Inside Stuff: The True Story of the Night After the 1997 NBA All-Star Game
The last limo of the night pulls up to the Ritz-Carlton as Grant Hill and Anfernee Hardaway, starting forward and point guard (respectively) for the Eastern Conference NBA All-Star team, spill out of it in a blaze of laughter. For it’s the night of the 1997 NBA All-Star Game in Cleveland, Ohio, and literally nothing can go wrong. These men are at the top of their games and maybe, just maybe, will end up taking turns being the tops to one another.
As the pair make their way to the hotel bar, they see Eastern Conference All-Star team head coach, Doug Collins, sitting alone sipping a cocktail. “Hi Doug,” says Grant, “Whatdaya, drinking? A TOM Collins?” They all share a brief chuckle at the play-on-words. “No,” responds Doug, “I was just thinking about the recent, untimely death of hip-hop recording artist, The Notorious B.I.G.”
Grant and Anfernee look sad. They don’t like to be reminded of sad things, especially after such a grandiose athletic achievement like participating in the 1997 NBA All-Star Game.
“Coach, we don’t like thinking about dead celebrities, we’re great basketball players!” they simultaneously proclaim.
Coach Collins, sensing their frustration, provides a solution, “What if I knew of a way to take your thirst for greatness to an entirely new level?"
“How’s that possible, coach? We’re already some of the best athletes in the world,” says a puzzled Grant Hill.
Coach Collins knows he has them right where he wants them. “I’ll tell you how it’s possible, Grant. By having sex with the OTHER best athletes in the world."
Their eyes light up with excitement like two crippled brothers finding out they can walk again.
“Follow me,” says Doug, as he grabs their hands and leads them to the elevator bank.
As soon as it arrives at the penthouse, they hear a raucous commotion coming from inside the room. Coach Collins pushes the gold-leafed doors open to reveal a room filled with players and coaches from both 1997 NBA All-Star teams enjoying themselves. The three stand in the doorway taking in what lies before them.
Some players are playing poker, other’s smoking cigars. Patrick Ewing is throwing a large knife at the wall. Alonzo Mourning is almost fully erect.
“I just don’t like how the plot-line unfolded,” says Alonzo, speaking of continuity issues and situational inaccuracies within 1997’s third highest grossing motion picture, Jurassic Park: The Lost World, “With that many dinosaurs running around, more kids should have died.”
Patrick stops throwing his large knife to contemplate a response. “Ya know, maybe you’re right. Dinosaurs ARE animals. They probably killed kids all the time.”
They both seemed confused. Patrick continues, “I’d prefer to discuss Titanic. It grossed over $600MM dollars, leading the box office in 1997."
Alonzo, now fully erect, responds. “I’ll show who’s King of the World!” With that very apropos innuendo, Alonzo enters Patrick. Their combined height of 13 feet, 10 inches makes the act a sight unlike any other.
After witnessing this previously unfathomable phenomenon, Anfernee and Grant trepidatiously step into the room. “Go on boys, enjoy yourselves. There’s nothing to be a afraid of.” With a comforting smile of encouragement, Coach Collins gently nudges the boys into impending bliss.
Surprisingly enough, Grant and Anfernee quickly hit their stride. As it turns out, their mutual respect for their basketball abilities makes gay sex that much easier.
The room quickly becomes a smoking cauldron of pop culture references and athletic erections.
“Simpsons, huh? Who would have thought they’ve lasted this long,” Said Detlef Schrempf as he finishes on the chest of Western Conference All-Star team head coach, Rudy Tomjanovich.
John Stockton, ever the showman, hangs from the chandelier and begins felating himself. Charles Barkley is not amused, and goes back reading the People magazine cover story on the recent death of living saint, Mother Teresa.
Hakeem Olajuwon, never one to be out-shined, starts jerking Shaquille O'Neal off with his mouth. Which proves to be a difficult task for obvious reasons. Shaq, sensing Hakeem’s struggle, comforts him with the promise of a supporting role in the sequel to his 1996 box office flop, Kazaam.
Gary Payton consoles a weeping Dikembe Mutombo still shaken by the loss of Lady Di. Realizing how deep Dikembe's suffering goes, Gary begins to sing lyrics from the 1997 Billboard #1 hit, Elton John’s “Candle In The Wind.” The tactic works, as the two begin immediately french kissing.
But not everyone is partaking.
Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen sit in silence as they observe a room full of their large, hulking contemporaries making love. After a brief moment of voyeurism, Scottie speaks up.
“Ya know, Michael. I’m sorry I brag so much about being a cocksman. Especially regarding all those times I allegedly had sex with Madonna in a limo hot tub every time we visited Los Angeles. You’re a cocksman too, Michael. Don’t ever think otherwise."
In a rare show of submission, Jordan sets aside his aggressively competitive spirit and whispers, “Satisfy me the way you satisfy Madonna, Scottie. I want to know what it feels like to be the Queen of Pop. Tell me I’m the Queen of Pop…tell me.”
In an ironic turn of events, Scottie is the first one to “pop.” It seems that Jordan’s on-court stamina clearly carries over into the bedroom.
As the morning draws near, the superstars empty whatever’s left in their tight ballsacks into one another before leaving for Cleveland’s Hopkins International Airport.
“Wish we had time to stop at the Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame!”, shouts Christian Laettner with a laugh. Angered by Christian’s blatant show of caucasian-ness, Utah Jazz forward, Karl Malone, instructs him to stay behind while the rest of the all-star fuck stallions head to their flights.
“Hold this belt around my neck,” Karl orders, “I’m about to induct you into the Cock N’ Roll Hall of Fame.” Karl proceeds to pummel Christian from behind to the tune of LeAnn Rimes’ “How Do I Live,” while repeatedly calling him a ‘Cracker.’
As the athlete’s board their planes feeling proud and naughty for having just secretly got away with the time of their lives, trouble was brewing back at the Ritz-Carlton. For unbeknownst to them, famed New York Times Reporter, David Carr, was secretly documenting the entire night’s events while posing as Western Conference All-Star reserve forward, Tom Gugliotta.
David went on to break the scandalous cover story in Monday morning’s paper titled, “Big Boys DO Cry: The Tale of The Secretly Gay NBA.”
Nothing would be the same after that. Because everything would be better. The outed hoopers embraced their new found cravings, helping usher in a new era of sexual liberation amongst professional athletes.
“Gay sex isn’t just for celebrating during All-Star weekend anymore,” stated NBA Player’s Union President, Patrick Ewing, “It’s for all the time, if that’s what you’re into. And most of us are.”
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