I have a real funny story to tell. I just don’t know how to tell it. It’s been made clear when I just pour words onto a computer screen, people have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not really sure if it’s anyone’s fault or if the parties involved are just at an intersection of two perpendicular paths… Screw you, I actually talk that way.
In plain words, I have to express things that way at times to avoid insulting someone. As I’ve said before, I am an arrogant, smart ass – which, when combined with the fact I am a basketball player who has never defined himself as one and (despite what people may think is blind cockiness) I am actually far above average at the sport, make my snide remarks really piss people off. But if you don’t care, here goes…
I guess a blog, for you that care about every level of professional basketball experience, is supposed to be a simple first-person description of a dumb ass athlete’s daily activities. Of course there are people that appreciate the creative outlook… So to them: Sorry in advance.
As I was saying, my basketball blog is supposed to be a simple and to the point “duh” description of this slippery, bumpy, ugly side of professional basketball. You’ve got the good, with Pete Mickael, Caron Butler and, thank the Father above, Etan Thomas (I love that guy and I don’t even know him). You’ve got the bad (sort of) with Paul Shirley’s blog. And with my blog, yes I concede, you have the absolutely grotesque… Sorry, that means ugly.
Luckily for me, the economy matches the basketball market so I won’t get lonely. Not playing right now is a bit harder than I thought because I like to play. I may hate the fake garbage that goes in with the playing, you know, like everything outside of the court. But I do like to play. I must say this… It doesn’t bother me nearly as much when I see the names that are not playing. Because really, who am I? Right?
What does bother me are two things: 1. I’m actually by definition, in my prime as a basketballer. So it’s kind of a shame not to be playing. So I know eventually, I’ll have to swallow my pride and take an offer soon. And 2. Excuse my French, this is a huge fucking Two: Reasons outside of my control are keeping me from playing in good places.
You remember that stuff that happened in France with that team ASVEL? I thought that shit was done. They couldn’t leave well enough alone, could they? Was I crazy from about birth to 24? Absolutely. Have I gone to a party, drank a drop of alcohol, been late to a practice or even so much as stayed out late during a season since then? No. I’ve never touched a drug or even a supplement. I’ve had a disagreement with a coach once in my career. Yes, I’m a motherfucker on the court, a complete raptor. But all to win a game. However, off the court, I challenge you to even see where the hell I am. So, for ASVEL to tell a team in France that wanted to sign me that I have problems off the court, just to keep me from coming to France and tearing a hole in them, is childish to say the very damn least.
If I did something, by all means shout it from the rooftops. But if I did nothing, let me live. In order not to lie, I don’t do what I would have to lie about. But if I did it, I will tell you, “Yeah, I damn did it.” This is what happens in 90 percent of professional ball overseas.
“Oh, he’s just bitter,”
Yeah, yeah. That’s the easy way out. Dismiss it as bias. No way it could actually be true. Well, ask Pete Mickeal. You could be on a team where every player on the team curses the coach out and nothing happens because they make too much. But if the one guy who makes a negligible amount shows the slightest emotion, they’ll fine you half your check. Period. Then they’ll dare you to say something. Sure you’re good and they know it, but you’re an expendable no-name that is only useful to make an example of in front of the rest of the guys. Was there not enough “duh” in there for you?
Sorry, let me paraphrase: Quite often, teams will unfairly screw you if you are not a superstar. That is just part of it and it is not a big deal. You just have to know you are nothing and shut up if, and only if, they are giving you what you want. For me, they were giving me money and the chance to play on a big stage.
So was it worth it? No doubt. Especially in Euroleague. You haven’t played basketball until you’ve played in a dingy, dark, hot Turkish gym in front of 20,000 people hidden by smoke and light flares, for a spot in the next round of the Final 16. Paraphrase: It’s only worth it if what your getting for your standards is more than the rubbish they make you tolerate. That’s why I’m at home. For me, it would not be worth tolerating insulting standards to play for $10,000 a month in, say, Hungary. But I’d play for free just for the opportunity to play in France right now. And I don’t blame that team for not wanting me there. I’d be scared of me too.
It’s really crazy how this sport turns Peter Pan to Superman. With basketball, guys can completely hide utter stupidity and uselessness to society. People that probably would have been my friends are my enemies and people that are my friends, I would have never known. All because of basketball. When I tried to associate myself with the life that comes with basketball, it was uncomfortable and unnatural. I missed out on so much just because I didn’t feel the need to acknowledge the existence of anything outside of basketball. So I can say when I concentrated on the sport and not the game, I started liking basketball.
In college, basketball was a means to the end – the NBA. NBA for money, fame and you know it… beeyatches. I really didn’t care about basketball. Would I try to score 50 and dunk on you every opportunity? Of course. but it wasn’t for basketball. It was for money and fame. And, oh yeah, beeyatches. Once I accepted, the money was not really under my control, the fame was useless without money and the beeyatches were bitches, that’s when I started liking basketball. Now, I don’t care if I’m playing in Afghanistan, I would concentrate on playing to perfection the same way I would on an NBA court. Because now I like basketball.
You really think I’m the only one who thought like that? This is the reason why soccer is so great (just try to watch it for a month straight, and not the sorry teams, English Premier or Barcelona… You will love it). You try for the fame in soccer and you get Real Madrid. You try for the game and you get Barça. Soccer fans get it. Anyway, the unfortunate part is, when you act the part, you know money, fame and etcetera… Teams expect and accept it. But when you don’t say a word and don’t hang out and don’t celebrate, ever, you make people uncomfortable and you are the pariah or black sheep.
When I was in Korea, I was flamboyant, brash and unfriendly. After one game, my wife cried and told me I was embarrassing her. Like a light switch, I stopped talking. I was quiet and indifferent, just so I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass my wife. It was then, all my problems started. It’s nuts, right? Then everyone would ask me, “What’s wrong?” Or they said my desire wasn’t there. Never mind my numbers were still the same. I wasn’t a baller. I was a professional and no one liked that. I’m not saying it’s always like that. There are perfect situations, but you have to be lucky and find it.
You know the ratio for someone being a professional basketball player, right? Like one in a million or worse. Well, finding the perfect team or situation is even more rare. And the older you get the less likely that becomes. But for those few good guys, hard workers and tough mofos that get money, fame and the perfect situation, like Pete Mickael… Guys like that deserve it and earn it daily. But for some Peter freakin’ Pans, they get lucky and project that Superman attitude toward the rest of the world.
Forget the basketball ability. I don’t care whether they suck or not. If a team is dumb enough to give a bum money, great! I ain’t mad at you. Keep getting it. But just because they’re dumb, these clowns will confuse it as if everyone else who actually plays doesn’t know. Not only do you suck, but in the depths of you atriums and ventricles, you are still Peter Pan and basketball is your Neverland.
Yeeeeaaaahhh! He’s stupid and angry and so predictable right now. We likey! I have little doubt that my basketball career is coming to an end at 31 years old. Whether it’s soon or in a couple of years, I’m feeling the Eyes Rolling syndrome. Not because I’m getting old. Because, it is getting old. How long could you answer questions about how bad you were when you were 11? After a while it’s like, “Whatever, man.”
I know basketball treats different people differently but there is no equation. No one can claim to know how to succeed at it because of the simple factor of bad luck. I’m the same guy that went from a top team in Italy, to a middle team in Turkey, to the D-League, to the ACB, to Asia, to NBA camps, to Iran, back to a top team in the ACB and Europe, back to China. It’s nothing you can put a finger on. Not ability, not money, not way of life, not even attitude (insert everyone’s all knowing explanation here).
I got a three-part story to tell for my last will and testament. And no more “duh”, just figure it out. In that story… Se fogo, and I’m done. I will offer no opinion, just a story. Then I’ll let everyone and their mamas tell me how a team can pay you in cash before a game and then take it out of your bag during the game because, you guessed it, you’re not a good person with a bad attitude. Because all players who are successful all have good attitudes. And all players who are not successful have bad attitudes. Of course! That’s it! Now I get it. No, no nimrod. Can’t figure it out and disregard luck. Luck is the deciding factor. Well, luck and of course assholes… Definitely assholes.
I feel like a vampire. Sunlight still hurts. It’s as if I have so many things to do and too much time to do it. In turn, nothing gets done. Well nothing except for thinking. And the more I think, the more I realize I do way too much of it. But it’s so damn easy. Much easier than… let’s try… opening these window shades… Good Lord! Is it night time? How long have I been asleep?
I’d better check if my family is still here. Whew! Thank God. Geez, kids are much bigger but they’re still here. OK. Let’s go online and check today’s events…
CARAMBA! Oil’s down. Obama was in Ghana?! I was just there. How did I miss that? What the hell is Twitter? Huh? That’s stupid. What team is Q-Rich on now?
Really? MJ?!… Wait a minute… Where the hell are my legs?! Oh God what have I done to… oops. False alarm. Found them.
Let me try to remember. I think everything went haywire after Manchester United lost to Barca in the Champions League final. Now I like to be realistic, so hear me out. I knew Barca was better but I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d get lucky. Not Rooney. Not O’Shea. Not even Ronaldo (traitor). Me! Thing that makes soccer so enamored to me is there’s not much luck. The best is just that… better than everyone else.
I thought about recounting my season seeing as how I’ve been gone so long. But then again, why do that? I mean, if a person doesn’t want to see the obvious, what good is it for me to attempt to explain? Let’s just leave it at it’s my fault. I told the teams not to pay me, smashed my own hand trying to pick up a leprechaun and broke out into random dance in every game I played, viciously throwing out my back.
That was my year this year. I did however play for my National team this summer and it was easily the best part of my year. Despite the debacle that I witnessed in FIBA Afrique, I was reminded of what is good in this sport and that part cannot be hidden: the comradery and the wisdom the experience grants.
When I think about it, I really start to think I am crazy. Does everyone else see this and just ignore it? Or maybe I’m just blind. But then, for just a moment, I feel part of society as something by all definitions miraculous takes place and I join everyone marvel in unison. Ah ha! You are ignoring the negative. You Muppet.
There is a FIBA rule that says a nation can naturalise (like that Queen’s English spelling?) one person a year. So did anyone else see like half of the African teams signing multiple players with absolutely zero ties to the country he was playing for? One team signed… six players! And no one said a word. Shut up G! Fall in line! Yes… baaaa… sir, I mean Sheppard… baa baa maaaaa!
I could go on all day and give particulars on how no one cares or governs that dark zone. But why? It doesn’t exist now does it? Everything that happens there is “Ah weem ma way,” and “Akuna matata.” Pyramids, Sahara, Nile, Kilimanjaro, well endowed women, majestic animals and who can forget? The all famous, “awww poor deprived people.” Whatever makes us feel better. It’s called misdirection to hide the truth of the matter. Or what I so colorfully describe with my punch-line to all hidden in plain site, “look at the shiny freakin’ monkey.”
My favorite part in “The Last King of Scotland,” was when Idi Amin (ForestWhitaker) was talking to his Scottish doctor after discovering he slept with his wife. You know, telling him how he came to Africa to mingle with the locals, enjoy some stallion Bantu women etc. But all the dreams fell to reality when he realised (Queen’s biyatch) the dude standing in front of him is as human as he is. He carried the same feelings, blood, skin, rage, jealousy and the trait that most concerned him at that time, human propensity to act irrationally and unjustly when pissed and powerful.
All of this complexity was simplified with my favorite line in the movie. He examined him crown to chin as if in wonderment that he really didn’t get it and said, “We are real. This room is real. Everything here… is real.” That part, that very instance is something I feel we will all experience one day. The best thing I can do is prepare myself so the shock doesn’t assist in my terror. But hey, some might chose keep looking at the shiny monkey and deal with reality when it comes.
Stronger than me. I never liked covert, things hidden. I hated geology. Ten PhD geologists in one room and they’ll disagree on the same rock. I absolutely loathed English/Writing/Lit as you can probably see. I’d write an essay in class about something Chaucer wrote and get an “F”. Then go into see the professor and explain what I wrote and, “Oh! wow! That’s impressive Gabriel! (yes he said my full name)” Then he’d re-evaluate my grade and hand me an “A”. That’s supposed to make me feel better? It’s too chaotic, too unpredictable. But math.
There’s a chunk one can grasp. 2+2 is always 4. Can’t change or hide that fact. Same as physics. I love physics because it is exact. People may disagree, but if something in physics is off, then you missed something. You, not the physics.
Yes, as coach Wright would say, I am a strange bird. I submit to that. But after you get passed that, I’m pretty consistent. Which then makes one wonder why I love basketball so much. That equation doesn’t get anymore inconsistent. Ah! But the experiences and wisdom one attains if comradery is grasped, that is pretty uniform everywhere you go.
One of my most memorable experiences this summer was being coached by John Lucas. My close friends know I had my misconceptions about him before. Well, he made me feel guilty not to have made more of an effort to know him better. I wish everyone could have just watched a TV show starring this guy and his first time in Africa. He enjoyed his experience and kept it going like he was still in Texas.
He didn’t complain once while guys born and raised in Nigeria complained about the red-headed lizards outside (hard to get rid of them, we’re in West Africa). You would have never known Luc had never been to Africa. It was the highlight of my time with the National team. I would have been less of a person if I didn’t experience Mr. Lucas. Not just Luc but the entire team.
Who’d a thunk it? The sport is the sport but the team is what makes the game. As we know, the game is much bigger than the sport. The results this year for me were forgettable. Starting from France and topped off with a 5th place finish in the African Championship leaving 180 million Nigerians hoping on a wild card draw in the World Championships (insert plug here). But as you probably guessed, I’m still excited to be where I am. Where is that? 14 light years from Betelgeuse and midway between Orion and Earth. Triangulate that.
Not really important where I am, just who is with me whether they are in my vicinity or not. I can hide a lot and I can ignore even more but experience, prudence, love, friends and wisdom will be in plain sight. And yes, a dark room can still attempt to ignore light’s existence but after a while the light will get so intense, the dark will itself cease to exist. This year we’ll see what experiences I’ll get and I’ll always take them. I may even get lucky. Then, I’d have it all. I’d join many others and have my very own light (friends, love, prudence, experience and wisdom) and some would still be welcome to enjoy that shiny freakin monkey.
I’ve been up too long. Sun’s coming up. Back to the coffin. See you when the sun goes down. Cover your necks.
The fun that I’m having playing at this time of year is only trumped by my enjoyment watching the NBA playoffs. My criticism can at times be unfounded but I gotta say, I am a fan of basketball. I think I’m more of a fan than a player. Which means… I’d make a good referee. Ha! That was actually a jab. Players get it.
I’m so engulfed into the playoffs right now, I tend to forget I’m still playing. I’m certain the fact that I’ve been blamed for my team’s struggles has slightly aided in my… um… geez. Lost for words. To put it short and quick (as I rather loathe talking about my personal basketball escapades), we’re not winning, many said I was the reason despite my 21ppg, 7rpb averaged while leading the team in steals, blocks and other things.
I was replaced with Jumaine Jones (who is as similar a player to me as one can get), losing continued without me, I was brought back, hit a game-winning three followed by a 40-point game, now I’m good again but still losing. Sure I left out a gang of details, but who cares? Right? Out of all the things that had my brain running amock, it had nothing to do with basketball or the things happening that would frustrate most others. Big surprise, I’m sure. While playing, the thing that I simply can’t wrap my mental around is the fact that in nine years of playing here, ain’t shit changed. Remember that scene in Fight Club when Brad Pitt asked Ed Norton, “How’s (being an asshole) workin’ for you?” To which Norton’s character retorts, “Great!” Pitt’s character: “Then keep doin’ it.”
That is like my freakin’ modus operendi. If it works, keep doin’ it. However, it seems more common to hear and revel in the aforementioned suggestion and totally ignore its counterpart. If it doesn’t work, change what you’re doing. That being said, it’s my fault I’m still dealing with 30-year-old guys that, just like nine years ago, are still talkin gangsta on a basketball court and always using the island to hide behind. The year I planned was to do the European thing for the rest of my career and keep it simple. But after the France debacle, things didn’t go so well this season. It’s all good, I’m always willing to change if something doesn’t work. And this ain’t what’s poppin’ in the streets.
Quick…
When I first got married, I had to start being a bit more refined and less rugged. It just so happened I signed with the Rockets and met a vet we’ll call “Buddy Love”. He put me on this peppermint soap. That was when I had a new respect for that man and was cool on the pretty boy thing. After trying that soap, huevos rancheros was no longer a food. Now, I stick with my tree-hugger soaps.
Back…
But I suppose that is the trick: Differentiating when and when not to change. My teammate, Hommy De Jesus and I, were having my daily “corrupt Africa” conversation. Hommy asked the question that I hear all the time. Why don’t the elite Africans help quell corruption? That’s easy: there is no desire for self evolution. For the rich there, corruption has worked… So why change? Because it could work better and you could be richer if you helped the infrastructure of people as well as community. Every culture deals with elite greed and selfishness. The difference is in other cultures, they know that sometimes being selfless in certain situations will garner them more than what they already have. Inevitably, even through unfortunate circumstances, this leads to evolution. Even the selfish eventually evolve! Whether desired or not, you must evolve. A trait sometimes lacking among Bantus… everywhere. That’s why I’m goin’ pop a cap in yo ass if you foul me again…
I had this on my mind and like clockwork I saw manifest in what I was seeing. By seeing cases in real life, for me, it just reinforces my present convictions. I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in intent meeting opportunity. And I respect those with the will to honor the intent on his/her heart. I thought Mickael Pietrus and Trevor Ariza were so lacking when they came into the league. French National Team point guard, Makan Dioumassi and I had many arguments about Pietrus. Well, I texted Makan the other day and said: “Pietrus is more than good. I was way off.” And Ariza, along with Pietrus, might be the X-factor on the Lakers and Magic, respectively.
I mean, do you realize the strength one has to have not only to persist and intend to get better and do it where you have superstars like Dwight Howard and the Monster Kobe to keep happy? It’s much easier to sink in line behind them. Ariza was the only Laker role player willing to shoot with confidence (and a medulla oblongata) and bury the Nuggets. As for Pietrus… Incroyable, mon cher. Pas seulement un match, tous les jeux.
It’s a common theme in the league as well as in life. Evolve or disappear. Just ask the dinosaurs. No, I don’t mean Hey-mon, the other Raptors (what? I can’t make jokes now?). Remember when MJ was slash and smash? He evolved to post and poison. Do I see segway to Kobe? I think I do. Kobe went from attack and and 1 to pick and bop! It never changes the fact that people must change.
I had a college coach that kept telling me that and I never listened. He was like Nostradamus Rick Barnes was. He told me in 1999, “Gabe, you’re gonna make money playing this game, but where do you want to make it?” This came off the heels of me decking Nicky Bradford in the belly and Roy Williams burning a hole through me with his super heat vision. God forgave me, Rick and Roy forgave me, you can too. I’ll tell that story one day. It’s actually more in depth and more entertaining than just a gut punch and the dismissive “thug” claims. If it works, I say keep doing it. Gut punches and China didn’t work for me… So now I just blood choke with a dash of Americana.
The only thing negative about being in Puerto Rico is Family Guy, my favorite show today, is in Spanish. You can imagine my discontent when I patiently sat through the agonizing dry humor of King of the Hill, only to have my garnered excitement thrown out of my window when I heard Stewie say, “idiota,” instead of “you bovine lummox.” Even though I can understand, it’s just not as funny sans the New England/English accent Seth McFarlen masters. But I’ll get over it. I got Slingbox (an overseas baller’s best friend… Get on it if you already have not).
Moving forward… I suppose I owe somewhat of an explanation as to where the bloody hell I’ve been. The best way I can describe it is, the rebounding position between the top of the key and half court. That’s right good ol’ “no man’s land.” Or just plain ol’ purgatory. After China, I just couldn’t bring myself to travel very far to play. Yes, I broke my hand but I was cleared over a month ago. I just kept talking to teams and never pulling the trigger on any deals. The CBA experience can do that to you. To get into every nick and cranny of what that was like would just be futile negativity, so let’s just forget it happened. Please.
I just read, thought, played with kids, read and read some more. The last thing I should ever do is have too much time to think. Why? Because so many things I tried to avoid thinking about, I actually find myself considering. I remember reading my boy Paul Shirley’s blog about a year ago. In it he was talking about retiring and I thought he was just thinking too much. Thing is, he could still play and I don’t even think he was 30 at the time. So why would he retire? Well, Paul my friend, I get it. Not that I am thinking of retirement but I can see why one would.
I think I was so deep in my own weird mental, I knew the only place I could go play right now was a place I would actually enjoy, so… Soy con boricuas, pa’s k 2 lo sepa! ( I picked that chant up nine years ago when I first started here. Can’t separate it from the island).
When I’m out here, I am a fan and a student all in one. I watch more TV here than anywhere else I play for obvious reasons… I think. So I watch more ESPN and turn into NBA games and then like a kid, get to try what I see Kobe glide through. Then I proceed to trip over my own Adidas. The mind is willing and the feet are weak.
So as I’m watching ESPN, I hear (blank) say LeBron James is head over heels better than Kobe? What?! Then I catch myself screaming at some electronic visage who can’t hear a word I’m saying. I speculated on it before and now I’m certain… They should add a third commentator on Pardon the Interruption, Stewie Griffin. Just so he can be there to elegantly point out the madness within some of these assessments. LeBron is definitely insane… But Kobe? Did any of you see him turn gamma green and rip his shirt off when Ron Artest pissed him off? Let that sleeping dog sleep.
This is the good time of year. The time I wish I was a basketball commentator. Just so I could get the chance to make Tim Legler and Chuck proud. Ready for my Legler quote of the year? “Guess they don’t get the MSG network down in South Florida.” DAAAAYUM.
And Chuck’s is simple, “that’s terrible.”
Chuck’s accent makes that a classic every time he says it. Although I love playoff time and time for predictions, I concede that I have a rather tattered track record. Well, I did say the Lakers and Jazz would meet in the playoffs, right? So I was off on the round. It’s because they got an Aggie jersey somewhere in the locker room jinxing all the karma.
Anyways here goes. NBA Finals… Lakers vs. Sixers. And Sixers in 7! OK… Now MVP… LeBron just barely edging Brian Cardinal in the tightest race in NBA history. Finals MVP… Kobe. That’s it. No punchline, just Kobe. First pick in 09 draft… Blake Griffin. As much as I hate OU, have you seen that mammoth? Is it just me, or does he not have as much hype as he should? Maybe if his jersey were a bit more burnt orange. He’ll be number 1 unless the team picking needs a point, in which case it’ll be Ricky Rubio (hate to say a told you so… But I did).
I am beyond excited right now with this time of year. No more traveling to the other side of the globe and paying $1,000 for excess luggage (strangely enough, all my excess poundage is food). And no more hustles… Just basketball. I needed this to rejuvenate my mental approach for next season. It’s been a wild ride from France, to Utah, to China. But in the following months I look forward to doing something stable. Too old for this caca. But I’ve said it before and I mean it. This crazy globetrotting has helped me beyond belief. And if it takes the nonsense to open my eyes, I’ll take it now rather than later.
Sorry for the dry blog. It’s just been so long. In turn, I have way too many things to talk about. Rather than bombard your eyes with all the details that flood my brain and confuse many to a point of anger… I’ll just accomadate with the usual. Duh… I like basketball… Duh… I scored a lot. That should satisfy the desired perception of all. My apologies for rockin’ the boat. I’ll keep those who care updated on my PR escapades.
Have you ever looked in the mirror and just had one of those Office Space kicking and beating up the typewriter moments in your mind? I just sit around sometimes picturing myself sizing up a basketball with a bat while “Ghetto Boys” theme music is playing. Then I get to stompin’ that biyatch. Then after the poor inanimate object is deflated, I throw the bat away and get to pounding that Spalding face into the ground until my hands are bloody. I suppose you have to watch the movie to appreciate the humor in that scene.
Trust me, stranger scenes would come to you if you were doing what I’m doing where I’m doing it. God! How often can one man really be wrong? Apparently a whole hell of a lot. So many things happen here in China, you can’t even complain. People will start to say things. I just need a reality show following me around cause, like I said, the things I go through on a daily basis, people will just never believe.
When Bonzi Wells came to China, forgive me Bonzi, the first thing that came to my head is… No way. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I meant “no way” as in, “he’ll see. No way he tolerates this.” Now, I defy you to say it’s only me and ask him what he saw. He came here for 14 games, went home for vacation and said, “Thanks but no thanks.”
He might experience the same colon conundrum as myself in that people will automatically say, “It must be him.”
Don’t get me wrong some guys do just fine. (Here we go) The guys that do fine out here feel they are lucky to play for money. Although they make far more out here than they would make anywhere else, these guys got nothing better to do and would play for food. And maybe I might be looked at as one of those guys, but I’m simply not. I remember teams and agents offering me what they believe to be so much money for a player with my name and giving me the “you idiot” face when I turn it down.
“He’ll take (this much)” they say, “he’s bluffing.” All I ever say is offer it and see if I’m bluffing. I just won’t go to play somewhere for less than I feel I’m worth. Especially an uncomfortable place. Because every time I go somewhere and start playing I get the same question, “Why have you played in Asia so long?” I’ve heard it all about what I make being too much. So the guys making three times what I make in basketball living on a European beach are three times better than me and are accurately paid? I don’t care if someone makes a million dollars a month and I care even less if he’s worth it. If he got it, he’s worth it. So don’t be upset if I get what I get. I challenge anyone to get accustomed to China Basketball and say you’re not underpaid just for getting through it. Details to come later.
Funniest thing is, I make very little more out here than what I made at Tau Ceramica! So Tau obviously felt I was good. I find myself thinking about Spain a lot and how I utterly cut my own nose off with that situation.
Just to clear it up… It was completely my fault I didn’t finish at Tau. I took bad advice rather than just signing what was offered. At the time, I didn’t see it. But now I know not accepting a good deal from a team older in basketball tradition than me is insulting. So for that, mala mia Vitoria. And now look, they’re even better after the Spanish Championship (that I missed) and Euroleague Final Four (that I also missed) than last year.
I asked a former teammate a serious question and I pose it to everyone: Who the hell can beat them? I have heard it in the past and it’s been an exaggeration most of the time but today I believe it whole-heartedly. This year’s Tau team would make the playoffs in the NBA. If not, they are at worst the best European team I’ve seen since Manu Ginobili’s Bologna team. Which brings me to what I think the most about while playing here in China… Pablo Prigioni.
I bet people are trippin’ how I’m actually talking about basketball. I know, I’m lamenting it. But I am in China and there’s not much else you’d probably get away with talking about. I’m always up to date in the policies of the countries I play in. Anyway, why Pablo? OK. I am a scorer primarily. I am a sneaky rebounder and grit defender secondarily. But one thing I can do, anywhere on any level, is score.
Quick…
BTW, I’ve read some of the snide remarks about my scoring tirade in Orlando Summer league being a farce. How is a 30-point performance lucky? 20 points I can see. But 31 points? Just for those people and no other reason, wait until Vegas ‘09. Ever seen a black moon? I’m speeding up, not slowing down.
Back…
So I’m out here in China and I literally can’t help myself from stopping because I feel embarrassed to lose every damn game and score 40 points. I hate it. I had a game I had 48 in the beginning of the fourth quarter and despite everyone cheering for me to score 50, I refused to shoot. We were down by 30 the whole game, for goodness sake.
I already hear it… “He probably shoots every time he gets it.” Well in the Top 10 guys in scoring in China (me being Number 1) who do you think shoots the most? I’ll better you… I shoot the least. Look it up. It’s a fact. I shoot a little more than 20 shots a game. The second leading scorer shoots 33 times a game. Wait for it… 33 (thirty-three) shot attempts a game. If I shot that many times, I’d average 50. Why? Because of the one stat I take the most pride in, I make more free-throws than everyone else attempts. I am simply a difficult cover. But enough about me.
This is about PP. Point guardo Perfecto. Passador al Publico. Professor Periferal. (See how much time I have on my hands to make up new Spanish words?) He comes to mind because of how hard it is for me to score here efficiently. On a lower-level team, all the other teams do here is meet me 10 feet from the three-point line and sag everyone else in. I don’t care where you play, that’s hard to score against. They aren’t kids out here and I’m never even close to to tallest player on the court. When at Tau, Pablo made it very very easy to score. I never had to worry about anyone being near me. Pablo could get anyone an open shot when and where he wanted. I didn’t understand him when I first got there but I learned quickly… Don’t call for the ball or ask him to tell you where to go, just listen to his finger. And if his finger didn’t talk, you were in the right place so just wait. Boom! Dunk. Why do you think the best shooter in Europe (Mirza Teletovic) is always open for three? Have you seen Tiago, Pete, Will and Igor’s FG%?
It’s ridiculous! It’s like they are playing alone. Pablo is 31 years old and he was the only one I stared at while working out in the weight room. I thought I was dedicated. Lil’ dude is from Argentina but looks like a Mafia hitman in the weight room. He could start on any caliber NBA team. He’s that good. NBA has surely come a calling but he may be one of those guys America never gets to see.
It gets so hard to keep getting beat up over here, I remember being wide open and getting hit in the nose with the ball. Man. I haven’t shot an open shot in… How long I been here?
Excuse this uncharacteristically short blog. It’s hard typing with one hand (injured it and I’m about a couple weeks from being back in action). However, enjoy this ever-so-rare international basketball schpiel. In all likelihood, it probably won’t happen again anytime soon. I’d much rather talk about real things that will affect my sovereign state of mind and consciousness much longer after basketball is over with. Things like the consistent whoring of Africa. Like how every non-African country, because of the selfish lack of insight of many African leaders, are being allowed to use unnatural mechanisms of fishing like bombing in African waters. Which in turn is depleting crustacean and other aquatic life to a point which is making the ecosystem unrecognizable (which affects us all). Not to mention taking all the fish we eat to foreign countries for profit.
Or how I’ve been going crazy trying to deprogam myself to accept the high possibility that a majority of what I have been taught (by supposed learned people) to believe is just a lie.
Now all I want to do is travel verywhere to see for myself what the truth is. I’m going to Nigeria this summer for more than just a FIBA African Championship. I want that too, but I want more. So I can’t have my Office Space moment on some unsuspecting Spalding court spawn, yet. But when I’m 35, you tell Spalding I’m looking for him and if he sees me run. Sure he’s taken me to find new avenues to discover more of self than just number 21, 6-foot-7 forward. And even taken me to experience basketball ecstacy in Spain and economic ecstacy in Korea. But you’ve also taken me places I won’t forgive you for. It’s for that that I’m whoopin’ your ass, that sick sense of humor. Laugh it up for now, Elmer. I’ll have the gun again.
December 16, 2008 @ 7:12 pm by Gabe Muoneke · Filed under China, Utah Jazz
In a race, whether one walks or runs, all finish at the end. Sooner or later I had to learn what doing bad things to others would cause. Whether I learned it earlier or after death, I would have learned it. It would have been nice to learn it at, oh I don’t know, around 10. Yeah, 10 would have been a good age to learn it. But as it stands, it took a bit longer. That’s neither here or there. I try not to look back very often and absolutely love living for today.
Today I am still in China… Waiting for tomorrow. Ha! You have to experience a game in this league to really appreciate why I say that. One day, I’d love to discuss the fine points of basketball and its utter decimation in certain places. I’d love to brag about my numbers over here but I have some pride. I would say the only thing I concentrate on as far as individually, to apply my desire of self-betterment in this sport that does so much for me, is my field goal percentage. I couldn’t care less if I averaged 80 ppg here. However, when my 3P% is under 42, I am in a bad mood until it’s back up. So as far as basketball is concerned… that’s all I got.
You are more than welcome to check out the CBA website to enjoy for yourself but no one there considers it worthy to give readers an English viewing option. So good luck deciphering Chinese and enjoy!
Now, to the juice. I got texts from every fellow hooper I know, NBA staff people, family I haven’t heard from in months and Bugs Bunny all asking the same thing: WTF?
It came as a surprise to me, because people heard about it about two weeks after it happened. So by the time I saw it was reported everywhere even in Nigeria, I had forgotten it happened. In case anyone is totally baffled, I’m talking about the apparent attack on poor me by Chinese team captain and some of his boys. Seriously… It wasn’t that serious. I think the biggest guy might have weighed 180lbs. OK, I was trying to make it juicy…175lbs.
Anyway, I could give you tons of guesses about what spurned Super Mario and Pals to wait for me outside my locker room but I’m sure your guess would be as accurate as mine. Quite honestly I’m not totally sure. So rather than speculate on the causes, I’ll just give detail by detail the happenings and my thoughts in the middle. I can’t really give you the comical G-money version cuz I might just get detained. Why am I here? Sorry…
I come out of the locker room and take my 1-year-old girl and my 5-year-old off my wife’s hands and leave my wife, mother-in-law and 3-year-old walking behind me to leave the arena. At the exit I see Shanghai’s seemingly entire team and Mickey Mouse waiting at the exit and looking at me as if I handed them a $1,000 dinner bill. Now, I remember getting into it with Minnie on the court. But I would hardly call it an altercation. I’ve had worse altercations blowing my nose.
Anyway, to avoid any issues with the fam there, I asked if they were waiting for something. I guess their English wasn’t that good. Because they took it as their invitation. I really thought it was a joke. You know, one of those European soccer belly bumping shows of testosterone? Then, when a full water bottle was hurled at me but my son ducked (lucky man; I don’t mean my son), I immediately handed him and the baby over and dropped my bag. I directed the fam back into the arena away from Mickey and friends and faced the fun bunch.
Now, initially there were guards and they parted like the red sea. Cool beans! This ought to be fun… Thanks, guys. 50 guards… 15 Shanghai Sharks. The guards should have been charged admission. OK. Now it’s me and them. Mickey to my left, Huey, Duey and Louis in center, Minnie and Scrooge to my right and Goofy and his friends in back. My first instinct was to absolutely shatter Minnie’s jaw. I mean, she was standing a perfect two feet from my right hand and if I was going to get jumped, I figured someone might as well be mortally wounded. But then I remembered. I’m in China, where if you go to jail no one, I mean absolutely no one outside of a Chinese government official can get you out.
Thank God I was reminded of Chinese laws like literally days before the incident. Did you hear about the five Puerto Ricans that changed dollars for counterfeit money here in China? They are still in jail and pleas by the U.S. State Department ain’t helping. So knowing what I know and what I’ve experienced here, two things went through my mind: Stay on your feet and take it. They’re neither big or strong enough to actually injure me. And two, don’t hurt any of them.
Believe me. 15 on 1 or not, if I had hurt one Chinese, I’d have been fined more, suspended longer and depending on how bad I’d have hurt someone, they would have put me in jail. Sorry guys, can’t go to jail in China with the family there. Shiiii. I can’t go to jail in China with the family not there! Do you know even though it was all on tape, they still questioned me as to attempt to punish me as well? You should have heard the questions I got from the CBA board.
“Well, were you in a ready to fight stance?”
No, I stuck my face out like a mistletoe and told ‘em all Merry freakin’ Christmas… Kiss me.
The question I posed was, were they looking for a reason to punish me too or do you want the story?
Back to the fun… With some teaching, I sprawled back and used two of their own guys as a wall and took my deep tissue massage like a man. Head down, arms extended, legs sprawled back pushing the crowd back with two cornered walls as a base. 30 seconds and who knows how many pats to my shoulders and back it was over.
I must admit, when they first came at me, I thought they were joking. When it was over and I looked up, I knew they were joking. Well, maybe not. But it spurned a chuckle out of me. Which in turn started Mickey into a Mariah Carey Tirade. It was actually the only American teammate of their own Sharks, Dajuan Tate, that broke it up. Yes, just him. No one of them really wanted to fight me. They wanted to let off some steam.
Well, I’m glad I could be of service. I wasn’t angry, injured or distraught. My wife was angry, mother-in-law was scared and my kids are now racists. But other than that, I’m fine. To this day I still love Disney and all the shows. I hold no ill will toward them and was on record saying I had no desire for them to be punished. In actuality, I feel embarrassed for them. Mickey especially. To me, it was more insulting to him to proceed with a fight in front of a man’s kids. But you know what? That, culturally, is how we are perceived here. Remember the story I told you about the Chinese fan screaming out “yoo monkee” to Lorenzo Coleman? That’s a microcosm of the experience. One day, friends… It goes back to what I said to start this. Whether you learn now or tomorrow, we will all learn.
This blog was just the bland version of the whole flower petal shower on Gabe. Can’t really tell it how I want but I’m sure you can guess. I’ll just say this. I couldn’t get beat to hell by many more North Africans. This was funny, believe me.
For anyone who comes here, Bonzi, it’s best you learn the culture quickly. Do not give them a reason. Just to give you a picture… If you get in a local’s face, it will quickly be broken up, sometimes maliciously. But (and this is a phenomenom that has held true since I came here in 2003) if the two adversaries are American? Well, pull up a seat, let us test the girth of each leviathon in battle, ha ha ha. They will let two Americans hash it out for a while before it is separated, if separated.
My first coach here in 2003 told me he studied human anatomy in college and through his studies he learned (Bantu) people are made only for certain sports. He said, basketball, football and other power sports were those for Bantus but a sport like, “Tennis for example,” he said was made for white and yellow. I didn’t get offended. Ignorance can’t offend me. I just smiled and said, “Venus and Serena.” And he thought, smiled and shook his finger at me half embarrassed, half laughing with a steroetypical, “very good.”
It’s all good, though. Any assumptions of me getting all angry and racially insulting can go out the window. I still appreciate all cultures. If anything, the thing that offers me the most frustration is having to deal with this nonsense at my age. You won’t get it unless you experience the 21-year-old kid getting paid $500 a month that they put in to guard the 40-point scoring NBA caliber player. The kid wants to prove himself and the coaches and refs want to see their next NBA prospect play you. They can’t and won’t call every overzealous, borderline career-ending foul. Otherwise you’d score 100. So they let him beat you like an orphan panda until it gets ridiculous. Which is all good when you’re 25 and a good player. But when you’ve worked to this level of play at 30? It gets old, especially on a 2-12 team. It’s better to play in Europe. No one there wants to fight anymore. Everyone just wants to make money, play good, fundamental basketball and wear skinny jeans while saying, “bon giorno” to that girl walking down the street that you swore you saw on model TV the other day.
Unfortunately for me, my plan of signing early in Europe didn’t work out and after NBA cuts all Euro jobs are filled. Sorry, I wasn’t passing up a vet camp with Jerry Sloan for anything. So if I had to do it again, I would. Yes, I knew they had 15 contracts before I went and didn’t care. I went there for longer-lasting reasons. The Chinese say the journey is the reward. I say, that’s if you survive the journey.
Until next time, don’t boycott Disney and its characters on my behalf. It’s all good. We all know the possible results in a different forum.
JVG… You’re the man! Next time you see me, please take notice to the “Will work for Prayers,” sign on my back.
I am learning to slow down. See… I know I have a gang of things fluttering around my brain and quite often I get confused. I literally spit out the random thoughts, that to me, seem to make sense simply because in my head, it makes sense. However, most of the time people who hear me explain something with a great amount of passion, give me that look. You know that sincere look that says, “I know this dude is making sense. Maybe he’s just too smart for me to understand.”
Well I am here to reassure you all, it’s not you. That’s the reason I reckon back to the media guy we had a Texas (his name was Dave Saba). Dave, in a short two-minute session, taught me to slow down. When I do, what do ya know! It actually works. I speed think my way to utterance in every language. Even my native tongue of Igbo. Then when I slow down, I might be speaking French (the worst of the languages I speak) and my wife will say, “Geez, since when did you get so good at French?”
Interesting what a tranquil approach will achieve. Normally, my head is bobbin’ and weavin’. I just get started slowly then peak at a nice resonating “hummmm” of words as if my head had a hummingbird for a cerebral cortex. Or more like Carlos Boozer’s Rolls Royce… Have you ever heard one of those things start? Dude! That freaking thing must be made by NASA. It’s a damn ground shuttle that sounds like…
Gotta slow down. Things are bouncin’ around the ol’ noggin. Anyway. I find myself (only every once in a while) slowing down and making a lot more sense. Not necessarily more sense to me but to others. Strangely enough, I rarely say things I don’t mean. Quirky trait for a mentally ambidextrous man. So hopefully, today is a slow down day that can offer a few coherant blurbs that will inspire and entertain at the expense of this (true) globetrotting joyride. Beanpie! Cheeseflakes! Tesla’s Zero point gravity orange peel!
Sorry. Habit.
Let’s see, I went from France, to San Antonio where the Spurs were working out, to vet camp with the Jazz. OK. It’s official. I love Jerry Sloan. Other than losing more weight than Jimmy Hoffa (Get it?…weight. Waaaayyyyeeet-tuh! Forget it), that was the second funniest camp I’ve been to. Smelled like Detroit 2002. Which leads me to predict the Jazz in the Western Conference Finals this year.
That was the first NBA team I’ve been on in which every player was (in my view) earning his check. What does that mean? Sorry. Wasn’t meant to be. Maybe better put… The Utah Jazz’s hierarchy or players and pay is almost perfect (I think we’d all agree Paul Milsap is tad bit underpaid… for now). And every player on that team is just flat out good. It’s always good when your highest paid players are the best respectively in every basketball (team) category.
Deron Williams is their best defender. And he shows it everyday.
Carlos Boozer is the hardest worker, which in turn equals most efficient player and best rebounder. Check his FG%. I have never checked nor do I know how I’d begin to, but I’m willing to bet he’s top five in the league in points/shot attempts. Even though he made me miss for the first time in a year being 260, he’s the Wolverine of that team. The best there is at what he does. I’m still spitting out chips of teeth… I am very serious.
Most professional had to be Memo. Same thing everyday. When everyone was tired after a hard day’s practice the day before, he was in the gym early lifting and starting practice drills off sprinting. Everyday.
And the last catergory… Best basketball pimp (I made that up; it means you’re just good at everything without really looking like you’re trying) AK 47. Hard to explain if you haven’t been to a game to see him in person. Just really good at everything. I think he may have nephthalim blood in him.
And last but definitely not least, most country. Oh you didn’t know being country is an intergral part of winning in basketball? It is. Cuz country folks are laid back. And them’re attritbutes keeps yuh cool when everyone else is hootin’ n’ hollerin’. Jerry Sloan. He was the same as he was three years ago when I was in summer league. He said, “Morning Gabe.” He laughed at my ramblings and even asked, “You alright,” every time anyone, not just his stars, got hurt. He’s either a great actor or a good man. Both of which only us country folk can really be. Without going into too much further detail, it was a pleasure being around good guys who just so happen to be good at basketball.
A wonderous few may have been wondering where the hell I’ve been. Me too. I’m not sure I totally remember. I know I was in three, no four countries in less than a week and I ended up in China and now I’m learning Chinese. Not bragging. I’m actually a bit weirded out by it. And now, the President is African. Huh?! Where have I been? I turned on the TV, only to fall asleep to sweet 80s kung fu movies with subtitles.
Then (listen to this) heard partially understood Manderin Chinese rambling and I actually heard “Obama dwi. Jia yo!” And in the middle of my sleep I popped up. As I deliriously squinted my eyes, I reached for my phone and saw I missed a million calls and texts from my wife, “He won!!!” No way! I just figured somehow, in America, it would never happen. I told my wife the whole time, “Don’t get your hopes up. It’ll never happen. Somehow McCain will win.”
Not only did he not win, he got the piss beat out of him. I couldn’t believe it! It was so big on so many levels, I didn’t know where to begin. I haven’t been in a good mood for a while. From France to Texas to playing like hot garbage in Utah’s camp. I’ve just been in a bad mood lately (if you asked me to explain why, it would take a while. As I’m not completely sure). But now… I was experiencing ecstasy. Work with me, as a Bantu man, it is difficult not to get a little America weary when you experience senseless and illogical hatred not even animals demonstrate simply because of the color of your skin. But that day… That day America shut us all up. Not just an African-American man, a Bantu-American man in every sense of the word is the President of the United States of America! Say it with me…”Obama.” Say it again, “Obama, Obama, Obama.” Sounds almost as good as Mufasa. Hate on America? You simply can’t anymore. Not me, not anyone. You think this could happen anywhere in Europe? Don’t mistake my excitement for distiguishing between polititians. I still don’t care. To me it’s all a circus of distraction while we all bend over. Something I like to call Johnny Cochran’s, “Looking at the shiny birdie.” That makes no sense. Birds aren’t shiny, well let me just stare at it until I see what’s so shiny about it. Keep looking you’ll see it.
For me Obama means my kids and my people’s kids can find a new self esteem of possibilities for themselves. You don’t have to be a rapper nor an athlete to be “cool”, son. Now you can appreciate those things for what they are – entertainment for a temporary escape from life. It’s not real. It is more than just a Bantu man is President. It’s much bigger than that. But people like Bill O’Reilly will simplify it. Why Obama got elected, why McCain lost. Who cares the result is the only important parameter. Or an even better remark from the media, I love this one, “Blacks only voted for him because he is Black (hate that word)” Duh. So what? Is being that ignorant any worse than that lady saying that she couldn’t trust Obama cuz he’s “an Arab” on national TV during a McCain rally? We should all have to take a test to insure one is competent enough to turn on a light and/or spell “U.S.A.” before being allowed to vote.
What, a hoops blog right? I just find myself looking for things to inspire me to not want to do something else. Like I’m over here in China and I should be thinking about hoops, right? You know what I’m thinking? How many cool things I’m gonna miss out on while here. Remember I told you about that new restaurant Fino Rosso of my boys I went to go see in New York? All I can think about is going there in December and how can I make it there with my wife to see Gypsy Kings. Yes, I like Gypsy Kings… Vas te chercher! Is that weird to want to watch Gypsy Kings when you’re playing ball for money? Well in looking for inspiration in basketball, I think I found it. You know in the ACB (Spain) some teams will let you put a nickname on the back of your jersey. Well, my new inspiration is to play in the ACB again, if for nothing else to put Obama on the back of my jersey for the whole season. No one steal that…
Despite what I might project, I really like basketball even today. And playing in Europe actually made me re-like it again. But on the flip side it also re-opened my loathing for travelleing 14 hours next to the guy who thinks, “Yes, I can get my knuckle in my nose without taking off my wedding ring,” only to again play in not-so-not-rag-tag-style leagues. Figure that one out. This is the perfect example of what my dad told me that I never believed when I was a kid… Never choose a job for money, it will never be enough. The money is good and pays the bills but… Whatever. I’ll get over it, dad.
I experienced Jerry Sloan and thought, this is probably the same practice John Stockton and Karl Malone did and I’m doing it. The same ol’ same, ol’ and he keeps winning (even with Williams out). And I wonder: How the hell does he do it? Yes, great players. But it can’t just be the coincidence of great players. Sloan keeps winning and has even done it with less. Other NBA teams have great players and lose (very well, I might add). He doesn’t change no matter what firestorm is going on around him and still manages to be human. So the next ref that T’s him, I don’t care how nice he talks to you, you’re mine. Even though I never want to coach or ever be in politics, I still want to learn the attribute I have seen in the past two months. I want to be a chameleon. Just like Jerry. And so far just like Obama.
A proverb I love (in English even though it loses meaning and umph) is, the chameleon doesn’t care whether there’s a forest fire or not, he will always strut the walk of confidence. I think I’ve used that one before but it’s cooler now. Bumble bee tuna, bumble bee tuna.
I think it’s been a month since my last blog, right? I guess time flies when you’re getting shafted with no vaseline. Seriously, I was waiting for this soap opera I’m experiencing to play itself out. And again, with my morbid sense of humor, it’s been typically funny. I wish I could just sit around a camp fire and tell unadulterated stories of what this stuff is really like, but at this point in my career all I can really do is put down a majority of the puzzle and allow others to put in the missing pieces.
But I think I leave pretty obvious hints. People will always offer his/her assessment of exaggeration. That is why I wish I had like a documentary film crew following me. The reason being; as I walk through this life I would estimate 75 percent of what I experience, I encounter it with one thought in mind: “No one will ever believe this is actually happening.”
Then when they see some poor chap filled to the brim with pressure curse out his Israeli pro league coach on The And1 Show or whatever it’s called, everyone will say: What is wrong with that nut? But seriously, how can you take a guy who probably never left his “hood” talkless of the Country and put him through what he has no shot of comprehending and expect him not to act as ignorant as he is? Ignorance, not as an insult but as a money succubus camping out in your bank account. Because ignorance is expensive. And not only to me.
Is it just me or does it bother anyone else to know that he/she is totally ignorant of a situation that consistently affects one’s existence? Of course if it affects me in no way (I think is rather rare), I choose ignorance. And many prefer the comfort of ignorance.
Where I differ and where my problem lies is I don’t see much that doesn’t affect me. If there is some sort of conspiracy that kills the bees in North America, I find it in some way affects me. Short version, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” I actually believe that. I don’t think the knowledge of certain “shut up and live” secrets suffers me to be some sort of champion against conspiracy in any way. But rather, that knowledge allows me to act accordingly (or simply how I choose how to re-adjust the situation). Let me stop… I get to France, right? Well that’s where the good stops.
And here’s the thing… Moving up the money ladder in Europe I sort of liken to Dante’s stages of hell (thank you, Icee).
When you’re making the lower-end cash, you’re in hell. Being in the bowels of the beast in many ways is easier than the descent to ascent. Why? Well, you know the tormented head sticking out of the ice is right behind the 7/11 right before you get to the giant chewer of man. Basically, you know where everything is and you know what it is. When you’re making 3K a month, it’s all your fault, you suck and we’ll send you home with no money if you say a cross word or make a bad crossover. That’s hell. But during the descent to ascent you get a plethora of challenges you didn’t get in hell.
At this point, somebody will say I’m lying about what I signed for in France and now that I’ve gone through this, I see why. So I won’t talk about the amount but believe me money has everything to do with it. Rather, I’ll just tell you what my old agent (we’re still friends) and all my close friends said when I told them I was considering France (normally for young upcoming careers not really established, but my family in Francafone-ish and well… the money) and this is what they’re offering. Everyone I asked said the exact same thing, “Check the contract again. France doesn’t pay like that.”
What do I know? I’m a Euro neophyte. The echoing statement was, for that much they will give you such a hard time and if you don’t play like Kobe Bryant they will look for a way out of it. Ignorance is bliss my tailpipe. If I had known, they could’ve offered a million.
It began when I got there. “Wow, you’ve lost a lot of weight.”
I heard it from everyone from the Coach to the trainer. Since when? You guys can vouch for me right? Haven’t I been 225-230 for a year now? Don’t these guys read HoopsHype.com? I heard it so much I knew it would be an issue. After two weeks of running every piece of fat off my waist, we played a friendly game. Pardon my hesitance to take it seriously. I was distracted by the dude whose jersey was a different color than the rest of his team. That and their legally declared “dwarf” at point guard (Muggsy was Yao Ming to this dude).
After 10 minutes on the court and 4 points for yours truly, 25 team turnovers, a barrage of guys trying to make a name for themselves at the expense of your high-priced head and a 20+ point win (if you can believe it) by our team, I had to endure a five-minute tirade about how I thought I was a superstar. I was a bit taken aback because I had no idea where it came from. As I explained the issue to a friend who played for this team, all he said was, “Told you so, they’re looking for that way out.”
What? I’ve been here two weeks! They said I wasn’t playing hard. Sell that to anyone who follows basketball. Go back to the archives of freaking UT reporting where I was described as “a player oozing talent… but often seems bored.” I didn’t play for Duke. That’s how I play. Then they said I was a shooter and not athletic enough. Not athletic enough?! “Get you Bevo droppings! Half off!” Have they ever even seen me play? Hey Vince, by the way they ask me for your number. Do you mind? Bottom line, they were searching, stretching for anyway to correct the fact that the starting 3 man (me) was their tallest starter. How’s this for stretching? They said I’m not the player that played for Nigeria vs. France in 2006. 2006. Well, they got me on that one. I’m not the player I was in 2006, I’m the player I was 6 months ago with Tau… in 2008. I left the dumbbells in Japan.
Anyway, they had no ammo (at least any that made any sense) so they did what any respectable organization would do… They made something up. According to the French media, after ASVEL was dismantled by 24 by a second division team, the team decided to part ways with me. Wait a second? I wasn’t there. Seriously, they tried to make it seem as getting pancaked by a team with the budget of my groceries was the reason the team decided to buy me out even though I didn’t even travel with the team to the game. Truth is they got reamed all by themselves. Then on top of that, they said “my behavior was deplorable.” What did I do? I wonder if I can sue. Anyway, the only way I wasn’t screwed was with the money I got for three weeks of work.
Ignorance of France cost me money and their ignorance of me cost them as well. Tons of details were left out that simply would flip your tupee. I can’t help but think, how would someone else even more ignorant about Europe than me act? No way can you expect a guy just out of his inner city district to have the slightest idea what he did wrong in this situation. Nothing. You just didn’t know.
We all as a whole don’t know, don’t wanna know, think they know and/or insult those that choose to expand his/her scope of knowledge and understanding. I know for a fact that I don’t know but because I want to know, I ask. I played in Iran and saw a huge dude who could move. Wasn’t great, but I said he should be in the NBA. I was told I was crazy. He signed with the Grizzlies. Isn’t America supposed to hate Iranians as part of the “axis”?
Here’s an mind flipper (at least for me it was). While in the Embassy sector in Dubai, I saw an incredible line wrapped around the U.S. embassy. The guy accompanying me to get my visa in the Iranian embassy told me, “Can you believe all those people are Iranian. They come to Dubai to get U.S. visa ’cause there is no embassy in Iran.” (There is actually a Swedish US interest office there that plays the role).
Before I could say he was lying, he began greeting all the people waiting in Persian and quibbing them about the trouble they’re going to encounter. Dude! What are they doing? They’ll never get visas! Right? The dude looked at me like I was ignorant and said, “They get them. They go through a ton of trouble but most of them do get visas.”
How can that be? I couldn’t get my cousin here from Nigeria with Merlin’s hat and a Swiss account. Don’t call me an idiot for saying what I saw, just ask what if it’s true? And think, how can people from a country that is considered a terrorist state readily and with such confidence attempt to enter the U.S. but a country like Nigeria, whose citizens are absolutely no threat to the US (at least non-419-ily) find literally impossible odds to even visit America?
I’m actually encouraged to see how much I really don’t know. It was very refreshing to see how incredibly nice Persians are and how absolutely nothing there ever made me feel scared. I think there is a lot I don’t know. So rather than say someone is crazy for any perception I just take the info and process it for myself.
Quite often, when one’s beliefs of reality are challenged, it sends us into a tailspin. Like the whole NBA-guys-signing-overseas. One guy made a comment about, “when Brandon Jennings doesn’t get paid.” Remember Dante’s stages of hell? Well, the team he’s on and the money he’s making is not the journey any longer. He’s not even in purgatory. He’s in a mid-level of heaven. He’s getting every penny, my friend. There are clauses with top teams that would make them not paying him the equivalent of the Rockets not paying him. Once you get to “heaven” (big money plus big team) you get paid.
There are a number of things players who are in “heaven” just don’t deal with that the players in purgatory deal with everyday. People accept the money and basketball being impossible to match outside the NBA and for the most part they’d be right. But every once in a while you get some pretty thought-twisting anomalies. Do you realize Josh Childress after taxes makes pretty much the same or more yearly than KG? (Although that might have changed as Josh might be experiencing the same I am with the Euro skydiving).
Let me tell you for no self compliment, there are good players everywhere and even more money in places you’d never imagine. I saw the highest jumping guy I’ve ever seen in person in Syria of all places. I’m telling you, I’ve seen every NBA leaper and they don’t hold a candle to this guy Vincent Jones. This guy is close to seven feet tall and can put his sternum in the rim. How in he11 did he never play in the NBA? I think he makes like half a mil in five months in Afghanistan or something (joking… only a little. I think he’s in KSD).
I got a new one, he’ll be a first-rounder. A kid I just played with named Bengare is a young KG with no confidence. Give him a coach and 20 pounds and a shiny new NBA contract and you’ll all know him.
You think people hate when you throw a wrench in their universal reality? I’m about to piss Charles Barkley off (he’ll never read this, I hope). He made a statement about no one caring who won the Greek championship as a counter that there was no worry about superstars leaving the NBA to play in Europe. He’s right no-body. LeBron and his crew (Carmelo, Dwyane) and the Monster of Kobe (a crew of his own) are not any-body(s). LeBron especially. Have you seen the company he keeps? What do you think Bill Gates, Warren Buffet, Prince of Wales, Sultan of Brunei and whoever else that dude hangs with, care about? Championships? Either Charles doesn’t know (doubtful) or the better explanation is he was doing damage control to maintain control.
Let me break down a possible scenario right now for you. Not knowing will cost everyone who doesn’t know. LeBron seems to me as someone who knows more than most of us. So I don’t see him losing a penny. How many billionaire owners are in the NBA? Now. How many are in just Russia that just don’t give a damn about money? Fine. LeBron might not really take a deal worth $50 million a year but the mistake he made was giving out the number because now I will bet you there are at least 6 teams preparing their portfolio to present that exact number to LeBron next summer. OK. What if LeBron asked for $40 million in advance and $1 million a month, a private jet, house on the French Riviera and stock options in the owners TV company after his company gets the TV rights to all Euroleague games LeBron plays in? He’d get it. So let me get this straight… The most he can sign for in the NBA is about 6 years, $120million? So that’s what? $60 million over 6 years after taxes approximately? He can make basically that in one year net living as a king in some paradise and then make even more off his comeback to the NBA after one year in Athens, Barcelona or Moscow? And he’s 24. He wouldn’t do that? None of the aforementioned basketball juggernauts would do that? OK. If you say so.
Ignorance has always been my downfall. I knew that team found out Amara Sy was available after I got there and were looking for a way to get him there. And that knowledge kept me from giving them the ammo they were looking for to validate what they did. (Ike’s antics didn’t make the trip back to Houston any more fun). Maybe it’s been the knowledge that I was ignorant is what made situations worse. But if I didn’t know I was duped wouldn’t it just continue to happen? Then I’d probably blame someone else or even worse attribute the consistency of screwage to bad luck. It ain’t bad luck, I’m just as trusting as a three-year-old and as naive (dumb) as a rock. It’s all good. This will end up being better than bad.
To be honest, I felt I signed too quick and for too little in the first place. Not to mention I signed in euros. And if you keep track, the day I signed was one of the, if not the highest, the euro ever was against the dollar. Yeah beer? Please. It has steadily plunged everyday since. I’ve lost a ton! (at least to me) My dumb tail saw the dollar rising this fall and told all my boys, “sign in dollars.” I started doubting my own advice when that thing hit 1.61 to the euro and I thought I was doing my thing when I signed in euros. The rate was dropping so fast, I just stopped looking. So it’s a blessing in disguise. Now I bet you can guess what I’ll sign in next… You guessed it. Yen! Dadgumit. See you in Libya.
It was a good summer all in all. I ended up signing earlier than some would have liked but in the end it’s a great situation for me and more importantly, the fam. The team is ASVEL and the city is Lyon. Can’t beat it for me. I get to make my French perfect and play on France’s top team in the Eurocup. Not bad. I know this much… It’s going to be fun. Patna… fun, digging into the teams that still didn’t believe. The teams that passed me up, again, in lieu for the name. Well, that name is playing against me now and I have no restrictions. Now I can pin my ears back and all Coach Collet has to say is, “sick ‘em.” Like I said, it’s going to be fun.
In that sense, I don’t think I’ve changed. Nor will I ever. Even in high school when I saw a guy cloaked in hype, I was never mad or jealous. I just loved competition. I love emptying my pockets and playing poker on the court until someone bluffs. Basketball has always being more of a game of chess to me than a sport, really. Because once we’re on the court, no one can help you. No newspaper, no magazine, not even your contract. It’s rather easy to never to be afraid to prove it on the court because I’m not too good to get whooped.
Every once in a (blue freakin’ moon) when it does happen, it’s like a baptism. Afterwards, I come up cleansed and prepared to dish out double of what I received. And this summer I have been blessed to equip myself with tools that enhance my mind and body. First the hell hot yoga… When you’re done, you feel like spaghetti but like a baby. And it doesn’t take long to go from touching your ankles to grabbing the bottom of your feet.
The ju-jitszu was as sweet as usual. I like that stuff way too much and next summer I want to couple it with akido. I really have to get a one-on-one teacher. But it’s hard as hell to keep up with when you’re hoopin’. One has to consider the team’s investment. So obviously, it was prudent to stop after I signed. One day though, I’ll be able to travel to Bombay, Rio and Henin and really study. I incorporated some MMA for the first time. I used to wonder why those guys are so ripped. Now I know. They do like 500 push ups a day! 25 here… Hand walk… 25 more…10 burpies… Hand walk… Etc. Really scary when you think of these guys trying to punch a hole in your head. They probably could.
And lastly, I saw no loss of strength with the diet. Actually got stronger. I trained with a speed trainer down here in Houston named Rayford and went from a 4.9 to a 4.59. I was a bit miffed though seeing as how I was fast for any size in college. But screw it, I don’t play football. Anyway, I am satisfied that I added to myself outside of my sport and hopefully, as a person I’m moving to be better. Because, as a basketball player, you (you know exactly who you are) are gonna get it. Watch tape.
As for the things that took away from my lifespan… NY. I’m sorry. How do ya’ll live there? Every time I go there, it takes a year off my life. It’s like an American Lagos. They say traffic is bad in Houston… Have any of you ever been in people traffic? Bloody hell!
And try asking for directions. “Excuse me ma’am… Pardon me.” I should have traded the Texas accent for the Nigerian. It might have done me better than what I got. I’m on subway trains switching and swirling for three hours and somehow get close to where I’m going. In that wake, I found the nerve to slightly tap one of the may goers by that kept ignoring the country accented pleas of this obviously out of place giant. She did stop though and I’m not sure… I take that back… I’m sure now I wish she didn’t. This girl stopped five steps after I tapped her, slowly turned around like I was in a Godfather movie, (what the hell was she about to do to me, man?) gave me the most evil look I have ever seen… Like five seconds this look, man… Curled her lip, sucked the spinach out of her teeth and kindly told me I had feces on my face and walked off. I think I wanted to cry. Cause I have no idea how to describe how that felt. I was lost, and confused and no one gave a rat’s patooty. Now when I tell the story of Medusa, it’s funny as hell but when it happened I felt like a seven year old boy who just lost his mommy in Toys R Us.
Anyway, I found my way to, I guess, the LLITS… I don’t know what the hell it was called, Long Island Train Station, I guess, and saw a sign that said information. “Oh praise God!” “Uh sir,” he rolled his eyes and said “yeah” as if to say I was bothering him. (I know it sounds cliche of NY, but I swear it was like this but it faded to nicer and nicer as I got to where I was going… Watch). Let me tell you, in Texas when that reaction is given to a customer, 9 times out of 10, that person will hear something of it. You know some smart alec retort that could escalate to a “Where’s your manager?!” But I was in such disarray and slightly intimidated, I kinda clinched my map close to my chest like a squirrel, eyes and all and ask the guy I could barely hear behind his 10″ think glass how long it was by taxi from where I was to Glen Cove in Long Island. (Yes, I was done with the subway and was ready to pay a mint to a taxi above just to take me there). Dude looks at his watch like I’m a complete moron and laughs slightly and says, “bout two howhaz (hours)” What? I thought NY was a (geographically) small city! OK, so how long by this train? One hour. OK, when’s the next train? In an hour. WTF?!
Folks. I was so distraught, I sat down in front of a underground kiosk and ate popcorn with butter. Barely noticed it made me sick. In the end, I made it to Glen Cove and ate at my boy’s new restaurant called Fino Rosso. If it weren’t for that dinner along with how nice (I should probably say how much nicer but at this point I was numb) the people were in and on the way to Long Island, I would have just found a hole to crawl in. It was like a different country. The walk was pleasant and everyone gave me directions. It was so refreshing I walked to Igor’s (Rakocevic) new eatery. I passed up what everyone was telling me was J Lo’s pad (didn’t know they made houses like that outside of Texas).
Anyway, if you live in Glen Cove or in NY and wish to exhale from people giving you the doo doo face look, you gotta hit up Fino Rosso. I sat outside, felt like I was in a classic Italian covey in Milan (played there) and ate a perfect meal. When I first heard of Igor doing an Italian Restaurant in Long Island, I asked him why not in Manhattan? I mean, capital for investment was not an issue. Location right? Well I didn’t know much about NYC, did I? Perfect spot. Is there an airport in Long Island? I think next NYC trip will land there.
In this time of signing and free agency, no matter how much teams have been fooled and burned, hype will always be the deciding factor in who gets the pay day. You just have to hope the hype favors you at the time it’s your turn to sign. Some guys are worth more (Baron, Mo, Ryan, Kelenna, congrats bros. I am a fan and you are a $50 million player. You’re young, after this contract I hope you get it). Some guys you want to borrow their picture of the GM in a compromising pose. But for all the guys, no matter how much under or over you get… Get it. It’s a blessing to get it. Find a way to smile about it. But when the money is out the way, it comes the time to enjoy the competition. Now on the court, let’s play a game of chess.
The court is the stage we can leave all the incompetence of those who swear they know our hearts. Cause that is what separates the cream of the crop. Body takes you so far. Spirit, mind, heart separates. Then in the end, they’ll add the hype and claim to know the best. And no one will care except them. Guys will sign the biggest contract wherever it is and keep it moving. When I read Olympiakos was offering Josh Childress that contract initially I said, “He wont take it.” As the biggest obstacle for a star like him going overseas is the perception of life. Then I read, he’s going the Athens to be courted by the team and I remembered he went to Stanford and knew he would do it.
It is a trend that I assure you will continue as long as the offers are there (and I think they’ll get higher). Even before the high school kids (Brandon Jennings?) signed in Italy, I told my wife our son would never play in college if he was a Dwight #2. Can you imagine that dude playing against Duke or Kansas? I commend Jennings’ parents for not giving a damn. He’ll play a year and come back (if he doesn’t get a monstrous offer… Remember, I said it) and be a top 5 pick in the NBA.
In the end though, Europe is a different monster and it is your adaptation to the culture, not your talent, that will determine one’s success there. I’m not going to sit here and say the players in Europe are better than NBA players, because they’re not in the sense you’re thinking. The NBA is full of freaks. Europe has few to none. But they simply don’t make mistakes. So in that sense, they are better. Cool. Now everyone is armed with knowledge and a nice check in the back pocket. Now get yo ass on this court! Ha ha ha! I’ll get you smurfs. No one can save you! Not Papa smurf, Liono, He-Man. Not even the Hype Monster. He’s dead and I buried his behind under my red dirt yard in Onitsa.
Ugwumagana si na o mang ji maka oku na gbo ozala na o gaa ehapu igba nwogala ya.
Did you know the atom, the little bitty things that make us up, are over 97 percent empty space? I heard that and couldn’t believe it so… I looked it up and read that as small as an atom is (millionths of a millimeter), its center (proton) is one-hundered thousand time smaller than the atom itself. Then the electron(s) that orbit(s) the center are a thousand times smaller than the center itself. The rest of the atom is just empty space. So wait a second… If I’m made up of atoms and the atom is pretty much non-existent… Am I really here? Crack anyone? These are the kinds of unbelievably unorthodox things I ponder in the offseason. I really don’t do much thinking about basketball at all. I start off with some off-the-wall thought or question like the aforementioned and it somehow comes full circle and changes something profoundly in my game and life that everyone else just does naturally. Beeeee-cuz I’m a hard head and I like to complicate 2+2. Five! (Stop it, Bird).
I always look forward to the summer. I get to add something beneficial to myself. Or even better, remove something unproductive. I’ll literally do anything and everything that you just don’t expect a large, basketball player of Bantu descent to do. And I promise, I don’t do these hippie things to be different. I just want to see if any of these “secrets” really work. Summer goal: Turn into a basketball leviathan. Plan of action: Yoga, diet, meditation, exercise. Notice how the plan of action did not include the sport itself? I’m trying to expand on something new that worked out well for me this year. I executed that plan of action but with flaws.
1. I wasn’t consistent with the yoga. So I plan to go to Austin, where I met a 50-year-old yoga guru who can do backflips. He’s got plans to put me in yoga sessions in a 102 degree room. That ought to be fun… (Insert fart noise with thumb pointed down here).
3. Meditation… Sorry, can’t make that sound cool. Just trying it because everything else in this way has worked well. The good thing is, if you’re a baller and you don’t wanna try some fad because it sounds like something new to do but doesn’t really work, I’ll be the ginny pig and I’ll let you know. Because if it’s some bovine boo boo, you know I’ll say it.
4. Exercise. I really don’t do much. The biggest thing I think got me physically stronger was Brazilian ju-jitzu. I didn’t really get good at it until I lost weight. I thought at 270 lbs, I’d smack around everyone I saw. Then I tasted a rather delectible headlock from a barely 6-foot, 175 lbs Boricua that put me to sleep. And when I woke up, I was surrounded by Snow White and her seven dwarfs. Then I woke up again. It wasn’t until I was slim that I could actually submit people.
Anyway, that’s the summer plan and I plan to chart and blog about the progress every month, so we can see together whether the mainstream has spewed the garbage we all suspect it has all these years or if the idea of bettering one’s mind, body and spirit through enlightenment is not just a hippie’s LSD fantasy dreamed up in the 70s.
Unfortunately, the only thing I’ve been able to do so far is the diet and keeping up with my yoga everyday. I did the Puerto Rico thing for a second and it was incredible. I think it was the first time I went there and really enjoyed the life it has to offer. I didn’t engulf myself in the blackjack table this time (as is my usual vacation in PR). I just played ball, ate fruits growing on the trees outside (seriously! I didn’t even know mangos grew in PR until this year and I’ve played there eight years), jogged, chilled on the beach and swam in paradise. Now there’s got to be something to this “Qi” thing. I was so relaxed, engergized, at peace, in balance… Man, I don’t know what the hell to call it. I simply felt incredible. I did something I never did in high school, college or pros (not even in China). I had a game I scored 22 points in the first quarter. Now look… Anywhere else and I wouldn’t even have mentioned it. But anyone who knows the PR league, knows that is the second best comp you will get outside the states. Just ask Carlos Arroyo.
Anyway, the point of that was, damn! How the hell could I never do those kinds of things when I was younger, faster, str… Well the answer is, maybe I wasn’t any of those things back then except younger. And dumber, yeah… Maybe dumber. Maybe. I guess all those times my Caucasian bros invited me to the lake in Austin (Mihm, Luke, Ogden… Actually Chris Ogden wanted to go hunting. He just wanted to pull the Dick Cheney on me. But I think he likes me now), I should have gone. God knows they were always less wound up than me. That wasn’t so hard seeing as how I was tighter than… Stop it. I lost track…
Now that I’m done dealing with things like my youngest bro getting jumped by a bunch of backwoods, inbred, cowardice, uneducated Jerry Springer rejects, I can concentrate on the civilized. If you could just step into the courtroom I just left in, ready? Mitchell, South Dakota, you would find it hard not to be as relieved as I am right now. Long story short, my lil’ bro got a crash course in why you shouldn’t feel comfortable in places you might not be welcomed. And even though the (four) guys are on trial now (for a misdemeanor) even though they (49 yrs, 30+, 25 yrs and 23 yrs) jumped a 20-year-old and beat him good enough to break his nose in 2008 in America, I’m not mad. Because when I saw them, they were so pathetic all I could do is laugh and get mad at my brother for not being sober enough to beat the flies off the crippled warthogs when they jumped on him. Lord, if you’re listening can we rewind time and have them jump me? Please? Cause I don’t drink. See how uncivilized and unproductive having to even address this nonsense is? So now I’m back at the house and, like I said, back to the civilized.
Quick…
Did you see KG’s follow-up dunk on Gasol? Da-yum…
Back…
I get to watch Kobe now. Ha! Beat that. I just wish the Lakers could have tied the series. Funny thing is, this is my first time calling the champ in advance. And now, I kinda want them to lose. Sorry, sorry Boston… I know. I just wanted Kobe to get some redemption. And it gets even weirder… I don’t particularly consider myself a Kobe fan. I confuse myself, I swear. I love… Let me rewind. I absolutely enamor Kobe’s game. I think he is the absolute definition of “work equals production.” Have you ever seen a player that makes every move and every shot look like he practiced them each a million times until the very way the ball goes in repeats itself? When John Lucas said Kobe was better than Mike, I thought he was nuts. Whoa tonto… Not saying I think he’s better now but those who believe it. (Deep breathing G) The people who say Kobe and Mike are comparable in skill have an argument and I’ll leave my opinion here now. Fell free to flush at any moment.
Wait… What the hell am I talking about? I just gotta a flash in my head of the final shot MJ made against Utah for the sixth ring. I can’t ya’ll, sorry. I just can’t. He’s the greatest. That’s right, Ironman, Superman and MJ, in that order!! Vete pa’ carajo!
On the cool though, is the series boring to no end unless LA ties it up? Boston seems too big in the paint and too big in the pants to lose. My vote: Put Mbenga, Mihm, Bynum (I know he’s hurt), Odom and Gasol in… At the same time! Oh, that’ll show ‘em! Rebound that, beeeeyaaatch! Please send your medical recommendations to hoopshype@hoopshype.com.
People stay with me here. I’m starting up my ju-jitzu again and staying steady on the yoga and diet and we’ll see what the end product is together. I’m still in the process of finding the balanced “Qi” if it even exists. So I am truly setting in motion the house on the beach thing in Africa so I can find that qi. Tired of talking about it and everyone else I know calling me from there telling me how energizing it is. I’m sending family back home to insure the business in Central Africa continues as planned. Oh by the way… Do not fly Air France. Ever. This is the fifth time I’ve dealt with them and they never disappoint to disappoint. If you play ball and travel like we oversea-ers do and you’ve flown Air France, you know like I know, the customers is always a thorn in the side that if given a chance will piss me off til I strike (again) and throw my gourmet knowledge of cheese and wine in their faces. I love France. I hate Air France. Take the chance if you want so you can see for yourself. But like pops said, (another West African proverb. ready?) commot d biro bros: Ukpana okpoko buru, nti chiri ya. Translation: I gotta get my b.b. gun and take out these damn mockingbirds keep eating my tomatoes and terrorizing kids.
I’ll get back to you on the progress and the translation unless someone beats me to it.
I have a real funny story to tell. I just don’t know how to tell it. It’s been made clear when I just pour words onto a computer screen, people have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not really sure if it’s anyone’s fault or if the parties involved are just at an intersection of two perpendicular paths… Screw you, I actually talk that way.
You know the ratio for someone being a professional basketball player, right? Like one in a million or worse. Well, finding the perfect team or situation is even more rare. And the older you get the less likely that becomes. But for those few good guys, hard workers and tough mofos that get money, fame and the perfect situation, like Pete Mickael… Guys like that deserve it and earn it daily. But for some Peter freakin’ Pans, they get lucky and project that Superman attitude toward the rest of the world.
The only thing negative about being in Puerto Rico is Family Guy, my favorite show today, is in Spanish. You can imagine my discontent when I patiently sat through the agonizing dry humor of King of the Hill, only to have my garnered excitement thrown out of my window when I heard Stewie say, “idiota,” instead of “you bovine lummox.” Even though I can understand, it’s just not as funny sans the New England/English accent Seth McFarlen masters. But I’ll get over it. I got Slingbox (an overseas baller’s best friend… Get on it if you already have not).
