Jeremy Liebman
Back in the nineties and early aughts, my homeboys and I would attend NBA All-Star weekends. More times than not, our crew included my day one may he rest in peace Neal Franklin Blassingame Jr.
Blass.
Blass was a legend in my hometown, in part for owning arms wide as rivers, legs tree-trunk thick, and a chest cast from canyon rock.
During the 2007 All-Star weekend, Blass, me, and crew were strolling down Las Vegas Boulevard when a carload of women fawned at him from their windows. Before you knew it, they’d pulled over, and one of the women jumped out, giddied over to Blass, and asked to touch his arm.