The tough-as-nails lefty from the southside of Chicago had just taken his first airplane ride out of Englewood, where street gangs lurked around every corner, basketball games ended in scuffles, and sometimes guns were pulled and drugs swapped on the faded blacktop courts.
Carl Nicks had taken a 45-minute flight to Terre Haute and could not fathom what was unfolding before his eyes.
A 6-9 white guy jumping like a freak on the shiny hardwood. A scraggly-haired blonde draining long shots, smashing dunks. An awkward-talking baller being nice to him, really nice, acting like their skin colors didn't matter.
Acting like Nicks was just like him.
Source: Read Full Article