’92 Dream Team: Pissing Excellence All Over the World

Dillon Cheverere12 years ago

It’s been 20 years since the 1992 U.S. Olympic basketball team pulled down their red, white, and blue nut-hugging power trousers and pissed excellence all over the world in a shocking, yet disturbing, display of athletic superiority. Since this collection of the country’s most elite athletes won gold in Barcelona that summer, our country has thrown some damn good teams out on the court every four years. As great as they were, though, there hasn’t ever been a team that even approached the will, pride, gusto, comradery, and hunger for opponent humiliation like the Dream Team of ‘92 had. They were hardcourt savages. The team was also loaded with gregarious personalities. When a reporter asked Charles Barkley about their upcoming game with Angola, he replied, “I don’t know anything about Angola, but I know they’re in trouble.” I love the American arrogance, and this team is the historical poster child for said arrogance. Chuck didn’t even know Angola existed. They beat Angola 116 to 48, although half of those 48 were likely sympathy points.

This was the first U.S. Olympic basketball team to feature active NBA players, and the rest of the world simply wasn’t ready for that kind of action. They were superstars, and they played like it. You ever witness a fight at school where everyone gathers around buzzing with excitement, ready to see two schoolmates go at it with hopes of seeing a busted lip or an old-fashioned headlock/noogie combo, only to see one guy get pulverized like 10 seconds in, and the mood goes from thrilling and chaotic to “Oh my God. I can’t watch this anymore”? I imagine this is the same shift in emotion the patrons felt at these games. They shredded the competition, going undefeated and winning each game by an average of almost 44 points. A subtle case of Stockholm Syndrome was common during these games, where the opposing fanbase transitioned from waiving their country’s flag to hoping to catch a Stockton-to-Jordan ally oop. Imagine a starting lineup like this:

PG: Magic Johnson
SG: Michael Jordan
SF: Larry Bird
PF: Karl Malone
C: Patrick Ewing

Then you have Scottie Pippen, John Stockton, Charles Barkley, David Robinson and Clyde Drexler coming off the bench, followed by Chris Mullin and Christian Laettner. Wait, fucking Christian Laettner? Did he do anything more than carry MJ’s luggage? At what point during practice did he stop, look around and think, “Why on God’s beautiful green earth am I here?” Truth be told, the team was taking one rookie, and Laettner was chosen over Shaq because he was thought to be the more fundamentally sound player at the time. That’s probably accurate, but his abilities were more suited for a team like the Ruskies had. Laettner didn’t care, though. He wore those colors proudly, and he enjoyed the ride.

Fans would gather outside the team hotel, wait for their bus to arrive at the arena, and followed them all around Barcelona with hopes of spotting the team. A mob was waiting for them every time they set foot outside. When these guys showed up for games, it was like the Beatles rolled up on their tour bus for a free, impromptu concert in Des Moines, Iowa during the pinnacle of their fame. Pure madness. Actually, that may even be underselling it. “It was like Elvis and the Beatles put together,” according to head coach Chuck Daly. Charles Barkley shared his thoughts about the Cuban national team requesting to take photos with them before the game: “It was a surreal feeling. Like dude, we here to kick y’all behind…and they want to take pictures with you.”

They beat Croatia in the finals by a score of 117 to 85 to lock down the gold.

Some have compared the ‘92 Dream Team to the talent we’ll be sending to invade Europe this summer for the 2012 Summer Olympics in London. Guys like Lebron, Durant and Kobe will lead a more than formidable team, and they’re sure to be favorites to win gold again. I just can’t put them up there with the Dream Team. I can’t really put any team, in any sport, in any era, up with the Dream Team. I still can’t wait to support our guys in their pursuit of the gold, however. Nothing fires up my loins quite like listening to our National Anthem while American-bred dominance occupies that center spot.

To steal a line from our friend RageTheory, the ‘92 Dream Team was, and still is, the big swinging athletic dick of the world.