Sam Marrella

Posted on February 1, 2023 by Steinmetz

You guys know and remember Sam Marrella. Even if you don’t, no biggie. It’s why I write these. Sam Marrella was the point guard on some really good Wilson teams in the early 1980s. I mean, of course Buddy Kemp, Doug Ertz and Rick Ferry were more important, but Sam played his role getting them the ball. (JK, Sam … last shot I’ll take)

Those three other guys all were frontcourt players so I didn’t really care about them. I didn’t have to guard them. And apparently, according to my dad, I never guarded Sam Marrella, either, though he was always my defensive assignment every time I played against him.

Played with and against Sam Marella most of junior high through our early 20s. Even though we didn’t go the same school, we got friendly because of our dads. Both were basketball officials. So anytime my dad found himself reffing with Mr. Marrella, chances were Sam was tagging along with his pops like I was with mine.

And I’ll use this sentence to tell you that Sam’s dad, Paul Marrella Sr., was a wonderful and upbeat man. Great demeanor. Great disposition. I can’t remember Mr. Marrella not smiling. He would have turned 85 recently. RIP.

So Sam and I played with each other and against each other in countless games — maybe one-on-one after our dad’s reffed a city league game, maybe at West Reading summer league, Winter rec leagues, high school, all-star games, you name it.

One night I was playing against Sam in a game at West Reading. I can’t remember if I was on Osan’s, the Hofbrau, Brewery Inn … I’m getting them all mixed up now. But I’m playing against Sam and my dad is watching because he had reffed an earlier game and was going to give me a ride home.

Sam’s team beat us. Sam’s teams always beat my teams. I think I know why now. After the game, I get into the car, with my dad at the steering wheel. Before he hits the gas, there’s a pause, a moment of silence if you will. And when I sense the delay, I look at my dad. He was already looking at me.

“Son,” my dad said with emphasis. “You gotta guard that guy, I mean, Jesus Christ, he does whatever the fuck he wants against you.” Pops looked away, stepped on the gas, and we didn’t talk the rest of the way home.

My personal record against Sam Marrella has got to be something like 2-27. But you know what? I’m actually giving myself two. I swear to god I can never remember beating Sam Marrella ever in my life at anything! Best I could do was play on a couple of all-star teams with him. That’s a humble brag, people.

After all these years, I love Sam. But I’m pretty sure he’s the reason I hate Wilson.

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Greg Manning

Posted on January 31, 2023 by Steinmetz

If you were a white kid growing up on Reading High basketball in the 1970s, especially one growing up in the suburbs, one thing became apparent and it became apparent immediately: If you were white, and you ever wanted to be any good, you better be able to play against Reading High, and all black players. Period. End of story.

And Reading High had black players. But Reading High and its players defied the stereotypes that often cloak black teams: undisciplined, poorly coached, up-and-down style, athletic but not fundamentally sound.

But I was lucky! I saw Reading High play basketball before I even knew what a stereotype was. And as I’ve said before, at Reading High, basketball was beautiful. The legendary Pete Carril coached there early in his career, and then came the best coach you never heard of: Jim Gano.

Reading High was more athletic than most of its opponents, but the Red Knights were also smarter. Reading High was quicker than most of its opponents, but it out-executed you into oblivion. Reading High players could dunk better than most opponents, but they could also pass and cut better than opponents. Reading had it all: The best athletes, the best coach, the most discipline on a court I’ve ever seen.

Of course there were terrific white players who came through Reading High: Gary Walters, Stevie Hahn and Perry Wentzel, Steve Rossignoli, Neil Christel, Tony Bonanno, Pete Pasko, Pete Mullenberg and plenty of others. But those white guys WERE ON Reading High. I was never going to be ON Reading High.

Then I saw Greg Manning play. Greg Manning was Steelton-Highspire’s incredible point guard who ended up going to Maryland. He graduated from Steelton in 1977, which means I saw him as a junior at 11 or 12 years old. Greg Manning was the template for me, the first white guy I saw up close who knew how to play against black players. Greg Manning and Steelton gave the Red Knights fits. I don’t know what the head-to-head record was between Reading High and Steelton in the 1970s, but both teams and fans had their share of incredible highs and immense lows.

Manning was 6-foot-3 and quick, but there were still things any young player could take from him. And I did. … the shot fake, the leaning in to create contact, the best way to take advantage of getting a half-step on a defender, make your damn free throws, get rid of the ball sooner rather than later, use both hands, and on and on and on.

A few years later, I started watching Larry Bird and he became my guy for more than a decade. But before Bird, there was Greg Manning and he was a bad, bad boy.

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Chris Mullin

Posted on January 30, 2023 by Steinmetz

Hopefully you’ll hear more about Chris Mullin from me, but he hit me here and he hit me now, and here’s why. Been thinking about this stuff I’m writing on this here blog, and invariably, something may happen … you know, someone may take offense. Someone may say what I wrote was untrue. Or maybe I’ll inadvertently betray a confidence.

All that got me to thinking about Chris Mullin, and the whole “on the record,” and “off the record” stuff. On the one hand, this is my blog, I’ve been around, I can write what I want. And as my dad would say … “let the chips fall.”

But trust me, the whole thing’s a nightmare. When you spend 90 percent of your life talking basketball, and it’s with basketball people, and it becomes your entire life, and don’t get me wrong, you love it, it does get difficult what to share and what to conceal, what to acknowledge and what to deny … what to say to whom and when and what not to say … if you know what I mean.

BTW, this isn’t about Mullin thinking I wrote something I shouldn’t have. Or Mullin getting mad at me for something. No this is about Mullin’s “philosophy” or “view” about loyalty, keeping secrets and the only way two people can ensure privacy.

Mullin and I were talking about confidences, etc., and he said, “Let me tell you what (former St. John’s coach) Lou Carnessecca told me a long time ago. He said there’s only one way to tell something to someone in confidence. First, you have to go to the beach with the person you want to confide in. Then you walk out into the Atlantic Ocean together until the water comes up to your chin. Then, and only then, do you know it’s a private conversation.”

It was also Mullin’s way of saying … “If I tell you something and we’re not in the Atlantic Ocean, then I’m trusting you with information and I’ll take my chances.” With Mullin you always erred on the side of caution … as in don’t ever tell anyone anything Mullin ever told me.

hard to remember what to reveal and what to conceal, what you want to share and what you don’t

and to whom and when, where why, and all of it.

the whole “on the record,” and “off the record” stuff. I was a journalist, covered the NBA for 15-20 years. Still go to games, still talk to many involved in the game. Text with basketball guys all the time: real NBA people, former NBA people, friends and colleagues I respect, friends from back home I respect

What you can write, what you can say on the radio, what you can tell someone else, what you can say you saw vs. what you heard or overheard.

Whole thing’s a nightmare if all you want to do is basketball.

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