that’s the only word i can think of.
for one of the few and rare times ever, i decided to go out for a smoke. because it is unbearably hot inside, so much so that outside is decidedly cooler (so not fair). so i grab my keys, smokes & lighter and out i go to enjoy the fresh air and have a leisurely smoke.
and get hit on.
i remember the first time i picked up a ball, i must’ve been 8 or 9, something like that. just past the infatuation with the sand box and finally big enough to stake out a bigger claim on the playground at recess. it was definitely post my jered morgan-phase. our ill-fated friendship was torn asunder by another boy (whom, incidentally, would later endear himself to me as well) that just couldn’t take the idea of his best friend being best friends with a girl. i had cooties, don’t you know? c o o t i e s.
anyway, i digress…but that was it, one recess, i joined in on the courts. i’d always been infatuated with the game, loved watching my cousin gillie play his big high school boy games, etc. and then i did it, and god damn it was fun. addictive and exhilarating in that way that only athletic exertion can be (and i can just hear my roommate shuddering now…). but it didn’t stop there…summer rec, PE, afterschool pickup games with the boys, weekend excursions to the court, jr. high teams, summer leagues, JV & finally — dear god, finally — Varsity. now, i make no presumptions here: I Utterly Suck At Basketball. oh ho, do i ever. but god damn, if i don’t love it. if i haven’t always loved it. so dearly, so muchly — triumphantly and abundantly, heh. i’d beg my moms to let me stay up and watch the playoffs, i’d decorate my room, my locker, my notebooks in red & black. i’d contemplate sketching out a 2-3 on my sneakers in magic marker for good luck. when it became apparent i couldn’t have that same number for my jersey in high school, i settled for #45 — the comeback number.
basically, what i’m getting to is, i idolized michael jordan. and still do, mind you — despite what the boy says. i mean, what kid my age didn’t want to be like mike? seriously? if you were the kind of kid that was into ballin’ you knew — fuckin’ knew — that MJ was the end all, be all of the sport. dr. j, larry bird, magic johnson, etc. etc. etc. yes, they were awesome. but when jordan was on the court, he did somethin’ magical, yo. i went into mourning the first time he retired. the only other kid as affected as me was cole henderson — who, incidentally did not suck at basketball, and went on to play on scholarship. we bonded over our loss, over the world’s loss. and that is likely the only time i ever related to that kid; since then, we had a strained “aquaintenceship” or something. whatever. then, the comeback. all of a sudden, playoffs were worth watching again. joy! rapture! glee! and yes, i own a wizards jersey. and yes, it is prominently displayed in my room. so?! i was lucky enough to see jordan play his last game in boston, and that is something i will always treasure. (ignoring the other unpleasantness of the evening…) and in my mind, there is no greater, will be no other who changed the game the way MJ changed the game. (lebron, who?)
