Oh, poor baby!
By now, everybody has heard about the collision between Kobe Bryant and the Spanish rookie sensation Ricky Rubio, which abruptly ended the season of one of the league’s most exciting point guards. My first thought when the news broke out that Rubio was out for the rest of the season was they’d probably made a mistake. Looking back at the clip of the collision, it didn’t seem that it was that serious. But the Gods of the hardwood can be cruel masters. After the MRI, it was confirmed that NBA’s King of Baby Faces has suffered from the curse of the torn ACL and had to sit the rest of the season out, with the possibility of rehabbing into the next one.
I join the millions of sports fans around the world grieving the loss of this hardwood cutie, with those kind eyes and gumdrop smile, the tussled mop hair that minces a little bit with every physics-defying pass. This rook will be badly missed for sure.
Rubio, in a remarkably short space of time, had become a shining beacon of hope for Minneapolis, a fresh and lovable elixir for a franchise that has suffered more than its fair share of problems (many of them self-inflicted) in recent seasons. For Wolves fans his carefree brilliance represented a form of salvation, deliverance from the lower reaches of the Western Conference. For neutrals he had become the innocent, playful alternative to a league filled with a few too many self-obsessed stars and cynical executives. Rubio was the perfect distraction from the occasionally depressing realities of the professional game. With him running the offense it was possible to watch the Timberwolves and feel, despite all the murky stuff that has a nasty habit of surrounding the operations of the NBA, sort of wholesome. Basketball was fun again.
Get well soon, Ricardo! We’ll see your sexy Spanish ass next season.
