In remembering Rick, we can begin to see Jon's announcing as his art, and his art as a refraction of his life in relation to his father. There are entire Youtube channels that profit off of clandestine highlight mixes in brightest day. (*Videos of this incident, wherein the broadcaster shows an old picture of Bill Russell with the 1956 US National team and Barry jokes about young Russell having a "Watermelon Smile" have been wiped clean off the internet. He also left his family behind after his NBA career, because that's the kind of thing he does.
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He said some ignorant shit to Bill Russell on national TV during the NBA Finals*, other racist shit during a dunk contest, and later hectored a stadium full of paying fans because they were mean to Golden State's billionaire owner.
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He whined so much about people not shooting free throws underhanded that he tainted the practice forever. Rick's catalog of dickishness is thick and well known. You see Rick Barry, the Great White Nightmare of basketball and Jon Barry's own father. You see the horrible face in your mind's eye: the underhanded free throws, the perpetual polo shirts. "What could make this man so horrible," you might think, "Why does he feel like he should do this to me, and to so many people who deserve it even less than I?" Then you remember. It is a ghost on your shoulder, the ghost of Van-Dyke'd stepdads past.īarry unwittingly refracts every game he calls through his own life this is not pleasant, either, but this is the human part. The only way out is the mute button, and even then, you hear his voice in the air. To hear Jon's voice over your basketball game is to be trapped in a room with him. To listen to him is to hear the sound of a man spending three hours trying to whine you into validating his anger. Read More: The Houston Rockets are Doomed To watch Barry as he performs his way through a game-he is always in character as a grouchy blowhard dick, for reasons only he knows-is to suffer hours of non-stop shade, tough guy opinionation, and flagrant, soul-deep Van Dykery. You can turn Reggie off in your mind, or play along with his wacky-off-track commentary. He is Edward Albee's "The Basketball Announcer" brought to life. He is also angry, hectoring, persistently negative, and just human enough to make all that bad stuff even worse. Bald-head-and-Van-Dyke-wearing-ass Jon Barry, who calls games for ESPN, is reliably wrong about everything.
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