UNLV’s ‘Chopper’ Jones lets it all hang out
When I heard Saturday was Senior Day at the Thomas & Mack Center, that this will be the last time UNLV walk-on guard Steve "Chopper" Jones gets to run into someone or something without it having NCAA Tournament implications, I immediately thought of bulls and china shops.
I thought of hotel suites, after Motley Crue checks out.
I thought of "The Addams Family" — not the lame movie but the black-and-white TV show — when Gomez would put his model trains on a collision course and take perverse pleasure when they arrived at their final destination.
I thought of the dull thud a cantaloupe makes when it rolls off the kitchen table.
I thought of those cartoon watches that get wound so tightly they explode, with giant cartoon springs going every which way.
I thought of floor burns, and how after a while they ooze and make your blue jeans stick to the hair on your legs.
I thought that were it possible to wring talent like water from a washcloth, Chop would have some really strong wrists by now. And some really dry washcloths.
I thought of a guy who perpetually is smiling. Or perpetually trying to get on someone’s nerves.
I thought of Edwin Moses and Evel Knievel and David Lee Roth and people who jump over things.
I thought of fullbacks with Eastern European surnames, guys who drive steamrollers, Pete Rose and Ray Fosse, and people who run over things.
I thought of that sequence against Louisville, when Chop ran over things and jumped over things to keep the ball from going out of bounds, setting up a spectacular slam dunk by Derrick Jasper, that, like a lot of things he does, went unnoticed.
I thought of the opponents he has folded, spindled and mutilated in games.
I thought of the teammates he has folded, spindled and mutilated in practice.
I thought of those guys naming him the most inspirational Rebel last season although he could not play because he was redshirting.
I thought of Dale Earnhardt Jr., and Marvis Frazier and Dale Berra and what a burden famous fathers can be on sons trying to emulate them.
I thought of Stephen Howard "Snapper" Jones, who starred for seven teams in the old American Basketball Association, and how proud he must be.
(I thought, too, of all those awful uniforms that Steve "Snapper" Jones had to wear.)
I thought if Steve "Chopper" Jones lets his hair grow a little longer, pulls up his shorts a little higher and borrows Will Ferrell’s Flint Tropics jersey, he’ll look more old school than his old man. He says assistant coach Lew Hill wants him to get a haircut, though.
I thought of those games against Air Force and Colorado State and Holy Cross and South Carolina-Upstate where Chop looked like the only Rebel who cared.
OK, I must confess that when I first saw his funky shooting stroke and someone said he had transferred from Arizona State, I thought it must have been the Arizona State-Apache Junction campus. That was before I saw him take out three guys who drive Ferraris and multiple trophy wives on Gucci Row by diving on a loose ball as if it were a live grenade. Then I thought I could see where the Sun Devils — and every team, for that matter — could use a guy like Chop.
I thought some of these Rebels fans on message boards were being cruel and heartless for belittling Chop because he’s not as good as his old man or Rene Rougeau.
I thought of how for 10.6 minutes of every Rebels game this season, Steve "Chopper" Jones let it all hang out.
Then I thought of more bulls, more china shops, more model trains crashing into each other.
And finally, I thought ahead to next season, when the Rebels are up 11 with eight minutes to go in the first half against an opponent with a hyphen in its name, when I am going to wish Steve Jones still were around to let it all hang out.
Las Vegas Review-Journal sports columnist Ron Kantowski can be reached at rkantowski@reviewjournal.com or 702-383-0352.
