Hoopfest Poster Needs To Shake Monkey Off Its Back

Just six days away, Hoopfest now measures a mile from end to end and is bigger than Aberdeen in between. But no boundaries can contain my admiration.

The people who put this on can do anything.

They’ve practiced diplomacy with our barons of commerce worthy of a Nobel. Conceding that play will always have a high hack element, they have cajoled and tinkered to render it kinder, if not gentler.

And as participation mushrooms, they’ve retooled their grid and bravely charted new frontiers of pothole-free city blocks for additional courts - though I’m mildly surprised the pitted crust of North Monroe hasn’t been annexed and marketed for a special division.

Six feet under.

Logistical Einsteins don’t need my suggestions, unable as I am to find my car keys or socks that match.

And I wear white.

But perhaps there is one area in which I could help - the one, as it happens, in which Hoopfest needs it the most.

The poster.

The Hoopfest people are, in fact, running dry of poster children.

The leitmotif, as we know, has been to enlist a popular professional athlete with local roots or connections recognizable to even the most casual of jocks - who, after all, make up the player pool Hoopfest most wants to reach.

So there were Mark Rypien and Ryne Sandberg posing for the inaugural poster. There was John Stockton practicing by his lonesome for Hoopfest II. Shawn Kemp’s visage graced the poster of Hoopfest III - no word on whether he made it to the shoot on time - followed by the Craig Ehlo montage of 1993.

Since then, however, it’s become a stretch.

Decathlete Dan O’Brien modeled in ‘94, and we thought maybe he was lobbying to replace the 1,500-meter run he dreads with a dunk contest. Super Bowl quarterback Drew Bledsoe showed off his jumper in ‘95, which if memory serves kept him on the pine a good deal of the time in high school. And last year there was Chad Little - quite a driver, to be sure, but not necessarily to the hoop.

This year it’s Craig T. Nelson, who not only isn’t a player but isn’t even a coach - though he does play one on TV.

In reruns. His series is now history.

This is a concept, obviously, at a crossroads.

Spokane does not churn out high-profile jocks the way, for a few fertile years, it once did. Yes, we’ve recently sent a couple of fine placekickers to the NFL and an everyday shortstop to the Phillies - and all are certainly poster-worthy. Except that the average kid can identify Hayden Fox - or B’rer Fox, for that matter - quicker than he can Kevin Stocker or Jason Hanson.

Hoopfest could ask Kim Jones, but people would wonder what a Bloomsday poster was doing up in June - sort of like having Joey Cora peddling Sonics season tickets.

Speaking of little Joey, his pro career was launched in Spokane and that’s a connection. But grown men are usually moved to tears after playing in Hoopfest, not merely upon signing up.

Who else? They could try Brad Ference, the Chiefs’ new No. 1 draft choice. But with 300-odd penalty minutes on his resume, that may not be the best message to send the aforementioned hack element.

James Darling? Case dismissed.

They could try building on Craig T. and Spokane’s contributions to the arts, but Julia Sweeney has sworn off the “Pat” character and, besides, that would mean opening up a playing division unto herself.

Itself. Whatever.

Sherman Alexie? Too literary. Thomas Hampson? Too highbrow. Milt Priggee? Hey, we want people to play in this thing.

And yet there are several easily identifiable celebrities in our very midst who, sweaty or otherwise, would lend themselves to eye-catching posters:

Like sports mogul Bobby Brett. Wait, people might think he owned Hoopfest, too. Come to think of it, so might Bob.

Or Steve Eugster. Slogan: “If you can’t beat ‘em, sue ‘em.”

Cougar football coach Mike Price probably played a little ball in his day. “What I like about Hoopfest,” the caption could read, “is that it isn’t in November.”

Congressman George Nethercutt is certainly high profile, though he seems to be hedging on his pledge to get off the court when his game is over.

County commish Kate McCaslin could be out there paving some wetlands for new Hoopfest courts.

Or what about her predecessor, Steve Hasson, leaping out of a window with a basketball, poised to dunk? Could lead to a whole new line of shoes: Air Hasson. Too bad Sam’s Pit can’t be a corporate sponsor.

In that vein, there’s also former city councilman Chris Anderson. Though, I suppose, you’d actually want people to attend what they’d signed up for.

I know: Gonzaga’s Jim Jundt, in a time-lapse photo that appears to show him lofting up shot after shot. “Keep firing,” says the “Chairman of the Boards.”

No?

Well, one last suggestion.

Mark Fuhrman’s a neighbor now, and a well-recognized one at that. I can see him, uh, planted in a defensive stance, lips locked into a sneer above the caption: “And they call Gary Payton, ‘The Glove’?”

Hey, don’t put it past them. These Hoopfest people can pull off anything.

, DataTimes The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = John Blanchette The Spokesman-Review