Sneaker War: So Many Shoes And So Little Time

I walked into one of those sneaker stores the other day. You know the ones. Athlete's Foot Locker or The Jock Itch Room, something like that.

Like any self-respecting sports fan, I've been anchored to my television this spring and early summer watching the shoe commercials that only are periodically interrupted by the NBA playoffs, or Wimbledon, or the U.S. Open.

I had been watching the pitches of Charles Barkley and Michael Jordan, Andre Agassi, Jim Courier and Mary Joe Fernandez, some of our country's best shoe salespeople.

I was hungry for a new pair of sneaks.

Must be da commercials.

So I went to The Hamstring Pull, or Hit The Showers or one of those sports shoe stores, looking for some new rubber for my 44-year-old wheels.

Like most shoppers, I wasn't sure what I wanted. Growing up, there was only one pair of shoes that mattered. White, canvas, Converse high-tops.

No commercial told us to buy them. Back then, beer, cigarettes and razor blades were the sponsors.

In high school, I didn't have much need for those products.

Our coaches told us which sneakers to buy. They didn't have contracts with Converse. They just knew which shoe had the best tread, the best support and could last past the season's first scrimmage.

I was vague about what I wanted. I kind of liked the shoes Barkley was selling. Not the ones that helped him sing Wagner like Pavarotti, but the ones that absolved him of any obligation to be a role model.

I also liked those shoes with the swoosh that apparently allowed Agassi to eat a dozen doughnuts at one sitting without getting full.

At least, I think it was shoes, not doughnuts, that Andre was selling.

And I was intrigued by those Reeboks that Shawn Kemp was willing to risk his life to promote. The shoes that don't believe in trash talking. The shoes that sent him to a New York hospital last week.

The salesman at The Torn Rotator Cuff or The Penalty Box or whatever it was called, showed me a nice-looking shoe. Told me about the extra air-cushioned arch support, the extra comfort around the Achilles'.

I looked at him skeptically. Hadn't he been watching the NBA Finals? Didn't he see Barkley singing arias at halftime?

Doesn't he know Converse makes a shoe so good that Larry Johnson is willing to dress up like his Grandmama to sell them?

At least I think he was selling Converse. Johnson's hemline was so low I couldn't see the shoe insignia.

The salesperson told me about durability and ankle support. I didn't know what he was talking about.

I asked him to steer me away from the shoes Courier wears. I don't like his voice.

And don't show me the shoes Fernandez wears when she tours Europe with her family. I want shoes for playing, not touring. Besides, in those commercials, Mary Joe's mother says her daughter has bigger plans after tennis. Motherhood.

Is she selling shoes or maternity dresses?

We walked past more Reeboks. I liked that Shaquille O'Neal wore them. I saw the commercial. He wore them when he impressed Bill Russell, Wilt Chamberlain and Bill Walton. Good company.

He walked through some sort of time warp and John Wooden blessed him.

Magical shoes.

But dangerous shoes.

Wasn't Kemp wearing them last week when he crashed to the floor while filming a Reebok commercial in New York?

Went up for a dunk. Landed on his head. Rushed to the hospital. Headaches.

Speaking of headaches, I was getting one. The commercials were confusing me.

Why was Agassi playing golf during a break in the U.S. Senior Open this weekend? And why does Johnson cross-dress to sell sneakers?

I don't want Agassi giving me a tour of the Las Vegas strip. I can get that on the Discovery Channel. Why does he wear Nikes? Isn't there a simple answer?

Why does Madison Avenue seem more interested in winning advertising awards than selling shoes?

The salesman took me to another rack of shoes. Canvas, high-top Converse. It was like visiting a sneaker shrine.

Do I really want to sing like Pavarotti? Or do I want to wear comfortable shoes? Am I looking for shoes that will absolve me of role-model responsibilities? Or do I want shoes that will last me through the summer's pickup games, or the weekend's tennis matches?

My conscience, my feet, my ankles, my Achilles' and my knees spoke in unison.

"Just do it."

I bought the canvas Cons. My Grandmama would have been proud.