don’t say that to open a discussion about his gun charges. I meant to say that West plays basketball by the Nicky Santoro rules. Celtics fans immediately forgave the lefty for his crimes, for allegedly meeting Lebron James’s mother for entertainment purposes (how’s that for a euphemism?), and for missing three quarters of the season due to injury. We forgave Delonte for all his past digressions because we knew that when Dwyane Wade beat Delonte with his fists during the playoffs, Delonte would come back with a bat. The bat might not always connect, but if Delonte goes down, he goes down swinging (pun intended). He’s no J.D. Drew.

As you already knew, choosing players to root for can be a complicated process. I liked Scal because he was goofy and I disliked Andrew DeClerq for the same reason. I liked Stephon Marbury because he was interesting and outspoken, but Sam Cassell’s personality bothered me to no end. I disliked Nate Robinson for his “whenever and wherever” shot selection, but I still hold a soft spot in my heart for Antoine Walker. I loathed Tony Allen because he took too many chances and I was lukewarm on Marquis Daniels because he didn’t take enough.

Maybe I should like Jeff Green because he helps wounded soldiers, and I definitely admire what he did. But when it comes to rooting for sports figures, I prefer Nicky Santoro to Mother Teresa. Or sometimes, I just prefer Scal.

As a fan, the fourth episode of The Association is going to be a strange one to watch. On one hand, I still love Perk. I rooted for Perk for eight years. I watched him grow, from a bumbling, overweight rookie into a legitimate starting center, one of the best individual post defenders in the NBA, and one tough bastard who I would go to battle with any day. I’ll never forget Perk.

On the other hand, it’s about time we stop the grieving period. It’s like when a girlfriend breaks up with you. At some point, it’s time to stop checking out her photos and statuses on Facebook, you know? It’s just going to open up old wounds all over again. So will I watch tomorrow? Probably. But I’m not at all sure I’m going to like it.

P.S. – That Facebook status-checking comparison wasn’t about me, I swear. Just a hypothetical. No, really.

After the jump, check out one Celtic I won’t miss “quite” as much as Perk. Read more »

The Celtics have “dangled Nate Robinson and a first-round pick” in hopes of luring Jared Dudley to Boston, reports Adrian Wojnarowski. But, in Wojnarowski’s words, it “isn’t the most appealing package on market to get a talented perimeter player.”

What, you mean Phoenix isn’t intrigued by the combination of a 5’9 player who’s been mostly awful this season and one of the last first-round picks in a weak draft?

Boston, Chicago and several more would love to pry Jared Dudley out of Phoenix, sources say. Suns can’t dump Childress deal, need money off.

Dudley is a popular player in Phoenix, beloved by organization. Several GM’s are dubious Suns would part with him. Need an excellent offer.

Celtics have dangled Nate Robinson and 1st round pick, which isn’t the most appealing package on market to get a talented perimeter player.

To be clear on Celts, I’m told they haven’t checked on Dudley very recently. No sense Suns will move him, but he has great value to teams.

Would Dudley fit well in Boston? Let’s go to the check list.

Good shooter? Check.

Consistent player? Check.

Tough defender? Check.

Selfless team player? Check.

Natural small forward? Check.

There’s only one problem trading for Dudley would present — his contract extends until 2014-’15, with a player option for 2015-’16. Other than that, he’s almost perfect. Except for the simple fact that, well, it’s unlikely the Celtics have enough to entice the Suns to let Dudley go. The Arizona Republic’s Paul Coro even reported the Suns “went into Wednesday night thinking there was no chance they would make a deal.”

Delonte West participated in practice today, according to Chris Forsberg, but Nate Robinson did not. Robinson’s status was unsure because of a bruised right knee suffered Thursday against the Lakers, while West’s practice was only his second since breaking his wrist in November.

Robinson decided not to undergo an MRI after leaving Thursday’s game. “We didn’t think it was necessary,” Danny Ainge told CSNNE. But he will still “try to give it a go” tomorrow, says Paul Flannery.

West lobbied to play against the Lakers, but Doc Rivers (and team trainer Ed Lacerte) weren’t having it. He could conceivably play tomorrow against the Heat, and will surely try to convince Rivers to play. But the C’s say he’s a no-go for tomorrow.

Rivers is right to continue inching West along slowly, even if — without Marquis Daniels, and with Robinson’s inconsistent (to put it nicely) production — it’s enticing to put West into the lineup before he’s ready. Rajon Rondo played 44 minutes against LA, and while it’s nice that he’s young and able to play so much time, I’d rather not run him into the ground each game.

But, as I said, West should be taken along slowly. The C’s should make sure the wrist is entirely stable before subbing him into a game. Even if Miami just took a half-game lead in the East, and the game tomorrow’s pretty damn big, and Rondo needs some rest, and now I’m kind of arguing that West should play, so I’ll digress before I get him re-injured.

Though West and Robinson took the court, Shaq, Semih Erden and Jermaine O’Neal provided 21 feet of missed practice. I’m not even sure that’s news anymore, though this is: Semih and Shaq could be out beyond the All-Star break. Their injuries are not healing as expected. Joy.