MIAMI — Blind men shake their heads and wonder what the heck Kendrick Perkins and Stephen A. Smith are looking at. Chris Tucker? Forest Whitaker? Shakira? Because it sure ain’t the Nuggets.
“I just heard that Perkins is still doubling down on, ‘Miami’s gonna win this series,’” Lakewood’s Paul Sandoval told me with a laugh before Game 4 of the NBA Finals between the Nuggets and Heat.
“It’s just like, ‘Why? What are you doing?’ I don’t think these national guys watch these games.”
Exhibit B: Stephen A. hopped onto ESPN Thursday morning, fresh off Game 3 of the Finals, and decreed that two-time NBA MVP Nikola Jokic “isn’t known for having some kind of dominant post game now. That’s not his game.”
After which his three co-hosts looked at him, justifiably, as if he’d just broken wind at the Vatican.
“We’re kinda used to that,” Sandoval said. “We still get some of that small town treatment, but we’re not a small town. We get some of that from the coasts. A championship in the NBA will go a long way. What do they say — we’re a ‘flyover city?’ Maybe. We’ll see.”
Paul sees what comes out of Ball Arena better than most. Even though he’s been legally blind for about 15 years.
“I think once they finally got past Phoenix (in the Western semis),” Sandoval chuckled, “there was no denying they were going to be trouble for everybody else.”
At 47, Paul admits he got bit by the Nuggets bug early. The Denver native grew up watching Alex English, Fat Lever and Kiki Vandeweghe score for fun on Channel 2, those wild nights in the Doug Moe ‘80s when defense was optional.
“That’s what sucked me in,” Sandoval said.
He’s called shotgun on this roller-coaster car ever since. Before the pandemic, Sandoval attended six or seven home games per year, the voice of Nuggets play-by-play man Jason Kosmicki in one ear, wife, Shawn, or son, Paul Jr., whispering in the other.
“To be honest, we usually get the cheap seats,” Sandoval cracked. “The view doesn’t matter.”
“Like Dirk. But not quite Dirk.”
Unlike Lisa Salters, Paul’s still never actually seen Jokic play. Not literally, anyway.
But he’s been sketching a picture in his head for years. A rock in the paint, with the persistence of a hailstorm and a sparrow’s feathery touch. Soft hands. Surgeon’s hands. Eyes in the back of his head. A dancing bear, threading needles for fun.
“Seven feet, 300 pounds,” Sandoval said. “It’s a big man. When he plays like he played (in Game 3), I keep imagining it. I mean he literally touched the ball for a half-second, deflected it and I think it went to KCP and it ended up a dunk … the ball always comes off of him right to where it needs to go. His hands, it’s like a baseball to him. His hands have to be huge. Think of these other big players. He makes (the Lakers’) Anthony Davis look like nothing.”
Pretty dang close.
Closer than Perkins or Smith, anyway.
“I feel like the announcers describe him as this 7-foot, sensational center, right?” added Cody Bair of Littleton, a friend of Paul’s and a Nuggets fan who’s been blind since birth.
“But with all the plays you listen to him make, shooting threes and driving it in and all those crazy plays — really, based on that, you kind of come up with this image of what type of basketball player he is.
“The closest (comparison) I can remember, playing a little bit similar game, but not quite as good, was Dirk Nowitzki. Like Dirk. But not quite Dirk.”
“Best gig in the world”
Sandoval grew up partially sighted. A fall when he was just 9 months old triggered “a genetic disease that was going to happen anyway,” he recalled, prematurely dimming a baby’s light. He attended public schools and the Colorado School for the Deaf and Blind, reared bi-lingual, learning ABCs in both manuscript and Braille.
He became completely blind in his 30s after marriage — to a sighted woman — and the birth of two children. Eight years ago, Paul and Shawn founded Blind Tech Training, in which they tutor the blind on computers and technology in order to foster better career possibilities and independence.
“I have the best gig in the world,” Sandoval said. “I really do. I get to help my community and feed my family every now and then.”
Paul doesn’t mess around. If the TV feed is seven to 30 seconds behind Koz’s voice, he pauses the action — action he can’t see — until it sounds like it’s synching up.
Off the window and down!
Murray, fadeaway three! YEAAAAH!
Yes! That one helps!
Alley-oop dunk! He’s a super freak!
“It’s funny, because two words are the only reason I can actually keep up and watch: Jason Kosmicki,” Paul said of the inimitable ‘Koz.’ “He always amazed me at how he can call such a fast-paced game. It’s something unreal, how they can paint me a picture and in real time, while it’s still going on, they can still give you a sense of perspective. I’m amazed at their talent. That’s what includes us in this game.”
Bair and Sandoval rave about the experience at Ball Arena, from the accommodations by the staff to the live FM radio feed that lines up in tandem with the action on the floor below. The little things that go a mile high.
Some of the last games Paul recalls visually were the Rockies of 16 summers ago, steamrolling to the World Series from out of left field. Shawn went into labor with daughter, Mia, the morning after the Rox finished off a four-game sweep of Arizona in the NLCS to cinch the city’s first World Series berth.
“One of the things I actually miss about watching football is watching a play develop on the field,” Sandoval said. “That, to me, was beautiful to watch.”
When he hears Koz and the national broadcasters talk about Jokic, another Denver sports icon pops into his head, too: John Elway. Capable of anything from anywhere. Never out of a game. Magician. Technician.
“When somebody understands their craft, they understand all the moving parts,” he said. “They see the shooting guard in a specific spot. Out of the corner of their eye, they know exactly where the other guy is. That’s the part, to me, I can really visualize, just as a fan, because I had sight before.”
“It’s a fun time”
He sees a parade. He sees fire trucks rolling past Union Station. He sees Jokic and those soft hands cradling the Larry O’Brien Trophy like a newborn, then raising it to the people the way Rafiki raised Simba at Pride Rock.
He sees tough guys fighting tears. And losing.
“It’s hard to really appreciate the moment fully, I guess,” Sandoval said. “I grew up watching Elway. I grew up watching how hard that was for (the Broncos) to finally win a dang championship.
“And when we did, I sat there for two minutes after the game was over, thinking, ‘What’s going to happen? What’s going to happen that’s going to make us lose?’ You start to get kind of shell-shocked. This (NBA title) would be a dream come true. It’s a great example for my son to watch. If he’s going to watch any of that stuff, this is what I want him to see. This is just … fun. It’s a fun time.”
He sees Nuggs in five. Cody sees Nuggs in six.
“It’ll be chaos,” Sandoval said. “This city knows how to throw down. It won’t be a rookie parade.”
He sees Stephen A., stunned and shamed into silence, ignoring the champs. Again. Oh, and he’s got a word of advice for our guy Kendrick. Just one.
“Watch,” Sandoval said.
Paul laughed again. Knowingly this time.
“Just watch the next game or two. Because that’s all that’s left of the season.”
