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Charles Barkley taught me a lot when I played against him. How he would use his body or use his dribble to get people in there and all that stuff.

To give Tinker Bell a voice for the first time in history is such an honor.

He would catapult you forward, and that was his intention with the Jazz Messengers. He would take young people with a potential and help them develop a voice as a player and as a writer.

Never forget the power of silence, that massively disconcerting pause which goes on and on and may at last induce an opponent to babble and backtrack nervously.

I remember Michael dribbling at the top of the key. Everybody knew to just get the hell out of his way.

He who puts out his hand to stop the wheel of history will have his fingers crushed.

When you're in between the white lines, the game face is on. I was only focused on the task at hand - out, safe, ball, strike - leaving little time to think about how special a player, moment or game happened to be.

There's a clip where he had someone miming me running around from keyboard to keyboard. Oh dear, I am sure a lot of people didn't know what he was going on about.

He sliced the ball when he had it on a plate.

As I stood there absorbing Hammett's novel, the slot machines at the back of the shop were clanking and whirring, and in the billiard room upstairs the perpetual poker game was being played.