MVPs don’t make a kid cry.
All Nicky Karabel wanted for his birthday was to see Joel Embiid play in person. Just once, you know? So father Sam shelled out $500. He flew his nephew in from Concord, Calif., loaded his kids into the car and drove down an hour from their home in Dacono.
Little Nicky, 8 going on 9, and his mom spent Saturday morning working on a sign in honor of the NBA’s reigning MVP and chronic DNP. Turns out Embiid scored as many points against the reigning league champions (zero) at Ball Arena as Sam did.
“It’s because he’s a center,” Nicky told me before Nuggets 111, Sixers 105. “And I want to be a center too. But I’m too small.”
Got plenty of time, buddy. And what about that center for the Nuggets? He ain’t too bad.
“(Embiid) is better than (Nikola) Jokic,” Nicky said.
Why’s that?
“Because he put up 70 against Wemby.”
“Dude,” I countered, “you could put 70 up against the Spurs.”
A few minutes later, Embiid came out to the floor for his pregame routine. Sam had Nicky hold up the sign for the league MVP to see, hoping it might bring him over for a high-five. An autograph. A wave. Something.
The note was on a white board that stretched from Nicky’s shins to his chest. It was so big, in fact, that if Nicky wasn’t 8 and adorable, Nuggets security told me, they would’ve confiscated it, per arena policy. It read:
HAVE NO FEAR EMBIID IS HERE
As Embiid finished his warm-up for an afternoon on his backside, Nicky and his family huddled with other Sixers fans above the West tunnel, the shortest distance to the away locker room, waving that sign, leaning over hopefully, hoping to get his jersey signed.
Embiid blew through the tunnel.
When I caught up with the Karabels a few minutes later, Dad was hugging his young son tight. Nicky’s cherubic face had turned bright red, cheeks flushed, eyes downed in tears of disappointment. No autograph. No recognition. No nothing.
Kid can’t help it. Grandpa was a Philly guy in Vegas who’d raised his dad on Brotherly Love. You put up with the Sixers in the ’90s, you’ll put up with anything. Gets in the blood.
“The Iverson Years, I mean, those were great,” Sam laughed. “But you know, it’s been painful.”
MVPs don’t make fathers suffer.
Embiid, the NBA’s biggest chicken, doesn’t give a cluck. The Sixers star hasn’t played a game in Denver since 2019. Only it wasn’t the usual, crushing disappointment of the one of the best big men in the world actively ducking one of the other best big men in the world that raised eyebrows. It was the timing.
The hype. The set-up. ABC sold this one like it was Mayweather vs. Pacquiao, and staffed it accordingly. ESPN insiders swore Friday night, like meteorologists, that the forecast called for a 99% chance of Joel vs. Nikola finally happening on Chopper Circle.
And then it didn’t.
“He was injured tonight,” Sixers coach Nick Nurse explained during his postgame news conference before changing the subject.
Sore left knee.
Next question.
Look, it’s not just the MVP thing. I mean, yeah, of course, it is. Especially here.
But what was the point of the Sixers — and Embiid — moving their training camp to Fort Collins late last year? What was the point of all that flexing at altitude in the autumn? What about Deion Sanders’ speech to Philly about accountability on the national stage, about wanting the smoke?
MVPs don’t duck and run.
Embiid’s chicken act left the NBA wiping egg off its face. Big Joel can only miss six more games and still be eligible to repeat as MVP, and it’ll be a photo finish.
This isn’t just about competitive integrity. Or Embiid being afraid of a building. Or the parade of insufferable Sixers apologists in Bristol.
It’s about fathers and sons. It’s about lifetime memories, the bonds and love of a game passed down for generations.
When Jokic goes on the road, especially at Philadelphia, he knows that every Nuggets fan and every proud Serbian is there, largely, to see him. Up close.
The Joker would sooner sing on camera than miss a game. He also knows what his presence — not performance, but presence — means for every Nicky. For every kid whose dad drove them in, come Hell or high water, so they can tell their kids one day what he looked like in person.
In the days when “load management” was the lexicon of furniture movers and not million-dollar centers, a reporter once asked Joe DiMaggio, the Yankee Clipper, why he played so hard. Why he busted his tail for six-and-a-half months, day-in and day-out, whether it was against the rival Red Sox or the lowly St. Louis Browns.
“There might have been somebody in the stands today who’d never seen me play before,” Joltin’ Joe replied. “And might never see me again.”
Ohhhh say can you see …
“EMBIID’S A COWARD!”
By the dawn’s early light …
“EMBIID’S A (EXPLETIVE)!”
“WHERE’S EMBIID AT?” they cried with 8:22 left in the first quarter. “WHERE’S EMBIID AT?”
On the bench, cheerleading in street clothes. While Sixers big Paul Reed (30 points, 13 boards) went nuts and Marcus Morris Sr. huffed and puffed for 33 minutes, Sam kept busy upstairs, trying to make peace in Section 252, plying Nicky’s affections with ice cream and popcorn as best he could.
Half the popcorn in the world couldn’t fill that 7-foot hole in Nicky’s soul. Saturday’s showdown was a Christmas-slash-Hanukkah present. They’d purchased the replica jerseys, locked down the seats, turned the afternoon into an early birthday weekend.
“I know they’re hurt,” Sam said during the fourth quarter. “The (Sixers) played hard. But it’s disappointing.
“You come out to see the stars.”
Nurse said after that the medical team pulled the plug on Embiid about 20 minutes before tip. I asked if that was any comfort for the Nickys and Sams at Ball Arena who made the trip.
“I think that’s always disappointing,” the Sixers coach replied. “For any fan that wants to see the star players play, it’s always disappointing, for sure.
“(Embiid) really wanted to play. The medical team did not deem him fit to play. It’s too bad for those fans. It’s too bad.”
You come out to see the stars.
Enough yapping about Embiid’s knee, Embiid’s surgeries, Embiid’s wounds, Embiid’s strife. What about the kid riding back to Dacono with a broken heart?
“He’s upset,” Sam sighed.
MVPs don’t leave scars.
