#31: My Ricky Davis Year

Why I’m choosing one of the most infamous NBA players of all time to inspire my year.

Jul 26, 2026

On my 31st birthday, I’m making a questionable decision that I not only fully believe in but will defend with increasing vigor until the end of my days.

As you can see, I’m already embodying the spirit of Ricky Davis.

But if you’ll bear with me, I promise: I can explain myself.

The Infamous Ricky Davis

aka “Wrong Rim Ricky”

Ricky Davis played in the NBA from 1998-2010 and he is infamous for three iconic moments. Those three moments range from simply not good to hilariously awful.

Infamous Ricky Davis Moment #1

The year is 2004. The Boston Celtics are down by eight points to the Los Angeles Lakers in the third quarter of a regular season game. Ricky Davis jumps the passing lane and comes up with an easy steal, leading to a shot opportunity with nobody within 75 feet of him, literally.

Ricky was in the dunk contest just a month before this game. (He did not do well.) So he’s a highflier with a reputation for dramatic finishes, all by himself. It’s reasonable for him to try a cool dunk, even though his team is losing.

As you might expect, he tries to go between his legs, and misses the dunk.

But that’s not what makes this moment infamous.

Ricky is by himself to such a degree that he even gets his own rebound; all of the Lakers assumed he’d make the dunk and didn’t hustle back on defense. (Classic L.A.) So, with his tail between his legs, he lays the ball into the basket for two points.

Well, that’s what he should do. Instead, he goes for another highlight dunk, this time throwing down a windmill dunk.

For the uninitiated, this is like if a server carries out the skillet with the flaming fajita, drops it on the floor, stamps out the fire while everyone watches in horror, picks up the skillet and lights it on fire again while he brings it to the table.

He’s must be so used to missing his attempts in the dunk contest (which he did, a lot) and trying again that he thinks it’s still appropriate to showboat even after driving the boat into the dock.

In the shadow of his humiliation, the dramatic flair looks a lot more like a sad cry for attention.

Infamous Ricky Davis Moment #2

The year is 2003 Ricky Davis is a Cleveland Cavalier, and the Cavs suck. They finish 17-65 and have clear hopes of drafting in the #1 spot.

That possibility is particularly juicy this year because the consensus #1 pick is a kid from Akron named LeBron James.

LeBron represented a promise of salvation for Cleveland, unless you asked any of his future teammates.

Carlos Boozer said that Cleveland already had better players than LeBron on the team; Darius Miles said it was foolish to think a high school kid would be able to turn the team around. And Ricky Davis said that having LeBron on the team would “make things a little bit easier”.

You can forgive Ricky for that measured take on a rookie LeBron, but in January of this year, he said on Tony Allen and Zach Randolph’s “Out the Mud” podcast that Cleveland traded him during the next season because he was too good of a scorer for LeBron to develop alongside him:

“He was scoring a little bit, but I was on fire. He passing my way, I’ma score. So they figured out, ‘We got to kind of get Rick out, cuz if Rick keeps going, I don’t know the pace of how we gon’ develop young fella, how he gonna be the best player in the world?’”

Well, I just did the math for myself on Basketball Reference:

At the time Ricky was traded on December 16th, LeBron had been averaging 18.5 points per game, including scoring 37 against Boston and 27 against Indiana in the last two games before the trade.
Conversely, Ricky was averaging 15.2 points per game, including 15 in that game against Boston and 3 in that game against Indiana.

So I have no idea what he’s talking about, and it’s completely indefensible to be this wrong about yourself after being able to think about it for 23 years. I mean it took me like 10 minutes to realize he was wrong.

But both of these moments pale in comparison to the legendary third entry.

Infamous Ricky Davis Moment #3

This is The Infamous Ricky Davis Moment.

March 16, 2003. Cleveland is playing Utah. Up by 25 points with 8 seconds left, Ricky has 28 points, 12 assists, and 9 rebounds: 1 rebound shy of a triple-double.

As he tells it, he had 9 rebounds for the last 8 minutes of the game and was doing everything in his power to collect the last one. But he had an epiphany during his team’s timeout.

With just 6 seconds left in the game, Ricky dribbled up to his own team’s basket, purposely missed a layup on his own team’s rim, and collected the rebound to secure his tenth rebound.

It’s one of the most shameful moments of selfish stat-padding in NBA history, Pre-Legalized Gambling Division. Can you imagine the outcry if a player like Giannis Antetokounmpo did this? (Oh, wait.)1

There are two outcomes of this moment that are both so funny that I can’t decide which is better.

a) The Ricky Davis Rule

The NBA institutes the “Ricky Davis Rule” which stipulates that a shameful attempt at a rebound in the style of this play does not count as a rebound. And they don’t even grandfather in Ricky: they revoke his rebound and he finishes the game without a triple-double.

He sells out all his integrity just for this triple-double and the league says, “Actually, nah.”2

b) Ricky says he “was one rebound or one assist” away from a triple-double “for five games in a row”

This comment comes from the same podcast I referenced earlier.

I pulled up his Basketball Reference page for this season to cross-reference this statement. Not that he’s proven himself to be at all credible but I thought it would be funny.

Here are his stats from the five games preceding the infamous Utah game:

March 4, 2003: 24 points, 4 rebounds, 1 assist
March 5, 2003: 6 points, 3 rebounds, 2 assists
March 7, 2003: 10 points, 3 rebounds, 2 assists
March 8, 2003: 18 points, 1 rebound, 2 assists
March 11, 2003: 19 points, 7 rebounds, 7 assists

He wasn’t anywhere near a triple-double in those five games! He is hilariously far away! Imagine saying, “Coach, don’t sub me out yet: I just need 4 points, 7 rebounds, and 8 assists for my triple-double.”

If I’m realllllly trying to see where he’s coming from, I’d say that in the second game of the season, he was kind of close to a triple-double:

October 30, 2002: 25 points, 7 rebounds, 8 assists

And in January, he was kind of close again:

January 25, 2003: 16 points, 9 rebounds, 7 assists

And in the very next game he was even closer:

January 27, 2003: 32 points, 10 rebounds, 8 assists

So in the absolute most charitable reading possible, maybe instead of saying that he was one stat away from a triple double for five games in a row, he meant to say that in three games over the course of five months he was 2 or more stats away from a triple-double.

Which one is funnier?

I Can Explain Myself

Why is Ricky Davis a role model for my #31 year?

In NBA history, 206 players have worn jersey number 31, and almost all of them played the game with more honor than Ricky Davis.

Here are some of the honorable mentions:

Shane Battier: The complete antithesis of Ricky Davis. A do-anything-for-the-team guy whose legacy gets better with age.
Jarrett Allen: An All-Star who admitted the playoff lights were too bright before honing his craft and improving his clutch reputation this postseason.
Brent Barry: The “Bones” are their dollars.
Thomas Bryant: Probably the most iconic photo in #31 history. He’s wide open, LeBron! Don’t break the all-time NBA scoring record! He’s got Shai sealed underneath!
Seth Curry: I could follow up my #30 year by keeping it in the family.
Shawn Marion: I have it on good authority that The Matrix used to play pickup basketball at Hamlin Park right next door to my church.
Reggie Miller: The best player to ever wear #31.

When you see this list of options, Ricky Davis must seem not only completely indefensible, but totally idiotic. What is the possible benefit to modeling my #31 year after a player notorious for being selfish and arrogant?

The reason is simple: as a child, I didn’t know any of that, and I loved Ricky Davis.

An aside:

In 2004 I got NBA Live 2005 for Christmas. I played it on my family PC that lived in the computer room.3 Have been indoctrinated into Celtics fandom by my dad — who grew up in Chelsea, Mass and played high school ball in the Greater Boston League4 — I played a lot with Boston and by then, Ricky Davis was on the team.

The best part of that game was the All-Star Weekend feature where you could enter the dunk contest and throw alley-oops off any screen in the arena. I dunked a lot with Ricky Davis, obviously.

I’m talking peak childhood nostalgia.

It’s right around this time that I get my first basketball jersey: a tiny Paul Pierce #34, the best player on the Celtics, but he was no Ricky Davis.

Allow me another aside:5

My favorite hobby was collecting sports cards. I must have been an easy kid to get gifts for. I had binders and binders full of basketball cards.

I was also…not yet the best version of myself.

For my basketball-themed birthday party when I turned 10 or 11, my mom and I decided to give out basketball cards as party favors for my friends. But since I couldn’t stomach the idea of willingly giving away a desirable card, I opened and screened every single pack for any cards I’d be even remotely interested in, took them for myself, and put the rest in the grab bag. I remember my best friend Shawn saying, “These cards are all terrible,” and my reaction was something to the effect of, “You must be unlucky.”6

Anyway.

I had a Ricky Davis card in my collection and I cherished it.

In 2006, when Boston traded him to Minnesota, I was crushed. Crushed!7

I taped his card to a piece of posterboard and used Magic Marker to write “Once a Celtic, Always a Celtic” in crooked letters. Next to him I taped up all the cards I had of former Celtics: Tony Battie, Walter McCarty, Antoine Walker. I remember Shawn laughing at the poster for its melodrama, but I was completely sincere. I would hold Ricky Davis always in my heart, no matter what.

As I’ve pondered that strong list of #31 players over the month of July, I can’t shake the idea that I have to dedicate this year to Ricky Davis.8 My ten year old self would be befuddled that I would choose anyone else.

And there lies my theme as I turn 31:

Enjoy adulthood as childhood

As a kid, I didn’t know any of Ricky Davis’ baggage. I just knew that was super athletic and played for my favorite team, meaning that he met all my criteria for being an awesome basketball player.

To be clear, this is not about following the advice of Lydia Tár and separating art from artist. As I’ve made clear, I can plainly see Ricky Davis’ shortcomings and have been critical of him so far.

Rather, I’m choosing to find more chances to enjoy my life this year as I enjoyed my life during childhood.

I fill my life with meaningful activities that will lead to bigger and better payoffs the more I do them:9 I log miles to be able to run a strong marathon; I watch movies to have seen every entry on a famous list; I read books because it’s good for my brain; I do my chores so I can enjoy a clean house afterwards; I write essays with hopes that they’ll be widely read and discussed.

Almost every one of these things was a part of my life in my childhood, but I remember doing them because I enjoyed them in the moment: I loved playing sports; I loved watching movies; I loved reading books even more; I liked taking care of my room; I loved to write.

I’m proud of the way that I’ve maintained — even strengthened — that connective tissue of what has brought me happiness since I can remember. But I often find reasons to complicate my love of a thing when maybe those reasons don’t need to be given attention.

This line of thinking is in line with my childhood love of Ricky Davis. Back then, I didn’t know any better!

Instead of: He can’t be the best player on a successful playoff team because he doesn’t play a winning brand of basketball.
- I thought: I just love watching him play.

Here are some examples of ways I’d like to shift my common thought patterns this year:

From: I feel fast today, but I’ll need to be running much faster in the marathon, so today isn’t a great predictor of how the race will go.
- To: How lucky I am to be running right now.
From: I’m not as strong a reader as I used to be.
- To: My childhood self would be so proud of me for being a lifelong reader.
From: Once I’m done with these chores, then I can enjoy my home.
- To: This isn’t my favorite thing to do, but I do love taking care of my family’s home.
From: I wish more people were reading my writing.
- To: I take myself seriously enough to exercise my written voice.

In the end, this isn’t my Ricky Davis year because I’ll be mindlessly showboating, putting down future leaders, or chasing empty stats.

This is my Ricky Davis year because my younger self would have loved that, and I want to live more of my life this year with the clarity of my childhood.

What about the misogi?

Last year I started an annual misogi, which I wrote about at length in my #30 Dell Curry essay:

The misogi is effectively an annual test of will: an arduous physical challenge that has the potential to rewire our brain.

This year was a test of balance and patience.

My #31 misogi was to walk one mile while balancing my Nalgene water bottle on my head, filled about a quarter of the way with water. Every time I dropped the bottle, I had to start all over again.

I woke up at 5:00 am while my daughter was still asleep and drove to the Montrose Track to give myself plenty of time before Kirsten had to go to work.

Do you think I finished it? Did I change the task halfway through to make it more reasonable? How long do you think the whole thing took?

I’d love to talk to you about how this year’s misogi went! If you want to know, ask me when you see me, shoot me a text, or message me here.

Thanks for reading my birthday essay about the legendary Ricky Davis (#31). People forget he was a problem.

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