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Longhorn legend Lance Blanks has passed away


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8 hours ago, horn4life said:

Incredibly sad news to hear.  I sort of view Lance Blanks as the "Godfather" of Texas basketball.  He was exactly the sort of human being you felt proud to be associated with as an alumni of The University of Texas.

Prayers to his family and those close that truly feel the loss.

Travis Mays is that for me but LB is right up there. 

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On 5/5/2023 at 1:45 AM, shadow_operative said:

Lance loved life.

i just wanted to say something about this part. IF all of the intimations about how Lance died are true, then this is something to think about and marinate on: if you do have that kind of sickness, you can truly love life while also being in a very dark place that still makes it feel like it's not worth living. it's truly a confounding confliction, one that's very very difficult to wrap your head around. now try and imagine living with that confliction every single day. no matter how things appear on the outside, that's a damn tough battle to take on. a battle that even the strongest of men can lose. rest in peace Lance. 

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12 hours ago, shadow_operative said:

i just wanted to say something about this part. IF all of the intimations about how Lance died are true, then this is something to think about and marinate on: if you do have that kind of sickness, you can truly love life while also being in a very dark place that still makes it feel like it's not worth living. it's truly a confounding confliction, one that's very very difficult to wrap your head around. now try and imagine living with that confliction every single day. no matter how things appear on the outside, that's a damn tough battle to take on. a battle that even the strongest of men can lose. rest in peace Lance. 

Reminder in light of the possibility that the mental health/suicide prevention line is now 988 nationwide. 

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Blanks seemed like a beacon of light, the glass-half-full guy, the person others might gravitate toward if darkness was winning. 

If he succumbed to that darkness then it is an unbridled tragedy and one that is really hard to wrap your arms around. 

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1 hour ago, DToro said:

Bless you for sharing that. What a beautiful, composed write up by a person who just lost her beloved dad.

 

I didn’t know Lance Blanks but sensed his empathetic nature during broadcasts. It’s evident to most on this board that Lowell has struggled and fallen short of what fans expect from a Longhorn play by play guy. No doubt Lance was aware that Lowell faced an uphill battle. You’d often hear him building up Lowell, complimenting Lowell, and not as an insincere, obsequious thing, rather as a fellow human being who felt bad for a colleague’s struggles and wanted to show support so that they could succeed. It was an easy to miss gesture, but always showed me the kind heart LB possessed.

 

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I knew Lance back in college. He was older, but I was good friends with and played football in high school with some relatives of his who were in Austin going to college at the same time so we wound up being around each other a fair amount.

He was already a Longhorn celebrity at that time, but was a genuinely nice guy.  I can’t say he was humble or just a regular Joe (he was an alpha athlete after all), but he was funny, generous and nice when the world would have tolerated him being an asshole.

I hate to read about his suicide and will be reaching out to those same family members today to see how they are doing.  Rest in peace, Lance.  You were a good guy.

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On 5/9/2023 at 9:57 AM, DToro said:

I hadn't checked the basketball forum in a while so seeing this last night on the ESPN app was the first I've heard of it. Sad to see him go, i enjoyed his broadcasting of games on LHN and he was a great player if before my time. 

I wonder if what he went through with his dad solidified in his mind he was not going to put his kids through that. This life is a beating for large portions of it and if someone has decided they have had enough of it for whatever reason I can understand that. Hope his family can find peace in remembering his life and not dwell on the end. 

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Dayum...

Quote

Riley Blanks Reed
May 9, 2023, 09:23 AM ET


On the morning of May 3, 2023, my father, Lance Blanks, took his life.

People will ask, "How did we not see it?"

And people will say, "This wasn't him. Someone like him wouldn't do this."

People will want more information.

But the fact is we will never truly know why. And we don't need to. All we need to do is remember him, honor him, celebrate him and pour our love into the family that made him happy.

All we need to know is that, oftentimes, the people in the most pain are the giants in our lives.

Daddy always said, "Keep it real. Keep it simple." He was not one to beat around the bush. He prioritized the elephant in the room.

The purpose of this story is to honor him, to represent him.


From left to right: Clarice Blanks, Sid Blanks Jr., Sid Blanks and Lance Blanks. Courtesy of the Blanks family
I knew Daddy on a profound level.

As I grapple with the unimaginable pain of his absence, I am compelled to share his remarkable life.

Lance Blanks was a leader.

Not just the humble, legendary Texas Longhorns shooting guard, the scoring machine with the most epic defense skills and court dance moves of his time. Not just the Pistons' 26th pick in the 1990 NBA draft or the passionate player who competed in Germany, Cyprus and Hungary. Not just the NBA executive who worked for the Spurs, Cavaliers, Suns and Clippers, treating every day like it was a Wednesday, burning the midnight oil, lifting weight people couldn't see. Not just the head of scouting who knew players like the backs of his big, strong hands. Not just an ESPN and Longhorn Network basketball analyst who brought light, storytelling and accessibility to every game. Not just the relentless patriarch of his family, the adoring father of his daughters and the devoted father of his community.

My father was a leader and a guardian angel. In the darkness of my worst nights, he always picked up the phone.

I could go on. I could tell you about every accolade, every stat and every award Daddy received throughout his career. But that information is easy to find, and as I listen to his loved ones, fans and community, I don't hear about his résumé. I hear about his character.

So instead I will say this: Daddy had impact. He had what he would call "staying power." He was lovingly referred to as the duck: relaxed, calm and effortless on the surface, pedaling like mad beneath the water.

Daddy was my person, my idol, my teacher, my best friend and my confidant -- a man I thought immortal. He encompassed everything to me.


From left to right: Renee Alexandre, Riley Blanks Reed, Bryn Blanks-Lewis and Lance Blanks. Courtesy of the Blanks family
The year I was born marked the beginning of Daddy's NBA career, intertwining our lives with the league. Daddy put his all into everything he did. I recall the countless hours spent together at basketball games while he scouted. From small, grungy gyms in the South to unlined courts in West Africa, to the state-of-the-art facilities, he'd watch with his intense gaze and calculated thoughts.

He knew humans so well. He was perceptive, insightful and a pure analyst. He taught me to be discerning, to vet everything and to never give my words away for free. He'd always say, "Bet on you."

Daddy first put a tennis racket in my hand when I was 5 years old on a red clay court in Nicosia, Cyprus; I remember a foggy day, a racket as long as my torso and a dad with a crystal-clear vision for my future. He drove me to ITF tournaments. He walked me through UVA's grounds before I committed and played for their team. He was my athletic mentor from childhood to college. He gave me a sport that would define my character, bolster my intuition and elevate my maturity.

We once spent hours in a parking lot when I was 12 years old, standing in front of a box that almost reached my waist. He said we wouldn't leave until I jumped on the box. I was terrified. But he believed in me.

I'd do anything now to go back to that day, to feel his confident presence alongside my fear.

Losing him is not a box I can jump on.

Our deep connection was forged through long car rides, windows down, R&B blasting. He loved Nina Simone and Sam Cooke and Otis Redding and Luther Vandross. We danced to "Dance With My Father" at my wedding, with his dad spinning between us in a wheelchair.

Daddy wasn't your stereotypical man. He loved a good brunch. We'd share Earl Grey lattes at our neighborhood restaurant. Roses were his favorite flower, and regular pedicures were a must. While he was our patriarch, patriarchal systems were lost on him. He was kind and sensitive. His style was minimal and meaningful, marked by simplicity.

Daddy lived next door to my husband, Jack, and me. He was our neighbor in every definition of the word. Often, I'd walk the gravel path to my home and see him next door on his porch, sitting in his green rocking chair, talking on the phone, and taking in the oak trees with his loyal pit bull, Walter, at his feet. "Hey, Riles," he'd say.

He recently told me that I gave him a front-row seat to my life and that it was his greatest joy. What he didn't understand was that it was mine, too.

I asked him a couple of months back, "Daddy, what's the one thing in life that makes you happiest?" Without hesitation, he said, "Family, Riles. Just family."

Daddy loved his family: his dad, Sid; his brother, Sid Jr.; and his mother, Clarice. He organized countless family reunions and gatherings.

His youngest daughter, Bryn, got his features and his mannerisms. Their conversations were compatible and fluid. Though my dad and my mom, Renee, went separate ways, they remained close. He often wore a watch she gifted him years ago, inscribed with the words, "Always and forever."

The watch is stunning, but he loved it because it's sentimental. He didn't need anything sparkly or special. He was the glitter.


Lance Blanks was a star guard for the Longhorns from 1988 to 1990. University of Texas
For many years, Daddy was the primary caregiver to his own father, known as "Sugarbear" or, to us grandchildren, as "Big Sid." My dad liked to exuberantly call him, "THE BEAR!" He and my dad both had a massive presence. And they loved sugar.

Big Sid was the first African American to play at an integrated school on a football scholarship in the state of Texas. After Texas A&I, he played seven successful seasons in the NFL. He was bilingual, left-handed and a lover of pecan pie, old Western films and lemon trees. Our dad was his guardian for much of his adulthood as he developed Parkinson's disease at a young age, which stemmed from head injuries from playing football, according to his doctors.

The last time we saw Big Sid was at my wedding. Despite his health condition, Daddy found a way to transport his father across state lines to bear witness to the family legacy he masterfully spearheaded and my union with my husband, Jack.

Daddy's love knew no bounds as he carried my grandfather, a football legend, on his back -- figuratively and literally -- through every challenge that Parkinson's presented. Big Sid also battled Alzheimer's disease and dementia.

It was a level of care that could have moved the whole world.

I once asked Daddy how he managed to provide such boundless care. His response, honest and humble, resonated with the core of his being. "It's my duty as a person," he replied. "That's all I know."

Lance Blanks was tireless, relentless, willful, passionate, gregarious, intense and incredibly empathetic.

His value in my life wasn't quantified by the mere fact that he was a good dad -- it was that I had the privilege of truly knowing him.

He was fascinated by time. He owned 50-plus watches, and he'd always remind me to be highly aware of how fast it's passing.

I used to say I won the lottery simply because my daddy was Lance Blanks. Sometimes, late at night, ever since I was a little girl, I would fear his mortality.

What will I do without him? There is no way I could live without him.

But I see this quote in his home: "The meaning of life is to live it."

And I know I must go on for him.

Daddy, Lance, LB, my forever hero, has left a void that cannot be filled. And yet, I find solace in the promise to honor him with everything he left us. In the loving embrace of my sister, Bryn, I will remember that we are both forever connected to the remarkable man who was our world.

 

Edited by Beau Vine
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18 hours ago, Hermanator said:

I wonder if what he went through with his dad solidified in his mind he was not going to put his kids through that. This life is a beating for large portions of it and if someone has decided they have had enough of it for whatever reason I can understand that. Hope his family can find peace in remembering his life and not dwell on the end. 

Caring for a parent in their later years is a beating. 

LB had an especially huge burden as a caregiver having a parent with Parkinson's and later in life Alzheimer's and dementia...

Just brutal.    RIP LB 🙏

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