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 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.
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.
