When the NBA Made Coke Bottles Cool

I couldn’t read the chalkboard in middle school. So I made squinting from the front row my optometry. As a skinny eighth grader, my intimidating aura already left enough to be desired; I didn't need glasses to invite any more harassment.

True story on that front: I was egged into a fist fight up on the hill during lunch hour, and somehow managed to give the other guy a pair of black eyes while walking away unscathed. Hey, even Buster Douglas gets one Tokyo night.

Well, word travels fast, because when I show up to woodshop in the very next period, the shop manager Mr. Coryell calls me over.

"So Todd. I hear you're now the second biggest wuss on campus?"

Wasn't meant as a compliment, took it as one anyways. Anyways, come the next day, I still didn’t have prescription eyewear, but for some reason, the other guy wore blacked out shades.

So, I'd like to take a moment to raise a toast to those who got the news that they needed corrective lenses and said "Cool - hand me the ball." The ones who leaned in because they were dropping 20 and 20 before they could see 20/20.

You see, there was a glorious, funkadelic moment when goggles weren’t a punchline, they were part of the show. Polyester shorts clung, boombox basslines bumped, and a few brave souls strapped on thick lenses and made blurred vision into a cultural accessory. This was the goggle era, when NBA hardwood doubled as a dance floor and the only prescription you needed was hustle and flow.

We’re talking about bespectacled spectacles — men who reframed the game. Some did it for safety, some for style, and some looked like they’d wandered out of Mr. Coryell's shop class and into the Finals.

George “Mr. Basketball” Mikan (1946–1956)

Backing Track: “In the Still of the Night” — The Five Satins

The Look: This four-eyed forerunner was bedecked in horn-rimmed glasses that were less “I believe I can fly” and more “George McFly.” He was the first dominant big man, but he looked like a law clerk in gym shorts. If James Naismith invented the game, Mikan invented the blueprint for every towering center to follow — while peering through lenses thick enough to stop birdshot.

Corrected vision became: 20/100. He didn’t need eagle eyes; he needed space to hook it over whichever 6’4” insurance salesman was guarding him.

Pimp Factor: Low, but oddly niche; 8% cheer squad conquest factor (The cheerleader who was 6’5”.)

Kurt “Clark Kent” Rambis (1981–1995)

Backing Track: “Superstition” — Stevie Wonder

The Look: Rambis’s glasses were OSHA chic — squared, foggy, strapped down like he was about to sand drywall. And then, the haircut, which was decidedly Camry in the front and Camaro in the back. Besides, the glasses were a decoy; those lenses weren’t for reading - they were for tracking who to choke-slam next.

Corrected vision became: 20/400. He couldn’t tell the basket from a bright exit sign, but he never missed a chance to clothesline a Celtic.

Pimp Factor: A muted 27% of the Laker Girls showed an interest, specifically the savior complex ones who thought they could change him.

Horace “Goggles” Grant (1987–2004)

Backing Track: “Fantastic Voyage” — Lakeside

The Look: Bright red straps, broad rec-specs, impossible to ignore. He didn’t just wear them — he made them iconic. Kids with weak eyes suddenly had an NBA hero whose gear they could actually copy at Sports Authority. His goggles were the Air Jordans of astigmatism.

Corrected vision became: 20/20 with a side of swagger. His rebounding got sharper, his jumper steadier, and his teammates knew the goggles weren’t just correcting his eyesight — they were correcting the balance of power in the paint.

Pimp Factor: Outrageous. 63% of the cheer squad was “call me,” and the other 37% only hesitated because they weren’t sure if the goggles ever came off.

Kareem “Skygoggles” Abdul-Jabbar (1969–1989)

Backing Track: “Give Up the Funk” — Parliament

The Look: Sleek; equal parts professor and cosmic jazz club. Kareem didn’t need them to intimidate — the goggles just amplified his aura. The skyhook was untouchable; the eyewear eternal.

Corrected vision became: 20/30. A touch of fuzz, but not enough to ever miss the arc of destiny. The goggles weren’t corrective so much as preservative — keeping him fresh for 20 years of dominance and a side career as a co-pilot.

Pimp Factor: Devastating; cheer squad conquest: 74%. Not because he was smooth-talking in the tunnel, but because half the cheerleaders wanted the professor, and the other half wanted the guy who could skyhook and karate kick Bruce Lee.

“Big Game” James Worthy (1982–1994)

Backing Track: “Atomic Dog” — George Clinton

The Look: Translucent, pool-ready goggles that looked stolen from a YMCA lost-and-found. They weren’t stylish, but Worthy’s nickname carried all the weight. You could wear a swim cap if your nickname was “Big Game,” and it would still sound like a conquest.

Corrected vision became: 20/40 — Most nights the hoop was a haze, but when the lights burned brightest, James saw nothing but net.

Pimp Factor: The goggles themselves weren’t sexy, but swagger does wonders. The man once walked into the All-Star Weekend locker room ahead of the 3-Point Contest, and asked “Which one of ya’ll is coming in second?” Two in five cheerleaders approve.

Amar’e “Cyclops” Stoudemire (2002–2016)

Backing Track: “Hot in Herre” — Nelly

The Look: Wraparound Oakleys, dark-tinted, like he’d just left a rave to dunk on you. They weren’t corrective lenses so much as cosplay — the NBA’s first true club-kid eyewear.

Corrected vision became: Cataracts. Amar’e’s goggles protected him from elbows, but not from his own shot selection.

Pimp Factor: Maximalist. He looked like Blade working the velvet rope. Cheer squad conquest: 81%. Purely vibes.

Rip “The Masked Flinger” Hamilton (1996–2011)

Backing Track: “99 Problems” — Jay-Z

The Look: A clear plastic mask that became his identity. He wore it after one broken nose too many, and then just kept it on, until Rip without a mask felt like Jordan without a tongue wag. He was the first man in NBA history to say, “Yes, I’ll bring face armor to a sea of elbows,” and every other player muttered, “Wait, we can do that?”

Corrected vision became: 20/20. The mask didn’t change his shooting, but it made him sleeker running his defender around a hundred screens a night.

Pimp Factor: Middle lane, but mysterious. The mask gave him mystique, like a superhero who never clocked out. Cheer squad conquest: 52%. At least half just wanted to try it on.

Reggie “Big Government” Jackson (2011–present)

Backing Track: “Blinding Lights” — The Weeknd

The Look: The Clippers run basically turned the goggles into part of the uniform; by the time he hit Denver, it was a whole vibe. You never saw his eyes, just the mirrored surface where your defense was already dissolving. He was basically Morpheus asking, “Red pill or blue pill?” Either way, you’re waking up in your own bed wondering what happened to your lead.

Corrected vision became: 20/20 with plausible deniability. The reflective tint was a cheat code: not only did it cut glare, it spared him the hassle of making eye contact with teammates while dribbling out a possession. When your favorite scoring option is yourself, mirrored lenses are perfect — nobody can tell if you ever even looked their way.

Pimp Factor: Smooth modern swagger. Less disco glitter, more late-night synthwave. The goggles weren’t funky in the 80s sense; they were cool in the detached, cyberpunk sense. Cheer squad conquest: 58%, as women do like looking in mirrors.

The LASIK Lament

Goggles were never just about eyesight — they were costumes, declarations, punchlines that turned into highlights. Today, contacts and LASIK have scrubbed away the character. Everyone’s 20/20, everyone’s sleek. What’s been lost is the funk — the blur, the fog, the spectacle that turned vision problems into legend.

And if you don’t remember the goggles era we lost — Hello, welcome to 120 Proof Ball; I didn’t know Generation Z read blogs.

Look, in every rec league across America, there’s one guy in fogged-up goggles who still terrifies you. Not because he sees better, but because he doesn’t care how bad he looks.

I propose a toast! Raise your glasses — highball, tumbler, or bifocal — to the men who turned optometry into iconography. They proved that dominance can come blurry, fogged, or framed in polycarbonate, and that sometimes a prescription is as much swagger as it is necessity.

Will watching them convince the rest of us four-eyes that we too can hoop with the best of them? Maybe - depends on how hard you squint at it.

Here’s to the progressive visionaries, proof that greatness doesn’t always see straight, but it looks unforgettable.

Todd / 120 Proof Ball

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