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A heavy heart Popeye has a lot on his mind these days
Posted: Thursday March 30, 2000 03:20 AM
It would be easier, perhaps, if Popeye Jones played 46 minutes a night. He would have the game to think about, the action at least giving him a few hours of relief. "I've been a starter," he says, "and I've been a bench player, like I am now. I know what's expected of me, know what my role is, know what Coach Issel needs from me when I do get in. "But these days, man, it's hard to stay focused." For he sits there, nearly the entire Denver game, and thinks of his older brother Tony, who is battling stomach cancer. "My mind just drifts," says Popeye. "I try to keep thinking about the game, working on trends, seeing where I can help when I get in, but I sometimes find myself miles and miles away." It was worse last week in Atlanta. Tony, who is 40 and was Popeye's role model growing up, had never missed a game his little brother's team played when they came South. And he was determined to be there last Tuesday for the Nuggets' last visit of the season. After all, thought Tony, this could be the last time I'll ever see the kid play. But he took a turn for the worse a day before and was in a suburban hospital while the Nuggets were losing to the Hawks. His wife and 12-year old son were in the stands but Tony wasn't. "How strange," said Popeye, whose real name is Ronald but was given his nickname the first day home from the hospital as an infant. "To look up there and not see him, very strange." Tony had a stomach ache two months ago and doctors thought it was appendicitis. When they opened him, they found a tumor. Life hasn't been the same since. They say he has a year but his little brother wants to make every second count, just in case. "It's frightening, sure, but I try to stay positive. Not just for me but for him and for his family. His wife's mother is dying of bone cancer. She lives in San Diego so you can imagine what Tony's wife is going through, back and forth from one side of the country to the other. Think how bad it must be for her, so I try to stay positive." We see our athletes as performers, robots programmed to fly. We know they have private lives, for we see their names on the occasional court docket. We know they have emotions, for we see them roar and thump their chests. What we rarely see, and perhaps it's best, is the ache deep within, where it is dark and lonely, of a Popeye Jones. In one stretch of games, he played exactly two minutes total. That's an awful lot of time to sit and think and wonder and worry and rage.
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