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Dawkins an endearing man-child

The image that endures to this day is of a man-child detonating a thunderclap dunk that brings down a shower of backboard glass while defenders scurry for cover and the crowd erupts in awe.

The image that endures to this day is of a man-child detonating a thunderclap dunk that brings down a shower of backboard glass while defenders scurry for cover and the crowd erupts in awe.

Darryl Dawkins, dunkateer extraordinaire and amateur poet, lovingly christened his master work:

Chocolate Thunder flyin',

Robinzine cryin',

Teeth shaking',

Glass breakin',

Rump roastin',

Bun toastin',

Wham bam, glass breaker, I am Jam.

Say that real fast 10 times.

Darryl Dawkins oozed charisma. He was glib, with a DJ's patter. And what endeared him to so many was his disposition. To hear him tell it, Darryl never had a bad day - or if he did he wouldn't admit it.

Darryl was a blithe spirit who, as he liked to say, was big even when he was small, and is gone much before his time, at age 58. He leaves behind a legacy of concern for others. On a basketball court he will forever be remembered for the night of Nov. 13, 1979, in Kansas City when he went rolling down on a breakaway and elevated. On defense was Bill Robinzine, who wanted no part of it, and he ran for cover, hands on head. The backboard exploded.

Every TV station in the world gleefully pounced, and it was replayed endlessly. (There was also the inevitable poster, and somewhere in the back of a closet I still have a poster of the man who claimed to be Chocolate Thunder from the planet Lovetron.)

He was 6-foot-10 and 280 pounds and looked every menacing inch of that, but in fact he was all marshmallow inside, especially with kids.

A couple of bird-dog scouts tipped off the 76ers about this young Colossus down in Orlando. What college was he enrolled at? There was a long pause, then: "Uh, well, he's in high school."

There was undisguised guffawing.

The scouts persisted. He could grow into 7-3 and 290, they said. You got to take him.

So they did, and though he never made that 7-3, 290, he grew into a valued contributor on the court and a goodwill ambassador for the franchise.

You couldn't help but agree when it was suggested the reason that he worked so well with kids was that he was one of them himself.

As for that dunk that lives on, the NBA was not amused and ordered a cease-and-desist. Three weeks later, in the Spectrum, against San Antonio, Darryl shattered another one. Backboard breaking was officially banned and the penalty would be a stiff fine, automatic ejection, and a one-game suspension for the offender. It became known as the Dawk No-No.

I've always thought that there was a hint of Wilt Chamberlain in Darryl, in that they sometimes held back for fear that with their power and strength they might seriously injure someone.

That's not a bad way to be remembered.