Danehy

Sonny Vaccaro is one of the most despicable people in the world of
sports today, and that’s really saying something, considering the
incredible variety of hustlers, bloodsuckers and thugs who permeate and
poison the athletic scene.

Vaccaro is a long-time athletic-shoe-company pimp who went from Nike
to Adidas and then to Reebok. He is best-known for selling his noxious
vision of wearing wildly overpriced shoes as some sort of lifestyle
choice; he apparently sold his ideals several shoe companies back.

Even the average person who doesn’t like sports at all has heard the
stories of inner-city kids who get killed for their shoes, and while it
really doesn’t happen that often, the fact that it has happened even
once can be laid at the feet of people like Vaccaro, who created a wave
of false values and phony idol worship.

Those inside the basketball world know Vaccaro more for his
hucksterism that built a youth-basketball dream world populated by
ridiculously spoiled kids and their even-more-ridiculous parents, who
fantasize about hitting the financial jackpot while living vicariously
through their 14-year-old offspring. It’s an ugly place, one that
manages to suck the fun out of what should be a celebration of
movement, athleticism and teamwork. After a couple of years of playing
on one of these “elite” teams, most kids would rather pass a kidney
stone than a basketball.

I once met Vaccaro at a basketball thing. Even though we didn’t
shake hands, after he left, I still felt the need to make sure that my
wedding band was still on my finger. He wore one of those stupid velour
running suits, like he was filming a scene for The Sopranos, and
he had the crap-eating grin of someone who had learned that P.T.
Barnum’s claim that a sucker is born every minute was dead-on.

If you ever want to get really creeped out, attend one of the
basketball “tournaments” that Vaccaro originated. Twelve-year-old boys,
decked out from head to toe in brand-new gear supplied by the shoe
company to which the club-team coach decided to whore himself out,
strut around Las Vegas like they own the place (or at least plan to in
the not-too-distant future). They play a bastardized version of
basketball—all offense, with the only thing remotely resembling
defense being the occasional exaggerated blocked shot that draws
squeals from the sidelines, but only serves to give the ball back to
the offense.

First off, no pre-teen kid should be allowed to play on a team that
bills itself as “Elite,” “All-Stars” or even “Above Average.” If there
were truth in advertising, the teams would be known as “The Tucson
We-Can-Jump-Pretty-Well-But-We-Don’t-Know-Dookie-About-Real-Basketball-ers.”
Hopefully the shirt-maker doesn’t charge by the letter.

Last year, Vaccaro was behind the Brandon Jennings stink-fest.
Jennings was scheduled to come to the University of Arizona for his
one-and-done before moving on to the NBA. But he had this small problem
at the prep school he was attending: The first time he took the SAT, he
scored about two points higher than what you get for signing your name.
So he took it again (although cameras in the room show him looking
oddly like an Asian female), and his score was suspiciously high. So,
instead of facing further scrutiny as to whether he was indeed dumber
than a stick, he took his game and went to play in Europe for a year,
thereby circumventing the NBA’s one-year-in-college rule.

Vaccaro has tried to label Jennings as a trailblazer and a
revolutionary, when, in fact, Jennings is just another knucklehead with
a quick first step.

But Jennings is just so last year. These days, the shoe pimp
is touting his latest disaster, 17-year-old Jeremy Tyler, who will not
only forgo college, but will be skipping his senior year of high school
to play pro basketball overseas. I saw Tyler on TV, and he was
muttering some nonsense that, when run through the B.S. machine,
translated to, “Me me money, me money, me me me. Money.”

Vaccaro sees himself as some Pied Piper, leading a parade of
precocious athletes to riches overseas while sticking it to The Man at
the same time. In every speech and interview he gives, he makes the
same twisted analogy, talking about how some kids leave high school
early to pursue careers in golf, gymnastics or tennis, and nobody says
a word, because they’re white.

(Don’t you just love it when white people scream racism in the name
of minorities who, when looking at a certain situation, don’t feel the
need to claim it themselves?)

Of course, Vaccaro’s claim has a hole in it big enough to drive a
truck through, but he counts on people being reluctant to counter
charges of racism for fear of appearing to take racist stances.

Fortunately, there are people like Georgia Tech basketball coach
Paul Hewitt, who is also the president of the Black Coaches
Association. Hewitt, quoted in USA Today, said, “The reality is
if you’re a tennis player or golfer, your family has a safety net. …
It scares me that the message that we’re sending to African-American
youth is, ‘Don’t worry about your college education.'”

That’s certainly the message Sonny Vaccaro is sending. In his Brave
New World, there are Alphas, Betas and Jamals.

This article appears in May 21-27, 2009.