Remembering John “The Franchise” Strickland, NYC Streetball Legend

When I was about 15 years old, life was as simple and pure as it gets. Wake up, eat breakfast, play basketball. Eat lunch, play basketball. And if there was any time left in the day—or night—we were still playing basketball. Sun up, sun down, lights on or lights off, it didn’t matter. I lived in my latest tournament T-shirts, rocked my Gauchos shorts like a badge of honor, and traveled all over the city with a basketball tucked under my arm, always searching for the next good run.

One hot summer day, that search led me to Central Park basketball courts, a legendary proving ground in NYC streetball culture. As soon as I got there, I could tell which court mattered. Every park has one—the court where the energy is different, where the talking is sharper, and where respect has already been earned. These guys played there every day. They knew each other, trusted each other, and protected their run. There was a clear basketball hierarchy.

One team in particular was dominating the park. Six straight wins, no signs of slowing down. Then basketball luck intervened. One of their players went down with an injury, and suddenly they needed someone to fill the spot.

That’s how I ended up in the game.

I was nervous, but confident. I hit my first three shots and immediately felt comfortable. I was the youngest guy on the court, but I wasn’t playing like it. We got the win, and just like that, people started paying attention. I ran a few more games that day and went home feeling like I had earned my place.

When I came back the next day, a tall guy recognized me and asked me to run on his team. He introduced himself as John, but I kept hearing people call him “Strick.” That summer, I played with John almost every day. On the court, he was a tyrant—intense, demanding, and ultra-competitive. Off the court, once you got to know him, he was easily one of the funniest guys you’d ever meet. Through countless runs, we built a real level of mutual respect.

Fast forward a few years, and I was fully immersed in NYC streetball culture. In my area, the Kingdome Tournament was one of the best in the business. The rosters were stacked with streetball legends, NBA players, overseas pros—if you loved basketball, there was no better place to be.

One day at the Kingdome, I noticed my guy John suited up and balling.

That’s when everything clicked.

The same dude I had been running pickup with in Central Park wasn’t just John.

He was Big Strick—one of the most respected and charismatic figures in NYC streetball history.

Watching Big Strick play basketball made you feel something. He wasn’t the most athletic player on the court. He wasn’t the fastest or the highest jumper. But somehow—every single time—he ended up on the winning side. And the more you watched, the more you understood why.

Big Strick was playing chess while everyone else was playing checkers.

He controlled the game with his mind. He outsmarted defenders, baited them into fouls, and slowly broke them down mentally. He’d get opponents into foul trouble, talk them out of their game, and have them completely frustrated before they even realized what was happening. Anyone who ever played with him or against him will tell you the same thing—he beat you mentally long before the scoreboard said it.

Right hand. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. On the block, Big Strick was unstoppable. Not because of raw athleticism, but because of angles, footwork, timing, and patience. Every possession felt like a lesson. The crowd loved it, because he didn’t just score—he dominated. He made defenders feel helpless, and he did it with style.

Sometimes he’d let me ride with him when he had games at Hoops in the Sun, another iconic NYC basketball venue. The entire ride, he’d be cracking jokes, telling stories, laughing like basketball was the greatest thing in the world—which, to him, it truly was.

When Jay-Z famously said, “My homie Strick told me, ‘Dude, finish your breakfast,’” on The Black Album, John couldn’t have been happier. You could see the pride all over his face. He always told me, “Success is not for the lazy,” and that’s a message I still live by today.

John “The Franchise” Strickland played in every major tournament in New York City and at every legendary venue. He poured his soul into every possession. He spent more than 10 years playing overseas and even earned an invite to the New York Knicks training camp in 1996—something I only fully appreciated after realizing exactly who he was in the basketball world.

When the news came that Big Strick passed away, it was devastating. He was working as the Director of Basketball Operations for the Halifax Rainmen of the Premier Basketball League and died in his sleep at just 38 years old. It didn’t feel real then, and it still doesn’t.

His passing crushed the NYC basketball community. There is a void he left that will never be filled. Big Strick wasn’t just a streetball legend—he was a competitor, a mentor, a personality, and a symbol of everything NYC basketball represents.

His impact went far beyond wins, points, or highlights.

His name will forever be held up with the greats.

Rest in peace, John “The Franchise” Strickland.
Forever Central Park. Forever Kingdome. Forever Hoops in the Sun.
Forever NYC streetball.