Dear Amar'e

I am not sorry. I've never really considered myself a fan of yours. You spent your career talking your game without walking it, except on the offensive end when you were rattling the rim.

How many times did you fail to get back defensively for arguing no-calls with the officials? How many times did you sit sulking on the bench when other team mates received the fourth quarter touches you felt were rightfully yours? How often did you stand flat-footed as your man spun around you or shot a 15-foot jumper in your grill? Where were you during the mystical 2005-06 season when your Suns brethren, decimated by injuries and deficient in size, fought their way to the sixth game of the Conference Finals?

Every summer you told us that you were coming back the next season meaner, tougher, and committed to defense - that you had been working hard and watching film to come into the season better prepared, only to morph slowly from the Duncan-killing Conference Finals beast into the league's biggest and leanest small forward. Every season you regressed further from your true form and further from the basket.

Sure, you had a month-long stretch between December 2006 and January 2007 when you averaged three blocked shots per game, but that quickly faded as tensions between you and Shawn Marion began to rip apart the chemistry of the team (for this, I lay blame on both of you equally, since neither of you put the team before yourself).

Last December, you averaged more than twelve rebounds over ten games. You showed us pieces of the complete player puzzle that you proclaimed yourself to be, but you left them scattered on the table as you found your role less glamorous than it was your first season under Mike D'Antoni. You said the right things, but you never fulfilled your promises. The incongruity between your words and your actions over the years was a legitimate cause for criticism.

So you'll forgive me if I showed no mercy during the twenty seven months after the League suspended you for leaving the bench with only eighteen seconds to play. I believe in my heart that I was justified in starting the Trade Amare Express two years ago. I only abandoned that train after Steve Kerr's arrogance exiled Boris Diaw to the Siberian Bobcats, where he flourished as that team's sole high post player. I insisted that we traded the wrong forward, and I was right, given the circumstances. Our only hope was that you would finally keep your perpetual promise to improve yourself.

Why should I ever have believed you when, once again, the Stoudemire record skipped? How could I ever again take seriously a man-child more concerned with nicknames and apostrophes than team chemistry?



That's why.

I wasn't skeptical that you had finally changed. I simply did not believe you. I had no reason to, just as I have no reason to apologize for being the one to lead the charge to get you the hell out of Phoenix. But I will say this...

I am so damned proud of you, Amar'e. Some people will attribute your play to your contract, but, though yours may be the words of a man looking to impress another club, the demeanor with which you speak and your genuine tone express more than any word you've uttered thus far this season.

I'll be honest...your performance that first game against the Clippers had me doubting once again, but I sucked it up when I saw that you made ten trips to the free throw line. I decided to give you until Christmas to show me something. Since that game, all you've done is hustle your ass off, encourage your team mates, and attack the glass. The rebounding may not be double-digits, but the effect of your presence is noteworthy as your fellow starters are averaging a combined 21.5 rebounds per game. (For perspective - that's three more than Kevin Garnett's team mates and nearly ten more than Tim Duncan's.)

The one thing that has impressed me the most, though - the image that sticks in my mind when I think of Amar'e Stoudemire this season - is your growth into the roll of team captain. Not to rehash old criticisms, but your last appointment to captainship was both puzzling and ill-conceived. You complained like a diva at every call that went against you, and every call you simply didn't get. You had alienated your team mates and coach, as you did your fans and me. You were exactly opposite of what you are now.

You no longer bark and sneer at the refs for missing calls. You talk to them professional to professional - man to man - and you state your case without pleading. You acknowledge their feedback and show your understanding to the demands of their jobs.

You encourage and congratulate your team mates. You salute the veterans in the stands. You show humility commensurate with your talent, which is a rarity in a league dominated by star players and multi-million dollar egos. And I can't praise you enough for the maturity and focus you have displayed for Suns fans during these first two weeks of the season. You're having fun again, and the enthusiasm bleeds through the screen and into my heart as I pump my fists with every rebound, every dunk, and every defensive stand you make.

I won't apologize for my beliefs. I will, however, admit that I was wrong. You did have it in you, and now you have let it out for the entire basketball-loving world to see. I've been wanting to say this for so many years now - I am so proud of Amar'e Stoudemire.

The step is back.

The dunks are back.

The system is back.

I am back.

Great job, Amar'e. I believe in you.

Sincerely,

Your new fan, Jey.

(Somewhere in Chandler, Adam is smiling.)