I have a real funny story to tell. I just don’t know how to tell it. It’s been made clear when I just pour words onto a computer screen, people have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not really sure if it’s anyone’s fault or if the parties involved are just at an intersection of two perpendicular paths… Screw you, I actually talk that way.
In plain words, I have to express things that way at times to avoid insulting someone. As I’ve said before, I am an arrogant, smart ass – which, when combined with the fact I am a basketball player who has never defined himself as one and (despite what people may think is blind cockiness) I am actually far above average at the sport, make my snide remarks really piss people off. But if you don’t care, here goes…
I guess a blog, for you that care about every level of professional basketball experience, is supposed to be a simple first-person description of a dumb ass athlete’s daily activities. Of course there are people that appreciate the creative outlook… So to them: Sorry in advance.
As I was saying, my basketball blog is supposed to be a simple and to the point “duh” description of this slippery, bumpy, ugly side of professional basketball. You’ve got the good, with Pete Mickael, Caron Butler and, thank the Father above, Etan Thomas (I love that guy and I don’t even know him). You’ve got the bad (sort of) with Paul Shirley’s blog. And with my blog, yes I concede, you have the absolutely grotesque… Sorry, that means ugly.
Luckily for me, the economy matches the basketball market so I won’t get lonely. Not playing right now is a bit harder than I thought because I like to play. I may hate the fake garbage that goes in with the playing, you know, like everything outside of the court. But I do like to play. I must say this… It doesn’t bother me nearly as much when I see the names that are not playing. Because really, who am I? Right?
What does bother me are two things: 1. I’m actually by definition, in my prime as a basketballer. So it’s kind of a shame not to be playing. So I know eventually, I’ll have to swallow my pride and take an offer soon. And 2. Excuse my French, this is a huge fucking Two: Reasons outside of my control are keeping me from playing in good places.
You remember that stuff that happened in France with that team ASVEL? I thought that shit was done. They couldn’t leave well enough alone, could they? Was I crazy from about birth to 24? Absolutely. Have I gone to a party, drank a drop of alcohol, been late to a practice or even so much as stayed out late during a season since then? No. I’ve never touched a drug or even a supplement. I’ve had a disagreement with a coach once in my career. Yes, I’m a motherfucker on the court, a complete raptor. But all to win a game. However, off the court, I challenge you to even see where the hell I am. So, for ASVEL to tell a team in France that wanted to sign me that I have problems off the court, just to keep me from coming to France and tearing a hole in them, is childish to say the very damn least.
If I did something, by all means shout it from the rooftops. But if I did nothing, let me live. In order not to lie, I don’t do what I would have to lie about. But if I did it, I will tell you, “Yeah, I damn did it.” This is what happens in 90 percent of professional ball overseas.
“Oh, he’s just bitter,”
Yeah, yeah. That’s the easy way out. Dismiss it as bias. No way it could actually be true. Well, ask Pete Mickeal. You could be on a team where every player on the team curses the coach out and nothing happens because they make too much. But if the one guy who makes a negligible amount shows the slightest emotion, they’ll fine you half your check. Period. Then they’ll dare you to say something. Sure you’re good and they know it, but you’re an expendable no-name that is only useful to make an example of in front of the rest of the guys. Was there not enough “duh” in there for you?
Sorry, let me paraphrase: Quite often, teams will unfairly screw you if you are not a superstar. That is just part of it and it is not a big deal. You just have to know you are nothing and shut up if, and only if, they are giving you what you want. For me, they were giving me money and the chance to play on a big stage.
So was it worth it? No doubt. Especially in Euroleague. You haven’t played basketball until you’ve played in a dingy, dark, hot Turkish gym in front of 20,000 people hidden by smoke and light flares, for a spot in the next round of the Final 16. Paraphrase: It’s only worth it if what your getting for your standards is more than the rubbish they make you tolerate. That’s why I’m at home. For me, it would not be worth tolerating insulting standards to play for $10,000 a month in, say, Hungary. But I’d play for free just for the opportunity to play in France right now. And I don’t blame that team for not wanting me there. I’d be scared of me too.
It’s really crazy how this sport turns Peter Pan to Superman. With basketball, guys can completely hide utter stupidity and uselessness to society. People that probably would have been my friends are my enemies and people that are my friends, I would have never known. All because of basketball. When I tried to associate myself with the life that comes with basketball, it was uncomfortable and unnatural. I missed out on so much just because I didn’t feel the need to acknowledge the existence of anything outside of basketball. So I can say when I concentrated on the sport and not the game, I started liking basketball.
In college, basketball was a means to the end – the NBA. NBA for money, fame and you know it… beeyatches. I really didn’t care about basketball. Would I try to score 50 and dunk on you every opportunity? Of course. but it wasn’t for basketball. It was for money and fame. And, oh yeah, beeyatches. Once I accepted, the money was not really under my control, the fame was useless without money and the beeyatches were bitches, that’s when I started liking basketball. Now, I don’t care if I’m playing in Afghanistan, I would concentrate on playing to perfection the same way I would on an NBA court. Because now I like basketball.
You really think I’m the only one who thought like that? This is the reason why soccer is so great (just try to watch it for a month straight, and not the sorry teams, English Premier or Barcelona… You will love it). You try for the fame in soccer and you get Real Madrid. You try for the game and you get Barça. Soccer fans get it. Anyway, the unfortunate part is, when you act the part, you know money, fame and etcetera… Teams expect and accept it. But when you don’t say a word and don’t hang out and don’t celebrate, ever, you make people uncomfortable and you are the pariah or black sheep.
When I was in Korea, I was flamboyant, brash and unfriendly. After one game, my wife cried and told me I was embarrassing her. Like a light switch, I stopped talking. I was quiet and indifferent, just so I wouldn’t do anything to embarrass my wife. It was then, all my problems started. It’s nuts, right? Then everyone would ask me, “What’s wrong?” Or they said my desire wasn’t there. Never mind my numbers were still the same. I wasn’t a baller. I was a professional and no one liked that. I’m not saying it’s always like that. There are perfect situations, but you have to be lucky and find it.
You know the ratio for someone being a professional basketball player, right? Like one in a million or worse. Well, finding the perfect team or situation is even more rare. And the older you get the less likely that becomes. But for those few good guys, hard workers and tough mofos that get money, fame and the perfect situation, like Pete Mickael… Guys like that deserve it and earn it daily. But for some Peter freakin’ Pans, they get lucky and project that Superman attitude toward the rest of the world.
Forget the basketball ability. I don’t care whether they suck or not. If a team is dumb enough to give a bum money, great! I ain’t mad at you. Keep getting it. But just because they’re dumb, these clowns will confuse it as if everyone else who actually plays doesn’t know. Not only do you suck, but in the depths of you atriums and ventricles, you are still Peter Pan and basketball is your Neverland.
Yeeeeaaaahhh! He’s stupid and angry and so predictable right now. We likey! I have little doubt that my basketball career is coming to an end at 31 years old. Whether it’s soon or in a couple of years, I’m feeling the Eyes Rolling syndrome. Not because I’m getting old. Because, it is getting old. How long could you answer questions about how bad you were when you were 11? After a while it’s like, “Whatever, man.”
I know basketball treats different people differently but there is no equation. No one can claim to know how to succeed at it because of the simple factor of bad luck. I’m the same guy that went from a top team in Italy, to a middle team in Turkey, to the D-League, to the ACB, to Asia, to NBA camps, to Iran, back to a top team in the ACB and Europe, back to China. It’s nothing you can put a finger on. Not ability, not money, not way of life, not even attitude (insert everyone’s all knowing explanation here).
I got a three-part story to tell for my last will and testament. And no more “duh”, just figure it out. In that story… Se fogo, and I’m done. I will offer no opinion, just a story. Then I’ll let everyone and their mamas tell me how a team can pay you in cash before a game and then take it out of your bag during the game because, you guessed it, you’re not a good person with a bad attitude. Because all players who are successful all have good attitudes. And all players who are not successful have bad attitudes. Of course! That’s it! Now I get it. No, no nimrod. Can’t figure it out and disregard luck. Luck is the deciding factor. Well, luck and of course assholes… Definitely assholes.
The only thing negative about being in Puerto Rico is Family Guy, my favorite show today, is in Spanish. You can imagine my discontent when I patiently sat through the agonizing dry humor of King of the Hill, only to have my garnered excitement thrown out of my window when I heard Stewie say, “idiota,” instead of “you bovine lummox.” Even though I can understand, it’s just not as funny sans the New England/English accent Seth McFarlen masters. But I’ll get over it. I got Slingbox (an overseas baller’s best friend… Get on it if you already have not).
Moving forward… I suppose I owe somewhat of an explanation as to where the bloody hell I’ve been. The best way I can describe it is, the rebounding position between the top of the key and half court. That’s right good ol’ “no man’s land.” Or just plain ol’ purgatory. After China, I just couldn’t bring myself to travel very far to play. Yes, I broke my hand but I was cleared over a month ago. I just kept talking to teams and never pulling the trigger on any deals. The CBA experience can do that to you. To get into every nick and cranny of what that was like would just be futile negativity, so let’s just forget it happened. Please.
I just read, thought, played with kids, read and read some more. The last thing I should ever do is have too much time to think. Why? Because so many things I tried to avoid thinking about, I actually find myself considering. I remember reading my boy Paul Shirley’s blog about a year ago. In it he was talking about retiring and I thought he was just thinking too much. Thing is, he could still play and I don’t even think he was 30 at the time. So why would he retire? Well, Paul my friend, I get it. Not that I am thinking of retirement but I can see why one would.
I think I was so deep in my own weird mental, I knew the only place I could go play right now was a place I would actually enjoy, so… Soy con boricuas, pa’s k 2 lo sepa! ( I picked that chant up nine years ago when I first started here. Can’t separate it from the island).
When I’m out here, I am a fan and a student all in one. I watch more TV here than anywhere else I play for obvious reasons… I think. So I watch more ESPN and turn into NBA games and then like a kid, get to try what I see Kobe glide through. Then I proceed to trip over my own Adidas. The mind is willing and the feet are weak.
So as I’m watching ESPN, I hear (blank) say LeBron James is head over heels better than Kobe? What?! Then I catch myself screaming at some electronic visage who can’t hear a word I’m saying. I speculated on it before and now I’m certain… They should add a third commentator on Pardon the Interruption, Stewie Griffin. Just so he can be there to elegantly point out the madness within some of these assessments. LeBron is definitely insane… But Kobe? Did any of you see him turn gamma green and rip his shirt off when Ron Artest pissed him off? Let that sleeping dog sleep.
This is the good time of year. The time I wish I was a basketball commentator. Just so I could get the chance to make Tim Legler and Chuck proud. Ready for my Legler quote of the year? “Guess they don’t get the MSG network down in South Florida.” DAAAAYUM.
And Chuck’s is simple, “that’s terrible.”
Chuck’s accent makes that a classic every time he says it. Although I love playoff time and time for predictions, I concede that I have a rather tattered track record. Well, I did say the Lakers and Jazz would meet in the playoffs, right? So I was off on the round. It’s because they got an Aggie jersey somewhere in the locker room jinxing all the karma.
Anyways here goes. NBA Finals… Lakers vs. Sixers. And Sixers in 7! OK… Now MVP… LeBron just barely edging Brian Cardinal in the tightest race in NBA history. Finals MVP… Kobe. That’s it. No punchline, just Kobe. First pick in 09 draft… Blake Griffin. As much as I hate OU, have you seen that mammoth? Is it just me, or does he not have as much hype as he should? Maybe if his jersey were a bit more burnt orange. He’ll be number 1 unless the team picking needs a point, in which case it’ll be Ricky Rubio (hate to say a told you so… But I did).
I am beyond excited right now with this time of year. No more traveling to the other side of the globe and paying $1,000 for excess luggage (strangely enough, all my excess poundage is food). And no more hustles… Just basketball. I needed this to rejuvenate my mental approach for next season. It’s been a wild ride from France, to Utah, to China. But in the following months I look forward to doing something stable. Too old for this caca. But I’ve said it before and I mean it. This crazy globetrotting has helped me beyond belief. And if it takes the nonsense to open my eyes, I’ll take it now rather than later.
Sorry for the dry blog. It’s just been so long. In turn, I have way too many things to talk about. Rather than bombard your eyes with all the details that flood my brain and confuse many to a point of anger… I’ll just accomadate with the usual. Duh… I like basketball… Duh… I scored a lot. That should satisfy the desired perception of all. My apologies for rockin’ the boat. I’ll keep those who care updated on my PR escapades.
Have you ever looked in the mirror and just had one of those Office Space kicking and beating up the typewriter moments in your mind? I just sit around sometimes picturing myself sizing up a basketball with a bat while “Ghetto Boys” theme music is playing. Then I get to stompin’ that biyatch. Then after the poor inanimate object is deflated, I throw the bat away and get to pounding that Spalding face into the ground until my hands are bloody. I suppose you have to watch the movie to appreciate the humor in that scene.
Trust me, stranger scenes would come to you if you were doing what I’m doing where I’m doing it. God! How often can one man really be wrong? Apparently a whole hell of a lot. So many things happen here in China, you can’t even complain. People will start to say things. I just need a reality show following me around cause, like I said, the things I go through on a daily basis, people will just never believe.
When Bonzi Wells came to China, forgive me Bonzi, the first thing that came to my head is… No way. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I meant “no way” as in, “he’ll see. No way he tolerates this.” Now, I defy you to say it’s only me and ask him what he saw. He came here for 14 games, went home for vacation and said, “Thanks but no thanks.”
He might experience the same colon conundrum as myself in that people will automatically say, “It must be him.”
Don’t get me wrong some guys do just fine. (Here we go) The guys that do fine out here feel they are lucky to play for money. Although they make far more out here than they would make anywhere else, these guys got nothing better to do and would play for food. And maybe I might be looked at as one of those guys, but I’m simply not. I remember teams and agents offering me what they believe to be so much money for a player with my name and giving me the “you idiot” face when I turn it down.
“He’ll take (this much)” they say, “he’s bluffing.” All I ever say is offer it and see if I’m bluffing. I just won’t go to play somewhere for less than I feel I’m worth. Especially an uncomfortable place. Because every time I go somewhere and start playing I get the same question, “Why have you played in Asia so long?” I’ve heard it all about what I make being too much. So the guys making three times what I make in basketball living on a European beach are three times better than me and are accurately paid? I don’t care if someone makes a million dollars a month and I care even less if he’s worth it. If he got it, he’s worth it. So don’t be upset if I get what I get. I challenge anyone to get accustomed to China Basketball and say you’re not underpaid just for getting through it. Details to come later.
Funniest thing is, I make very little more out here than what I made at Tau Ceramica! So Tau obviously felt I was good. I find myself thinking about Spain a lot and how I utterly cut my own nose off with that situation.
Just to clear it up… It was completely my fault I didn’t finish at Tau. I took bad advice rather than just signing what was offered. At the time, I didn’t see it. But now I know not accepting a good deal from a team older in basketball tradition than me is insulting. So for that, mala mia Vitoria. And now look, they’re even better after the Spanish Championship (that I missed) and Euroleague Final Four (that I also missed) than last year.
I asked a former teammate a serious question and I pose it to everyone: Who the hell can beat them? I have heard it in the past and it’s been an exaggeration most of the time but today I believe it whole-heartedly. This year’s Tau team would make the playoffs in the NBA. If not, they are at worst the best European team I’ve seen since Manu Ginobili’s Bologna team. Which brings me to what I think the most about while playing here in China… Pablo Prigioni.
I bet people are trippin’ how I’m actually talking about basketball. I know, I’m lamenting it. But I am in China and there’s not much else you’d probably get away with talking about. I’m always up to date in the policies of the countries I play in. Anyway, why Pablo? OK. I am a scorer primarily. I am a sneaky rebounder and grit defender secondarily. But one thing I can do, anywhere on any level, is score.
Quick…
BTW, I’ve read some of the snide remarks about my scoring tirade in Orlando Summer league being a farce. How is a 30-point performance lucky? 20 points I can see. But 31 points? Just for those people and no other reason, wait until Vegas ‘09. Ever seen a black moon? I’m speeding up, not slowing down.
Back…
So I’m out here in China and I literally can’t help myself from stopping because I feel embarrassed to lose every damn game and score 40 points. I hate it. I had a game I had 48 in the beginning of the fourth quarter and despite everyone cheering for me to score 50, I refused to shoot. We were down by 30 the whole game, for goodness sake.
I already hear it… “He probably shoots every time he gets it.” Well in the Top 10 guys in scoring in China (me being Number 1) who do you think shoots the most? I’ll better you… I shoot the least. Look it up. It’s a fact. I shoot a little more than 20 shots a game. The second leading scorer shoots 33 times a game. Wait for it… 33 (thirty-three) shot attempts a game. If I shot that many times, I’d average 50. Why? Because of the one stat I take the most pride in, I make more free-throws than everyone else attempts. I am simply a difficult cover. But enough about me.
This is about PP. Point guardo Perfecto. Passador al Publico. Professor Periferal. (See how much time I have on my hands to make up new Spanish words?) He comes to mind because of how hard it is for me to score here efficiently. On a lower-level team, all the other teams do here is meet me 10 feet from the three-point line and sag everyone else in. I don’t care where you play, that’s hard to score against. They aren’t kids out here and I’m never even close to to tallest player on the court. When at Tau, Pablo made it very very easy to score. I never had to worry about anyone being near me. Pablo could get anyone an open shot when and where he wanted. I didn’t understand him when I first got there but I learned quickly… Don’t call for the ball or ask him to tell you where to go, just listen to his finger. And if his finger didn’t talk, you were in the right place so just wait. Boom! Dunk. Why do you think the best shooter in Europe (Mirza Teletovic) is always open for three? Have you seen Tiago, Pete, Will and Igor’s FG%?
It’s ridiculous! It’s like they are playing alone. Pablo is 31 years old and he was the only one I stared at while working out in the weight room. I thought I was dedicated. Lil’ dude is from Argentina but looks like a Mafia hitman in the weight room. He could start on any caliber NBA team. He’s that good. NBA has surely come a calling but he may be one of those guys America never gets to see.
It gets so hard to keep getting beat up over here, I remember being wide open and getting hit in the nose with the ball. Man. I haven’t shot an open shot in… How long I been here?
Excuse this uncharacteristically short blog. It’s hard typing with one hand (injured it and I’m about a couple weeks from being back in action). However, enjoy this ever-so-rare international basketball schpiel. In all likelihood, it probably won’t happen again anytime soon. I’d much rather talk about real things that will affect my sovereign state of mind and consciousness much longer after basketball is over with. Things like the consistent whoring of Africa. Like how every non-African country, because of the selfish lack of insight of many African leaders, are being allowed to use unnatural mechanisms of fishing like bombing in African waters. Which in turn is depleting crustacean and other aquatic life to a point which is making the ecosystem unrecognizable (which affects us all). Not to mention taking all the fish we eat to foreign countries for profit.
Or how I’ve been going crazy trying to deprogam myself to accept the high possibility that a majority of what I have been taught (by supposed learned people) to believe is just a lie.
Now all I want to do is travel verywhere to see for myself what the truth is. I’m going to Nigeria this summer for more than just a FIBA African Championship. I want that too, but I want more. So I can’t have my Office Space moment on some unsuspecting Spalding court spawn, yet. But when I’m 35, you tell Spalding I’m looking for him and if he sees me run. Sure he’s taken me to find new avenues to discover more of self than just number 21, 6-foot-7 forward. And even taken me to experience basketball ecstacy in Spain and economic ecstacy in Korea. But you’ve also taken me places I won’t forgive you for. It’s for that that I’m whoopin’ your ass, that sick sense of humor. Laugh it up for now, Elmer. I’ll have the gun again.
I am learning to slow down. See… I know I have a gang of things fluttering around my brain and quite often I get confused. I literally spit out the random thoughts, that to me, seem to make sense simply because in my head, it makes sense. However, most of the time people who hear me explain something with a great amount of passion, give me that look. You know that sincere look that says, “I know this dude is making sense. Maybe he’s just too smart for me to understand.”
Well I am here to reassure you all, it’s not you. That’s the reason I reckon back to the media guy we had a Texas (his name was Dave Saba). Dave, in a short two-minute session, taught me to slow down. When I do, what do ya know! It actually works. I speed think my way to utterance in every language. Even my native tongue of Igbo. Then when I slow down, I might be speaking French (the worst of the languages I speak) and my wife will say, “Geez, since when did you get so good at French?”
Interesting what a tranquil approach will achieve. Normally, my head is bobbin’ and weavin’. I just get started slowly then peak at a nice resonating “hummmm” of words as if my head had a hummingbird for a cerebral cortex. Or more like Carlos Boozer’s Rolls Royce… Have you ever heard one of those things start? Dude! That freaking thing must be made by NASA. It’s a damn ground shuttle that sounds like…
Gotta slow down. Things are bouncin’ around the ol’ noggin. Anyway. I find myself (only every once in a while) slowing down and making a lot more sense. Not necessarily more sense to me but to others. Strangely enough, I rarely say things I don’t mean. Quirky trait for a mentally ambidextrous man. So hopefully, today is a slow down day that can offer a few coherant blurbs that will inspire and entertain at the expense of this (true) globetrotting joyride. Beanpie! Cheeseflakes! Tesla’s Zero point gravity orange peel!
Sorry. Habit.
Let’s see, I went from France, to San Antonio where the Spurs were working out, to vet camp with the Jazz. OK. It’s official. I love Jerry Sloan. Other than losing more weight than Jimmy Hoffa (Get it?…weight. Waaaayyyyeeet-tuh! Forget it), that was the second funniest camp I’ve been to. Smelled like Detroit 2002. Which leads me to predict the Jazz in the Western Conference Finals this year.
That was the first NBA team I’ve been on in which every player was (in my view) earning his check. What does that mean? Sorry. Wasn’t meant to be. Maybe better put… The Utah Jazz’s hierarchy or players and pay is almost perfect (I think we’d all agree Paul Milsap is tad bit underpaid… for now). And every player on that team is just flat out good. It’s always good when your highest paid players are the best respectively in every basketball (team) category.
Deron Williams is their best defender. And he shows it everyday.
Carlos Boozer is the hardest worker, which in turn equals most efficient player and best rebounder. Check his FG%. I have never checked nor do I know how I’d begin to, but I’m willing to bet he’s top five in the league in points/shot attempts. Even though he made me miss for the first time in a year being 260, he’s the Wolverine of that team. The best there is at what he does. I’m still spitting out chips of teeth… I am very serious.
Most professional had to be Memo. Same thing everyday. When everyone was tired after a hard day’s practice the day before, he was in the gym early lifting and starting practice drills off sprinting. Everyday.
And the last catergory… Best basketball pimp (I made that up; it means you’re just good at everything without really looking like you’re trying) AK 47. Hard to explain if you haven’t been to a game to see him in person. Just really good at everything. I think he may have nephthalim blood in him.
And last but definitely not least, most country. Oh you didn’t know being country is an intergral part of winning in basketball? It is. Cuz country folks are laid back. And them’re attritbutes keeps yuh cool when everyone else is hootin’ n’ hollerin’. Jerry Sloan. He was the same as he was three years ago when I was in summer league. He said, “Morning Gabe.” He laughed at my ramblings and even asked, “You alright,” every time anyone, not just his stars, got hurt. He’s either a great actor or a good man. Both of which only us country folk can really be. Without going into too much further detail, it was a pleasure being around good guys who just so happen to be good at basketball.
A wonderous few may have been wondering where the hell I’ve been. Me too. I’m not sure I totally remember. I know I was in three, no four countries in less than a week and I ended up in China and now I’m learning Chinese. Not bragging. I’m actually a bit weirded out by it. And now, the President is African. Huh?! Where have I been? I turned on the TV, only to fall asleep to sweet 80s kung fu movies with subtitles.
Then (listen to this) heard partially understood Manderin Chinese rambling and I actually heard “Obama dwi. Jia yo!” And in the middle of my sleep I popped up. As I deliriously squinted my eyes, I reached for my phone and saw I missed a million calls and texts from my wife, “He won!!!” No way! I just figured somehow, in America, it would never happen. I told my wife the whole time, “Don’t get your hopes up. It’ll never happen. Somehow McCain will win.”
Not only did he not win, he got the piss beat out of him. I couldn’t believe it! It was so big on so many levels, I didn’t know where to begin. I haven’t been in a good mood for a while. From France to Texas to playing like hot garbage in Utah’s camp. I’ve just been in a bad mood lately (if you asked me to explain why, it would take a while. As I’m not completely sure). But now… I was experiencing ecstasy. Work with me, as a Bantu man, it is difficult not to get a little America weary when you experience senseless and illogical hatred not even animals demonstrate simply because of the color of your skin. But that day… That day America shut us all up. Not just an African-American man, a Bantu-American man in every sense of the word is the President of the United States of America! Say it with me…”Obama.” Say it again, “Obama, Obama, Obama.” Sounds almost as good as Mufasa. Hate on America? You simply can’t anymore. Not me, not anyone. You think this could happen anywhere in Europe? Don’t mistake my excitement for distiguishing between polititians. I still don’t care. To me it’s all a circus of distraction while we all bend over. Something I like to call Johnny Cochran’s, “Looking at the shiny birdie.” That makes no sense. Birds aren’t shiny, well let me just stare at it until I see what’s so shiny about it. Keep looking you’ll see it.
For me Obama means my kids and my people’s kids can find a new self esteem of possibilities for themselves. You don’t have to be a rapper nor an athlete to be “cool”, son. Now you can appreciate those things for what they are – entertainment for a temporary escape from life. It’s not real. It is more than just a Bantu man is President. It’s much bigger than that. But people like Bill O’Reilly will simplify it. Why Obama got elected, why McCain lost. Who cares the result is the only important parameter. Or an even better remark from the media, I love this one, “Blacks only voted for him because he is Black (hate that word)” Duh. So what? Is being that ignorant any worse than that lady saying that she couldn’t trust Obama cuz he’s “an Arab” on national TV during a McCain rally? We should all have to take a test to insure one is competent enough to turn on a light and/or spell “U.S.A.” before being allowed to vote.
What, a hoops blog right? I just find myself looking for things to inspire me to not want to do something else. Like I’m over here in China and I should be thinking about hoops, right? You know what I’m thinking? How many cool things I’m gonna miss out on while here. Remember I told you about that new restaurant Fino Rosso of my boys I went to go see in New York? All I can think about is going there in December and how can I make it there with my wife to see Gypsy Kings. Yes, I like Gypsy Kings… Vas te chercher! Is that weird to want to watch Gypsy Kings when you’re playing ball for money? Well in looking for inspiration in basketball, I think I found it. You know in the ACB (Spain) some teams will let you put a nickname on the back of your jersey. Well, my new inspiration is to play in the ACB again, if for nothing else to put Obama on the back of my jersey for the whole season. No one steal that…
Despite what I might project, I really like basketball even today. And playing in Europe actually made me re-like it again. But on the flip side it also re-opened my loathing for travelleing 14 hours next to the guy who thinks, “Yes, I can get my knuckle in my nose without taking off my wedding ring,” only to again play in not-so-not-rag-tag-style leagues. Figure that one out. This is the perfect example of what my dad told me that I never believed when I was a kid… Never choose a job for money, it will never be enough. The money is good and pays the bills but… Whatever. I’ll get over it, dad.
I experienced Jerry Sloan and thought, this is probably the same practice John Stockton and Karl Malone did and I’m doing it. The same ol’ same, ol’ and he keeps winning (even with Williams out). And I wonder: How the hell does he do it? Yes, great players. But it can’t just be the coincidence of great players. Sloan keeps winning and has even done it with less. Other NBA teams have great players and lose (very well, I might add). He doesn’t change no matter what firestorm is going on around him and still manages to be human. So the next ref that T’s him, I don’t care how nice he talks to you, you’re mine. Even though I never want to coach or ever be in politics, I still want to learn the attribute I have seen in the past two months. I want to be a chameleon. Just like Jerry. And so far just like Obama.
A proverb I love (in English even though it loses meaning and umph) is, the chameleon doesn’t care whether there’s a forest fire or not, he will always strut the walk of confidence. I think I’ve used that one before but it’s cooler now. Bumble bee tuna, bumble bee tuna.
I have a real funny story to tell. I just don’t know how to tell it. It’s been made clear when I just pour words onto a computer screen, people have no idea what I’m talking about. I’m not really sure if it’s anyone’s fault or if the parties involved are just at an intersection of two perpendicular paths… Screw you, I actually talk that way.
You know the ratio for someone being a professional basketball player, right? Like one in a million or worse. Well, finding the perfect team or situation is even more rare. And the older you get the less likely that becomes. But for those few good guys, hard workers and tough mofos that get money, fame and the perfect situation, like Pete Mickael… Guys like that deserve it and earn it daily. But for some Peter freakin’ Pans, they get lucky and project that Superman attitude toward the rest of the world.
The only thing negative about being in Puerto Rico is Family Guy, my favorite show today, is in Spanish. You can imagine my discontent when I patiently sat through the agonizing dry humor of King of the Hill, only to have my garnered excitement thrown out of my window when I heard Stewie say, “idiota,” instead of “you bovine lummox.” Even though I can understand, it’s just not as funny sans the New England/English accent Seth McFarlen masters. But I’ll get over it. I got Slingbox (an overseas baller’s best friend… Get on it if you already have not).