No ego. Just facts. When I started basketball professionally, it was doomed from the start. I had a very arrogant manner about playing overseas when I initially left for Italy, then Turkey. Even then I looked at overseas basketball with utter contempt because I felt I was too good to be anywhere but the NBA. I made a decision back then to ignore the basketball (as much as possible) and enjoy the ride. The ride included the cultures, experience and the money. However, the whole time, in my arrogant self-thoughts, I used to wonder, “How do some of these guys come all the way over here to play for so little?”
For me, the consistent understanding was this: If I was ever offered below my baseline, I would retire. No matter what age. I knew how much engineers made in my field and even more so, I knew how much engineers in my field could make. I just liked basketball. I’ve always hated the game, but thoroughly enjoyed the sport.
Now, in these times, teams are offering nada. Want an example? When the season started, there were two guys competing for a position on a team overseas – a 27-year-old former NBA lottery pick and yours truly. They offered me XXX (I would say numbers, but apparently that’s a faux pas) and they offered the other guy considerably lower. I told them, “Send the contract before they sent it.” The team then told me the other guy – get this – offered them half of what they offered me and they said they had to take it. Sorry, but that was so funny I literally was in shock. The market is that bad that players are now offering teams? That was strike one.
Strike two was the whole Donaghy fiasco. If you read the last blog, I’m certain you saw how that scared me. The idea of a referee cheating is one thing. It’s a whole different thing when he admits it and claims that it’s normal.
Strike three was going to a team in Turkey recently and them just doing exactly what I expected… Wanting Michael Jordan play for Michael Gatewood money (forget it, you don’t know him). I don’t blame anyone but myself. I knew better than to even entertain it. However, my basketball ego trumped my logic for a moment.
Once I left Texas, my basketball career was already predetermined. I had little control over what happened to start my pro career off and it was certain to end the way it started… Sputtering.
Strangely enough, I have no feelings. Neither excitement, sadness, anger or content. Just indifference. Is that bizarre? Maybe apathy is a better word. I think that actually means the same thing as indifference. Let me look it up… Uh sort of. But I like it better. So let’s go with apathetic. Is that a word? Hold on a sec…Yep. OK, so I’m apathetic. Moving on…
I think the third strike was a combination of multiple things. The offers coming in were a factor. Fatigue from dealing with things I believe are for a young player to go through. Some of the NBA owners’ comments during the All-Star break about the negotiations of the new CBA. For me, that was so huge. For the guys running the league to have as much contempt for the players that one owner could even jokingly say, “LeBron can go play football and D-Wade can go act or model” shows what they really think of the bodies that make them insanely rich-er. Don’t forget the “er.”
I was at home thinking, “Man. If they talk that way about LeBron in an avenue LeBron is certain to find out; 1. You know what they say behind close doors and 2. How do you think owners, any owners, think about other players?”
Other guys make enough to ignore it, but for guys like me… They simply don’t pay me enough to tolerate it. There are absolutely working medias where an opinion is not needed or simply necessarily suppressed. For example, a bee hive or pasture but basketball is not one of those medias. That opinion is quite contested by the ones who pay the checks, so continuing to grow and play basketball leaves me in quite a conundrum where a decision must be made. Stay and shut up and pick up the pieces or just go.
I choose go.
I can keep my opinions to myself in a business atmosphere because, quite often, there is no place for them. But an essential part of basketball is the camaraderie. In that setting, opinions are required. Otherwise, how can you build a camaraderie of the athletic type without knowing who you are comrades with?
Here’s an opinion that I’m sure I’ll be attacked for. But I can do that now, can’t I? Paul Shirley didn’t say anything that 50 percent of the world wasn’t thinking. And if he wasn’t of the Caucasian influence, no one would have said a word. Paul is so unracist it’s not even funny. Even though I may disagree with his assessment of the Haitian state, I agree with his assessment of the insult it directs at the people the way that is being handled. It’s a travesty of epic degrees and I don’t mean only the earthquake. It easier to hang Paul Shirley because it’s PC. Forget the fact it makes no sense, gotta make all the ill-informed masses happy. I got a million more opinions where those come from. Feel free to email for any attacks or just call 281 797 5088 or +2347067578981. Have at it.
My traveling won’t stop. I still have to do a ton of it. I’ve never hated to travel, just hated to be away from family for extended periods of time. So for that, I am very excited. I am also very excited to be where I am comfortable and happy. Lastly, I am excited to have more control over what happens to my future. So on that side, everything turned out how I expected. On the basketball side, I was lucky to get as far as I did. It could have been much worse. I didn’t really stop on my terms… But does it really matter? Not to me.
Want to read something funny, though? The day I decided to retire and move into my field, I got a great offer. Serious. Of course, I said no with a nice little insult for them for calling in February. It’s been my canvas to live on. Wish I had more paint, though.
I leave you with an Ancient West African story:
A long time ago, before the cold existed there was a lowly ant. His name was Ogbunigwe. Now Ogbunigwe was an interesting chap. He was not blessed with the immense physical strength of his millions of other brethren nor the endurance needed to transport food. This was obviously to the disgust of the queen. However, Ogbunigwe had a very interesting talent. He had complete understanding and almost a premonition of the weather. He knew when it would rain. He knew when there would be drought. And he knew when it would be hot. He knew how much daylight they would have to work and when the sun would come up with precise accuracy.
One day, he had a strange and foreign feeling. A feeling that he had never felt before. When the queen approached him about the weather conditions, he didn’t know how to respond. Instead of guessing, he pleaded with the queen to allow him to go out and see. When he went out, he felt cold. He didn’t know what to think because he’d never felt it, but he knew if he stayed out any longer it would have killed him. He ran back in screaming and he knew this was his chance to make his brethren and queen respect him. He would warn them of the new weather and save their lives. When he broke the news, instead of gratitude, every ant in the colony expressed immense doubt and anger because they couldn’t gather food for the colony. Some even suggested Ogbunigwe was making it up in spite of the rest of the ants, who so despised his weak stature. The ant starved their first winter and few made it until the next spring.
The next spring, the ants immerged ravenous and swore they would never get caught like that again. So they stored and stored and stored waiting for Ogbunigwe to warn them of the upcoming winter. This winter, Ogbunigwe had a plan that would make him finally be accepted. This winter if he warned the colony, they would certainly love him. Well, he decided he would never find out. Hours before the upcoming winter, he told the colony they were safe for the three-day trek to the dead antelope that would feed the colony for the entire winter. Ogbunigwe figured they didn’t like him and never would. So, yes, he would finally be accepted because they’d all be dead.
The colony went out. Winter came and killed them all. It was just the queen and Ogbunigwe. They had nothing better to do, so they started a new colony. Ogbunigwe was already weak of stature and had no chance of serviving the winter with no food that the colony would have brought back. Eventually he too died. By the end of winter, the queen had a whole new colony. Because Ogbunigwe was their father, they all had his weather premonition and the queen’s strength. Due to that fact, the colony was now fully equipped to survive as long as they could find food. Individually and as a group. So in the end, they did have to work in conjunction to evolve. They all just had to die to do it. And the only one that survived the whole ordeal… The queen. And the good little ants that make up the colony now? They’ll never know the wiser.
I have no idea the moral of that story. I just thought it would be a cool story to tell before I say bye, bye.
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.
You know this is the only time of the year I really regret not being in the NBA. If for no other reason because of the immense difference of the playoffs and what I am doing at the time. See, because during the year (you know, September through April) I don’t see a difference between what I’m doing and what guys in the States are doing. Making good money and having fun. But see, now… Now is the time I bite my lip and the basketball fan in me comes back out. Now basketball is being played. Real, raw, unadulterated basketball. And even if I accepted the scraps I was offered to stay at Tau and play in the Final Four of Europe, there is little doubt I wouldn’t be as “straightjacketed” there as I am now.
Every time I see a playoff game, it resurrects that feeling I swear I never get any other time. I sit here with my beautiful family trying to squeeze time between keeping my boy from maiming the rest of the kids at my daughter’s birthday party and putting together the trampoline we got her, to sneak a peek at the Boston-Atlanta series. And all I can do is bite my lip when I see a juvenile turnover at a crucial time by a guy who would be cut in a heartbeat from any team I’ve played for overseas. And I blurt out things like, “Geezus Christmas… What the hell are you doing?” in the middle of cutting a cake and singing. And I get the “look” from all the 9-5ers enjoying the non-athletic festivities.
But what can I say? Have you seen some of the basketball juggernauts playing right now? I mean with guys like Devean George, the abominable combination of James Augustine and Marcin Gortat, the dominant Rasho Nesterovic, Joey Graham, DJ Mbenga (kosilika te mon cher c’est un blague) and of course the utterly brilliant Reggie Evans (although I must say you are playing well, you’re still a rhino, or was it a triceratops?), how could I possibly make a case of being good enough to hang? I mean these guys are, dare I say, Jordan-esque.
But as it stands, I do still get that itch to get on a court and dismantle the athletically superb but basketball dumb with a culmination of the things I’ve learned playing everywhere except Afghanistan (but let them offer enough shiiiiii). So I get up now and take offers to play, just so I can do exactly that. And it’s not the money, although I do make more for a two-week tourney in Kuwait than I would in a month for a top Euro team. Money hasn’t been my driving force since 2003. My friend and I just started a business in Central Africa and it’s moving like a freight train. Everyone says, “Yeah you make money in Africa but is it stable?” Read this very carefully… The people saying, “Don’t fish in the pond” are the ones harvesting the fish. In short, I’m happy with what I make and more than comfortable but I just gotta play when the playoffs come around.
Man! I take an offer to some asininely non-basketball part of the world to get rid of that itch, then the level of play there is so plainly not what I see on ESPN, my presence there simply exacerbates the frustration of not playing on an NBA playoff team. It’s a vicious cycle. So why do I do it? Well, I like putting on a show… For myself. Wherever I am. But (and this is a big but) will I do it for pennies on the dollar of what I’m worth (easily half of an Asian team) in a country that looks at me as less than a man just because the country or league “looks” big-time? And for a non-championship team? Basically give you million dollar basketball for cheap? Survey says… Yes? “I’m sorry the correct answer was ‘hell to the naw… That’s hell to the naw’. Thanks for playing we do have some parting gifts for you.”
Quick…
This is not really a quick, just something I thought about while watching the Toronto-Orlando series. (Dwight, please stop it. You’re scaring the children). You know how on TV you always heard how competitive Michael Jordan is? I used to see that on TV and thought it was just a media facade. Until I met him and got to hang out with him. His level of competitiveness is scratching the surface of being uncanny (seriously, look that word up as to really comprehend what I mean). I mean, it like made me slightly uncomfortable if not scared. Then I remembered watching the game, Mo Evans is exactly the same. I had to jab him when I saw how mad he got when he missed a corner three wide open. He went 4-for-6 from beyond the arc for the night, but knowing him the two he missed will keep him up til 3 am playing dominoes until he beats poor Papa Evans bad enough to satisfy that frustration of missing them two 3’s. So I guess that’s the quick… Mo is the best domino player in the NBA. I don’t really know if that’s true, but he’s damn good. I think we won a NBAer tourney once… Anyway…
Back…
To put in plain words without telling you exactly what an individual makes… My contract this year in Spain paid me more than I would have made playing for Charlotte this year. No exaggeration. Fact. There were three guys that went through my spot and guess who was the lowest paid (by far)? Yep, mois. Now I defy you to go to the stats for yourself and see who played the best. Mind you, sans the “tag” (that’s hoops lingo for guys with the played-in-NBA for substantial time tag). I was given little to no respect, even less chance and fought my way to getting 20 minutes a game in a style unbecoming of my skills. On the contrary, the other two guys were simply given that time. To make matters worse, I am older and much more experienced than the other two guys (and there are plenty that would make the argument, simply better. I said it and my cologne is Versace. You know the routine).
I did all this and I swear to all that is Hoopery, I took a substantial pay cut from what I make in Asia. Simply because the season in Europe is longer so more stable. It’s obviously more desirable to make 500K-a million over 10 months than to make 300K-500K over 4 months. Give or take. I’m not stupid. 500K over 4 in Asia or 500K over 10 months in Europe is a no-brainer but it’s not always that plain. I took that pay cut to prove myself in Europe because they hadn’t seen me in five years. So I proved myself. Gabe can play. Duh. Like they didn’t know that.
So why hadn’t they seen me in five years? I had never gotten all my money playing in Europe. Let me repeat; Nunca cogio todo plata mia jugando en Europa CON-YO! Shall I repeat? Jamias na monaki mbongo ya ngai mobimba tangu nazalaki kobeta basquet na Europe. (I can do this all day). Conversely, my fine feathered friends, I am not owed one cent, not one kobo, ni un puto centavo, from any team in Asia (not even in Iran).
Sure, culture and belief systems are different wherever I go. But blatant lying as an attempt to keep $200 bucks here, $800 there, $50 over yonder is a trait that one would experience, not in Asia. Oops… Am I insinuating something? Naw, if you’re a moron. So what now? Yep, I go play. Puerto Rico (another place I’m not owed a penny), China (which I love), Kuwait, anywhere but I just can’t keep watching these playoff games, not be a part of them and satisfy my basketball yearning dunking on my Brazilian Ju-jitsu teacher at 24-hour fitness. For some reason it’s just not the same. Don’t ask me why. So I’m off somewhere that I probably wont have Internet in turn, incommunicado. Then I’ll come back home for two months, sign a deal somewhere in June and this basketball ride will start again. Only this time it will be a lot more detailed and (ha ha) fun! Cuz I’ll have nada to lose and I’ll still be rich… Bit… You get the point. Nwa agu adi ataa ahihia. And I am the son of a lion.
No ego. Just facts. When I started basketball professionally, it was doomed from the start. I had a very arrogant manner about playing overseas when I initially left for Italy, then Turkey. Even then I looked at overseas basketball with utter contempt because I felt I was too good to be anywhere but the NBA. I made a decision back then to ignore the basketball (as much as possible) and enjoy the ride. The ride included the cultures, experience and the money. However, the whole time, in my arrogant self-thoughts, I used to wonder, “How do some of these guys come all the way over here to play for so little?”
You know this is the only time of the year I really regret not being in the NBA. If for no other reason because of the immense difference of the playoffs and what I am doing at the time. See, because during the year (you know, September through April) I don’t see a difference between what I’m doing and what guys in the States are doing. Making good money and having fun. But see, now… Now is the time I bite my lip and the basketball fan in me comes back out. Now basketball is being played. Real, raw, unadulterated basketball. And even if I accepted the scraps I was offered to stay at Tau and play in the Final Four of Europe, there is little doubt I wouldn’t be as “straightjacketed” there as I am now.