Did you know I played basketball? Well, I was a baller. We didn't have no All Star Game in my league, but that tall Chinese kid definitely would have made the team. The King of Lay ups, there was no stopping him once he got that rebound, darting all the way across the court to make that hoop. He was like both Hakeem Olajuwon and Michael Jordan. Everybody dreaded playing his team. The scouts were interested, got in touch with his school and everything...I'm rambling. This should be a soft piece; posting here usually spells out a doomsday package, the iceman cometh. And it's weird, handwriting. I'm handwriting this right now. I get ahead of myself, handwriting--I misspell words to keep up with my thoughts, afraid I may forget, then I have to type it up oh it's a mess I've created. Of course, I'll have to delete this part when I put it up. So I guess that means previously you could measure my thoughts by how fast I fingertype on a smart phone? More rambling.
My friends had joined the leagues. Around that time and I know even earlier, I didn't have a sport to talk about with the others; I had one friend who loved wrestling, too, but the kids would make fun of us for it. He would bring me old magazines, and I remember how secretive we were in class sliding the wrestling magazines out from his backpack. During lunch they would talk about their teams, or a game that week where they would play each other. I would feel left out and I said one time that I was on a Tae Kwon Do team; they quickly dismissed my statement as fast as I dismissed the enthusiasm with which I made the statement. I wasn't on any team, in that regard; and as far as I know, they weren't sitting there clamped down on the toilet before practice. Wipe that trout right off your face! the teacher would say.
I had the basketball cards--pogs, I liked pogs--the Alonzo Mourning oversized jersey from the Charlotte Hornets--I mean, I was meant to say I was on a team, too. I can't remember watching too many games. I liked Grant Hill. He was supposed to be the best, but he was always injured. I liked his smile on his card standing in his Team USA jersey with the ball at his waist. He seemed like a nice guy. Based on my cards, I would decide who were my favorite players. Sometimes the deck would have fictional players, like Kilgore Trout, I think, and those limited edition cards had a lot of value. But sometimes I wouldn't know that player didn't actually exist.
After breaking my foot again got me out of karate--and sorry for the affront to martial arts, but that's just how I viewed the sport at the time. So my folks let me sign up for the basketball leagues, where there, under the limelight--rather, the sunlight, under the sunlight at lunch I could proclaim I was on a team. When our practice sessions for the season began, I was still on crutches. My cousin from up north was visiting for about a week or so; he went to practice with me and it was a jovial atmosphere. The coaches suggested he take my spot during sessions while I was healing. He had been playing for years and loved the sport. My team immediately took to him, and we all looked forward to me playing like him. After he left, and I was better, my teammates did not prefer my style of laying bricks. My dad bought me a basketball hoop so I could practice at home. Work? What! Again?!
One of the better players on the team one time muttered something undermining about my presence when he lost playing time. He could shoot, but I was punctual. I pretended not to hear, but in my head I wondered why I can't call him the N word if he was calling me the short A word. For his attitude, the coaches disciplined the player accordingly. I mean, I called Jason the N word in elementary when he called me the A word, and the kids were trying to tell on me. I don't think that was very fair, do you?
- Well, the way I see things--
Hey, what are you doing? You can't just start talking randomly. Introducing another voice in the middle--this isn't the time. He was Michael Jordan, and they called me Vlade Divac. A couple of the teachers said Gary and Jose were the best looking boys in our class, and Jason got angry and muttered it's cause he's black. I, of course, had my feelings hurt as well. We were all friends. Luke was Larry Bird. I liked Luke. He had a huge trabopoline in his backyard, I mean, tramopoline. We got into a fight in class one time; we pushed each other. Our teacher brought our parents in cause they all knew we were such good friends. When we made up and I went in to shake his hand, he hugged me. He was wearing a denim jacket. Jason's mom got divorced. He ended up changing his last name. Jose was the funny one. He called me Vlade on the court. He would giggle. See, like I would be dribbling, slapping the ball to the ground uncontrollably, and he would say Vlade! and he would giggle. Get it? Got it? I'd get nervous and pass the ball. Sometimes I'd fall for it when a player on the other team asked for the ball. Gary was my best friend, I later ditched him and was cold to him when I thought he was boring. I feel like I should add something here. I'm eating a watermelon. It tastes like a bitter pill. Luke's family moved to Boston early on in elementary, probably because he was such a good basketball player and they wanted him to play on the Celtics.
My friends had joined the leagues. Around that time and I know even earlier, I didn't have a sport to talk about with the others; I had one friend who loved wrestling, too, but the kids would make fun of us for it. He would bring me old magazines, and I remember how secretive we were in class sliding the wrestling magazines out from his backpack. During lunch they would talk about their teams, or a game that week where they would play each other. I would feel left out and I said one time that I was on a Tae Kwon Do team; they quickly dismissed my statement as fast as I dismissed the enthusiasm with which I made the statement. I wasn't on any team, in that regard; and as far as I know, they weren't sitting there clamped down on the toilet before practice. Wipe that trout right off your face! the teacher would say.
I had the basketball cards--pogs, I liked pogs--the Alonzo Mourning oversized jersey from the Charlotte Hornets--I mean, I was meant to say I was on a team, too. I can't remember watching too many games. I liked Grant Hill. He was supposed to be the best, but he was always injured. I liked his smile on his card standing in his Team USA jersey with the ball at his waist. He seemed like a nice guy. Based on my cards, I would decide who were my favorite players. Sometimes the deck would have fictional players, like Kilgore Trout, I think, and those limited edition cards had a lot of value. But sometimes I wouldn't know that player didn't actually exist.
After breaking my foot again got me out of karate--and sorry for the affront to martial arts, but that's just how I viewed the sport at the time. So my folks let me sign up for the basketball leagues, where there, under the limelight--rather, the sunlight, under the sunlight at lunch I could proclaim I was on a team. When our practice sessions for the season began, I was still on crutches. My cousin from up north was visiting for about a week or so; he went to practice with me and it was a jovial atmosphere. The coaches suggested he take my spot during sessions while I was healing. He had been playing for years and loved the sport. My team immediately took to him, and we all looked forward to me playing like him. After he left, and I was better, my teammates did not prefer my style of laying bricks. My dad bought me a basketball hoop so I could practice at home. Work? What! Again?!
One of the better players on the team one time muttered something undermining about my presence when he lost playing time. He could shoot, but I was punctual. I pretended not to hear, but in my head I wondered why I can't call him the N word if he was calling me the short A word. For his attitude, the coaches disciplined the player accordingly. I mean, I called Jason the N word in elementary when he called me the A word, and the kids were trying to tell on me. I don't think that was very fair, do you?
- Well, the way I see things--
Hey, what are you doing? You can't just start talking randomly. Introducing another voice in the middle--this isn't the time. He was Michael Jordan, and they called me Vlade Divac. A couple of the teachers said Gary and Jose were the best looking boys in our class, and Jason got angry and muttered it's cause he's black. I, of course, had my feelings hurt as well. We were all friends. Luke was Larry Bird. I liked Luke. He had a huge trabopoline in his backyard, I mean, tramopoline. We got into a fight in class one time; we pushed each other. Our teacher brought our parents in cause they all knew we were such good friends. When we made up and I went in to shake his hand, he hugged me. He was wearing a denim jacket. Jason's mom got divorced. He ended up changing his last name. Jose was the funny one. He called me Vlade on the court. He would giggle. See, like I would be dribbling, slapping the ball to the ground uncontrollably, and he would say Vlade! and he would giggle. Get it? Got it? I'd get nervous and pass the ball. Sometimes I'd fall for it when a player on the other team asked for the ball. Gary was my best friend, I later ditched him and was cold to him when I thought he was boring. I feel like I should add something here. I'm eating a watermelon. It tastes like a bitter pill. Luke's family moved to Boston early on in elementary, probably because he was such a good basketball player and they wanted him to play on the Celtics.
Anyway, about my team, years later I learned not to take much offense when someone makes fun of you for not being good at something your heart isn't really into. Instead, you build a mountain, of sorts, brick by brick, or create a sea, with trout and other little weird fishes swimming underneath; and it doesn't matter what anyone says, you can create your own world. Go for it. You can always come back and sit on your mountain. The dumbest thing you can say to a wrestling fan is that wrestling is fake.
We would play our games on Saturdays in the gyms of middle schools across the city or the town's recreation centers. One time, I started the scoring off with two consecutive long range jumpers. That was pretty exciting. There were flames behind me and my icon was flashing. I felt like the families on the stands thought I was a player to watch. I couldn't buy a bucket the rest of the game. Afterwards we had orange juice and donuts.
We would play our games on Saturdays in the gyms of middle schools across the city or the town's recreation centers. One time, I started the scoring off with two consecutive long range jumpers. That was pretty exciting. There were flames behind me and my icon was flashing. I felt like the families on the stands thought I was a player to watch. I couldn't buy a bucket the rest of the game. Afterwards we had orange juice and donuts.
