I Am Not An NBA All-Star — And That’s OK
Being left out of this year’s midseason festivities in New York isn’t a snub. It’s just not part of God’s plan for me. Yet.
By DeAndre Jordan (as told to Jamie O’Grady)
I remember the day like it was yesterday. It was a Sunday morning almost five years ago when I got the call. There had been a car accident, I was told, a bad one, and things looked bleak. Tobi Oyedeji — just minutes after leaving his senior prom the night before; just five days shy of his 18th birthday; just weeks before following in my footsteps and heading off to play basketball at Texas A&M — had been involved in a head-on collision, and his life was hanging by a thread.
A few hours later, my friend and protégé, No. 35, was gone.
Tobi was my younger brother Brett’s age when he died — they were classmates — but my connection with him when we first met was instant. Sure, on some level, it was because we both were promising young basketball players from Houston, but it ran deeper than that. I was his role model, he often used to tell people, and he certainly wasn’t shy about letting me know how much he looked up to me.
When this happened back in May 2010, I was only a second-year NBA player — I wasn’t even starting yet — and I was nowhere close to figuring it all out. Truth is, if you want to be successful, the pro game demands your best on and off the court. That means not just keeping yourself in peak physical condition, but also taking the requisite time to study both your craft and your opponents, and staying focused. Back then, I was still adjusting to the travel and the demands — all while doing my best to avoid the temptations and distractions that come along with being a professional athlete.
For me, not only was Tobi’s untimely death devastating, but for the first time in my life, I was forced to examine my own faith, and, ultimately, reprioritize what is most important to me. Going through something like that, and subsequently trying to wrap my head around how something so terrible could happen to someone I loved, brought me closer to God than I ever thought possible.
Now, it’s that relationship — that faith — which keeps me grounded, focused and aware, even when certain things outside of my control don’t go my way.
This weekend, you won’t find me in New York City with the best and brightest the NBA has to offer. I won’t be sharing the spotlight with my incredibly talented teammates, Chris Paul and Blake Griffin. I will not be honored alongside the fierce NBA competitors who inspire me to be the very best I can be, each and every time I put on my Clippers jersey.
But that doesn’t mean I won’t be enjoying myself. And it certainly doesn’t mean I am bitter about being left off the Western Conference roster.
You see, the most amazing thing about having faith and believing is that once you give yourself to the Lord, you are able to live freely. You no longer need to worry about what has happened, what might happen, or what you want to happen; you simply need to be a good person and work hard, because you know God has a plan for you.
So, when you ask me whether or not I am disappointed not to have been named an All-Star, my answer is: YES! But when you ask me if I think Dirk Nowitzki deserves to represent the West at Madison Square Garden on Sunday, my answer will remain the same.
Not only is Dirk having a tremendous season in his own right, but he’s one of the best to ever lace them up. He’s a World Champion, a former league MVP, and a guy who has done it the right way ever since he joined the NBA. Situations like this are not simple, nor are they easily solved. It’s a numbers game, really. There are only so many All-Star slots, and nowadays, it seems like our league has an almost endless supply of worthy candidates.
While I appreciate (and notice!) all of the outrage over my not getting the nod — especially from Coach Rivers and my teammates — ultimately, it’s not necessary, for I know in my heart that it’s just not my time. It’s not God’s plan for me. Not yet, anyway.
I was born and raised in Texas, and like most members of the black community back home, I got started with organized religion at a very young age. My mom was a single mother of four, and life wasn’t easy. Thankfully, her parents were there for us, and we always had a roof over our heads and food on the table. But living with my grandmother — bless her heart — meant her rules. And that meant Sunday school, regular attendance at church services, and no blasphemy. It also meant being a part of something bigger than our everyday lives. It meant a sense of community and purpose, and, most importantly, it meant being appreciative for what little we did have.
Growing up in a house where faith was so important obviously shaped my world view. I believe that in order to truly experience God, you need to be steadfast. By that, I don’t necessarily mean going to church every Sunday, or living like a saint. I mean being devoted to your God, in whatever form or fashion that is right for you. It’s not about talking about it. It’s about what’s in your heart, and how your love manifests itself by loving others and giving of yourself.
Nowadays, you won’t catch me without a copy of the Bible wherever I go, but my faith doesn’t make me a preacher — and it doesn’t give me license to push my views on anyone else. There are countless examples of intolerance, anger and polarization all around us, and religion, sadly, often is a basis for them. That’s upsetting to me because God teaches us to love and accept one another. Last year, when Jason Collins bravely opened up to the world about his sexuality, later becoming the NBA’s first active gay player, I felt a tremendous sense of kinship with and admiration for him. You see, through Christ, I am able to accept those who may be different than me, and embrace them regardless of the judgments other people make.
Faith isn’t about exclusion. And it isn’t about hate.
I truly hope that it’s only a matter of time before more professional athletes feel compelled and comfortable enough to come forward — whether it’s in connection with their sexual preference, like Robbie Rogers of our L.A. Galaxy, or gender orientation, like Bruce Jenner. If and when one of these brave souls is a teammate of mine, I will stand by their side and support them — and I will do so confidently, knowing it’s what God would want me to do.
It’s been several years and hundreds of games (and tweets) since Tobi passed away, but I will never forget the profound impact his life and death have had upon me. To honor his memory, I wear a wristband bearing his name each and every time I take the floor. It’s my way of not only letting part of him live on, but also acknowledging my unshakable faith that he is with God now, in a better place, and he is watching over all of us who loved him so much.
Tobi’s continued presence brings me peace. And so, like you, I will be tuning in this weekend to watch my NBA brothers in all of their glory. It won’t be a time for me to lament or regret what isn’t, but instead an opportunity to enjoy a brief respite from the rigors of the game, and to prepare myself for my team’s playoff push. I will savor this weekend with my family, and I will count my blessings and pray for continued health and good fortune.
Because when you’re named to God’s team, that’s just what you do.
