Just like Usher’s Confessions II, Sometimes the sequel is as good as the original.
Part two of me versus famed NBA photographer Nat Butler. We cover the time he met Nelson Mandela and had to move away from the window because of snipers. Also travelling Paris before Magic Johnson's AIDs diagnosis. Read it below.
Within the NBA’s airtight bubble, Mr Butler is one of the few to eyeball this year’s playoffs. Joining a handpicked roster, Nat shoots from a delegated corner. Typically, he’d pace the hardwood like Frank Vogel after a bad foul. This year is different. Butler’s visuals of Tyler Herro overlooked by disembodied avatars are peak 2020. After four decades; Nat has officially seen it all.
It’s difficult to appreciate everything the New Yorker has witnessed. Magic’s 1987 game-winning skyhook looks like a museum artifact. Nat’s Slam 1996 cover was one of my first magazines.
Butler shot early games in monochrome because some newspapers didn’t run colour. He’d develop film rolls hoping his single button press captured a nanosecond of action. Nowadays, his visuals are available to a team of editors within seconds. In minutes, they can reach millions.
Nat typically spends at least eight months with athletes. He’s in the locker room, at the medical centre, in the gym and on the floor. Players don’t censor their conversations because they know Butler. He’s not thirsty. Clout-chasing isn’t in his consciousness. He knows when to put the camera down and when to immortalize the scene.
“It starts at the top. If you were good with MJ then you were good with the rest of the team. If you’re good with Lebron, then you’re good with everybody else,” he says.
