Pursuit of Happiness: Brandon Roy’s 52 points

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Sports, and the people who play them, can be vicious, hideous things. The past few weeks have been a reminder of that, from Ray Rice to Adrian Peterson to Bruce Levenson to Danny Ferry to the New York Mets to a host of other depressing incidents. Sports as a reflection of life is a first-class cliché, but it’s nonetheless apt. As rampant as racism, domestic violence and sexual discrimination are in sports, they are more so outside of sports. 

This unending shitstorm of pure awful can make it hard to remember that sports can also be things of beauty, even joy. To help you remember, we at the Podium Game present “The Pursuit of Happiness,” in which we write about a highlight, a mix tape, a play, just SOMETHING that shines at least a glimmer of light in this dark cloud of despair. We hope you enjoy, and please, feel free to share with us your moments of happiness. 

A confession: I didn’t see Brandon Roy’s greatest moment — his 18-point fourth quarter against the Dallas Mavericks in the 2011 playoffs — live. I turned the game off at half, mostly because I thought the game was already over, but also because it hurt too much to see my favorite player struggle so mightily. The next morning, I woke up and saw that not only had the Blazers won, but that Roy, in some fit of divine intervention, carried them to victory, creaky knees and all.

Though Roy was my favorite player, I haven’t watched the highlights from that game more than a few times, due to some combination of regret and lost magic. Replays and highlights, especially those of timeless moments, help reawaken the feelings you had when you witnessed the event live. But if you didn’t see it live, it’s hard to have an emotional attachment to it, no matter how emotionally attached you are to the subject.

The Roy highlight I’ve watched over and over again comes from a few years earlier, when he scored a career-high 52 points against the Phoenix Suns. In the grand scheme of basketball, it’s not as enduring as his fourth quarter swan song, but it has more meaning to me, simply because I watched it happen. Watching highlights of that moment, in any variation, recalls more than the game itself. I can feel the leathery cushion and arms of the oversized reclining chair in my parents’ house, hear its creak every time I moved, even hear my muffled shouts when Roy sized up Matt Barnes and calmly sank a jumper right in his face. And I can remember, I can always remember, how happy I was in that moment, seeing my favorite player at his very best.