Have you ever looked in the mirror and just had one of those Office Space kicking and beating up the typewriter moments in your mind? I just sit around sometimes picturing myself sizing up a basketball with a bat while “Ghetto Boys” theme music is playing. Then I get to stompin’ that biyatch. Then after the poor inanimate object is deflated, I throw the bat away and get to pounding that Spalding face into the ground until my hands are bloody. I suppose you have to watch the movie to appreciate the humor in that scene.
Trust me, stranger scenes would come to you if you were doing what I’m doing where I’m doing it. God! How often can one man really be wrong? Apparently a whole hell of a lot. So many things happen here in China, you can’t even complain. People will start to say things. I just need a reality show following me around cause, like I said, the things I go through on a daily basis, people will just never believe.
When Bonzi Wells came to China, forgive me Bonzi, the first thing that came to my head is… No way. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I meant “no way” as in, “he’ll see. No way he tolerates this.” Now, I defy you to say it’s only me and ask him what he saw. He came here for 14 games, went home for vacation and said, “Thanks but no thanks.”
He might experience the same colon conundrum as myself in that people will automatically say, “It must be him.”
Don’t get me wrong some guys do just fine. (Here we go) The guys that do fine out here feel they are lucky to play for money. Although they make far more out here than they would make anywhere else, these guys got nothing better to do and would play for food. And maybe I might be looked at as one of those guys, but I’m simply not. I remember teams and agents offering me what they believe to be so much money for a player with my name and giving me the “you idiot” face when I turn it down.
“He’ll take (this much)” they say, “he’s bluffing.” All I ever say is offer it and see if I’m bluffing. I just won’t go to play somewhere for less than I feel I’m worth. Especially an uncomfortable place. Because every time I go somewhere and start playing I get the same question, “Why have you played in Asia so long?” I’ve heard it all about what I make being too much. So the guys making three times what I make in basketball living on a European beach are three times better than me and are accurately paid? I don’t care if someone makes a million dollars a month and I care even less if he’s worth it. If he got it, he’s worth it. So don’t be upset if I get what I get. I challenge anyone to get accustomed to China Basketball and say you’re not underpaid just for getting through it. Details to come later.
Funniest thing is, I make very little more out here than what I made at Tau Ceramica! So Tau obviously felt I was good. I find myself thinking about Spain a lot and how I utterly cut my own nose off with that situation.
Just to clear it up… It was completely my fault I didn’t finish at Tau. I took bad advice rather than just signing what was offered. At the time, I didn’t see it. But now I know not accepting a good deal from a team older in basketball tradition than me is insulting. So for that, mala mia Vitoria. And now look, they’re even better after the Spanish Championship (that I missed) and Euroleague Final Four (that I also missed) than last year.
I asked a former teammate a serious question and I pose it to everyone: Who the hell can beat them? I have heard it in the past and it’s been an exaggeration most of the time but today I believe it whole-heartedly. This year’s Tau team would make the playoffs in the NBA. If not, they are at worst the best European team I’ve seen since Manu Ginobili’s Bologna team. Which brings me to what I think the most about while playing here in China… Pablo Prigioni.
I bet people are trippin’ how I’m actually talking about basketball. I know, I’m lamenting it. But I am in China and there’s not much else you’d probably get away with talking about. I’m always up to date in the policies of the countries I play in. Anyway, why Pablo? OK. I am a scorer primarily. I am a sneaky rebounder and grit defender secondarily. But one thing I can do, anywhere on any level, is score.
Quick…
BTW, I’ve read some of the snide remarks about my scoring tirade in Orlando Summer league being a farce. How is a 30-point performance lucky? 20 points I can see. But 31 points? Just for those people and no other reason, wait until Vegas ‘09. Ever seen a black moon? I’m speeding up, not slowing down.
Back…
So I’m out here in China and I literally can’t help myself from stopping because I feel embarrassed to lose every damn game and score 40 points. I hate it. I had a game I had 48 in the beginning of the fourth quarter and despite everyone cheering for me to score 50, I refused to shoot. We were down by 30 the whole game, for goodness sake.
I already hear it… “He probably shoots every time he gets it.” Well in the Top 10 guys in scoring in China (me being Number 1) who do you think shoots the most? I’ll better you… I shoot the least. Look it up. It’s a fact. I shoot a little more than 20 shots a game. The second leading scorer shoots 33 times a game. Wait for it… 33 (thirty-three) shot attempts a game. If I shot that many times, I’d average 50. Why? Because of the one stat I take the most pride in, I make more free-throws than everyone else attempts. I am simply a difficult cover. But enough about me.
This is about PP. Point guardo Perfecto. Passador al Publico. Professor Periferal. (See how much time I have on my hands to make up new Spanish words?) He comes to mind because of how hard it is for me to score here efficiently. On a lower-level team, all the other teams do here is meet me 10 feet from the three-point line and sag everyone else in. I don’t care where you play, that’s hard to score against. They aren’t kids out here and I’m never even close to to tallest player on the court. When at Tau, Pablo made it very very easy to score. I never had to worry about anyone being near me. Pablo could get anyone an open shot when and where he wanted. I didn’t understand him when I first got there but I learned quickly… Don’t call for the ball or ask him to tell you where to go, just listen to his finger. And if his finger didn’t talk, you were in the right place so just wait. Boom! Dunk. Why do you think the best shooter in Europe (Mirza Teletovic) is always open for three? Have you seen Tiago, Pete, Will and Igor’s FG%?
It’s ridiculous! It’s like they are playing alone. Pablo is 31 years old and he was the only one I stared at while working out in the weight room. I thought I was dedicated. Lil’ dude is from Argentina but looks like a Mafia hitman in the weight room. He could start on any caliber NBA team. He’s that good. NBA has surely come a calling but he may be one of those guys America never gets to see.
It gets so hard to keep getting beat up over here, I remember being wide open and getting hit in the nose with the ball. Man. I haven’t shot an open shot in… How long I been here?
Excuse this uncharacteristically short blog. It’s hard typing with one hand (injured it and I’m about a couple weeks from being back in action). However, enjoy this ever-so-rare international basketball schpiel. In all likelihood, it probably won’t happen again anytime soon. I’d much rather talk about real things that will affect my sovereign state of mind and consciousness much longer after basketball is over with. Things like the consistent whoring of Africa. Like how every non-African country, because of the selfish lack of insight of many African leaders, are being allowed to use unnatural mechanisms of fishing like bombing in African waters. Which in turn is depleting crustacean and other aquatic life to a point which is making the ecosystem unrecognizable (which affects us all). Not to mention taking all the fish we eat to foreign countries for profit.
Or how I’ve been going crazy trying to deprogam myself to accept the high possibility that a majority of what I have been taught (by supposed learned people) to believe is just a lie.
Now all I want to do is travel verywhere to see for myself what the truth is. I’m going to Nigeria this summer for more than just a FIBA African Championship. I want that too, but I want more. So I can’t have my Office Space moment on some unsuspecting Spalding court spawn, yet. But when I’m 35, you tell Spalding I’m looking for him and if he sees me run. Sure he’s taken me to find new avenues to discover more of self than just number 21, 6-foot-7 forward. And even taken me to experience basketball ecstacy in Spain and economic ecstacy in Korea. But you’ve also taken me places I won’t forgive you for. It’s for that that I’m whoopin’ your ass, that sick sense of humor. Laugh it up for now, Elmer. I’ll have the gun again.
I am sitting here in a Vitoria, Spain condo not even a tenth the size of my house… Packing. What? You thought this would last forever? My three months are up and the young man I came to replace until he recovered, is at 100 percent. It was fun and good experience. I won some games and I lost a few but all in all I must say I did my job and I am looking forward to my next basketball venture… Anybody? Nobody? Hmm. I thought that bovine feces would be a hard sell. Can you blame me for trying? I’m supposed to be PC about these basketball stories even if sometimes it’s like making a colonoscopy seem like sexual fetish from your favorite King Mag model. Breath easy. Don’t struggle or scream. It makes it easier for both parties. Still though, the people were great here. In the end, I really had no choice… Again.
Without going into explicit detail, I’m on my way home from Tau and I’m so confused I’m not even sure whose decision it was. I read in the paper that Tau offered me an “offer not to be refused”. Really? Awesome! Can I have it now? Oh. It’s made of Dark Matter you say? Let me pull out my Dark energy pen and sign on the quasar. But of course, in typical fashion, it had to be portrayed in the media as if I was released and not wanted. Cause God forbid Gabe actually says “no” to a big-time team. Well, secret’s out. I was offered something I couldn’t accept so I said “ciao.” Anyway it was fun; my three-month tryout that is. I prefer to call it a tryout if you don’t mind. My teammates are phenomenal and I got experience on a big name team. I have little complaints. Good for the memory banks. I thought about playing somewhere else but honestly right now, these three months have been so draining, I just don’t know if I want to. I need to hit up Puerto Rico. That place is just a paid vacation. Never for money. Just no stress with all hoops!
Linton Johnson was here replacing James Singleton before I was and he only played something like six games in three months and went home. Then he signed with Phoenix and now he’s with Toronto. The stories I read about his stay here weren’t positive and I was wondering how smart it was for him to approach playing here the way they said he did… Well. Can anyone else hear that Louisiana accent in that laugh? OK, OK… I can laugh too. So a little ha ha at my expense again. No prob, I can take it. Shoot I can see why it’s funny. But remember I said it, when I laugh, it’s really going to be funny.
Sorry folks. It’s not that I have nothing to talk about (as if that were possible) I’m just damn tired and figured I’d drop a line on my last day here before I left. Kinda give the full on Bashitball on the go experience. How come I can’t just win the lottery? Or be a part of a new discovery in nano-technology with Bill Gates? It would be a lot easier and less stressful. Funny thing is though… I’ll get some asinine offer to play basketball in the coming season and I’ll do it again with every expectation of it being a grind to get through. And if it ends up I’m around good guys and nice people, it would be a welcome (unlikely) but welcome surprise. So I do it until I simply don’t want to. Or until I invent a nano-tech bug that can rebuild brain cells. Me first!
My last game was another adventure shrouded in mystery. 11 minutes, 4 points, 2 rebounds. I worked my way up from no respect to playing 20 minutes 5 out of 7 games. There was one stretch I was averaging near 10 ppg. Then all of a sudden, bop! One thing everyone knows though… This globetrotter can play. And if you don’t believe me, try me (at the 3 or the 4). As for Tau, they are on their way to try and win a Euroleague and ACB championship. They have a good chance to do it and I hope they win both. Like it or not, I had something to do with it. 30 games something. Even so… Talk is cheap. I’ve always preferred the look for yourself approach. Watcha say, Bird? “Boy, I’m uh sho ya!” Damn right.
It’s easy for people not to appreciate the non-spectacular no matter how much better it is. My freshman year at Texas I was in the Midnight Madness dunk contest. My first dunk I went in between the legs and dunked the hell out of it when going between the legs was still hard. I think about two students stood up and clapped. Kris Clack noticed my confundi look and told me, “you made it look to easy,” as he patted the young freshman to sit down. It’s happened all my career. I can’t make it look like anyone else’s but I can still do the job damn well. I played for a team overseas that literally gave fits about the contract I wanted. (Excuse the fact I won’t use names or numbers; just trust me and enjoy the point). The amount I wanted wasn’t at all unreasonable and I had proven myself by dominating the league in the past. Anyway I took what was a small fortune to most but a joke to major overseas hoopers, and proceeded to put on a show in shooting and showmanship every game to the delight of the underpaying team. 28 ppg, 10 rpg, 47 3P%. That same team proceeded to pay a “big name” player over three times what they payed me to average a whopping 16 ppg and 8rebs and no playoffs. They gave the guy my salary for the year… In advance.
Now look, it doesn’t bother me he got that money and I didn’t. It costs what you pay, it’s worth what you get. What bothers me is how quickly simple luxuries are ignored. It’s those instances I’ve gone thru that makes me jump out of my seat when I see the simplest fundamental move mastered. My teammates regularly gave me strange looks when I’d see something like Igor Rakocevic walk a guy down with two slow steps, one hard jab, come off a screen full speed, catch the pass, sense the defender cheating, rip the ball through to the left, drive by him, and rather than lay it up, stop after two dribbles for an eight-feet tear drop over the big guy who came to help… And miss. “Oh! Helluva move Rako!” And I get the two-headed look. Those plays are the impressive plays not only because not many can do it, not only because not many even want to do it but because the work it takes to get that shot is more of a talent than making the shot (he makes that shot more often than not, just so you know). You can see why my favorite basketball team to watch is the Spurs. Yes, I’m serious. Then Utah. Then N.O. Then English… Premiere League Soccer. I appreciate the things others ignore and sorry if I play that way. Want detail? No… Not now. I’m packing. Flying out mañana and I just don’t have the time for any stories. But ha ha ha, I will!
I initially just thought about writing a book but after this experience… Wow… I am definitely writing a book. The intricacies of every nook and cranny of this game never cease to befuddle and just tickle my sensories of amazement. Professionalism is not a given. Rather, it is a luxury. So if you are a hooper and blessed to play for a team of professionals be far more thankful for that than the money they give you. And don’t be an asshole when they are professionals. It’s like the people who are most professional are confused with being stupid. If you are looking at someone who is being nothing but professional and is totally in control like he/she is stupid… Who’s the stupid one? I get the same thing. I’ve had to deal with many teams that did things to me because they just felt I was a dumbass because I didn’t say anything. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So I don’t have to say a word. How long do evil men feel they can treat people like dogs and not pay for it?
Quick…
That brings me to something else. To all my friends making tons of money overseas… I believe you are all making a ton. I believe you are all rich. But to the ones that said “I’ve gotten every penny,” from now on… I don’t believe you. No one gets all his money. My second agent told me if you get 90 percent of the money on the contract in Europe, consider it a successful year. Sorry for doubting you, Bill.
Back…
Don’t confuse me as some Saint. I too have been an asshole. (I know, no one ever believes it! But yes, I too Brute.) I am so good at it, it’s only a recollection away to re-enact. So every once in a while, I provide a willing audience to an encore performance. It’s like riding a bike. Onward… But I have seen, you can’t just put on that mask everywhere. I had a coach in an Asian country once. He used to yell at the players as if they understood a word of what he was saying (he was an American.) I initially thought it would be a breath of fresh air to be in a foreign country with a coach I can relate to. But as the season went on it became painfully obvious that I was more comfortable with the local Asian players than the American coach. He talked down to the players, yelled and made no attempt to explain the smallest basketball detail to the players in their language. Rather he was intent on forcing them to speak and understand his English cursing tirade even though the majority of the world speaks the local language (guess that gave away the place and coach… Whatever. Deal with it.)
I had no issues with explaining myself in as much of the language I could pick up and they appreciated it. Just because these people didn’t speak your language didn’t make them stupid. On the contrary they were very much in control and showed it when I went off after one loss (as I felt I was the man and I cold do that… Shiiiiii). As kind and professional as they were they made it clear, lack of reciprocation and civility would not be tolerated. A nice tasty fine made it easy to recognize I was dealing with a boss. However they never pulled my card if I never pulled theirs. That is not a given. I’ve been places where everything is perfect and the team still looks for a card to pull when you’ve dealt the deck. It’s why I love Asia. I was so used to fighting teams, when I came to Asia I couldn’t handle professional teams. It’s so freaking hilarious how the rest of the basketball world looks down on Asian basketball. I assure you, if the Asian season was longer, none of the best players in Europe would play anywhere else. And in the case of Korea, if they let the best players back in, no one, I mean no one would play anywhere but Korea. Listen, the highest paid Korean… Well, I’ll just put it this way, is much happier than the highest paid European player. Do not believe the hype! (I swear I will write a book one day.)
You should hear the question I got the most this year, “Why have you played in Asia so long?” (in a way saying I’m better than that.) Ha! Because I enjoy maintaining sanity while playing basketball. In the KBL, they didn’t make a big deal out of anything. Didn’t look for a reason to fine you. They didn’t kiss your ass either. They were professionals. They were bigger, smarter, stronger and richer than you and they knew it. For that reason, they saw no need to flex their muscles to someone who couldn’t challenge a freaking corporation! Samsung… Hyundai… LG… Should I go on? You got a tech, you paid the fine and moved on. I didn’t appreciate it my first year (21 T’s in 54 games… Beat that Rasheed. I think he actually might have). But by my second year I was well scripted and totally prepared to be a total pro. Too bad they changed all the rules for the foreigners that can now play there. Otherwise… Ang ya as sai oh and kam sah am ni da, bitches.
I think that’s the biggest reason everyone I’ve ever known to have played in Korea likens the level of that league’s professionalism to the NBA. Don’t buy it? Go to www.kbl.or.kr. That is just a very small example of what kind of league they have there. As for the comments, I have no prob hooking you up with any info I have. Just e-mail my homies at HoopsHype. They forward me all the mail. I still see the comments. Did you see the one an NBA player’s mom left me? That couldn’t really be her. You think? Wow. If it was, man I am a jerk, huh? Ma’am you are totally right and my apologies if I offended you. It was simply an unfortunate incident. Talk about ripping your heart out. To the rest of you, if you’re nervous, you should be. I will get my stage. I will show my buttocks and it’ll be a full moon. Test me on the court. I bet you won’t. Don’t let the rough taste fool you. Please excuse the lack of a real story in this blog, I got a plane to catch. But for some reason I just feel a good story in about two weeks. Maybe by then I’d have figured out how to cheat the Texas lottery.
Suhweet postings! And I’m on the books and sites that you all gave me to research. I find myself more excited about learning more than anything else I’ve ever done. So thank ya much. Um… Last blog. Kinda monotonous to dwell on it but I’ll try to be brief and move on. There was more to the last blog and kind of a more serious side to the whole thing. The point really wasn’t simply don’t eat meat. I personally look at the scientific part of it and believe humans are omnivores. We have canines, right? I was just pondering out loud my dietary journey and how it has led me on to something much more important to a race’s existence. I am considering eliminating meat from my diet. As I previously stated, I’m on the path of becoming an opportunistic raw-foods vegan. (Yes, I made that up).
Rant time! (Skip down to hoops for the less boring). Everybody kinda went apeshit with the whole diet thing. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe it is very, very important to take care of your body thoughu what you put into it, but the point was really more to recognize. Recognize what I like to call Shahi-tan. I just feel it is more productive to bring to light similarities rather than emphasize differences.
Recognize the tools used to exacerbate self-hatred among people of different ethnicities yet same race. Diet is just one of those tools. The despising of one another has not been very productive to date. Separation is and has been man’s avenue to hate yet there remain those that will take offense to one man’s opinion that promotes oneness. Just another example of how, in some, the desire to hate and distinguish will always take precedence over rational thought. I’m the nimrod for attempting a back and forth with the illogical. Another miscue… I wasn’t making an attempt to discredit any other race or only give props to Bantus. My apologies for any offense taken. Playing overseas has killed all prejudices I once had. I have learned to enamour the differences and even more so the fascinating similarities we all have.
However, in my travels I have seen one constant: the unproductive state (internal and external) of Bantus. And ethnicity has never been a shield for anyone of the Bantu tribes. I simply feel the hatred starts from within, therefore it makes it easier for outsiders to reinforce it. So don’t take personal my Black Panther moment, just wanted to offer a band-aid to a broken arm. And my response was, a fellow Nigerian no less, telling me I might lose my head saying Bantu-Americans were no different from Bantu Africans. Ha! (Please don’t pay any mind to that. I’ll go home and back. Live there and visit the States… Head intact). This from a place where after hating everyone else for being different outside will then find another reason to hate within the country for being of different tribes then within the tribes more hatred for different skin shades. See what I mean by illogical? Sorry I brought it up. (Oh and… Bros. Na you sabi. U tink se d agboro fo Lagos no get Internet? 2moro se na if u waka fo leki na mista mad man u go c selling agege fo road. Commot abeg).
Rant over…
Back to the hoopin’. I am really loving Spain, man! I mean, really loving it. It is not easy getting adjusted to not playing much. The last time I did it (the euro thing), I learned to be very very efficient. In other words, you’d better find a way to get your 20 points in eight shots or less. Crazy, right? But it makes you damn good once you play in other leagues. When I went from Europe to Korea, I just remember being so hard to guard because I didn’t need 20 shots to get 30 points. My first year in Korea I was the fourth leading scorer, but I had 200 less shots than anyone in the Top 10 in scoring! So I’m re-accommodating myself to the style. The life is what I’ve appreciated most. You know, the small cars, little furniture, expensive everything. And, oh yes, the tight jeans. (Take a moment to picture that). The most encouraging thing is on the basketball court. You know it can be discouraging to lose as well as fight for playing time. But what is more discouraging is when you don’t see a solution. On this team, there is reason to be very very excited. The problems when we have lost (not often) can be easily solved and when they are… My Lord, these guys are good. I’m excited as h-e-double hockey sticks because I see what can and will happen. We are going to win big-time. And I can’t wait to be a part of it.
I just can’t get over TiagoSplitter man! The kid is just very efficient. When you see him move, you think you can take him… And you just can’t. He is so damn confident and nothing deters him. And he does it all with the same face. No smiles, anger or elation… Just stone face. You just have no idea what he’s feeling. That, my friends, is a rare talent. I’m feelin’ great and playing well in the time I get. I got two more months on my contract and I might return to the D-League to finish the season and be with the fam after the contract is up. But while I’m here, I’m about to enjoy every bit of the ride. Hold up… Are you as bored with this spiel as I am? Don’t know how much longer I can do the blog thing, man… All the sweet stuff is like freaking people out. I call my boys in the league and they’re like, “Man don’t say this…” Which I would never do. C’mon, put someone on blast? But you’d be amazed at what guys would take offense to. So I’ll try to keep it as non-incriminating as possible… Batches!
Abra-cadabra…
It was so hard planning a wedding. And paying for it. Seeing as how I already was married. But wifey-poo wanted to have another wedding in the U.S. for her friends that didn’t make the one in Congo. (Yep, I got married in former Zaire… Ali bomaye and all that stuff). That to me wasn’t the most amazing thing. It was the fact I chose to spend 50 house payments on something I already did… Again! It’s all good. She loved it and it was the right thing to do. So anyway, I was a pain because I was in Puerto Rico playing and we were literally on our way to the championship.
Quick…
I know George W. Bush. Seriously. He was Governor of my state for crying out loud. And where do you think the Governor of Texas works out when he works two minutes from his favorite university football and basketball teams’ training facility? People never believe me when I tell them that.
Back…
I had to finish the playoffs by July 1st and get married by July 3rd. The schedule was incredibly hectic and I just wasn’t thinking about anything else but the wedding. Then my agent calls me and says “Washington is very interested in you coming to summer league with them. They think you can add something to their team and they have roster spots… blah blah cah cah hah hah magarena, pula pala blah blah que buena. Hey Macarena!” (Something to that effect.) I heard it before. Was I tempted? Yep. Was I too old for that? Double yep. I told him, sorry can’t go. Getting married. He says, OK, I’ll tell em. That simple, right? Wrong! (with Charlie Murphy emphasis).
Habitual line steppas. Anyway my agent calls back two more times after I said I couldn’t do it because I was getting married on the 3rd saying Washington asked if I could come for the first practice, fly back, get married, then fly back to Washington for the rest of summer camp. What? Are they serious? They would allow that? Damn, they must be really interested. I mean I used to always hear guys tell me stories about which team was interested in them and I always hit them with the “OK” face but the “Yeah, right” eyes. I never believed it because I felt if a team is interested in you, they’d sign you Frodo Baggins. So this was my first time seeing a team go out of its way to get me there. I mean, wow. For all they know this is my first wedding so surely they know how serious this is for me. Well if they are willing to let me do that then… Sure, what the hey! They must want me.
I got there and I was so excited to be on the same summer league team as Ime Udoka and Mo Evans (two good friends) and be one of the “ones” Washington wanted and to be getting married the next day. I was on cloud 9. As Mo and I talked about how fun it would be to play together, have the wedding, and that an NBA team felt me good enough to let do all this, I digressed. “Mo, how hilarious would it be if I went back after today’s practice and they cut me while in Houston?” (I have a morbid sense of humor that is shared by one human being I know. Ike Nwankwo. If you saw how we joked, doubtful, you’d laugh along.) “Naw G! C’mon they would never do that! Why would they call you all those times to come down here just to cut you on your wedding night?” Hahaha! Come on, you have to be laughing by now. Anyway during the first practice I was so hyped and excited I played, jumped and ran like a school kid. I was lucky enough to be in a 2-on-2 drill with Ime on my team. And we ran ‘em off the court. “Computer Blue!” Next. In short, I played well. Now off to my wedding.
I, with my everlasting pessimism, informed everyone I could that I was going to get married. “Please let me know if I should just check out and grab my bags. No biggie. I’d understand.” No prob, Gabe, just make sure you’re back the day after. Okay! So I left my bag in the hotel in DC and shot off to H-tahn! The wedding and reception were perfect. I couldn’t help joking with my wife about them cutting me. She didn’t know much about the league but she chided that no one could be that cruel. (Sorry, I still think the predictable ending was funny). After the ceremony, we came back to our suite to change and my cell rang. It was my agent… I swear I already knew. “Uh Gabe, I hate to call on your wedding night (no, you didn’t deep down you have the same morbid sense of humor as me) but…” I cracked up. Dude. My bag was still in DC! This has got to be a made-for-TV movie. My wife asked who it was. So I just told her it was my agent congratulating us. I just couldn’t tell her. She takes the basketball thing much harder than I do. So I just planned a longer and better honeymoon. Must have been good. It took her 3 days to even ask, “What happened with summer league with the Wizards?” I just told her I was a prop for a disappearing act.
I read the other day my story about Algeria and Ime Udoka might have been exaggerated. My friends, when you see anyone that was there that night, ask him. Our lives were on the line. This country is a country that, when we arrived was in civil war for over ten years. To this day a majority of the people there are armed to the tooth. They were killing each other for years and you think they gave a damn about some Nigerian hoopers? Check BBC’s archives. I don’t exaggerate nor do I entertain the idea of fibbing for the sake of a couple of “ooos”. Without Nigerian Embassy police escorts, someone would have been in trouble that night. Funny enough, all because of racism. While there I asked our bus driver if he was “Black” or “White” (he was neither. rather Arab). He retorted with shock, “Je suis blanc mais bien suer.” Then in an attempt to enter a bar in Algiers, we were turned away. I thought nothing of it but one of my teammates who had played in the Middle East was used to the “reason” we were denied entry. So he went into his “sharamuta” and insulting arabic act. “We are all Africans!” he screamed, pointing to his skin. The massive bear of a man tore his shirt off revealing hand-made tatoos from neck to stomach and said, “Jamais!” as half the street started at us at 10 pm armed with shanks and knives. Now tell me that is an exaggeration. (I don’t know about the rest of the guys, but I was freaked).
When I tell you I thought I would die twice in Algiers, think of this. I grew up in Houston. And been exposed to numerous situations where I faced guns and gangsters. And never once was I scared. So when I say, I was in that locker room texting my wife that I might not get out of that situation, it is true to the letter. Race. Race. Race. What a primitively arbitrary parameter.
I could give a damn what people decide to do because regardless I’ll be in a condo on an African beach when this rollercoaster I’m on called basketball is over. Just think and inform yourself. By separating myself, I might just lend myself to malleable (look it up) enslavement. You think I don’t know that when I’m talking to an opponent telling him his PG never passes him the ball? Divide and conquer. Rather than allow that, I maintain the idea of team no matter what. Because I know, whether right or wrong, if we are all in it together, we’ll win.
Sorry for the lacking blog… Little out of it. Nne’m ochie (grandma) died. Sucks. Hardest part is being here sans the familia and it ain’t like I’m one of those big (name) players that can just leave and retain my job. (If it came down to it, and I had to go, I would). I grew up with her and she was one of the main reasons I changed how I take care of my body. Everything, every single thing in her body just stopped working.
And the doctor said, if it wasn’t for her diet, weight and results of the two, she would not have died. Terrible. But she’s better off than us all and thank God for what she left me. I don’t deserve it. I’ll be back with a vengeance next blog. But I must say, I don’t know how many more I got in me. So I guess that means I’d better make the next few gang-star! I’d love to explore with anyone things I know and could learn about diet. You can e-mail at hoopshype@hoopshype.com and I’ll get the email. Then I’ll email back. Rather not give my e-mail on this. Until next time… Close the door on your way out. I have no idea what I meant by that.
Please accept my humblest apologies for all who give a damn. I’ve been on the euro-basket-tryintuh-makuh-livin-schedule. And it’s nothing nice. Tau is cool. We’re 5-1 since I came and feels good to be on such a good team. Tiago Splitter is much better, bigger and stronger than I thought. Lucky San Antonio. Not playing very much and I’m not sure why… But again, what choice did I have? I’ve played against many ex-NBAers. All making obscene amounts of money. Even though I’m not playing much, it’s fun to see old friends and play, however poco the time, against them. I’m sure there are worse things than getting paid, what would translate to a million dollars in the US to play a game I love in a beautiful country of diverse history yet getting chewed out for every mistake I make. Hey, you can pay me for that ten times.
Getting right to it… I was inspired these past two weeks. I’m not particularly sure what did it but I thought about it and marveled how different I was just five years ago and how differently I thought. And it is all due to basketball. It’s truly miraculous when you think about it. I have been transformed completely because of a sport. And to think, I would have been just an everyday, run-o-the mill asshole. Instead I am lucky enough to be an analytical, philosophical, every once in a while saying something logical if not totally “warped” (I got the e-mail) “uh slight” asshole. Albeit imperfect, the change is welcomed and I pray for even more enlightenment. By enlightenment, please don’t take it as someone trying to sound better off or smarter than others. I just am better off and smarter for myself. And the measuring stick is simply the results. I’m happy, healthy, more disciplined and less selfish. All due to this enamored sport of mine. Here’s my inspired thought as of late that I noticed, I simply wouldn’t feel that way if it weren’t for hoops: I’m not black. Click. He’s nuts… Next page. Let’s see what’s on ESPN.com.
For those who are still here…
My conversation arose with Will McDonald and just hearing him talk I found myself befuddled trying to find the correlation between the 6-foot-10 monstrous brotha in front of me and the stories of how he’s telling me he used to be. It doesn’t even seem like him. But something he said started me on thinking… I don’t consider myself black. Whoa… Well Gabriel, what the hell do you consider yourself? Afro-American? Hell no! Negro? Oh yeah “black” in another language… Nope. Not even African? Strangely enough, no. All those were names assigned to me. Who named Africa anyway? My forefathers didn’t. Who named Nigeria or Niger? Some guy who came down from Europe and said, “Well they’re all dark, so let’s call their country…oh I got it…black.” The only name for my race I could come up with was one not given by anyone other than the people that spawned 99 percent of sub-Saharan Africa. Bantu. Meaning “the people” or Bantubonke meaning “all the people”. I know what you’re thinking. I need American cable TV or the full season of 24 over here. I was just listening to Will telling me a story on how he had problems in Madrid because the Africans hate the Black Americans, who hate the Dominicans, who in turn hate the Africans (for now I’ll keep it regular but if you talk to me I will use Bantu interchangeably with “black”). So my mind started racing as all Savants’ minds do. (No I’m not really… I don’t think).
And I remember I used be the same way. I mean culturally and ethnically there will be separation but that’s like someone from Texas feeling he/she has more in common with Texans. I’m not talking about that. I was that American-born Nigerian that looked at all other non-African blacks as lost and different than me. OK… I called them the all-famous “akata” like all the rest of the West Africans do. That or “les cousins”. Terrible. But in one of my stints in China, Leonard Hamilton dunked a ball on a Chinese player and celebrated after the play and loud as all get out, in an empty, cold dingy gym, you could hear one fan in the crowd, in noticeably the only English he learned (funny how people learn the bad things) scream, “Yoo monkey!” I was mad as hell! And caught myself, why was I mad? Because I was and am the same “people” as him. American-born, Jamaican-born, English-born. All of Bantu descent. Like it or not Gabe. In my travels in hoops, I gotta secret for you… The only people who consider ways to accept (being the key word) separation of “blacks” are well… “blacks.” It’s truly fascinating. I’ve been to Ethiopia, Cameroon, Benin, Congo, North Africa, Australia, England, Canada, you name it. And I have seen one thing in common: self hatred. It’s hilariously terrible, if that makes any sense. I saw the very same phenomenon African-born Bantus insult American born Bantus for… in Africa! And on a more consistent basis. It was crazy. The only difference is over 7,000 years of history and culture still practiced for the most part. But other than the cultural beliefs and heritage that governs us from being just totally thrown into a cesspool of chaos, I saw no difference.
Quick…
Just looking through my notes. Funny story. When I was with Detroit, I sat the bench most of the preseason until Don Reid popped his achilles against Miami. Then Rick Carlisle played me a lot! The very thing I was supposed to be good at was my downfall. I messed up every play. He called time out and said, “who wants to bet Gabe doesn’t mess this play up?” “I’ll take that bet!!” yells Kevin O’Neill. He calls X3 (a play for me). Yep, messed it up. Sub-ed me out. “Thanks, Gabe.” Yes Kevin O’Neill really said that. Then patted me on the shoulder and we both cracked up. Great guys.
Back…
I saw the same thing in the Caribbean. Just because you speak Spanish my man, you and I are the same race… caballo. So after seeing all those things, I do not in the least distinguish myself apart from anyone of Bantu decent. I mean really how stupid is it that a people hate from within and separate yet the people on the outside do not? It’s incredible. I hear all the time from African-born Bantus, “those akatas are this…” Man if you saw the chaos on the Nigerian National Team you’d have cracked up. We finish eighth. In the world! Yet one of the major reasons we didn’t play the US for the chance to reach the Final 4 was because someone was pouting about the captaincy because of “Nigerian tradition.” What the hell? If Nigeria is so important to you why didn’t you see the benefit for Nigeria. If Nigeria played the US in the quarter finals of the world? Sam Vincent truly wanted to see that happen for an African nation, as his children are African (Seriously… They even speak with accents! It’s so gangsta!) But the madness was so much, he was as ready as we were to get outta Japan with sanity intact. Nobody even thought, “Hey, we just lost to Germany by 1 to reach an historic feat for a country. And even more so a race. Damn shame. So what is it for me? Hmmm… A G-damn revolution. Revolution of my mind.
Fine, people will do what they want in the end but I choose not to cock the gun that’s executing my ass. I just wont take part in it. And for me, diet has been my avenue for the continuing enlightenment I want. Remember the what if? Just ask: What if? If it is possible for me to live like the people of perfect, primal majesty God made me to be… I damn want it. If I die and it was never possible… Fine, I missed out on some donuts and papa john’s pizza. It was worth a try. But the possible benefit far outweighs the definite punishment. How does a man kill a lion? With weapons to weaken it. Here’s the thing. I believe my diet takes the weapon away. Now the fight is fair and you gotta use your hands. I’m not sure if you’re following. Make decisions from the facts you are given. Humans evolve, right? How many years did Bantus evolve in Africa? Now think for yourself if 400 years is enough time to evolve to be able to eat and find nutritional benefit from the Western pig. Or how about this, a doctor… M.D., after hearing my decision to possibly eliminate meat from my diet told me as an athlete I need the aminoacids meat provides in order to be effective at my sport. I told him I can get those proteins from nuts. And he retorts…”Son (son…wow), there are certain essential aminoacids only found in meat.”
Let’s see, 10 is the number of essential aminoacids… Isoleucine, leucine, lysine, methionine, phenylanaline, threonine, tryptophan, valine, histidine and arginine. Look them up and tell me one you cannot get from a non-meat source. Save your the time… None. Like I said, I gather my facts and I make a choice. To live a life with all the tools possible to attain the majesty ordained to Bantu people, or live at a blind disadvantage and just be happy to be well off and semi-famous until I’m a 40-year-old man with a tumor in his fanny wondering why no one remembers that dunk I had over Thurl Bailey (no I didn’t, just being stupid). My point really isn’t: be a vegetarian. I’ve just noticed a slight dilemma in “we”. Diet is just an example in an array of issues we are more than equipped to solve with the tools, knowledge and advantages basketball provides. It’s actually much more complicated. Sure every race is of majesty. I just single out the Bantu race because, shit is ridiculous.
Have you every read The Willie Lynch Speech? I think all Bantus should. Because if you didn’t see it with your own eyes you’d say it’s a fairy tale. It is quite simply an old English slave owner back in the day, teaching American slave owners how to “tame” that lion uh yurn, by teaching them separation. I don’t particularly enjoy talking about this stuff (as you can clearly see) but everywhere I go someone asks, and damn it if I ai’nt gotta answer. It may have gotten me in trouble in the past and might have played a role in my NBA woes. Who knows? So please, if you see me, and I’m trying to make a team (not happening) don’t ask.
In Charlotte I had the dumb luck to be asked… “Hey nutra-grain, what do you eat? I mean, shit, everything can’t be bad for you.” If I had a lip-lock back then I’d have paid cash to keep it on. I’d answer JaredDudley’s (you saw it coming J.) questions with all intentions of being honest but non-influencing. Then he’d crack up. I think he was just patronizing me in a polite way. But we got some good laughs out of it. Imagine my shock when JermareoDavidson took it to another level and became damn near vegan on me. Fuck! Just what I need, a 22-year-old being influenced by me to give up meat. Your agent told you, “Don’t rock the boat” Oh! Me no speakah English. I was only slightly disturbed by the transpirings and revelations of JD (both) until someone pulled me to the side and said, “Uh Gabe, try not to…” Basically, shut yo ass up. Yep, I get the point. I thought I did. But Gerald Wallace saw me praying over my food (I really try to be discreet) and asked, “Gabe (he mighta said nutra-grain I don’t remember) what religion are you?” Lip-locks for sale! Get your lip-locks! Two for a dollar! Yep, I went into my oral dissertation and well… The rest I’ll leave to the imagination. Gerald, I must say, is actually an impressive person. I was shocked to see how he actually even entertained a conversation like that with me. Good guy, man… Stop eating that shit, man. See? I never learn. Can’t help it. It’s like drugs. If you know you are putting a poison in your body and choose to kill yourself, be my guest. But the problem is Bantus not realizing a food you have not yet evolved to digest is a poison. A weapon against the lion. I wonder if Jermareo is still doing that diet thing. He was way past me, even back then! I shutter to think what the trainer at Charlotte would do to me in a dark alley… (Just jokin. I’d whoop his ass) One love, Mark. I did get one teammate though that was older and genuinely interested in what I knew about diet. He even got my number. Wow! Ohp! He never called. What? You thought there was some inspiring happy ending? Man, please, I got cut so quick I still got knife marks on my culo.
The good thing is, I’m still feeling great and still taking care of my body. I have made a decision to become what I call an “opportunistic” raw foods vegan. Which simply means as long as the option is there (and usually it is) I won’t eat a living animal again unless my survival depends on it. In that instance, shit, I’ll slaughter the cow myself. But I have just seen the results. That is my proof. I am a different person and I get revelations that inspire me to be better to everyone. My diet is just the avenue God chose to use to start me on the path to everything else (like stopping cursing). I don’t believe these things that “just so happen” to transpire primarily in the Bantu community are accidental. I believe they are planned to precision. And “we” have a choice. I speak about “blacks” because it’s not like it’s needed in all places. Just here, it’s kind of a state of crisis.
Sure, I’m scared shitless to talk about stuff like this and the hoops experiences that outline my thought process. The thing is when other basketball players say they see this blog and the get something out of it, I think it’s a blessing. So… I keep doing it. I honestly could give a shit about any self stroking. I also am inspired by my teammates here. Igor Rakocevic, Zoran Planinic, WillMcDonald… All want to see, what if? What if I can look 30 when I’m 50? What if I can play 10 more years effectively? What if I can have sex for hours like when I was 18? Ha! Everyone’s listening now! Pervs! (But before you ask… Damn right!) Will McDonald has been here the whole season and the team thought about reprimanding him because they wanted his weight down. Don’t rock the boat… Don’t rock the boat. “Gabe, why you eating fruit all the time?” Damn it all to hell. Good news is he lost 11lbs in two weeks and the team is elated about that. But more important to me, he says he feels amazing and he wants to take it as far as he can. So far so good. Guess it remains to be seen if this story has a happy ending.
Next blog you get to hear how the Wizards cut me from their summer league team on my wedding night. Ha. Bet you come back for that one!
(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.
I am sitting here in a Vitoria, Spain condo not even a tenth the size of my house… Packing. What? You thought this would last forever? My three months are up and the young man I came to replace until he recovered, is at 100 percent. It was fun and good experience. I won some games and I lost a few but all in all I must say I did my job and I am looking forward to my next basketball venture… Anybody? Nobody? Hmm. I thought that bovine feces would be a hard sell. Can you blame me for trying? I’m supposed to be PC about these basketball stories even if sometimes it’s like making a colonoscopy seem like sexual fetish from your favorite King Mag model. Breath easy. Don’t struggle or scream. It makes it easier for both parties. Still though, the people were great here. In the end, I really had no choice… Again.
Suhweet postings! And I’m on the books and sites that you all gave me to research. I find myself more excited about learning more than anything else I’ve ever done. So thank ya much. Um… Last blog. Kinda monotonous to dwell on it but I’ll try to be brief and move on. There was more to the last blog and kind of a more serious side to the whole thing. The point really wasn’t simply don’t eat meat. I personally look at the scientific part of it and believe humans are omnivores. We have canines, right? I was just pondering out loud my dietary journey and how it has led me on to something much more important to a race’s existence. I am considering eliminating meat from my diet. As I previously stated, I’m on the path of becoming an opportunistic raw-foods vegan. (Yes, I made that up).
Please accept my humblest apologies for all who give a damn. I’ve been on the euro-basket-tryintuh-makuh-livin-schedule. And it’s nothing nice. Tau is cool. We’re 5-1 since I came and feels good to be on such a good team. Tiago Splitter is much better, bigger and stronger than I thought. Lucky San Antonio. Not playing very much and I’m not sure why… But again, what choice did I have? I’ve played against many ex-NBAers. All making obscene amounts of money. Even though I’m not playing much, it’s fun to see old friends and play, however poco the time, against them. I’m sure there are worse things than getting paid, what would translate to a million dollars in the US to play a game I love in a beautiful country of diverse history yet getting chewed out for every mistake I make. Hey, you can pay me for that ten times.
(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.