HoopsHype.com NBA Blogs - Gabe Muoneke

(Ya bu gi naa esoro mmadu o bido inyu amiri na ikuku, o ka mna na gi gafere ya ki malu. Ka o ghali gba gi na anya.) Greetings all! Thanks to all the responders, positive and negative. I’ll try to appease, although you’ll bare with me if I was sleeping while in blogging 101 in college. Oh and happy holidays! Dern near forgot it’s Christmas time. The line above is my inspiring reminder of the day my dad gave me a while ago. I am telling myself that just so I can put into perspective how good what I have been blessed with is. My dad always spoke to me in proverbs. And as goofy as I thought they were back then, I’m actually happy I remember them even now.

If you haven’t heard, I signed to play for Tau Ceramica in Spain. Not just Spain, but arguably the biggest name team in Spain. I mean, easily one of the top 10 clubs to play for in Europe. Euroleague, good money, professional team… All that! It’s sick how great this is. Although everyone in my camp wasn’t as excited as I was but… I don’t give a shite. For me this is a call up. Better than a call up even. I could tell my agent was a bit, let’s just say non chalant, about this deal so I asked him why he wasn’t as happy about this as I was. He (and a few others) said they would’ve liked to see me achieve my dream and get a call up. I would have liked to as well, but it’s not like I could’ve said no at this age. Shiiiii. These teams talk, man. I could ruin chances with other big teams saying no to Tau. And fuuuuhhhnthat! Waiting on what could be a pipe dream in the NBA and losing out on a Euroleague career? The dangling carrot again?

Pas encore mon frere, pas encore. The other thing is… I’m gonna say it… Playing in the NBA was never my dream. What? True. It never was. It was a goal. Same as for a long jumper to get eight more inches. Same as a football player to go from 390 to a 400lb bench press. My “dream” (at least athletically) since I was 8 years old was to be really really good at basketball and have everyone recognize it. I actually liked soccer more and was better at football. However, if I ever needed (yes, I did) confirmation that I am damn good, I got it the day I signed with Tau. I played in Europe sure, but until recently all the talks with the top teams were the same thing… I just didn’t have the big European name nor the “NBA tag”. “Oh yeah everyone knows Gabe can play” is all I ever heard. But who the hell was going to be there first to pull the trigger on this obvious matchup nightmare? Even before I signed here (I was on the first thing smokin’) we were in talks with five other top European teams. But I speak Spanish and well… Tau! But all we ever got to was the big name and experience excuses. Bollucks to that!

Before I came here, I knew it was a done deal and I found out while on a road game. So right then and there I was like “I’m done.” Not playing, getting ready to bounce. At the worst I wasn’t going to take the chance of hurting myself and missing out on literally the opportunity of a lifetime. (Enter Elmer Fudd) “Here Bugs.” It somehow got to my ears there was a team (no names please) that said they were there specifically for me and I was on a short call up list that had to be made within days. Little did I know the list was two or three guys. So I played. Even though I knew it was moot, because it wasn’t like there is a question of my ability. The question was, “Is he mentally ready?” Yeah, I’m just chomping at the bit to be on an NBA team and start biting off ears. I’m intense, not stupid. Seriously, I wonder what they really think I’m going to do. The other concern was I have no experience… Geez. Ever seen that commercial where the dude is complaining how he can’t get an education because he has no money, can’t get money because he can’t get a job, can’t get a job because he has no experience has no experience because he didn’t get an education in the first place? Something like that. It’s a ridiculous cycle. Anyway… I decided to play to give one last ditch effort at a possible call up. I had 30 points, 10 rebounds and, I believe, 6 assists. Before my shoes cooled off after the game, they called up the other dude. Yes, he had experience in the NBA. So there was no anger or surprise really. It’s like pulling teeth to get my family and friends to see the big picture. I could’ve gotten hurt and lost the call up and the deal with Tau. I’m spinning my wheels, mate. And bloody hell if the teams watchin aint pissin’ in the wind. (Sorry in my British mode. Just watched Snatch. Best movie ever).

Example… Are all the guys coming to the NBA from everywhere other than the U.S. really that much better? I mean there are exceptions of course… Peja, Dirk, Vlade, Pau. But when you sign a guy 1,000 miles away that is a dime a dozen in the U.S., what is really being said? And I’m not saying these guys aren’t good. They are very good, but for the guys already making millions in their European home team and then that former team of his signing an American guy at the same position and for the most part equal talent… That’s not pissin’ in the wind? Or maybe making popping firecrackers into rocket science. However you slice it, it confuses me and now I am just happy to know I’m pretty damn good at this sport I gave my time, body and a large portion of my life to. Now… All the frustration, insults, crazy talk, all that nonsensical, fecal revelry, it was all worthwhile.

Having said that, I’m happy to divulge into some fun. The funny ass stories from overseas and NBA experiences will definitely inspire. (No, still no names in the negative experiences). And as luck would have it, I just haven’t had that many in my dealings with NBA teams.

I must admit though, I was a bit scared when I signed with the Rockets. I had heard so much from other players about Jeff Van Gundy, I thought I’d be cut in a day. People thought I was just a camp body at the time. But I was signed September 8th and I was being run into the ground by my lonesome for almost a month before I saw another soul. All I did was run and shoot. Ran some more and when I was done with that I ran again. The whole time just trying to keep JVG from chewing me out even though he gave no indication he was like that. In fact, he was super cool off the court and on the court all he cared about was basketball.  That’s it. He wasn’t there to hold your hand or beat around the bush. He just said it how it was. He didn’t give a damn about potential, just what you did or didn’t do. So if you were playing like shit… Man, he would call your ass out in a minute. No discrimination! Funny as hell. So if you were a player looking for a babysitter, he was not your guy. But if you were looking for a basketball coach that knows the game (and useless players) he was/is your man. So he remains the lone reason why I really couldn’t argue or complain about being cut. He was 100 percent honest with me from jump.

I met him by accident while playing pick up in The West Side tennis club, where the Rockets used to practice. Summer time pick up games were sick and I always couldn’t get much run because of all the guys with “years” (that’s NBA time in lei) under their belt. But James Posey was happy to get extra work in after the games. We played one-on-one everyday after pick up was done for God knows how long. (That SOB never got tired… of me giving him fits) Ha! Gotcha. We’re cool so I can do that. N.E. way, damned if I didn’t know there were cameras in the gym and next thing I know I got a call, which I thought was a prank. Serious. I almost hung up. It was Carroll Dawson and… Wait…

Quick…

Carroll Dawson. GM. Rockets. Just recently retired. I heard he was struck by lightning… twice! WTF? Are you kidding me? Mr. Dawson? Sir? Can you please buy me a lottery ticket? Or even better, when you start your own cult sign me up. Damn! Twice? That cannot be true.

Back…

I was (swear) just about to hang up on him and the other line clicked. It was JVG. He was short and to the point and I had watched enough NBA on TNT to know it was him. “This is JVG. Be in my office at 10 am Do not be late. Bye.” Click. Back over to Mr. Dawson. Needless to say I was much more receptive. You know all that PR crap famous people say to us nobodys? Throw all that out the window. He told me he heard I was crazy. Before I could answer…”It’s OK. Crazy can be good. Just don’t be an asshole. If you’re not an asshole, you’ll be here all year. See ya tomorrow at 9.” (Oh you’re still here? Uh… We’re done.) Damn that, that was funny. He ran two years out of me. Incredible. Till today never have I ran that much. Not even in Europe, where they believe you should run from bed to shower, shower to car, car to grocery store… In short, they run a lot.

JVG was quite simply a basketball coach and he was a breath of fresh air to a guy who grew up in basketball with nothing but hard-nosed coaches. So you can imagine… Prima donna + JVG = JVG. Believe me, that equation is correct and has been proven by the greatest mathematical minds. If you produced, you played. Period. Initially, I produced and even led the team in scoring the first preseason game against Portland. The next game against Seattle I started. Started. We lost that game, but I made plays and played three positions. He was testing me out and I knew it.

My problem came when Eddie Griffin (RIP) had some personal issues to take care of and Maurice Taylor dislocated his shoulder, which left the team needing a 4. I was like… Sweet! I’m a natural 4, I can do my thing now. I’m strong, I’m quick, I’m… Reggie Evans… Damn you, Reggie. I started the next game against Seattle again in Arkansas. And let’s just say… I wasn’t a 4. Reggie gave me a fine dining experience of elbows and vogues. Mmmm mmm, bitch! Tasty. And. I’m. Spent. Torraye Braggs slowly established himself as a solid NBA 4 and I still played well at the 3, but the fact was they needed a 4 now. So JVG played out the rest of the camp with me. Testing me. Looking for the separation. But I wasn’t about to give it to him. If they were going to cut me, it wasn’t going to be for me being dumb. Like this one…

I played the whole preseason, then one game against Sacramento I didn’t play the whole game. But I was waiting anyway, enjoying the scenery. Got to see the sickest dunk I’ve ever seen in person (you know when Gerald Wallace jumped over Boki Nachbar? Look closely. That’s me on the floor of the bench. I’m famous, biyatch!) With 57 seconds left, JVG, “G—.” I didn’t even let him get the “abe” out. I knew it. You, sly devil. These are the ways a team will separate two guys they are deciding on. If I had not been ready or been at the end of the bench, where I couldn’t hear him, that would have been the deciding factor of cutting me like your wife n’ daughter. He told me to guard Peja. Great. The league’s best three-point shooter. Sac down by three, and me (a rookie free agent) guarding him. The bad part is not me being a rookie free agent like I couldn’t guard him. The bad part is every guy who’s been there for a while, knows you are a rookie free agent. So they go right at your ass. I mean, right at you.  But I was confident. Fuck it. I’m about to shut down this, little, slow, goo… Tall, swole, huge… What the? As I jogged closer to him, he was much bigger and athletic than what I thought I saw on TV. Every bit of 6-foot-10, my friends. God must have been looking out for me that day because he made one jab step, came off a Webber screen and he was wide the hell open. But they missed him. Threw it away from me and right to Cat Mobley and I burned out down court like I had something to do with the great defensive play. Yeah, beer! Anyway. Finished out the preseason well. Came down to the last day and on the way to the gym morning of final cuts, I was a mile from my house when Keith Jones called me and said coach wants to see me… Bring your playbook. As emotionless as JVG seemed, you could tell he felt bad cutting me. But what could he really do? They needed a 4 and Reggie Evans did a great job of showing him I wasn’t that. Or just that he was a Rhino. So maybe I could play the 4 but I just couldn’t play Rhino. You’re the man, Reggie. Now I’d feel much better if I saw you do that to every other team in the league… You… Rhino. Just joking… Triceratops.

My brothers and sisters, I am geeked to be in España. I played my first game, probably in my life, with zero frustration. I got hit with cheap shots, fouled sin pita, played 15 minutes… But we won. Nothing can bother me now, man. I’m taking this opportunity to finish my career. For a guy that was told he’d never play again after my quad was ripped from my knee cap, I get to be happy as well as thankful. God has been good to me. I feel like I can play 10 more years (although I won’t). Just happy to be recognized. Even if only a bit. I know when I talked to guys who tell me they played for CSKA or Benneton or Maccabi, I look at those guys with respect. And if my son knows basketball when he gets older, I’ll feel proud to tell him I played for Tau.

Now I can just do what really makes me happy… Analyzation of completely useless details of everyday life. Beser lisoko na nagi, I like being weird. I see you and I remember. Don’t be scerred. Mo. I’m tellin you next blog, I aint playin’. I just had to vent this happiness about coming here. I was deterred because it was unexpected but I’ll get back on track and no one’s protected!

Oh, the first line is a West African proverb. It essentially means: If you are trusting someone enough to follow him/her to a goal, there are two ways to tell if he/she is pissing in the wind. You can pass that person up or stay behind… And get sprayed.

Well… I’m wet enough.

Greetings all! Please accept my apologies as I haven’t had a chance to read the responses to the last blog. We’ve had like five games in 10 days and I haven’t found time to do anything but sleep and eat outside of basketball. Oh! And yes, je suis un imbecil, pardon… It is “quasi-savant.” And you thought I was smart. Fooled you!

Let’s get it on! In the games we’ve played as of late I have had the chance to be irritated beyond comprehension and at the same time continue learning not to give a large mouse’s derriere about things out of my control. Because honestly, can you? I mean, really. How much can you really care without human nature driving you to discouragement? It’s almost like I feel it’s much easier to care when tons of money is coming in. Yeah, I said it. Isn’t it? I mean check this out… You’re in the D-League and you’re working, I mean working, to show everyone how good you are over the long haul and not just a couple of games and an NBA team, watch this, signs a guy who was at home frying grilled cheese sandwiches and working out with the guys from 24-hour fitness. Angering? Maybe five years ago. But now there are two reasons not to care too much:

1. You start to think like a GM and the crazy thing is, you would sign the same guy if it were up to you. Why? He’s done it before! (Sucks to turn into your dad, huh? Believe it or not, I am part of the NBA family and we’re all working for sale of the same product. Otherwise, how could Steve Novak get away with wearing the enemy’s jersey? Ha! Gotcha Steve!) Just a safe move if I were doing it.

2. You simply have no control over the outcome. So…

What do you do? You don’t give a (large mouse’s derriere). Until… Exactly. You’re there and tons of money is coming in! See? Yeaaaaah! Now you feel me. So it is easy to see why the only thing that concerns the guys in the big time is the “game.” The “game” being basketball and the “game.” You get it. So as I remain here transformed from a bruising undersized 4 to a lankier, quicker 3 man averaging 26 and shooting 56 percent from three-point range in the D-League (I know, I’m trippin’ too! And they said I couldn’t shoot with my eyes closed. That’ll show ‘em. Now the eyes open thing I gotta work on. Just playin’. I can shoot the pee pee out of it.) I maintain a leg up on everyone else who cares too much because all I care about is satisfying myself to play the perfect game just in case that call does come. But unfortunately you always get someone who just has to grab a lasso, hog tie your goat and serve it to you gutted and roasted.

We beat Tulsa in a good game where I was consistently in my new guard-like frame, tossed around for numerous offensive rebounds I gave up. Now, all but one was a foul in my eyes (on one, the guy just outworked me and got it). But I was determined to find a way in the constraints of the game’s fundamentals to get the rebound or just keep him off the boards. I don’t like, sorry, I hate the idea of having to foul to achieve something in basketball. There is always a way to do it without fouling. And it usually works better. Here’s the problem. I’ve noticed in NBA summer leagues it is very easy to get a foul call. All I have to do is get position first. At that point NBA refs are damn good at not allowing a guy to physically dislodge you when your fundamentals are good. I mean, of course they miss a few – otherwise you’d never see Jerry Sloan respectfully and objectively questioning any calls. (I’m sorry. I love Jerry Sloan so…deal with it.) But for the most part the NBA refs in summer league are pretty consistent and pretty cool.

Eli, I call him E. He’s such a pro, talks to you and has no ego. Derrick (I should really know their last names; sorry guys) cool as a fan. Then of course guys like Jess Kersey and Jack Nece are great. I have the privilege of having them ref a couple of my games every summer in P.R. Oh and Zach Zarba! That dude is the best ref I’ve every been around. I just like his name. ZZZZZach ZZZZarba.

Floating back… The thing is in the D-League, the D is for developmental. Meaning everyone is developing. Players and refs alike. So here, there are rare… Aw, screw it… You get tossed around and it is not a given you will get a foul. The guy I was guarding crashed the boards, engaged with me and, floop, tossed me. Again floop! Goodbye! Again. You get the point. By the end of the game I was so tired of getting “flooped” I told myself, “I ain’t movin’ this time.” He came in, engaged, fl—. Uh Uh. that’s enough o’ dat. Nothing malicious. I just didn’t move. (We’ve already gone over that. If I doos it I says it.) Totally legal play. But he didn’t take kindly to me not accepting my flooping. Sorry. Next time I’ll just flop when you floop.

Then we lost to Austin because Darius Washington came into the gym armed with gasoline and match in hand. Flame freakin’ on! I don’t think he missed. (Then he proceeded to play the next game against the Lakers after getting recalled to San Antonio and not shoot one three.) Thanks for the torching, D. We thoroughly enjoyed it. Maybe we can do it again sometime. He and Keith Langford played great and with 11 seconds left and Austin up by 8 I met a goat herder that felt it necessary to block me out as if were wearing a #32 Miami jersey. “Dude, chill. The game is over.” Ladies and gentlemen, his response: “You just mad cuz ya’ll lost.” Thank you and good night. Can anyone else see the difficulty in keeping my goats in the pasture? It’s easy to say it shouldn’t bother you. Truth is, those things bother everyone. But when you’re one of the more noticed players, your irritations are magnified when the fact remains guys in the NBA just have much more respect for one another than that, which is seen on a stage where everyone believes they belong in the NBA.

I know you ask, don’t I believe I belong there? I believe I belong… where I am. That is the D-League as, I believe, a person is where he/she is directly due to the decisions he/she makes. There are no accidents. So despite my agent, Larry Fox (good guy, and he actually returns my calls; wish I had someone working that hard for me out of school) hounding me to stop making the D-League sound like a jail sentence, I totally and completely think the D-League is incredibly useful. I guess it may sound mundane at times when I write, out of guilt. It’s hard looking at 23-year-old guys that desperately wanting to play in the NBA and a guy who is, well, really good hoggin’ all the minutes that I would’ve wanted when I was 23 years old and trying to show my skills to NBA personnel. So if you think the D-League is anything but the perfect stage at which guys, who by all constraints are already pros, can hone the details of basketball until he reaches the NBA, you’d be wrong. Quite often if you watch the guys who play in the D-League and go on to the NBA or overseas careers make very few dumb mistakes. They come here and just become solid, solid pros.

ANGER MANAGEMENT

OK, I have never taken an anger management class. I’ve always thought that story was funny. If you can buy it (I hate saying it because it’s cliche but here goes) off the court I am very very passive. I have always been looked at as an enigma even to myself. But the thing is how complicated is anyone really? I’ve noticed public perception is just that. I mean me, for example: Gabe is crazy. No. Thug. Funny. Smart-ass. Ding ding ding. But that’s a far as it goes. I’m actually a nice guy and guess what? Almost every NBA team knows it. The only people that think I’m crazy are fans. Which I think is kinda cool. Kind of a hook for me, I guess. But very wrong. The good part about it is I can say that and not lose the perception of being tough as a coffin nail. Tough, yep. Years of getting my butt kicked will do that. Crazy? Too cliche. Too dismissive. What is crazy? I’ve never touched a drug, I don’t drink, I don’t break the law, I choose not to don tattoos or piercings and I simply never start altercations. I just didn’t demonstrate the rare talent of backing down. (Before I forget. Eduardo Najera and I never got into a physical altercation. He never cheap shot me. I never cheap shot him. Perception. We were and are actually friends. Yes, I just read the responses.)

I mean if I was crazy, wouldn’t I have one, just one incident involving police by now? If you ask me, there are many other traits often seen and accepted that could be much more readily considered crazy than the traits I exhibit. But then again, I am not the judge. The first person that ever made me think about what I really am was Rick Barnes. He literally made a tape to show me how I wasn’t that physical guy everyone said I was. He told me in actuality I was passive, shy and didn’t like confrontation. Then he proceeded to show me how I avoided contact at all cost. And he was right. I did. He figured me out and I had to learn to be myself.

Never been crazy, I’m just not scared of anything yet lazy by nature. So when I am forced outside my comfort zone, I’d better succeed or it just pisses me off. Again. Don’t believe the hype. I’m just a perfectionist that is not close to perfect. So my conundrum is knowing and accepting (that’s the hard part) what I’m good at. Thanks, Dennis.

Quick…

Dennis is Dennis Lindsey. I swear he’s a robot. He’s like the Michael Jordan of NBA front office people. He was with the Rockets forever, it seemed like, and now he’s with the Spurs. I’ve always wanted to ask him this… Do you ever make a mistake? I mean the guy carries himself like a jedi warrior. Obi Wan! That’s it! Dennis is the Obi Wan of NBA front office personnel. He’s just so smart. Very polite. Very professional, knows the intricacies of basketball to a finely beveled point and he can beat you one-on-one with just a hook shot. I asked him once when I first got out of college what I could do to get better. It was incredible his response and I suggest this to every young ball player trying to get better. He told me to have my coaches at Texas make a video of all the bad plays I made (thanks, Russ Springman). Just the bad! He guessed most of my bad plays started with overpenetration. And on the offensive end, it didn’t cause most of the bad plays… It caused all of them. I couldn’t believe this guy just changed my game (even today) with two sentences. He’s an amazing guy I’m elated to be friends with and praise him all you want, he’s too modest to accept it. See what I mean? The NBA is full of guys like that. They should be cocky and are simply not. Refreshing, right?

Back… (Quasi-savant, remember?)

Here’s a better one for you. I remember while at Texas, Chris Mihm had the rep of being soft. Why? Because he was a 7ft 265lb guy who was actually athletic enough to not bang around all the time? No, because he was a 7ft 265lb guy who was athletic and well off. Because in actuality, he was tough as hell. Chris was just cavalier. He laughed all the time and enjoyed life. But believe me, he would fight your ass if it came to down to it. (As I learned. No, we didn’t fight. We’re good friends. But he was ready and willing to get in my face when I got in his).

I remember a game my senior year at Kansas State. The crowd was complaining, the coach was complaining, everybody in Kansas State purple was whining how they weren’t getting a fair shake. They complained so much on one play where a KSU forward drove and Chris blocked it. Chris went absolutely nuts! As the ball went out of bounds, the crowd booed even louder. Chris bit his lip and said, “Fuck this!” And proceeded to beat every shot that came in the paint followed by a “gimmie that bullshit!” Man I’m crackin’ up! He was so mad I was asking him to chill. And that we needed him in the game. We didn’t want him in foul trouble…”Fuck that! Let ‘em foul me out! Bunch a (felines).” That was so gangster.

But the same guy that wouldn’t back down to anyone walked with me down 6th St. in Austin one night and a drunk fan hit him with this one, “Hey dude! Aren’t you Gabe Muoneke?” “Yep,” I said. “Hey man, I love you, dude!” Then to Chris: “Hey dude! Aren’t you Chris Mihm?” “Yep” “You fucking suck!”

And Chris cracked up! I mean he thought it was so funny, I started laughing. That crap woulda pissed me off. And it did as I had the same chance to laugh at myself when a drunken girl in a club on 6th St. introduced herself to “all you tall guys” that was most of the hoops team. She went on talking to my teammate, Drew Bundini Brown IV, about how she knew Chris Mihm and Gabe and the whole team. We were all standing right there listening to her and no, none of us knew her. She looked Ivan Wagner in the face and said Ivan Wagner was much taller than him whom she was addressing. So Drew’s joke was to act as if it was so cool she knew Gabe “Minnecki” (my name has been pronounced wrong all my life.). He continued with his playing of the situation and said, “Wow, you know all those guys? Coooooouhl! But that Gabe character, isn’t he an asshole?” …”He is!” She said she knew me so well and we hung out all the time. Nope. Never met her. So as she thanked us for the convo and went around to get names before she left, Drew, Ivan, Chris, Mo, (yep her anxiety built up) “Gabe, nice to meet you.” She was so freaked out she pushed me away and ran off while the guys went on to floor in laughter. I wasn’t laughing. Remembering how Mihm (I say Mihm as our UT group has two Chris’. One CO the other just Mihm) never took things too seriously reminds me too let things go easier… Even today. But that is who Chris is. He simply loves life and I wish I was always as cavalier as he was and still is.

However…

My quick confession that might have helped in the soft perception:

When I was interviewed pre-draft by the Bulls. I was asked if Chris was soft. I said no, but I guess I didn’t answer quick enough because I didn’t know how to describe him. So they asked me in a different way….”If you were in a foxhole, would you want Chris Mihm or Chris Owens?” (Sorry, Mihiemie). I said Chris Owens. But wait! It was nothing against Mihm! Have you seen Chris Owens!? (Spartan… nose… dunk… yadda yadda.) Not a fair question man. MeeeeHiem! My man.

Unfortunately, my rep has remained and likely won’t change. Everywhere I’ve gone, every camp I’ve attended, I’ve heard it. Yet the teams invite me back because they see who I am. To this day, one of my greatest compliments was when Kevin O’Connor of the Utah Jazz sought me out after the last summer league game. I mean he cut a path through all the players, shook my hand, looked me in the eye and complimented me on my professionalism and told me he wanted to personally invite me to veterans camp and showed me the guy to contact about what number I wanted even though I barely played. Kevin O’Connor! (Sorry, that was so incredible, I got nervous. I thought I did something wrong when he approached me). I mean that, to me, could cap off the career of a guy always perceived as a nutcase. And for me I still feel great about it. But as I was fighting huge knee issues, I declined the invite, because I just wouldn’t have made it.

I would have liked to be more entertaining. And I promise next time I will be. Cuz I’m telling you my experiences in camp with JVG and the Rockets were great and Detroit as well. And when I was released it sucked but it was still entertaining. Anyway, as I knock this stint out in the D-League I’m trying to transcend the constraints of the past. Be bigger than what perception projects and somewhat forces me to be. I don’t have to be that. The mind is a machine that gathers and learns from experiences. So these experiences, new and old, are essential for my mental tune-up. In turn, I ask you bare with me and exhibit patience while I digress in between these “Charlie Murphy True BalleyWood Stories”. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go bang my head against the wall.

Shalom.

Howdy folks! I love reading the comments people leave now. I didn’t want to initially, but now I’m addicted. So rest assured, if you comment on HoopsHype… I dey see am ooooo. So shall I begin with a great big “Merci beaucoup” for the compliments. And as far as me punching an old opponent 10 years ago. Well, let’s just say one would have to be more specific. I punched a lot of guys. Wait for it… Bud dum bump. But seriously, I was what I was, 10 years ago when I was 19 (again, wait for it) and today I am who I am. So my apologies, not for being a punk, or a thug, or angry. I was just a jerk. That’s it in its simplicity. Luckily for me, my kids and my wife are now with me to wring the jerkness out of me. That and the experiences that continue to project themselves on who I have become and will be.

OK… Just to reassess. Point of the blog. Seriously, man! How whack would it be if it were just about some guy who didn’t quite “make it” in his basketball dream? That’s got to be the miniscule precursor to a much bigger picture, right? I mean I am writing this on HoopsHype, so basketball is kinda required. And trust me, I get as bored writing about the D-League as you guys probably do reading about it. So at the end of this I promise to give in to the request about Ime Udoka and his Gladiator moment in Algeria. (Hey! Don’t scroll down yet) But I must repeat, and I promise I won’t mention it again, this blog is about a journey, a life journey that I have had the privilege of experiencing because of one sport – hoops. The key word is life, which includes other people. And as long as this life includes other people my half-autistic ass will never allow this blog to be boring. Material is always readily available.

Quick quib…

Why do I call myself half-autistic? (I actually prefer quasi-servant’s but most will understand autistic better). I heard a doctor describing servant’s on Discovery Channel while in China. That was the only station I had in English. The doctor said the only difference between an everyday person and a servant’s is the majority look out the window and the mind has learned over years of one’s life to immediateley discern what is important and what is useless to one’s cognoscence. In other words, the majority look out and see that car, maybe those birds and that badass yella chick. Oops. Anyway a servant’s sees everything! Every blade of grass, every bird, every car, every tree and every badass yella chick. But anyway all that info confuses a servant’s and they find it difficult not to be distracted and interact with others. Too much info taken in and retained. That’s why for me every little thing is a discussion. A story. An interesting piece of info. My wife swears on it with a straight face. I probably should be a bit offended.

These experiences, like the D-League, are essential for someone like me. I don’t want to be typical. And rest assured if I had played in the NBA out of college, my jerkdom would have reached new heights and I would have been exactly that, typical. Chris Mihm, Mo Evans, Chris Owens, James Thomas. Just reeling off names I almost got into a fight with while at Texas. Yes, it is embarrassing. I was so damn lucky at Texas. Any other school would have kicked me out. As luck would have it (God yes, but I feel God grants His “luck”) I had coaches like Tom Penders or Rick Barnes. And no offense to those two, but I attribute the greatest blessing while at UT to Deloss Dodds. You’ll never hear his name and he’ll never look for the spotlight. But he cares more about the kids at the university and their future than he does about his own job. Great man. So beacuse of those people I have seen incredible things and people. My career could have easily ended my freshman year at Texas as it did for many guys. But it didn’t. Those people and those experiences have prepared me for anything. Even the D-League at this age.

We have started off 5-1 and CJ Watson is still playing like an NBA PG. It is a trip how no matter how many times he blows by the other PGs, they keep pressuring him. Here’s some advice: back up, nimrods. Yeah, he can shoot too but, geez, they can’t stay in front of him either. Better just hope he misses. (BTW, last game against Tulsa my genius idea wouldn’t have worked well. Check the stats).

Is this the same D-League I was in in ‘02 and ‘03? Man, we fly everywhere and the guys here haven’t paid for a meal yet. The city is nice and they wash your practice gear for you! Believe me, that was not a given back in the day. The D-League has come a long way. There is a CBA team in the same city as ours and they have been using every chance to demonstrate how much better they are than the D-League team in town (us). But honestly speaking… And seriously, no bias, cause I really don’t care… But the D-League has taken it to a new level. I mean, sorry guys. It’s not even close as far as having a pro atmoshphere and our dad would kick yall’s dads butts too.

I’m playing alright, I suppose. But not as well I was taught. Rick Barnes took me and showed me things that made it easy for me to score anyway anyhow. He’s made me a lot of money. So for me not to be doing better right now frustrates me. I mean if I’m gonna be here I might as well play like one of the oldest guys in this league. It’s gotta be, “Oh Gabe is killing? Well, geez, he should be.” And that should be all when it comes to hoops. Because let’s be honest, I have nada to gain and mucho to lose. If I play well… I’m supposed to. If I play poorly… Overseas teams? I’m dead.

Because, keeping it honest, do you really think guys like me aren’t thinking about those overseas teams that can pay the D-League buyout and pay you 250K+ on top? Shhiiiiii. I like money too. And it may seem superficial to be playing with that on my mind, but it’s true. I didn’t come here for that but… Oh, wait. I don’t ever think I talked about why I’m even here. I mean really talked about it.

Short version…

Nigerian National Team. After my recovery from a torn quad-tendon. I played well and even better against Dirk Nowitzki when we lost to Germany by 1 to advance to the Final 8 in the World Championship. Yes, Nigeria. People in my ear, try NBA one more time. “NO.” Try Gabe, try Gabe, try Gabe! No No No… Fine! Took me to the losing weight thing. At a burly muscular 271lbs… I tried everything. Fad diets, running, no weights. After months I was 258lbs and I was running on the track in Houston freaking Texas! Twice a day! Let me tell all those athletes that have heard about the no/low carb diet… Trash it. Doesn’t work and it’s unhealthy.

Anyway, I did some research and I figured out how to lose weight and be a beast on the court and in everything I do. Diet. I have gone from the Micky D’s diet to a raw organic diet. And it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. So I was in this incredible shape, cut from Charlotte and the offers I had overseas obviously were taken by other guys. So I figured what a waste it would be to be at this level athletically and just not play. So here I am. Da D League. Ha! What if I did get a call up? I’d swear it was a joke and probably hang up on the person calling. How appropriate, right? Ha! I am, however, glad I’m here. Because I get to appreciate things that I probably would take for granted. And I get to expand my mind by challenging what everyone else says a person my age should be doing. When I’m in practice and I am outrunning 23-years-old guys and seeing guys ice their knees afterwards and I’m not even sore, it just teaches me what I’m feeling… is.

It simply is. My mind and its strength are far more important than the stregnth of my body. Despite what NBA people are accustomed to saying, I would much rather have a guy willing to learn to do something than a guy who “should” be able to do something. The guy willing to learn will always, always achieve it. If you don’t believe it, please just watch one of Idan Ravin’s workouts. You know, the guy working out Carmelo Anthony in the Jordan commercial. If he’s training anything, it’s your mind. Your mind takes you anywhere. Can I defend like Bruce Bowen? No, but I can learn to. Can I shoot like Derek Fisher? No, but I can learn to. Can I run like Luol Deng? Nope, but I can learn to. Can I score like Kobe Bryant? No, chill out! Are you nuts? Hell no. Let’s not get dumb. But you get the pic. The more I achieve things phyically due to mental discipline, the more I see the mind really is the most important tool in basketball.

I remember at Jordan camp when I asked MJ how he did it. He just said discipline to do it over and over again. He told me things I listened to and things I didn’t listen to. One of the things I ignored was “take care of your body.” Anyone remember how old Jordan was when he won his sixth ring? 35. And he was still going. It’s no secret. It just takes discipline to do the right things over and over again.

I love hearing Gregg Popovich and George Karl coach. They both say something you don’t hear many coaches, NBA or overseas, say. “You don’t need to do it fast. Just do it perfect.” And they win. Give either one of those guys players that listen… They will find a way to win.

The mind is what I am learning to hone here in the D-League. So if you see me playing better, my mind is getting stronger. Human beings can, I really believe, use their minds to manifest something tangible. I read a biography on Albert Einstein where he was asked if he believed in God. His response was crazy! He said the universe is so perfect in its harmony of creation the laws of physics demand there be a creator. And he said in his studies he has seen such things in the physical (that which is seen) that indicate the existence of the meta-physical (that which is unseen). So am I saying we are walking around with ghosts? I’m saying just ask… What if? Because if I can use my mind to manifest something I achieve physically, I’d hate to miss out on it. Thank you, D-League. You have made me an alchemist/weirdo.

THE IME UDOKA STORY

It’s a trip when you get to know people. Ime was so quiet and I figured he was just some guy who could play with a Nigerian father. Well, folks in S.A., don’t be fooled. That dude in an Afr-I-CAN! I mean damn! The only thing non-African about him is his accent. We went to Nigeria, man… When they brought out the food I figured uh oh… He aint eatin’ th… What the?! Ime was tearing that Fu-fu (thank Jay-Z for everyone knowing what that is now) to shreads. I asked him about his adornment of the vittles. He said that’s all he ate growing up. Imagine my surprise when I saw he must have grown up doing the African ju-jitsu too.

When the National Team went to Algeria for the African Championships in Algiers, every team was on edge because the Top 3 squads got the invite to the World Championships. So after we lost to Angola in the semis and had to play Algeria for the third spot, they knew, we knew, everyone knew they had no shot. First quarter… Tactics. African ball, man. Trust me: as corrupt as can be. Despite all the cheating from the three-man (North African) refereeing crew they just couldn’t beat us. So the coach sent in their best player, who was injured but came in with a purpose. I think his name was Ali Bidane or something. We had the ball out of bounce under. He guarded me. As the ref handed us the ball, he turned, looked at me as if there was not a game going on. And pop! Not an elbow, not even a signature yours truly gutter. He decked me right in the jaw. I couldn’t believe it. And come on. I freely admit when I throw cheap shots. I wouldn’t hide it if I started to. I mean, I’m in the middle of basically middle eastern country playing the local team. I know better (read on to see my contradiction). He nailed me, we turned it over, and yes, my Rodman 101 class did well. I looked up court, saw both refs back and calmly asked him in by most polite French, “Pardon me sir, I object to you striking me.” Next thing you know… Both teams on the court going at it. Wow.

Imagine my surprise! (My cheeks hurt). That wasn’t the real brawl. After we won was the real issue. After the game, they were waiting for us to come out of the locker room. And seriously, I didn’t start it. Kingsley Ogwudire was in front of our team in an all-out tirade in his best Arabic. The next thing you know, there were three Algerian players on him. Everyone was engaged in combat save me, if you can believe it. And lo and ehold… Ime! He was taking people out like in Mortal Kombat. Finish him! Incredible. I was so out of it as I had five guys I was fighting (oh yeah, the crowd jumped in as the fight spilled over to the court of the championship game of Senegal and Angola).

In the middle of the whole thing I heard Ime, literally in mid-swing of another opponent say,”Watch back, Gabe” and he calmly, I mean calmly, smeared a guy who, as I turned to see his warning, jumped from the stands with a chair to probably kill me or knock me out to where the crowd would have. I mean, Ime caught the guy in mid air with a fist and calmly continued his dispacthing of oncoming people. He and other guys (yes, me too) were whoopin’ so many people the crowd backed up. True to the letter! But Ime had the most notches by far. As we retreated to the locker room to kind chants of, “You cudly blackies! We highly doubt your ability to leave this gym with lives intact” in French, (it might have been a bad translation) all I could do was marvel at Ime. This guy, I thought, was a quiet American guy was standing there – all his stuff gone (gym bag, wallet, shoes, jersey) – with a stick in his hand we tore off the walls of the locker room in the middle of North Africa quite literally with our lives on the line… laughing. All the while I was texting my wife that I loved her and might have a hard time seeing her again while she was watching the whole incident on BBC News. And Ime… laughing. He is and always will be my 9ja broda. Ime… Wetin happen bros? Abi na notin. Notin dey happen. To this day I don’t know how we got out of there. But that night we ate like kings at the Nigerian Embassy. And Ime was with us… Killing his Fu-fu.

Tell me how I could have seen a thing like that if I had made the NBA out of college! You just can’t make this stuff up.

Shalom.