HoopsHype.com NBA Blogs - Gabe Muoneke

In a race, whether one walks or runs, all finish at the end. Sooner or later I had to learn what doing bad things to others would cause. Whether I learned it earlier or after death, I would have learned it. It would have been nice to learn it at, oh I don’t know, around 10. Yeah, 10 would have been a good age to learn it. But as it stands, it took a bit longer. That’s neither here or there. I try not to look back very often and absolutely love living for today.

Today I am still in China… Waiting for tomorrow. Ha! You have to experience a game in this league to really appreciate why I say that. One day, I’d love to discuss the fine points of basketball and its utter decimation in certain places. I’d love to brag about my numbers over here but I have some pride. I would say the only thing I concentrate on as far as individually, to apply my desire of self-betterment in this sport that does so much for me, is my field goal percentage. I couldn’t care less if I averaged 80 ppg here. However, when my 3P% is under 42, I am in a bad mood until it’s back up. So as far as basketball is concerned… that’s all I got.

You are more than welcome to check out the CBA website to enjoy for yourself but no one there considers it worthy to give readers an English viewing option. So good luck deciphering Chinese and enjoy!

Now, to the juice. I got texts from every fellow hooper I know, NBA staff people, family I haven’t heard from in months and Bugs Bunny all asking the same thing: WTF?

It came as a surprise to me, because people heard about it about two weeks after it happened. So by the time I saw it was reported everywhere even in Nigeria, I had forgotten it happened. In case anyone is totally baffled, I’m talking about the apparent attack on poor me by Chinese team captain and some of his boys. Seriously… It wasn’t that serious. I think the biggest guy might have weighed 180lbs. OK, I was trying to make it juicy…175lbs.

Anyway, I could give you tons of guesses about what spurned Super Mario and Pals to wait for me outside my locker room but I’m sure your guess would be as accurate as mine. Quite honestly I’m not totally sure. So rather than speculate on the causes, I’ll just give detail by detail the happenings and my thoughts in the middle. I can’t really give you the  comical G-money version cuz I might just get detained. Why am I here? Sorry…

I come out of the locker room and take my 1-year-old girl and my 5-year-old off my wife’s hands and leave my wife, mother-in-law and 3-year-old walking behind me to leave the arena. At the exit I see Shanghai’s seemingly entire team and Mickey Mouse waiting at the exit and looking at me as if I handed them a $1,000 dinner bill. Now, I remember getting into it with Minnie on the court. But I would hardly call it an altercation. I’ve had worse altercations blowing my nose.

Anyway, to avoid any issues with the fam there, I asked if they were waiting for something. I guess their English wasn’t that good. Because they took it as their invitation. I really thought it was a joke. You know, one of those European soccer belly bumping shows of testosterone? Then, when a full water bottle was hurled at me but my son ducked (lucky man; I don’t mean my son), I immediately handed him and the baby over and dropped my bag. I directed the fam back into the arena away from Mickey and friends and faced the fun bunch.

Now, initially there were guards and they parted like the red sea. Cool beans! This ought to be fun… Thanks, guys. 50 guards… 15 Shanghai Sharks. The guards should have been charged admission. OK. Now it’s me and them. Mickey to my left, Huey, Duey and Louis in center, Minnie and Scrooge to my right and Goofy and his friends in back. My first instinct was to absolutely shatter Minnie’s jaw. I mean, she was standing a perfect two feet from my right hand and if I was going to get jumped, I figured someone might as well be mortally wounded. But then I remembered. I’m in China, where if you go to jail no one, I mean absolutely no one outside of a Chinese government official can get you out.

Thank God I was reminded of Chinese laws like literally days before the incident. Did you hear about the five Puerto Ricans that changed dollars for counterfeit money here in China? They are still in jail and pleas by the U.S. State Department ain’t helping. So knowing what I know and what I’ve experienced here, two things went through my mind: Stay on your feet and take it. They’re neither big or strong enough to actually injure me. And two, don’t hurt any of them.

Believe me. 15 on 1 or not, if I had hurt one Chinese, I’d have been fined more, suspended longer and depending on how bad I’d have hurt someone, they would have put me in jail. Sorry guys, can’t go to jail in China with the family there. Shiiii. I can’t go to jail in China with the family not there! Do you know even though it was all on tape, they still questioned me as to attempt to punish me as well? You should have heard the questions I got from the CBA board.

“Well, were you in a ready to fight stance?”

No, I stuck my face out like a mistletoe and told ‘em all Merry freakin’ Christmas… Kiss me.

The question I posed was, were they looking for a reason to punish me too or do you want the story?

Back to the fun… With some teaching, I sprawled back and used two of their own guys as a wall and took my deep tissue massage like a man. Head down, arms extended, legs sprawled back pushing the crowd back with two cornered walls as a base. 30 seconds and who knows how many pats to my shoulders and back it was over.

I must admit, when they first came at me, I thought they were joking. When it was over and I looked up, I knew they were joking. Well, maybe not. But it spurned a chuckle out of me. Which in turn started Mickey into a Mariah Carey Tirade. It was actually the only American teammate of their own Sharks, Dajuan Tate, that broke it up. Yes, just him. No one of them really wanted to fight me. They wanted to let off some steam.

Well, I’m glad I could be of service. I wasn’t angry, injured or distraught. My wife was angry, mother-in-law was scared and my kids are now racists. But other than that, I’m fine. To this day I still love Disney and all the shows. I hold no ill will toward them and was on record saying I had no desire for them to be punished. In actuality, I feel embarrassed for them. Mickey especially. To me, it was more insulting to him to proceed with a fight in front of a man’s kids. But you know what? That, culturally, is how we are perceived here. Remember the story I told you about the Chinese fan screaming out “yoo monkee” to Lorenzo Coleman? That’s a microcosm of the experience. One day, friends… It goes back to what I said to start this. Whether you learn now or tomorrow, we will all learn.

This blog was just the bland version of the whole flower petal shower on Gabe. Can’t really tell it how I want but I’m sure you can guess. I’ll just say this. I couldn’t get beat to hell by many more North Africans. This was funny, believe me.

For anyone who comes here, Bonzi, it’s best you learn the culture quickly. Do not give them a reason. Just to give you a picture… If you get in a local’s face, it will quickly be broken up, sometimes maliciously. But (and this is a phenomenom that has held true since I came here in 2003) if the two adversaries are American? Well, pull up a seat, let us test the girth of each leviathon in battle, ha ha ha. They will let two Americans hash it out for a while before it is separated, if separated.

My first coach here in 2003 told me he studied human anatomy in college and through his studies he learned (Bantu) people are made only for certain sports. He said, basketball, football and other power sports were those for Bantus but a sport like, “Tennis for example,” he said was made for white and yellow. I didn’t get offended. Ignorance can’t offend me. I just smiled and said, “Venus and Serena.” And he thought, smiled and shook his finger at me half embarrassed, half laughing with a steroetypical, “very good.”

It’s all good, though. Any assumptions of me getting all angry and racially insulting can go out the window. I still appreciate all cultures. If anything, the thing that offers me the most frustration is having to deal with this nonsense at my age. You won’t get it unless you experience the 21-year-old kid getting paid $500 a month that they put in to guard the 40-point scoring NBA caliber player. The kid wants to prove himself and the coaches and refs want to see their next NBA prospect play you. They can’t and won’t call every overzealous, borderline career-ending foul. Otherwise you’d score 100. So they let him beat you like an orphan panda until it gets ridiculous. Which is all good when you’re 25 and a good player. But when you’ve worked to this level of play at 30? It gets old, especially on a 2-12 team. It’s better to play in Europe. No one there wants to fight anymore. Everyone just wants to make money, play good, fundamental basketball and wear skinny jeans while saying, “bon giorno” to that girl walking down the street that you swore you saw on model TV the other day.

Unfortunately for me, my plan of signing early in Europe didn’t work out and after NBA cuts all Euro jobs are filled. Sorry, I wasn’t passing up a vet camp with Jerry Sloan for anything. So if I had to do it again, I would. Yes, I knew they had 15 contracts before I went and didn’t care. I went there for longer-lasting reasons. The Chinese say the journey is the reward. I say, that’s if you survive the journey.

Until next time, don’t boycott Disney and its characters on my behalf. It’s all good. We all know the possible results in a different forum.

JVG… You’re the man! Next time you see me, please take notice to the “Will work for Prayers,” sign on my back.

ShalObama.

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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.

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