'The Starbury Show' Takes Strange to a Whole New Level
All right, it's official -- Stephon Marbury has gone off the deep end.
In case anyone missed it (and if you did, you missed some amazing entertainment), here's the rundown. Marbury, the Olympic bronze medalist and two-time NBA All-Star, made some rather peculiar news off the court Friday, hosting a 24-hour live video chat from his Los Angeles home. Viewers of Marbury's show on the Web site Ustream.tv were able to tune in and see Marbury -- shirtless, uncensored and certifiably out there -- sound off about ... well, everything he could think of.
Maybe he was just bored on a Friday afternoon. It's the offseason, right? Well, this is what Starbury does when he's really bored.
It was like The Truman Show, only the subject was a multi-millionaire basketball has-been, and not only did he know his life was being broadcast, he loved it. He reveled in it.
If only you could call this "life." What this was, actually, was a 24-hour experiment in surrealism, complete with hours of rambling, a dip in his swimming pool, more rambling, a heartfelt "music video" of sorts and a little bit more rambling.
He talked about Boston, about New York, about L.A. He talked about aliens, about money, about Jimmy Kimmel. Just read it. Starbury's flowing monologue, all 24 hours of it, makes Ulysses look like a haiku. Marbury talks, and he talks, and he talks ... and no one has any idea where he's going.
Starbury has reached the celebrity point of no return, and he's so far removed from human civilization that nothing is surprising anymore. (He's reached a point known to some as the "Tyson zone.") He's officially departed from the Earth that you and I inhabit. He's created his own parallel universe. Don't believe in aliens, Steph? You'd better start -- you're one of them.
The truth is, this whole Marbury saga has become sad. Boston has seen it firsthand, after the three-month rental that did next to nothing for the Celtics this past season. He's on the sharp decline as a basketball player, and he's trying to move on to the next chapter in his life.
This shouldn't be a news flash to anyone: Stephon Marbury craves attention. Ever since he jumped into the NBA after one year at Georgia Tech, he demanded the spotlight. That's why he took so many shots all those years, why he commanded so much money, why he made so many bizarre comments in the media -- he needed that spotlight, and if he didn't get it, he was going to go crazy.
Eventually, he did.
What makes it especially sad is that 24 hours on camera is more than he got on the court all season. The C's tried him out as a backup point guard to Rajon Rondo, signing him in February and giving him a shot, and he blew it. His shooting percentage was terrible, his defense was nonexistent, he turned the ball over constantly and he refused to rebound. He was a complete bust for the Celtics, giving them no reason to bring him back for another year.
After basketball, this is his Plan B. If he can't get attention for jacking up off-balance jump shots, he'll get it by making off-kilter comments and crying at mediocre gospel music (the song is Lean On Me by Kirk Franklin, FYI). He's trying to find a way to make headlines, basketball talent or not -- and look, it's working.
He insists that this isn't about hoops. It's everywhere in his comments. "I'm not on basketball, I'm just training to be a monster," he says to his live audience. Whatever that means.
"I don’t care about the NBA," he says. "Those days are over with."
Really, Steph? Really?
Either Marbury is retiring at 32, or he's managed to generate a really obvious defense mechanism. The NBA has shown no interest in Marbury, so Marbury is showing no interest in the NBA. For now.
But if someone calls him up and offers him a job tomorrow, he's going to have a hard time saying no. He's already rich, he's already famous, but the man just wants more. He has to. It's how he's wired.
Stephon Marbury is a basketball player. That's who he is. That's how he's defined his life.
He has to play -- somewhere, anywhere, wherever he can find work. Starbury needs the game to keep him sane -- if he's away too long, he might get really, truly bored.
Lord knows what could happen then.
