So I waxed philosophical about Steve Novak over at TheClassical.org today. Here’s a excerpt:
Right, this too. Steve Novak is white. He’s so pale (How pale is he?) that he appears almost translucent. More than that: he mostly lacks professional-grade muscle tone and never quite breaks into a full sprint on the court. Rather, he ambles goofily, with his sloping, shoulders dangling idly, as if they knew the precious, limited kinetic energy contained within had to be carefully rationed for any and all shot attempts. His entire face seems to be made out of a soft cheese that wildly contracts at random moments, as if this cheese were also a deep sea creature reacting to the presence of a predator.
Which is to say that Novak just plumb doesn’t look like the kind of person who could earn a paycheck as a professional basketball player, in this or most any era. If you didn’t know he was 6-10, were just shown a picture of his mug and a snippet of him talking, and then had to guess what he did for a living, many responses would fall along the lines of: “An oddly chipper but overworked GS-9 examiner at an IRS Regional Examination Center somewhere in the Midwest; a nice guy who nonetheless lives in a shadow of total fear and despair—both apocalyptic visions of the total destruction of society and a terror of personal inadequacy.” In a recent interview, Novak named the Cheesecake Factory as his favorite place to get pasta in the New York area. He looks like that guy.
If you’d like to read the whole magilla, it’s here.