I’m American – which means I like to categorize people in the most obvious and superficial ways possible. Stereotyping is patriotic.
The NBA has a few easy targets – Chris Anderson has a Mohawk, so obviously he is a bad boy. Kenyon Martin has a neck tattoo, so he’ll be bankrupt in a few years. Jimmer Fredette is a clean-cut white guy, so obviously he’s Jesus.
But even with the amount of characters in the NBA, there is a major shortage of rednecks.
When I was growing up, Utah was sporting the Toby Keith Tag-Team of Jeff Hornacek and Karl Malone. Hornacek was everything a country boy should be – 50% fundamentals, 45% pure shooting and 5% comb-over. The Mailman was hunting in the offseason and wrestling in the WCW. If you could’ve somehow added car crashes to Jazz games, they would’ve been bigger than NASCAR.
Since then, there has been a noticeable void in rednecks patrolling the courts of the NBA.
Bryant Reeves was the pudgy-framed, flat-topped Hope of the Hicks, but he flamed out. Brad Miller came along, but even rednecks have standards. Jason Williams did his part to introduce a new form of rednecks – ditching the short shorts and comb-overs for tattoos and the high and tight – but again failed to spark much interest from the double-wide community.
So maybe rather than wait for our own personal Dale Jr. to descend on the NBA, it is time to baptize one in Busch Light and Big Johnson t-shirts.
I think that guy is Zach Randolph.
In a league of ripped-out physical freaks, Zach Randolph’s body fat composition is higher than his vertical leap. He has so many arrests for marijuana he must move more crops than a Nebraska cornfield. Z-Bo’s box score actually contains his blood-alcohol content. He might be the only player who could drive to the lane and get whistled for a DUI.
Hell, his highlight reel is actually just an episode of Cops.
So maybe there hasn’t been a shortage of rednecks on the court – they’ve just been spending too much time in one to notice.