HoopsHype.com NBA Blogs - Gabe Muoneke

You know this is the only time of the year I really regret not being in the NBA. If for no other reason because of the immense difference of the playoffs and what I am doing at the time. See, because during the year (you know, September through April) I don’t see a difference between what I’m doing  and what guys in the States are doing. Making good money and having fun. But see, now… Now is the time I bite my lip and the basketball fan in me comes back out. Now basketball is being played. Real, raw, unadulterated basketball. And even if I accepted the scraps I was offered to stay at Tau and play in the Final Four of Europe, there is little doubt I wouldn’t be as “straightjacketed” there as I am now.

Every time I see a playoff game, it resurrects that feeling I swear I never get any other time. I sit here with my beautiful family trying to squeeze time between keeping my boy from maiming the rest of the kids at my daughter’s birthday party and putting together the trampoline we got her, to sneak a peek at the Boston-Atlanta series. And all I can do is bite my lip when I see a juvenile turnover at a crucial time by a guy who would be cut in a heartbeat from any team I’ve played for overseas. And I blurt out things like, “Geezus Christmas… What the hell are you doing?” in the middle of cutting a cake and singing. And I get the “look” from all the 9-5ers enjoying the non-athletic festivities.

But what can I say? Have you seen some of the basketball juggernauts playing right now? I mean with guys like Devean George, the abominable combination of James Augustine and Marcin Gortat, the dominant Rasho Nesterovic, Joey Graham, DJ Mbenga (kosilika te mon cher c’est un blague) and of course the utterly brilliant Reggie Evans (although I must say you are playing well, you’re still a rhino, or was it a triceratops?), how could I possibly make a case of being good enough to hang? I mean these guys are, dare I say, Jordan-esque.

But as it stands, I do still get that itch to get on a court and dismantle the athletically superb but basketball dumb with a culmination of the things I’ve learned playing everywhere except Afghanistan (but let them offer enough shiiiiii). So I get up now and take offers to play, just so I can do exactly that. And it’s not the money, although I do make more for a two-week tourney in Kuwait than I would in a month for a top Euro team. Money hasn’t been my driving force since 2003. My friend and I just started a business in Central Africa and it’s moving like a freight train. Everyone says, “Yeah you make money in Africa but is it stable?” Read this very carefully… The people saying, “Don’t fish in the pond” are the ones harvesting the fish. In short, I’m happy with what I make and more than comfortable but I just gotta play when the playoffs come around.

Man! I take an offer to some asininely non-basketball part of the world to get rid of that itch, then the level of play there is so plainly not what I see on ESPN, my presence there simply exacerbates the frustration of not playing on an NBA playoff team. It’s a vicious cycle. So why do I do it? Well, I like putting on a show… For myself. Wherever I am. But (and this is a big but) will I do it for pennies on the dollar of what I’m worth (easily half of an Asian team) in a country that looks at me as less than a man just because the country or league “looks” big-time? And for a non-championship team? Basically give you million dollar basketball for cheap? Survey says… Yes? “I’m sorry the correct answer was ‘hell to the naw… That’s hell to the naw’. Thanks for playing we do have some parting gifts for you.”

Quick…

This is not really a quick, just something I thought about while watching the Toronto-Orlando series. (Dwight, please stop it. You’re scaring the children). You know how on TV you always heard how competitive Michael Jordan is? I used to see that on TV and thought it was just a media facade. Until I met him and got to hang out with him. His level of competitiveness is scratching the surface of being uncanny (seriously, look that word up as to really comprehend what I mean). I mean, it like made me slightly uncomfortable if not scared. Then I remembered watching the game, Mo Evans is exactly the same. I had to jab him when I saw how mad he got when he missed a corner three wide open. He went 4-for-6 from beyond the arc for the night, but knowing him the two he missed will keep him up til 3 am playing dominoes until he beats poor Papa Evans bad enough to satisfy that frustration of missing them two 3’s. So I guess that’s the quick… Mo is the best domino player in the NBA. I don’t really know if that’s true, but he’s damn good. I think we won a NBAer tourney once… Anyway…

Back…

To put in plain words without telling you exactly what an individual makes… My contract this year in Spain paid me more than I would have made playing for Charlotte this year. No exaggeration. Fact. There were three guys that went through my spot and guess who was the lowest paid (by far)? Yep, mois. Now I defy you to go to the stats for yourself and see who played the best. Mind you, sans the “tag” (that’s hoops lingo for guys with the played-in-NBA for substantial time tag). I was given little to no respect, even less chance and fought my way to getting 20 minutes a game in a style unbecoming of my skills. On the contrary, the other two guys were simply given that time. To make matters worse, I am older and much more experienced than the other two guys (and there are plenty that would make the argument, simply better. I said it and my cologne is Versace. You know the routine).

I did all this and I swear to all that is Hoopery, I took a substantial pay cut from what I make in Asia. Simply because the season in Europe is longer so more stable. It’s obviously more desirable to make 500K-a million over 10 months than to make 300K-500K over 4 months. Give or take. I’m not stupid. 500K over 4 in Asia or 500K over 10 months in Europe is a no-brainer but it’s not always that plain. I took that pay cut to prove myself in Europe because they hadn’t seen me in five years. So I proved myself. Gabe can play. Duh. Like they didn’t know that.

So why hadn’t they seen me in five years? I had never gotten all my money playing in Europe. Let me repeat; Nunca cogio todo plata mia jugando en Europa CON-YO! Shall I repeat? Jamias na monaki mbongo ya ngai mobimba tangu nazalaki kobeta basquet na Europe. (I can do this all day). Conversely, my fine feathered friends, I am not owed one cent, not one kobo, ni un puto centavo, from any team in Asia (not even in Iran).

Sure, culture and belief systems are different wherever I go. But blatant lying as an attempt to keep $200 bucks here, $800 there, $50 over yonder is a trait that one would experience, not in Asia. Oops… Am I insinuating something? Naw, if you’re a moron. So what now? Yep, I go play. Puerto Rico (another place I’m not owed a penny), China (which I love), Kuwait, anywhere but I just can’t keep watching these playoff games, not be a part of them and satisfy my basketball yearning dunking on my Brazilian Ju-jitsu teacher at 24-hour fitness. For some reason it’s just not the same. Don’t ask me why. So I’m off somewhere that I probably wont have Internet in turn, incommunicado. Then I’ll come back home for two months, sign a deal somewhere in June and this basketball ride will start again. Only this time it will be a lot more detailed and (ha ha) fun! Cuz I’ll have nada to lose and I’ll still be rich… Bit… You get the point. Nwa agu adi ataa ahihia. And I am the son of a lion.

Shalom.

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.

Shalom.

“The wrath of God is being revealed from heaven against all godlessness and wickedness of men who suppress the truth by their wickedness….” Romans 1:18.

For those Bible readers that say Revelation is the scariest book in the Bible, check Romans out. It is one of the books I read the most and that verse is the one I try to always remember. If you read on, you would read it goes on to say God’s wonders have been demonstrated in plain view since the beginning of time so men, we, are without excuse. I personally get so tired of that statement, “game recognizes game” because it’s so true and it doesn’t comfort me. That statement offers me no solace for the simple fact that it only serves as a catalyst to perturb me in an area I’d much rather ignore. The truth is “Game” does recognize game and “Game” does all it can to suppress, ignore or utterly decimate it.

Quick…

I love that word. Decimate. You know where it comes from? It’s Latin from “deci” meaning “ten” and “mate” meaning kill. If Caesar’s army, men or what have you would lose a battle, fight or all in all mess up, he would order something passed gangster. He’d order 10 men from his army bound and gagged in public view and, you guessed it, slaughtered. Just to get his point across to the rest that he wasn’t in business for tolerance of failure. All these little Latin barbs I know are thanks to Latin classes I had while growing up in Catholic school. Actually made the English portion of the SAT a turkey shoot.

Back…

It’s very difficult to play overseas and be exposed to so many things that you simply would never hear while confined in your little box at home in the States or anywhere else for that matter. Can you imagine the people and his/her revelation when they notice a world outside of the little box in his/her mind? I’ve gone through it and am going though it still. It wouldn’t be so difficult to play if I weren’t so damn “peculiar” as I’ve been referred to here. But as it is, I notice and analyze way too much.

On the way back from one of our Euroleague games where we smashed Aris in Thessaloniki, Igor Rakocevic handed me a Serbian (I don’t know if it was Serbian or Croatian or Bosnian or which one of the six former Yugoslavian states, so I beg you pardon if I’m wrong) newspaper that offered a very different point of view from a former Yugoslavian leader. His word were not bad mouthing America but rather a hesitant confession of what America forced him to do. What?! I read this and I don’t know what fascinated me more, the fact American powers really might have forced this man to do what he claims, or the fact we in America have never heard these extremely damning accusations! Not really that particular story I want to dwell on but rather one example.

Another is this one… Hillary/Obama. I swear, man. I mean, come on. How hard is it to take important caca seriously? It’s damn near impossible. One day reports are going out all over the newswire. “Obama is killing Hilary”, “He’s looking to sweep Ohio and Texas,” the media even suggesting Hilary might just drop out of the race. So much so Mrs. Clinton had to speak on it and say she wasn’t dropping out. And for my almost 20 years of being interested in elections, every single time the media has talked about someone dropping out of a political race… Stick a fork in him (her). Well, not only did Hilary not drop out, she won Texas and Ohio! WTF?!

Picture my boy calling me and in our casual convo he just mention he was just getting back from voting. As I was congratulating him on doing what he had never done before, he cut me off and said he never got a chance to. Why? (If it weren’t such a shame, I’d be laughing). They announced Hillary won to a multitude waiting in line to vote at Nimitz High School (a mostly Bantu area of Houston) with plenty of time to spare before polls closed. This is comical.

Or how about this? I’ve like found so much similarities between Africa and, well, everywhere it’s crazy. China, I learned, has many different ethnicities and languages just as every country in Africa. But I never expected it in Spain! I thought everyone in Spain was Spanish. I guess my first stint here I was too consumed with a pregnant wife and a wanting bank account to notice.

There are at least four ethnicities/languages/people whatever you want, other than Spanish in Spain. And these people are damn proud of that. There is Catalan (kinda of a Spanish-French melange), Gaello (ummm, Spanish-Portuguese), another I don’t know the name of but it is in Menorca, and the most interesting, the Basque. The city I play in is the capital of Basque country, Vitoria. But in Euskera, Vitoria is Gasteiz. And that is just one example. I take pride in being able to somewhat decipher different languages but I am telling you, I could not explain or decipher the incredible history or language of these people. To even begin would take up this blog and every other one from this point out. Euskera has absolutely no similarities to Spanish. None. No one knows exactly where it came from. Linguists cannot agree from where their language emerges. Some historians have even said they might be the survivors of Ancient Atlantis. Basques have been traced… Ready for this… Back to the days of Cromagnon! That is the days of cavemen, my friends. OK, I can’t be the only one tripping on this. But here’s the point. Nobody really recognizes their game. I read maybe one line about the Basque in History classes in the US growing up. And the French Government apparently doesn’t even recognize them as an ethnic group/people.

When I read that, it reminded me of Africa and how different ethnic groups are not only not recognized but simply razed as long as no one talks or knows about it. But as soon as it can no longer be hidden, then everyone acts as if they knew about the wrong doing and cared about the people the whole time. I for that reason I relate to the Basque and at the risk of getting too political, let me stop and say… The similarities between these ethnic groups’ problems in Europe as well as Africa are astounding. The lone thing that separates the two is no one cares about what takes place in Africa until someone puts it in the media or there is some type of resource that sprouts up in the particular area. In Europe, you have no choice. So when it happens, it shows how small yet covert the world really is.

Hoops…

Do I even need to relate how the cliche “game recognizes game” is true and yet complete basura in basketball? There have been so many guys I have seen dominate on the court and be tossed aside as if they were scrubs. I was on the summer league team with the Vancouver Grizzlies when they dismissed Stephen Jackson like he couldn’t play. Was I watching the same guy they were? You see how good he is now? He’s been the exact same player since high school. The same year Vancouver let him ride, he finished second or third in rookie of the year voting starting for New Jersey. Then they let him ride too. This phenomenon continued and climaxed with him winning a championship with San Antonio, killing in ATL and getting that contract he deserved.

OK, so I might be a bit biased because we are from the same area and that might have something to do with me ignoring the off-court antics. However, I’m sure we’d agree on the fact that he can play and if he were one of those highly touted No. 1 picks not only would “Game” ignore those antics of his, “Game” would do everything in its power to protect and emphasize the most minute positive attribute he has. They should change that statement to “Game recognizes game as long as someone else recognizes it.”

And even that wouldn’t be complete. Talking about this reminds me of one of my most hated rappers, let’s just call him “Hey-mon” Tones (he’s Jamaican). Moving on… Anyway, he used to complain all the time about how no one recognized our skills (Oh yeah… You didn’t know I rapped?) He was going to small clubs performing, radio stations, selling underground CDs and everyone in the Houston/PA/Galveston area knew. Shiiii his rap game was nice. We were friends and not only were we both working our tails off to get noticed, but gave honest praise for each other. Lo and behold, he got a small break preforming after small-time rappers. Then bigger… Master P, UGK, then Outakst. Until now…

He’s on stage and on tour with the likes of Jay-Z and Lil’ Wayne consistently. After all he’d been through, I was proud he got to that level. But one time in the summer, Jigga, Weezie, Pimp C and all the big-time rappers were gathered along with some of the other up-and-coming artists along with “Hey-mon” and myself. And after all the ass kissing he’d witnessed and he himself taken part in, after all the struggles we’d both been oppressed with, he – not Jay-Z, not Big Boi, not Weezie, none of the big-timers – felt it just to insult me in front of all the rappers. His exact word directed at me was, “garbage.” This from a guy who beso mi culo the whole time we were both struggling was now searching for belonging among his superiors at my expense. Loud mouth, presumptuous, payaso-acting, flamboyantly brown nosing “Hey-mon”.

I assure you all that loud talking got real quiet after I told him I’d snap his little neck. (Sure, I surrender that I’m not a perfect man but I am a big man and I carry a big stick). Strip everything we have away. A man plus riches, cars, women and power is still a man. In the same way a bitch plus all the same is still a bitch. Like late Pimp C says, “Yeah I said it, and if you got a problem with it you can smell my cologne.”

I honestly believe he is the only person alive I hold animosity toward. For the life of me I can’t think of one other person I simply don’t like. For no other reason besides I witnessed first hand his wickedness turning a blind eye to something he knows to be true. Game recognizes game, right?

This denial of the obvious can be seen in abundance in basketball and even easier in everyday life. I could literally tell amazing first hand stories of completely unnecessary, bold-faced denials of the truth. Guys who told me something I never asked for in my face and proceeded to deny my existence. But I won’t, because I simply don’t care. I just laugh when I see them on TV or on some other stage talking and people actually buying the manure they are selling. I’m over here with guys who have no business outside the NBA, but when you ask most of them why the don’t try to go back, they echo the same thing. Over here they get more money and less poo-poo. Most of them dreamed about being in the NBA and all were disappointed once they got there. Zoran Planinic, Igor Rakocevic, Pete Mickeal and especially James Singleton. Geez! None of them have any business outside the stage of the best basketball players in the world. And everyone on our team could play there at the least. But hiding the hoops obvious in Europe is a bit more difficult. (Don’t get it twisted, it happens and is very possible, just not as easy). So sure I agree with the fact “Game recognizes game” only if it is conceded the fact that “Game” is a vindicative, wicked asshole. Otherwise, I hold that statement to be about as true as me having ever been a rapper.

Shalom.

Yo yo… What a schedule. I haven’t had much free time due to the Kenyan long-distance runner nature of practice but I promise the topics spawned by the simplest attribute I so strangely perceive have been-o-comin’. I wrote back everyone that wrote me so far. Save the young playa asking for advice about procuring a basketball job overseas. My bad, lil’ bros… I’ll write back but I must say, it’s a massive task for me to keep myself working let alone get the hook up for someone else. Shiii… You might end up making more than me next year. That’s the nature of this monster.

For those keeping track… We lost to Joventut in the Spanish Cup. No. That doesn’t mean we’re done. It was an in-season tourney of the top eight teams. The ACB championship is yet to come. Rudy Fernandez seemed to have a hard time missing as his hands were dipped in petrol – which I feel should be illegal. But as it is legal, he had 32. Next, they had a young fella, Ricky Rubio. He joined in the act. OK, not really but him doing his thing wasn’t the real issue more so is the fact he’s like 12 years old. The kid can go. I swear I’m going to find one of his behind-the-back dribble moves and personally put it on Youtube. A reporter asked me if I agreed with some other player that he was protected. Hell, if I know I just got here. But I can tell you this… He doesn’t need it. Look him up, the little termite can go.

My new name for the big guys here is “Los Toros.” Why? Because when that shot goes up, put on your helmets. Block out of blood. I have not yet figured out how to rebound like I want. The main reason is because over the back, push in the back, bite in the back and the oh so famous removal of spleen and replacing with nuclear weapon, all are not fouls here. The only way to block out here is to face block hence eliminating your opportunity to get the rebound so wings (and occasional seven-footers) have the best chance of getting rebounds. As seen, Pete Mickeal is our leading rebounder and get this, second leading defensive rebounder in the ACB. He is a 6-foot-5 wing. After all my work to become a 3, I ponder on what I will achieve when I play there again. Especially in Europe. So to date I am doing well with the time I get at the 4. Trust me, when I play more, it’s brains and not brawn I will use to achieve what I wish.

My damn slingbox just decided to stop working. Funny thing is I don’t watch much TV when it’s readily available. Now that it’s not, I go nuts to find something to watch. Since my kids have garnered all cable time with LazyTown and the Disney Channel, I am stuck watching Spanish TV in the kitchen where cable is not. And yes, even though I am fluent, I don’t particularly like watch the Spanish rendition of the Simpson’s. Homer just isn’t as funny unless you hear Dan Castellaneta’s voice. So I’m stuck watching CNN or any other international news in English.

While watching the news, I saw something amazing, funny and angering. Did you hear about Bush’s homeboy making that statement about Nigerians? Roger Adams is the name. And he is an Attorney for the Just-us (Justice) Department. This guy was in charge of granting pardons! Now that won’t amaze you until you are made aware of what he said. Recently a drug convict applying for a pardon was so eloquently described as “about as honest as a Nigerian.” I’ll give you a moment to laugh, ponder, soak it in, whatever… Done? OK. This guy is one of our leaders. There are 180 million approximately in Nigeria. Did he think for one second that maybe that would be a slightly insulting thing to say to at the very least 90 million of those people? I started to get mad then I just started to laugh. And I thought how often have I seen the same thing in the world as you see in basketball? How many times have I been on a team that the leader was an absolute clown? I mean you look at some of the League teams… It’s bloody comical. Some of these teams are led by guys who can’t shoot a bank shot then it’s like some big mystery why the castle falls.

Get the hell outta here. Seriously? Do you really wonder why your team sucks or is that just for the fans to think you care? Man, seriously. It’s the same thing everywhere. Leadership in so many avenues is incredibly out of touch. How can you be a leader and not relate to the people you’re leading? I mean, I have stereotypes of people too. Let’s do an easy, funny, relatively non-offensive one. “White men can’t jump.” (Obviously not true, but let’s move on). If I thought that, how incredibly daft, I mean completely cerebello absentia would I have to be to be a man of high leadership stature and say that on a national stage about 100 million people?

These people are by all accounts insane. Think about it, literally insane! How seriously can you take yourself? So now I’m all into the election man. I’ve only voted once but I’m plastered to this election. I’m damn voting! And doing everything in my power to get everyone around me to vote. This is the first election I’ve seen where the possible candidates seem human and not body doubles of the Manchurian Candidate. John McCain. That dude is hilarious. He knows his own party doesn’t like him and he sticks to his guns and laughs at himself. I don’t know much of his background, but there’s gotta be a reason for that. Maybe he wasn’t always rich. Ooops, he’s Republican. My bad.

Truth is, I don’t know if I’m Republican or Democrat. I believe like a democrat, but I am very conservative in certain areas. Maybe I’m a Hypocrat. Get it? Hypo-crat and not “crit”. Ha ha… No? Buh-dump-bump next… Obama. Now that man has no choice but to be real. Look how he grew up and tell me he aint got 40 different personalities in him. Makes good for someone leading and putting themselves in your shoes. Anyway I’m on this coming election like red noses on politicians and squirting flowers on captains… Wait for it. Lucky for us, we have very good leadership so this castle ain’t going nowhere.

You can’t help but have the utmost respect for entities that are governed by steadfast leadership. I have the pleasure of experiencing it now and I had the pleasure to experience that with the Pistons. They were very unimpressive upon first glance, but as practice went on they were leviathans from head to base. No one had an ego. You know how the rookie free agent is supposed to be the first one in the gym and last to leave? Couldn’t do it, man. I tried the first few days but after a while when you see an 80-year-old Cliff Robinson in the gym before you and you came an hour early, man just let it ride. I’d walk in there. Rick Carlisle? On the court rebounding for whoever was shooting or on the treadmill. Ben Wallace? Doing some type of work out.

Quick…

The first day I walked into practice, I came an hour early. Ben Wallace was there finishing what I didn’t see was a photoshoot. Therefore I didn’t know it was him. I mean I didn’t even bother looking at his face because he was so short I dismissed him as another rookie like myself. I swear. When he walked by me and greeted all the front office personnel as if he knew them I couldn’t believe this was the man that was one of four people ever to lead the NBA in rebounding and blocked shots for a season. No way was he even 6-foot 8. But one attribute that stood out like Dwyane Wade on the Heat was his arms. Not the size, the length. His wingspan dwarfed mine and mine is 7-foot-1. The guy was built and as athletic as what we call “Odumadaka.” It’s a compliment.

Back…

Chauncey Billups? Already dressed and stretching. Rip? On the free throw line. And we won’t even get into last to leave. It was like a competition to see who could leave last. Truth is they were all good leaders, from Corliss to Chucky. Because they all had been through “it” and could relate to the superstars and the scrubs. I’d play against NBA stars and they would usually stop playing hard against you as a facade to hide the fact you were kicking his ass. The guys you love are the guys who respect you enough to fry you no matter who you are not.

For example… I went at Ben from the first day in practice. Not out of disrespect, I wanted a paycheck. I figured he was just too small to guard me. (Yes, I was 20 lbs heavier than him back then and damn near taller.) On one move in the post I spun baseline with my signature tribute to The Dream (he actually showed me that move) and laid it up. From that point on my confidence was through the roof. I was physically attacking him the whole practice and strangely enough he went right back at me. I wasn’t used to superstars doing that. Normally it would be, “Quit foulin’!” or “Uh Doc… Man I think I pulled something’” or just the traditional shit talking to hopefully quell the young exuberant barrage. But nope. He got pissed and if I beat him (barely) he personally would stop play and say, “I got ‘em.” What the hell was this? The best center in the league not going Hollywood? Here’s why… He was better than whoever he went against and he knew it. The next time I got it in the post I wanted it bad. This time I was going to hit him with the spin, but I had all plans to dunk it. Boom. Spun. He wasn’t close. I beat him bad. Now everything went slow-mo. I’m about to dunk the hell outta this… Bap! He blocked it from behind like he was slapping a tether ball. Arm extended sideways not extended up (just to give you an idea how athletic he is). Then he chased it down, outletted to Chauncey and the rest to the camp was kind of a blur.

Anyway trust me, fellow hoopers know, when a guy of Ben Wallace status really goes at you it is a compliment and he’s telling you he thinks you are good enough for him to go hard against you. They all reflected their leader, Joe Dumars, who himself is and was when he played a monster. That year they won 50-plus games and the next year they won the championship. I wonder why. No ego, man. Joe Dumars sat with me forever in the training room talking about non-basketball stuff and what a coincidence it was my high school coach was with him at McNeese State. What I found coolest was his nephew and I got to be cool and he didn’t do the Hollywood thing. “Why would he?” you say. If you haven’t seen yet, you might see that the acquaintances and/or family of the powerful are usually much cockier than the receiver of their organ pleaser. (I know a lot of ya’ll say you don’t get what the hell I’m talking about at times. It’s OK. I’m the same way. See? I know for sure that didn’t make sense). Keep emailin and I’ll keep responding. Say cheese. (There I go again).

Next time you want to get mad and insult any leaders in Basketball or in everyday life, just remember: They are baboons. Ha! For real. Insane chimps leading people. They have most likely never been in your shoes and if so, power has jaded their way of thinking to a point your concerns are literally completely foreign to their comprehension. Can you imagine telling Condi Rice, “Yo Condi, holla at ya boy and see if he can’t get some deez n***a chasers out ch’ere.” She would look at you and say, “Como?” I mean, really think of your most respected politician and put him/her in the most foreign place in the U.S. for him/her you could think of and picture he/she trying to comprehend the one iota of an everyday issue of just one of those people. It would be like a man explaining his problematic day at work… Well… To a chimp. It’s hilarious!

So I’m not mad at Mr. Adams. I wanted to be but that would be like regressing. And after all this I’ve been through, a re-formed grudge would be kind of an adolescent thing to cause a backslide. It’s cool because letting grudges go has been the lone thing that makes it easier to be positive. So Mr. Adams I say… F… Just joking. Good luck with that way of thinking. If he’s lucky, maybe God will make him do this journey of life over again as a Nigerian. No grudges.  (By the way, I should have known that earlier comment was from someone who once lived in 9ja and not from a Nigerian… That Pijin jare was terrible).

I’m too busy hooping. Nna maaaan, the only grudge I got is on this court. A grudge has always been a brick I carry around the neck. And, with me, I’ve seen it just increases in girth the longer I carry it. I’ve noticed when I want it off my chest, it’s easier to lean forward and let it drop rather than throw it and hang myself.

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 Tiago Splitter 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.

Shalom.

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 Jared Dudley’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 Jermareo Davidson 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, Will McDonald… 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!

Shalom.

(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.

Well… I’m wet enough.

Greetings all! Please accept my apologies as I haven’t had a chance to read the responses to the last blog. We’ve had like five games in 10 days and I haven’t found time to do anything but sleep and eat outside of basketball. Oh! And yes, je suis un imbecil, pardon… It is “quasi-savant.” And you thought I was smart. Fooled you!

Let’s get it on! In the games we’ve played as of late I have had the chance to be irritated beyond comprehension and at the same time continue learning not to give a large mouse’s derriere about things out of my control. Because honestly, can you? I mean, really. How much can you really care without human nature driving you to discouragement? It’s almost like I feel it’s much easier to care when tons of money is coming in. Yeah, I said it. Isn’t it? I mean check this out… You’re in the D-League and you’re working, I mean working, to show everyone how good you are over the long haul and not just a couple of games and an NBA team, watch this, signs a guy who was at home frying grilled cheese sandwiches and working out with the guys from 24-hour fitness. Angering? Maybe five years ago. But now there are two reasons not to care too much:

1. You start to think like a GM and the crazy thing is, you would sign the same guy if it were up to you. Why? He’s done it before! (Sucks to turn into your dad, huh? Believe it or not, I am part of the NBA family and we’re all working for sale of the same product. Otherwise, how could Steve Novak get away with wearing the enemy’s jersey? Ha! Gotcha Steve!) Just a safe move if I were doing it.

2. You simply have no control over the outcome. So…

What do you do? You don’t give a (large mouse’s derriere). Until… Exactly. You’re there and tons of money is coming in! See? Yeaaaaah! Now you feel me. So it is easy to see why the only thing that concerns the guys in the big time is the “game.” The “game” being basketball and the “game.” You get it. So as I remain here transformed from a bruising undersized 4 to a lankier, quicker 3 man averaging 26 and shooting 56 percent from three-point range in the D-League (I know, I’m trippin’ too! And they said I couldn’t shoot with my eyes closed. That’ll show ‘em. Now the eyes open thing I gotta work on. Just playin’. I can shoot the pee pee out of it.) I maintain a leg up on everyone else who cares too much because all I care about is satisfying myself to play the perfect game just in case that call does come. But unfortunately you always get someone who just has to grab a lasso, hog tie your goat and serve it to you gutted and roasted.

We beat Tulsa in a good game where I was consistently in my new guard-like frame, tossed around for numerous offensive rebounds I gave