“I thought we were really building something, something very good in Houston. Obviously that’s not the direction they want to go. I still think we could be a very good team. I’m not crying. Like I told you before, I know this is a business. Things like that happen. I’m not mad. I’m not upset. This is what they’re trying to do. But like I said, I still think we could be something.”
He stood there looking at the ground with a dissolved, almost spaced, facial reaction.
I remember that as a kid more than I remember the actual interview.
I remember defending him while all my friends would trash his game.
I remember hating Tracy McGrady.
I remember loving Cuttino Mobley.
“They’re like the dynamic duo, Batman and Robin, except maybe they’re Batman and Batman, because neither one of them is the sidekick. You don’t see a lot of guys in the NBA as tight as that, especially after they get traded. But they are. And you should have seen it back when we all played together. I mean, you just never saw one without the other one there.”
I remember wearing the pajama pinstripe #3 jersey for literally 72 hours until my mom, in protest, made me take it off.
One thing is sure, when the city of Houston lost Steve Francis, it lost a genuine piece of Texas‘ soul.