Today's true story:
I once got crapped on by a flock of seagulls.
I was pretty young at the time. I think I was in preschool or kindergarten and my class went on a field trip to the zoo. We were looking at monkeys or something, and then a flock of seagulls flew overhead. Being inexperienced at real life, I thought they were part of the zoo, and I got super excited at watching them flying. Then it started raining bird poop.
I got hit pretty hard. At first, I didn't really understand what happened. I just had this weird, gooey stuff covering me. It was all over my head and my body. My mom happened to be with me on that field trip, and because she was right next to me, she also endured the seagulls' excrement. She was angry, and I think that tipped me off that something wasn't right. Maybe I started crying then. Or maybe I didn't. Nah, actually I bet I probably did cry. I cried a lot as a kid, believe it or not. I still cry a lot as a grown man, too, but I just do it in private.
Ever since that incident, I've always hated and feared birds that fly above me. Even if it is just a single bird, I will, to this day, cover my head instinctively with an arm. It's just a reflex now, completely ingrained in my mindset, even though think I've only been crapped on one other time since that day. I hate it when birds fly over me. I always have a bad feeling that I'll get pooped on. If I am wearing a hat, I feel a little more protected, though.
Unless I'm wearing my Warriors hat. I can't let that hat, with that logo, get crapped on. Nothing can be allowed to disrespect the logo. Once, one of the kids at the school I work at playfully hit the bottom of the brim of my Warriors hat, knocking it off. It landed on the floor. I immediately benched her for that. You think I'm joking? No. This really happened. She was upset, but I had to explain her own impudence to her and teach her to respect the logo. Now, kids know better than to even touch my Warriors hat. It's just off limits. They can't touch it. They just can't. That is a line they are not allowed to cross. I can't allow them to do it. It's like how Batman doesn't let anybody touch his cape. (Except maybe Alfred, when it's time to wash it.)
Monday, October 26, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Nine
Today's true story:
Do I really need to smile more often?
I guess over the years, I have built up a rep for stoicism. Quite a few people have pointed out to me that I don't seem to smile much. This kind of boggles me. I smile at least a couple times every day. Maybe not every couple minutes like some people, but what's wrong with that? Other people, not just kids, have also asked me why I don't smile much. Typically, my response to this is to put on a straight face and say, "Why don't I smile? Maybe you're just not funny." I wait a couple of beats while the other person feels uncomfortable, and then I smile.
(Or maybe I actually smirk. I've never looked at myself in the mirror when doing this. This reminds me - I need to go practice my smirk. The smirk is one of the most underrated facial expressions of all time. It's almost like a smile, but most people will not have the courage to question you about the undercurrent of smugness. Thus, you can smirk with impunity. It's the grown-man's version of a teenager shrugging his shoulders.)
I don't think my default facial expression is a scowl or anything. Maybe I don't have the facial muscles to walk around with a smile all the time, not like Hines Ward who's always smiling every time you see him play on TV. It just ain't me. It doesn't mean I have a stick up my butt or that I'm angry all the time. I guess a smile isn't natural for me, and I'm okay with that.
I played kickball with the kids today. I was sitting on a bench and one of the kids, a third grade girl, asked me why I don't smile much. Not really the first time I've heard that. Funny thing is, she also said, "I wish you would smile. Then that would make me happy forever!" How could I not smile after hearing that? Even my heart's not that hard.
Do I really need to smile more often?
I guess over the years, I have built up a rep for stoicism. Quite a few people have pointed out to me that I don't seem to smile much. This kind of boggles me. I smile at least a couple times every day. Maybe not every couple minutes like some people, but what's wrong with that? Other people, not just kids, have also asked me why I don't smile much. Typically, my response to this is to put on a straight face and say, "Why don't I smile? Maybe you're just not funny." I wait a couple of beats while the other person feels uncomfortable, and then I smile.
(Or maybe I actually smirk. I've never looked at myself in the mirror when doing this. This reminds me - I need to go practice my smirk. The smirk is one of the most underrated facial expressions of all time. It's almost like a smile, but most people will not have the courage to question you about the undercurrent of smugness. Thus, you can smirk with impunity. It's the grown-man's version of a teenager shrugging his shoulders.)
I don't think my default facial expression is a scowl or anything. Maybe I don't have the facial muscles to walk around with a smile all the time, not like Hines Ward who's always smiling every time you see him play on TV. It just ain't me. It doesn't mean I have a stick up my butt or that I'm angry all the time. I guess a smile isn't natural for me, and I'm okay with that.
I played kickball with the kids today. I was sitting on a bench and one of the kids, a third grade girl, asked me why I don't smile much. Not really the first time I've heard that. Funny thing is, she also said, "I wish you would smile. Then that would make me happy forever!" How could I not smile after hearing that? Even my heart's not that hard.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Eight
Today's true story:
My all-time favorite superhero is the Silver Surfer.
Most people would probably claim Spider-Man, Batman, Wolverine, or Superman as their favorite superhero. Those guys are probably the most famous and well-known. If any comic book superheroes could be considered icons, those guys would probably fit the bill. (Wonder Woman should be up there, but although she is well-known, I don't think she gets enough love.) I like them all, too; it's just that I don't like them as much as the Surfer.
Ever since I was a kid, I was a huge fan of the Surfer. He's got a unique look, and the fact that he's this cosmically-powered being who travels through space on a surfboard is offbeat enough that something about him just set my imagination ablaze with wonderment and awe.
His heroism was always a huge inspiration to me when I was growing up, especially as I was an impressionable child who ravenously absorbed everything I could possibly read. Norrin Radd, a citizen of the planet Zenn-La, sacrificed his own freedom to Galactus, the Devourer of Worlds. In exchange, Galactus spared Zenn-La and transformed Norrin into his personal herald, the Silver Surfer. It's almost a Biblical space opera.
For some undisclosed amount of time, the Surfer loyally serves Galactus as his herald. The Silver Surfer soars the spaceways in search of suitable planets for his master to consume. Of course, Galactus eventually comes to devour Earth, having been led there by the Surfer. The Surfer encounters the Fantastic Four, who manage to hold him off, but it's really a blind human woman who manages to open his eyes by pleading for him to recognize the sanctity of life. His heart touched for the first time since his own transformation into Galactus' herald, the Surfer rebels against his nearly omnipotent master and joins the Fantastic Four in what is, ostensibly at least, a hopeless battle.
Of course, they manage to drive off Galactus, but only after Galactus exacts his punishment on his creation by exiling him. As a result, the Surfer loses his freedom and gets stuck on Earth, a superpowerful alien who once roamed space.
It always blew me away that there was a superhero who sacrificed so much and still saved humanity on a planetary scale. We can compare Superman to Moses due to the many parallels they share. I've long associated Batman with Sisyphus, eternally frustrated because he's essentially cursed with an impossible task. The Surfer, on the other hand, is a messianic figure. I stop short of comparing him to Jesus, but I've often read of people comparing him to Christ.
The Surfer's early series from the 1960s stands out as one of Stan Lee's most affecting works. It's all about this noble, messianic hero who endeavors to save humanity from ourselves, only he's circumvented at every turn by the people he seeks to protect. Human selfishness constantly undermines his benevolent efforts. Governments hate and fear him. Normal people mock him. And yet he wants to save them anyway. Sound like anyone from the Bible?
Yeah, there are other superheroes who are hated and feared by the world they are sworn to protect. The X-Men immediately come to mind. Spider-Man, to an extent, fits the bill. And Batman, well, his goal is to be feared. The thing that sets the Surfer apart is his intense solitude. He doesn't really have any friends he can rely on. The X-Men have each other. Spider-Man has his Aunt May and the rest of his supporting cast. The Surfer is truly an alien. Despised. Feared. Misconstrued. And yet he somehow finds it within himself to truly love man, despite wielding the power to smite the world at his whim.
There's something about his story that always inspired me. Although the quality of his adventures has varied depending on the writer/artist team telling the stories, the character remains my favorite superhero ever.
___________________
For an extra-long post, I'm tacking on these paragraphs about my first Surfer comic. Why? Because I wrote it a long time ago and had it lying around in my hard drive for months for no real purpose. I write primarily for myself, but I guess the point of any writing is always to share it with the world, or at least with someone. Not that I'm sure anyone would read this. Oh, well. TAINT TAINT TAINT TAINT yeah baby! Anyway...
The second comic book I ever owned was Silver Surfer #54. You can see the cover at the top of this very post. Vintage '90s.
Silver Surfer #54, more so than even that X-Men Classic comic book I first owned, had a big impact on me. I was probably about eight years old when I got it. This was the late spring/early summer of 1991, which was when the Infinity Gauntlet crossover storyline was kicking off – an awesome time for a little kid to get into Marvel comics. In retrospect, it is funny how lame Silver Surfer #54 is. I mean, it’s the Surfer vs. the Rhino, for crying out loud! Yup, Spider-Man’s third-tier supervillain. You know, the big bulky guy who dresses up in a rhino suit and rams into things with his horns! That isn’t even really a fight. But when I was a kid, I didn’t really think about that. I just saw a buff dude in a rhino suit charging into Silver Surfer on the cover of the comic. He knocked the Surfer clean off his board! Never mind the unlikelihood of such an event.
Although my parents gave away most of my childhood collection by the time I was in high school, I recently, shall we say, “reacquired” SS #54, and reread it for the first time in years. It’s worse than I remembered it to be. The story is cheesy as hell: with all of existence on the brink of interstellar apocalypse (due to Thanos’ sinister machinations with the Infinity Gauntlet), the Rhino decides to make the best of his remaining time alive by going to the zoo and freeing the animals from their cages. The Surfer, who just happens to be flying by the zoo, encounters the subsequent chaos and confronts the Rhino. They do battle until the Surfer saves the life of a tiger, who was shot by a cop while stalking pedestrians. As a result, the Rhino thinks the Surfer is a good dude ‘cause he likes animals, and then they kiss and make up.
That story impressed me when I was eight, though. Plus, it got me into all the stuff going on in The Infinity Gauntlet miniseries. All that cosmic stuff combined with the superhero action really kicked my imagination into overdrive. The Silver Surfer swiftly (you dig that alliteration?) became my favorite superhero and I collected his series on a monthly basis for several years.
One thing that really stood out about SS #54, however, was the artwork. Ron Lim, baby, it was Ron Lim! That man was totally my childhood comic artist hero. I still think he’s great. He’s got good storytelling skills, and solid draftsmanship. The way he drew the Surfer is nearly unparalleled. Jack Kirby and John Buscema are in a class of their own, of course, but I have nothing but love for Ron Lim. His Surfer actually looked shiny. Also, the action scenes were kinetic and intense. Ron Lim drew incredible power blasts and explosions of energy. He definitely maxed out the Kirby Crackles. It basically blew my mind away. Every time the Surfer used the Power Cosmic to blow something up, it was like there was a Power Cosmic explosion in my brain. Keep in mind that this was in an age before digital painting and PhotoShop and computer effects were in use in comics.
Although I greatly enjoyed Silver Surfer #54 when I was young, time has tempered my critical appraisal. Sometimes people still like the stuff they liked as a kid, whether it’s cartoons, toys, comics, or whatever. I think nostalgia is a taint. Taint, taint, taint. (Remember, I like that word. Seeing it in print makes me laugh. Taint.) Nostalgia sometimes taints people’s analyses of their memories.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Seven
Today's true story:
One of the reasons I like playing basketball is 'cause you really can get to know someone on the court.
In my mind, a person's style of play on the court definitely reveals his (or her) inner character. When I analyze my own game, I witness my true self come to the forefront: the real me, no fronting. When I play sports with my friends, I learn about them as well. Playing sports is a different setting than usual, one that forces people's personalities to rise to the surface, so to speak. This is one reason why playing ball is quality bonding time. Another reason is that it is fun to win together; and the flipside, of course, of sharing in a bitter defeat together. It sounds melodramatic but these things impact me.
I'll grant that some of these observations could be my own biases and opinions projecting themselves so that I see what I want to see, but I honestly feel that, more often than not, a person's game reveals truths, truths that I come to notice primarily because we've played ball together.
When I scrutinize my own game, and my temperament on the court, I can really pinpoint why I play the way I play. It's because that's just how I am. For example, one thing I have come to recognize is that I have a very low level of aggression when I play. This sounds strange, considering I recently shared how I got into a fight over street ball game, but in this case I refer to aggression in terms of my actions in the flow of the game. Usually, I don't attack the basket, I don't go all-out and hustle for loose balls, and I don't cut to the hoop as often as I should. To me, these attributes totally represent me as a person because I am typically not a "go get 'em" type of guy. Sometimes I just don't fight hard enough, I guess. I am usually not the guy to draw first blood, but I try my best to not get knocked out. I am more reactive, less proactive. I don't know if I'd call these character flaws, but they're just characteristics. My characteristics.
There are times, on the court, when I recognize the weaknesses in my own game. I have played with other players that I didn't consider vastly better than me, but because of their aggressive mindset, they seem to be able to score more buckets or have a bigger impact on the game. Sometimes, even when it's a close game, when I am tired, I won't box out my man properly, or I won't fight as hard to grab a rebound, or I will go under a screen rather than through it. Occasionally, my selfishness costs my whole team. It's not a pleasant feeling when I know my team lost the game because of my own failures. In real life, I find that I often rely on others to pick up my own slack. I don't always battle hard enough to do what I ought to do; instead, I get lazy and just hope I get lucky and things don't go sour. These are definitely things I need to improve in my own life.
I also know that I don't have the prettiest game around. I wish I had the dexterity to have crazy awesome handles, but I ain't got it. I wish I could be a dancer on the court, weaving through the entire defense like Isiah Thomas, maybe the best pure point guard of all time. (On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I could be a better studio analyst, CBA commisioner, coach, and general manager than Zeke. But that's a whole 'nother story, baby.) Sometimes my game is just flat out ugly, though, and I know it. You don't wanna see me try a left-handed layup. Sometimes I can make them, but it just doesn't look right. But that's just how I operate. I guess I care about appearances somewhat, but getting the job done is always the bigger priority.
When I watch other people, I get a feel for them based on how they react and play. I'm very judgmental like that. If I've ever played basketball with you, I've probably got a dossier of you in my mind.
I do the same thing when I watch the pros play. It's interesting to read and learn about what players do off the court, but I also imagine what they are like, as people, when I watch 'em play.
Sasha Vujacic, for example, is a fool. You can tell by his game. I remember watching him play for the first time back in his rookie year. The Lakers were playing the T'Wolves in some meaningless late-season game and after a pick and roll, Vujacic was, for some reason, isolated on KG. Vujacic had the ball and he did a little crossover, dribbled past the Big Ticket, and scored. Then he started hopping up and down a bit. Musta been super proud about scoring on KG. A camera caught a reaction shot of KG. He had this puzzled look on his face, like he was thinking, Who was that scrub? Did he just score on me? Eff that.
T'Wolves inbounded and KG immediately called for the ball and drained a 15 footer. Lakers came back with Vujacic handling the ball, and again, somehow KG was the isolated defender. Vujacic tried to do another crossover and KG just calmly stretched his arms and ripped the ball away. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen in a basketball game. Vujacic was completely flummoxed. Someone smart wouldn't have tried the same move twice in a row, but Vujacic is a fool. After the T'Wolves scored on the ensuing fast break, Vujacic called timeout, benched himself, and retired after the game. Oh, how I wish that last sentence were true. I hate Vujacic.
I wish I could find a clip of this on YouTube, but I can't. I don't think I imagined it. It must be real, it must! Oh, well. It's probably funnier if you just use your imagination anyway. I guess they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I say a cliche is worth negative two. So there.
EDIT: I did, however, find this gem for you - Boom Dizzle gives the Machine an unfriendly shove.
EDIT #2: And this is a pretty pleasant memory, too. I remember this game. Skip to My Lou making a mockery of the Machine.
One of the reasons I like playing basketball is 'cause you really can get to know someone on the court.
In my mind, a person's style of play on the court definitely reveals his (or her) inner character. When I analyze my own game, I witness my true self come to the forefront: the real me, no fronting. When I play sports with my friends, I learn about them as well. Playing sports is a different setting than usual, one that forces people's personalities to rise to the surface, so to speak. This is one reason why playing ball is quality bonding time. Another reason is that it is fun to win together; and the flipside, of course, of sharing in a bitter defeat together. It sounds melodramatic but these things impact me.
I'll grant that some of these observations could be my own biases and opinions projecting themselves so that I see what I want to see, but I honestly feel that, more often than not, a person's game reveals truths, truths that I come to notice primarily because we've played ball together.
When I scrutinize my own game, and my temperament on the court, I can really pinpoint why I play the way I play. It's because that's just how I am. For example, one thing I have come to recognize is that I have a very low level of aggression when I play. This sounds strange, considering I recently shared how I got into a fight over street ball game, but in this case I refer to aggression in terms of my actions in the flow of the game. Usually, I don't attack the basket, I don't go all-out and hustle for loose balls, and I don't cut to the hoop as often as I should. To me, these attributes totally represent me as a person because I am typically not a "go get 'em" type of guy. Sometimes I just don't fight hard enough, I guess. I am usually not the guy to draw first blood, but I try my best to not get knocked out. I am more reactive, less proactive. I don't know if I'd call these character flaws, but they're just characteristics. My characteristics.
There are times, on the court, when I recognize the weaknesses in my own game. I have played with other players that I didn't consider vastly better than me, but because of their aggressive mindset, they seem to be able to score more buckets or have a bigger impact on the game. Sometimes, even when it's a close game, when I am tired, I won't box out my man properly, or I won't fight as hard to grab a rebound, or I will go under a screen rather than through it. Occasionally, my selfishness costs my whole team. It's not a pleasant feeling when I know my team lost the game because of my own failures. In real life, I find that I often rely on others to pick up my own slack. I don't always battle hard enough to do what I ought to do; instead, I get lazy and just hope I get lucky and things don't go sour. These are definitely things I need to improve in my own life.
I also know that I don't have the prettiest game around. I wish I had the dexterity to have crazy awesome handles, but I ain't got it. I wish I could be a dancer on the court, weaving through the entire defense like Isiah Thomas, maybe the best pure point guard of all time. (On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I could be a better studio analyst, CBA commisioner, coach, and general manager than Zeke. But that's a whole 'nother story, baby.) Sometimes my game is just flat out ugly, though, and I know it. You don't wanna see me try a left-handed layup. Sometimes I can make them, but it just doesn't look right. But that's just how I operate. I guess I care about appearances somewhat, but getting the job done is always the bigger priority.
When I watch other people, I get a feel for them based on how they react and play. I'm very judgmental like that. If I've ever played basketball with you, I've probably got a dossier of you in my mind.
I do the same thing when I watch the pros play. It's interesting to read and learn about what players do off the court, but I also imagine what they are like, as people, when I watch 'em play.
Sasha Vujacic, for example, is a fool. You can tell by his game. I remember watching him play for the first time back in his rookie year. The Lakers were playing the T'Wolves in some meaningless late-season game and after a pick and roll, Vujacic was, for some reason, isolated on KG. Vujacic had the ball and he did a little crossover, dribbled past the Big Ticket, and scored. Then he started hopping up and down a bit. Musta been super proud about scoring on KG. A camera caught a reaction shot of KG. He had this puzzled look on his face, like he was thinking, Who was that scrub? Did he just score on me? Eff that.
T'Wolves inbounded and KG immediately called for the ball and drained a 15 footer. Lakers came back with Vujacic handling the ball, and again, somehow KG was the isolated defender. Vujacic tried to do another crossover and KG just calmly stretched his arms and ripped the ball away. It was one of the funniest things I had ever seen in a basketball game. Vujacic was completely flummoxed. Someone smart wouldn't have tried the same move twice in a row, but Vujacic is a fool. After the T'Wolves scored on the ensuing fast break, Vujacic called timeout, benched himself, and retired after the game. Oh, how I wish that last sentence were true. I hate Vujacic.
I wish I could find a clip of this on YouTube, but I can't. I don't think I imagined it. It must be real, it must! Oh, well. It's probably funnier if you just use your imagination anyway. I guess they say that a picture is worth a thousand words, but I say a cliche is worth negative two. So there.
EDIT: I did, however, find this gem for you - Boom Dizzle gives the Machine an unfriendly shove.
EDIT #2: And this is a pretty pleasant memory, too. I remember this game. Skip to My Lou making a mockery of the Machine.
Monday, October 19, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Six
Today's true story:
I can honestly say I am faster than an Olympic-caliber sprinter.
I was fairly athletic when I was a kid. Going to a private school from kindergarten through eighth grade, everybody in my grade pretty much knew each other and pigeonholed each other into various stereotypes. For some reason, even though I was the most dominant basketball player in my class, I never got no respect from the "cool" kids.
During the latter years of middle school, my school started participating in these annual track meets with other Lutheran schools throughout the Bay Area. To determine which events we would compete in, my P.E. teacher timed us on the sidewalk. (Literally... He took us across the street and timed us running on one of the most dangerous intersections in the entire district.) He also timed us on this twisting path over in Stern Grove. I was pretty much the fastest dude in the school by the time I was in like seventh grade.
We didn't really train much for the track meet. I mean, it was just running and I don't think they took it seriously as an athletic event. It didn't seem like the teachers really expected much out of us, at least. I guess they probably hoped we would do well, but they weren't training us hard or anything. By that age, though, I knew that when you compete in a sport, you play to win, baby. It's like this Herm Edwards clip, forever immortalized on YouTube: You play to win the game!
So the funny thing is, as a seventh grader, I ran a 12.24 in the 100m. At the time, it was a Lutheran Schools Athletic Association record. There was no training, I didn't wear spikes, didn't have starting blocks, and I ate a cliff bar a minute before the race. I just hopped on the track and smoked all the other boys. There's even a picture of me in the school yearbook, looking all smug with my old-school sideburns and kid-stache (even as a youngster, I was cementing my claim on "Hairiest Asian Ever"), shaking my P.E. teacher's hand.
During the 2008 Olympics, I was watching the 100m preliminary heats, right? And get this, during Tyson Gay's heat, there was this dude... I'll never forget him. His name is Shanahan Sanitoa, and he represented the country of American Samoa. Sanitoa clocked in at 12.60! He was completely outclassed in his race. I felt embarrassed for him.
Even though by most standards, Sanitoa would probably be a joke, I imagined he must have still been a hero in his homeland. I did a lazy quick Google search. Here - http://vaatsup.com/publicviewstory.php?storyid=616&newspaperid=189
Even though he couldn't even beat an American 12 year old in the 100m, his country still loves him. That's fantastic. I can only imagine the pride and honor involved at being able to represent one's country. Although he wasn't very fast, I'm sure he did his best, and he got to hold up his country's flag during the ceremonies. That's amazing. Kind of like Eric "the Eel" Moussambani.
I never did improve too much in the 100m. I think I peaked athletically at a very young age, 'cause I didn't grow very much after I was about 14 years old or so. (Well, I guess I've grown fatter and smarter, but that doesn't really count.) I can't remember my best time in the 100m in high school, but it might've been 11.67. Not very fast compared to top tier athletes. Decent for a high school kid, probably pretty fast compared to an average person off the street.
Sometimes I wonder how fast I can run a hundred meters now. I probably won't be able to beat 12 seconds unless I start working out, training, and start watching what I eat. However, I still feel pretty confident that I could beat up my former seventh grade self by running a sub-12.24. I don't care if it's wind-aided or not, or if it's hand-timed or electronically timed. I will continue to boldly claim that I am faster than an Olympic-caliber sprinter.
One of these days, though, I am gonna have to go back to Kezar and see exactly how fast I truly am.
I can honestly say I am faster than an Olympic-caliber sprinter.
I was fairly athletic when I was a kid. Going to a private school from kindergarten through eighth grade, everybody in my grade pretty much knew each other and pigeonholed each other into various stereotypes. For some reason, even though I was the most dominant basketball player in my class, I never got no respect from the "cool" kids.
During the latter years of middle school, my school started participating in these annual track meets with other Lutheran schools throughout the Bay Area. To determine which events we would compete in, my P.E. teacher timed us on the sidewalk. (Literally... He took us across the street and timed us running on one of the most dangerous intersections in the entire district.) He also timed us on this twisting path over in Stern Grove. I was pretty much the fastest dude in the school by the time I was in like seventh grade.
We didn't really train much for the track meet. I mean, it was just running and I don't think they took it seriously as an athletic event. It didn't seem like the teachers really expected much out of us, at least. I guess they probably hoped we would do well, but they weren't training us hard or anything. By that age, though, I knew that when you compete in a sport, you play to win, baby. It's like this Herm Edwards clip, forever immortalized on YouTube: You play to win the game!
So the funny thing is, as a seventh grader, I ran a 12.24 in the 100m. At the time, it was a Lutheran Schools Athletic Association record. There was no training, I didn't wear spikes, didn't have starting blocks, and I ate a cliff bar a minute before the race. I just hopped on the track and smoked all the other boys. There's even a picture of me in the school yearbook, looking all smug with my old-school sideburns and kid-stache (even as a youngster, I was cementing my claim on "Hairiest Asian Ever"), shaking my P.E. teacher's hand.
During the 2008 Olympics, I was watching the 100m preliminary heats, right? And get this, during Tyson Gay's heat, there was this dude... I'll never forget him. His name is Shanahan Sanitoa, and he represented the country of American Samoa. Sanitoa clocked in at 12.60! He was completely outclassed in his race. I felt embarrassed for him.
Even though by most standards, Sanitoa would probably be a joke, I imagined he must have still been a hero in his homeland. I did a lazy quick Google search. Here - http://vaatsup.com/publicviewstory.php?storyid=616&newspaperid=189
Even though he couldn't even beat an American 12 year old in the 100m, his country still loves him. That's fantastic. I can only imagine the pride and honor involved at being able to represent one's country. Although he wasn't very fast, I'm sure he did his best, and he got to hold up his country's flag during the ceremonies. That's amazing. Kind of like Eric "the Eel" Moussambani.
I never did improve too much in the 100m. I think I peaked athletically at a very young age, 'cause I didn't grow very much after I was about 14 years old or so. (Well, I guess I've grown fatter and smarter, but that doesn't really count.) I can't remember my best time in the 100m in high school, but it might've been 11.67. Not very fast compared to top tier athletes. Decent for a high school kid, probably pretty fast compared to an average person off the street.
Sometimes I wonder how fast I can run a hundred meters now. I probably won't be able to beat 12 seconds unless I start working out, training, and start watching what I eat. However, I still feel pretty confident that I could beat up my former seventh grade self by running a sub-12.24. I don't care if it's wind-aided or not, or if it's hand-timed or electronically timed. I will continue to boldly claim that I am faster than an Olympic-caliber sprinter.
One of these days, though, I am gonna have to go back to Kezar and see exactly how fast I truly am.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Five
Today's true story:
I don't use a pillow when I sleep. I guess I've mentioned this to people a few times, so it's not really an obscure fact about myself.
I used to use a pillow when I was a young child, but at some point I gave up on the pillow. I must have been around middle school age when I stopped using it. You know how sometimes people mention that they "slept funny" and woke up feeling sore around their neck? That used to happen to me when I used a pillow. Ever since I stopped, I've never hurt myself while sleeping. (Unless I bump my head against the wooden bed frame, which happens once in a while.)
I think what inspired me to stop using a pillow in the first place was sheer experimentation. When I was a kid, my dad sometimes used to sleep on this tatami mat. I always wanted to do everything my pop did, but my mom is one of those overprotective moms and wouldn't allow me to sleep on the floor. My young, feeble mind somehow reasoned that the next closest thing would be to sleep without a pillow. After a couple days without it, I just got used to it and haven't looked back.
Pillows just get in the way. I sleep on my back and I don't really move around too much when I sleep, so I still feel comfortable. Even if I sleep somewhere else, like if I use my sleeping bag someplace, I still won't use a pillow. I can sleep comfortably on a hardwood floor and just my sleeping bag. (As long as the floor is relatively clean, I guess. I am not a big fan of sleeping in filth.)
Now here's the twist ending: I didn't stop sleeping with my stuffed panda bear until I was well into high school.
I don't use a pillow when I sleep. I guess I've mentioned this to people a few times, so it's not really an obscure fact about myself.
I used to use a pillow when I was a young child, but at some point I gave up on the pillow. I must have been around middle school age when I stopped using it. You know how sometimes people mention that they "slept funny" and woke up feeling sore around their neck? That used to happen to me when I used a pillow. Ever since I stopped, I've never hurt myself while sleeping. (Unless I bump my head against the wooden bed frame, which happens once in a while.)
I think what inspired me to stop using a pillow in the first place was sheer experimentation. When I was a kid, my dad sometimes used to sleep on this tatami mat. I always wanted to do everything my pop did, but my mom is one of those overprotective moms and wouldn't allow me to sleep on the floor. My young, feeble mind somehow reasoned that the next closest thing would be to sleep without a pillow. After a couple days without it, I just got used to it and haven't looked back.
Pillows just get in the way. I sleep on my back and I don't really move around too much when I sleep, so I still feel comfortable. Even if I sleep somewhere else, like if I use my sleeping bag someplace, I still won't use a pillow. I can sleep comfortably on a hardwood floor and just my sleeping bag. (As long as the floor is relatively clean, I guess. I am not a big fan of sleeping in filth.)
Now here's the twist ending: I didn't stop sleeping with my stuffed panda bear until I was well into high school.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Four
Today's true story:
I once got into a fight with a stranger over a street ball game.
This was quite a while ago. It was spring break 2002, and I was playing ball at Sunset Rec. We were playing some three-on-three on one of the halfcourts. My buddy Ma (aka OptionZero) and this one dude whom I knew from living in the dorms were on my team. The other guys we played were these Asian guys. One of them was kind of pudgy and one of them was a little shorter than me. (I forget who the third guy was because he wasn't involved in the fight.)
We were pretty much whooping on those guys. Ma and I were scoring at will and we had a large lead. The shorter Asian guy got super pissed, and he was being vocal about it. He started giving us dirty looks and cussing at us, Ma in particular. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was mighty offensive and annoying. Eventually I acknowledged him and told him to chill out 'cause it's just a game. Dude took it totally the wrong way. He started yelling at me and acting all tough. He yelled, "You better shut the eff up! You shut the eff up!" ("Eff" means the f-word. I decided to censor myself in case somebody with delicate sensibilities reads this. But you get the picture.)
Now, let me ask you, if you were in my place, what would you do at that point? I suppose the rational thing would have been to act somewhat apologetic, or at least perhaps non-threatening; like, maybe you'd try to say something to soothe his ego and placate him. Or maybe you could just walk away and stop playing entirely. Now ask yourself what would Dru do? So predictable.
Of course, after he told me to shut the eff up, my response was to hold the ball, square my shoulders, fix a cold gaze on him, hold it for a second, and then say, "Why don't you make me?"
Surprisingly, this shut the dude up for a bit. I think he was miffed I would stand up for myself and my friend, so his feeble mind had to process this unexpected outcome. All of us then continued playing the game, and I figured that I'd defused the situation.
Next thing that happened, I chased after a loose ball and then the little jerkwad ran up and sucker punched me in the head! Sucker punches. What is it with the sucker punches? Bullies love sucker punching. I hate that. At the time, I was wearing my glasses, and he knocked 'em clean off my head. I had a bruise on my temple for a week, too. But at least it didn't knock me out or anything. I staggered back a few steps but I didn't fall to my knees. Basically, it was just on, baby.
I straight up charged the guy and we just went at it.
You know how Sunset Rec looks inside, right? One side of the gym is a bunch of hoops for people to play halfcourt games while the "good" players play fullcourt on the other side. Then you've got the old Chinese dudes playing hardcore ping pong off to the side. Well, everybody in the whole dang place stopped what they were doing to watch us fight. Even the old Chinese dudes stopped their hardcore ping pong.
And then the fat Asian dude on the instigator's team tried to get in the fight, but Ma (my lifelong buddy since kindergarten) jumped his back and started punching the hell out of the guy's head. It was pretty funny. Ma and I were in a lot of fights when we were kids but this was probably one of our most glorious team-ups.
I was just drunk with rage. You know how people associate the color red with anger? I still remember my vision turned red during this fight. Maybe it was 'cause I took a sucker punch to the head, but I was pretty pissed. My vision had a reddish tint to it that I'd never experienced before.
I didn't use any fancy moves on that guy. We just got in close and started pounding each other. I don't think I took any particularly painful blows (other than that stupid sucker punch) but I felt like I delivered some powerful ones.
Anyway, after what was most likely, in reality, a short time, someone (I don't remember whom) split up all four of us and the fight thus ended. I still got in a cheap shot, though, 'cause while someone was grabbing and holding back the instigator, I was unrestrained. I picked up a ball and chucked it right at his groin. Seeing him double over in pain was immensely gratifying. I know it probably makes me sound like lousy, petty, unforgiving person to admit satisfaction in this, but that's how I felt at the time.
After a few minutes to cool off from the fight, I left.
If I were to find myself in a similar situation again, I would probably just quit playing with the annoying jerk and walk away. It ain't worth it. You never know. Next time I get into a fight, could be the last thing I do. Even if the guy isn't tougher than me, he could have a weapon or a gang of idiot friends or something. This is one of the reasons why I prefer playing with friends or people I know. I don't like having to deal with pricks if I can avoid 'em. (The Fob Academy aren't really jerks with whom I'd fight, I guess - I just don't like them very much 'cause they complain about everything and call fouls all the time. Also, I'd like to note that I am still lifetime undefeated in games against the Fob Academy.)
I once got into a fight with a stranger over a street ball game.
This was quite a while ago. It was spring break 2002, and I was playing ball at Sunset Rec. We were playing some three-on-three on one of the halfcourts. My buddy Ma (aka OptionZero) and this one dude whom I knew from living in the dorms were on my team. The other guys we played were these Asian guys. One of them was kind of pudgy and one of them was a little shorter than me. (I forget who the third guy was because he wasn't involved in the fight.)
We were pretty much whooping on those guys. Ma and I were scoring at will and we had a large lead. The shorter Asian guy got super pissed, and he was being vocal about it. He started giving us dirty looks and cussing at us, Ma in particular. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was mighty offensive and annoying. Eventually I acknowledged him and told him to chill out 'cause it's just a game. Dude took it totally the wrong way. He started yelling at me and acting all tough. He yelled, "You better shut the eff up! You shut the eff up!" ("Eff" means the f-word. I decided to censor myself in case somebody with delicate sensibilities reads this. But you get the picture.)
Now, let me ask you, if you were in my place, what would you do at that point? I suppose the rational thing would have been to act somewhat apologetic, or at least perhaps non-threatening; like, maybe you'd try to say something to soothe his ego and placate him. Or maybe you could just walk away and stop playing entirely. Now ask yourself what would Dru do? So predictable.
Of course, after he told me to shut the eff up, my response was to hold the ball, square my shoulders, fix a cold gaze on him, hold it for a second, and then say, "Why don't you make me?"
Surprisingly, this shut the dude up for a bit. I think he was miffed I would stand up for myself and my friend, so his feeble mind had to process this unexpected outcome. All of us then continued playing the game, and I figured that I'd defused the situation.
Next thing that happened, I chased after a loose ball and then the little jerkwad ran up and sucker punched me in the head! Sucker punches. What is it with the sucker punches? Bullies love sucker punching. I hate that. At the time, I was wearing my glasses, and he knocked 'em clean off my head. I had a bruise on my temple for a week, too. But at least it didn't knock me out or anything. I staggered back a few steps but I didn't fall to my knees. Basically, it was just on, baby.
I straight up charged the guy and we just went at it.
You know how Sunset Rec looks inside, right? One side of the gym is a bunch of hoops for people to play halfcourt games while the "good" players play fullcourt on the other side. Then you've got the old Chinese dudes playing hardcore ping pong off to the side. Well, everybody in the whole dang place stopped what they were doing to watch us fight. Even the old Chinese dudes stopped their hardcore ping pong.
And then the fat Asian dude on the instigator's team tried to get in the fight, but Ma (my lifelong buddy since kindergarten) jumped his back and started punching the hell out of the guy's head. It was pretty funny. Ma and I were in a lot of fights when we were kids but this was probably one of our most glorious team-ups.
I was just drunk with rage. You know how people associate the color red with anger? I still remember my vision turned red during this fight. Maybe it was 'cause I took a sucker punch to the head, but I was pretty pissed. My vision had a reddish tint to it that I'd never experienced before.
I didn't use any fancy moves on that guy. We just got in close and started pounding each other. I don't think I took any particularly painful blows (other than that stupid sucker punch) but I felt like I delivered some powerful ones.
Anyway, after what was most likely, in reality, a short time, someone (I don't remember whom) split up all four of us and the fight thus ended. I still got in a cheap shot, though, 'cause while someone was grabbing and holding back the instigator, I was unrestrained. I picked up a ball and chucked it right at his groin. Seeing him double over in pain was immensely gratifying. I know it probably makes me sound like lousy, petty, unforgiving person to admit satisfaction in this, but that's how I felt at the time.
After a few minutes to cool off from the fight, I left.
If I were to find myself in a similar situation again, I would probably just quit playing with the annoying jerk and walk away. It ain't worth it. You never know. Next time I get into a fight, could be the last thing I do. Even if the guy isn't tougher than me, he could have a weapon or a gang of idiot friends or something. This is one of the reasons why I prefer playing with friends or people I know. I don't like having to deal with pricks if I can avoid 'em. (The Fob Academy aren't really jerks with whom I'd fight, I guess - I just don't like them very much 'cause they complain about everything and call fouls all the time. Also, I'd like to note that I am still lifetime undefeated in games against the Fob Academy.)
Friday, October 16, 2009
Misadventures in Saturday (and Sunday) Balling: 10/03, 10/10, and 10/11/09
My right foot’s been bugging me for a couple weeks now. For some reason, since the end of September, the nerves in the front part of my foot have just been kinda painful. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I still have my usual range of motion and I don’t think anything is seriously wrong, but trying to run or jump off the balls of my foot sends jolts of pain coursing up my leg. I guess I’m just hoping the pain will go away by itself.
Last week, I tried to go easy on my foot so I could play ball on Saturday (10/03/09). It seemed to work. I was okay to play. Once I got the adrenaline coursing through my veins I was able to run around almost like normal. I was probably at about 85% percent.
So I got to the Lowell courts around 11AM. Surprisingly, the Fob Academy was not there. There was a group of Asians playing a halfcourt game there, but I don’t think they were the Fob Academy. Other than those guys, there were a handful of others just shooting around at the other baskets. After I shot around for a few minutes, Harry (note to self: he needs a nickname) and Alex the Man eventually arrived. We shot around some more to get warmed up. Also, there wasn’t anyone else to play with because those other Asians didn’t want the taint of outsiders to ruin their game, and there weren’t enough other guys at the other courts who were interested in playing a game.
For some reason, the Lowell JROTC drill team was practicing. Broad daylight and no shame, baby. They weren’t in their uniforms or anything, but they were marching in weird patterns all over the basketball courts. You know that game Snake? That’s how those kids were marching, except they didn’t end up eating themselves. They kept walking on our court, too, even though three men were clearly using the space. I guess they must have been super proud or just blind or something.
After a while, Harry, Alex the Man, and I decided to play hunch. I emerged triumphant in glorious fashion, of course, because someone (not me, honest) had the great idea to place no limits on free throws after a made basket. We were playing up to eleven, and once I scored my first point, I drained ten straight free throws to ice the victory. I didn’t even sweat. I’m not making this up. Ask Harry or Alex the Man. They were both witnesses.
Yeah, I think I can shoot free throws better than Andris Biedrins. I don’t care if he’s got 18,000 people screaming at him. I’m pretty sure what I accomplished that day proves I can shoot better than him.
After a few more minutes of shooting around and bemusedly watching the JROTC marching around, a few more other players from the other courts decided it was time to get a game going now that we had enough to play full. I’m writing about this day more than a week after it happened, so I can’t remember every single detail, but this is the gist of it. Harry was on my team and Alex the Man was on the other team. My team won the first game and I had a respectable performance.
I remember this because it almost never happens, but I was 4-for-4 from the field and I had at least two assists, a couple rebounds, and a steal. Not too bad, other than the fact that it’s dorky to keep track of your own stats in a street ball game… and then remember those stats over a week later, as though trying to vainly reclaim some bygone glory.
The second game we played, my team just got beat bad. I don’t remember the score or anything, but even though it might have been close, I knew the other team was in control. It was one of those games where I didn’t really like my teammates (other than Harry, of course) so I essentially quit on the team. The other guys on the team were talking too much, or just ballhogging, or just generally taking stupid shots. That’s all fine and dandy when those bad shots go in and we win the game, but not when we’re down big. Like, this one guy kept taking pop-up threes. He made like one the entire time but it was enough to make him believe he was on fire. And this other guy kept trying to drive to the hoop, only the defense constantly collapsed on him resulting in one of two bad decisions: either the dude would force up a bad shot, or he’d just try to keep the ball and end up turning it over. The third guy just kept talking trash to an opposing player, calling for the ball, and then trying to take his man one on one.
(You ever think about what “team chemistry” really is? Analysts and writers love to bring it up, but isn’t “good” team chemistry present on every team that wins and “bad” team chemistry present on every losing team? Has there ever been a really good dominant team in the NBA with “bad” chemistry? Isn’t chemistry really just the result of winning? The more you win, the happier everyone is and the better team chemistry is. Vice versa when you’re losing. Why do people treat team chemistry like it’s a potion that can be mixed in a laboratory? The closest example to a good team with “bad” chemistry I can think of is the Lakers that last year they had Shaq… and they didn’t win the championship.)
I didn’t stop playing in the middle of the game or anything, but I was just going through the motions. Once I saw how the flow of the game was going, I stopped passing and tried to shoot the ball no matter what. Also, they had one tall guy on their team, and even though he wasn’t my man, I had to guard him a few times. I had to use my wiles to try to contain him, and he did tell me I had good d after the game, so I took some pride in that. I was still pissed I lost, but I blame the guys on my team for that one. (Except for Harry.)
__________
Balling at the church retreat was good times as well. That was pretty much all I did all afternoon… on Saturday and Sunday.
The court at the retreat site wasn’t anything special. It was smaller than normal. They had those double rims that always irritated me, and I think the hoops might’ve been a few inches lower than usual. (Not that I could touch the rim or anything – I can’t jump.) To top it all off, the ground wasn’t perfectly smooth. But when you’re desperate, it don’t really matter, I suppose. It’s like that Al Harrington shoe commercial: “You don’t need money to play this game. You need shoes. Protégé. Only at Kmart.”
You don’t even need a court to play this game as long as you have shoes. And maybe a ball. And some baskets. Al Harrington said so. And he’s a genius. He graduated from high school and went straight to the NBA, which proves he’s smart.
Saturday, we had enough players to play some four-on-four, full court. We had some decent games. Pastor Kim was on the other team. At one point, I swatted one of his shots. I was about to boast, maybe say something like, “Aw, yeah! Put THAT in your next sermon!” but then he picked up the ball and laid it in while I was mentally formulating trash talk. Sometimes I wish I were quicker on my wits. Maybe I should have just done the Dikembe Finger Wag. Oh, well. Next time I swat a pastor, I guess I’ll have to be prepared.
Not much else to say about Saturday’s games other than they were good exercise and I realized I could no longer take anyone off the dribble with my whacked out foot. It’s not like I was ever the quickest dude or anything, but I feel like a slow white guy now. It’s like if Eric Snow woke up one day and found himself in Jud Buechler’s body. I might still have that explosive first step, but it’s the second step that I’ve temporarily lost. Also, Galen’s Shane Battier-esque defense frustrated me and I had some nasty turnovers. On the plus side, I can honestly say that I didn’t cuss a single time that day. Even though Mike Singletary doesn’t like moral victories, I am willing to take whatever I can get. But I think I won those games anyway, ‘cause Pastor Alton was on my team.
Sunday, I warmed up by playing some dodgeball with the fellas. That was amusing. At one point, while dodging, I must have planted wrong and really hurt my right foot again. Waves of pain just blasted my foot. I wanted to quit but I think there were girls watching so I didn’t say anything and just acted like nothing happened even though I lost my agility and couldn’t really run effectively.
The first game we played was five-on-five and each team had a girl. I think they played pretty well. Tiffany and Denise knew what they were doing and made some shots. At one point, Denise stuffed Pastor Alton’s shot and he immediately clutched his shoulder so we had a little injury timeout. He’s a Pastor, so I assume he actually has some past injury with his shoulder, and he wasn’t just pretending to be hurt ‘cause a girl blocked his shot. Although that would be pretty funny if true. I don’t know. If Tiffany had blocked one of my shots or something, I probably would have just pretended to have a sprained elbow or something. If she’d given me the Dikembe Finger Wag I would have pretended to have a concussion. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.
The girls only played like one or two games with us, and then I guess they had enough. I don’t remember the games too well ‘cause I played so many of them and had a bunch of different teammates.
The fun thing was just playing with fellow brothers and sisters in Jesus. It’s a different feeling than playing against the Fob Academy all day long because I don’t really get as pissed off if my team is behind. Also, I feel like I can kind of trust the other Christians not to call fouls every single possession. I can lower my guard and enjoy the game. I wasn’t as obsessed with having to win the games so I tried some things I normally wouldn’t go for if I were playing to win. Even with my hurt foot, I tried penetrating, but that usually ended up in me forcing up a stupid bad shot. If we were playing the Fob Academy, my stupid bad shot tendency would decrease dramatically, I promise you that.
Towards the end of Sunday afternoon, this one large white dude joined us. I don’t know who he was, but his body type reminded me of Oliver Miller. Dude was a big dude, but he kept trying to play like he was A.I. or someone! Can’t believe he kept trying to do crossovers when he couldn’t even dribble without taking his eyes off the ball. I thought those were some pretty bad moves. He played better when I told him to post up can catch a lob down low. He was able to score then. But every time he tried to take someone off the dribble, he’d lose the ball. Either his defender would just pick him clean or he would just completely lose the handle. I even saw him try to split a double team while his head was totally pointed straight down ‘cause he had to look at the ball while he was dribbling. I felt embarrassed.
I lost the last couple games that day. Each time, Pastor Alton hit a game-winning jumper over me. I guess that’s a sign from God that I must study my Bible much more.
After basketball, we played some football. I have been obsessed with football the last few years but I rarely get a chance to play even touch football, so it was a blessing to be able to have a few guys. Alex the Man has a rocket arm like Alex Smith. Brian Chang was playing like Brian Dawkins. He had five INTs and I think he would have had a few TAINTS if he didn’t keep trying to toss laterals. (TAINT stands for Touchdown After Interception. It’s one of my favorite sports acronyms of all time, baby! I can say it all day long. TAINT, TAINT, TAINT. There’s just something about this acronym that makes me laugh. Pretty lowbrow, but whatever.)
Gilbert “Brown” Kwan was playing like Randy Moss, too. He burned his man on a streak and caught a bomb in stride after playing a really laid-back game up to that point. In the post-game interview, he quoted Moss when he said, “I play when I wanna play.”
Last week, I tried to go easy on my foot so I could play ball on Saturday (10/03/09). It seemed to work. I was okay to play. Once I got the adrenaline coursing through my veins I was able to run around almost like normal. I was probably at about 85% percent.
So I got to the Lowell courts around 11AM. Surprisingly, the Fob Academy was not there. There was a group of Asians playing a halfcourt game there, but I don’t think they were the Fob Academy. Other than those guys, there were a handful of others just shooting around at the other baskets. After I shot around for a few minutes, Harry (note to self: he needs a nickname) and Alex the Man eventually arrived. We shot around some more to get warmed up. Also, there wasn’t anyone else to play with because those other Asians didn’t want the taint of outsiders to ruin their game, and there weren’t enough other guys at the other courts who were interested in playing a game.
For some reason, the Lowell JROTC drill team was practicing. Broad daylight and no shame, baby. They weren’t in their uniforms or anything, but they were marching in weird patterns all over the basketball courts. You know that game Snake? That’s how those kids were marching, except they didn’t end up eating themselves. They kept walking on our court, too, even though three men were clearly using the space. I guess they must have been super proud or just blind or something.
After a while, Harry, Alex the Man, and I decided to play hunch. I emerged triumphant in glorious fashion, of course, because someone (not me, honest) had the great idea to place no limits on free throws after a made basket. We were playing up to eleven, and once I scored my first point, I drained ten straight free throws to ice the victory. I didn’t even sweat. I’m not making this up. Ask Harry or Alex the Man. They were both witnesses.
Yeah, I think I can shoot free throws better than Andris Biedrins. I don’t care if he’s got 18,000 people screaming at him. I’m pretty sure what I accomplished that day proves I can shoot better than him.
After a few more minutes of shooting around and bemusedly watching the JROTC marching around, a few more other players from the other courts decided it was time to get a game going now that we had enough to play full. I’m writing about this day more than a week after it happened, so I can’t remember every single detail, but this is the gist of it. Harry was on my team and Alex the Man was on the other team. My team won the first game and I had a respectable performance.
I remember this because it almost never happens, but I was 4-for-4 from the field and I had at least two assists, a couple rebounds, and a steal. Not too bad, other than the fact that it’s dorky to keep track of your own stats in a street ball game… and then remember those stats over a week later, as though trying to vainly reclaim some bygone glory.
The second game we played, my team just got beat bad. I don’t remember the score or anything, but even though it might have been close, I knew the other team was in control. It was one of those games where I didn’t really like my teammates (other than Harry, of course) so I essentially quit on the team. The other guys on the team were talking too much, or just ballhogging, or just generally taking stupid shots. That’s all fine and dandy when those bad shots go in and we win the game, but not when we’re down big. Like, this one guy kept taking pop-up threes. He made like one the entire time but it was enough to make him believe he was on fire. And this other guy kept trying to drive to the hoop, only the defense constantly collapsed on him resulting in one of two bad decisions: either the dude would force up a bad shot, or he’d just try to keep the ball and end up turning it over. The third guy just kept talking trash to an opposing player, calling for the ball, and then trying to take his man one on one.
(You ever think about what “team chemistry” really is? Analysts and writers love to bring it up, but isn’t “good” team chemistry present on every team that wins and “bad” team chemistry present on every losing team? Has there ever been a really good dominant team in the NBA with “bad” chemistry? Isn’t chemistry really just the result of winning? The more you win, the happier everyone is and the better team chemistry is. Vice versa when you’re losing. Why do people treat team chemistry like it’s a potion that can be mixed in a laboratory? The closest example to a good team with “bad” chemistry I can think of is the Lakers that last year they had Shaq… and they didn’t win the championship.)
I didn’t stop playing in the middle of the game or anything, but I was just going through the motions. Once I saw how the flow of the game was going, I stopped passing and tried to shoot the ball no matter what. Also, they had one tall guy on their team, and even though he wasn’t my man, I had to guard him a few times. I had to use my wiles to try to contain him, and he did tell me I had good d after the game, so I took some pride in that. I was still pissed I lost, but I blame the guys on my team for that one. (Except for Harry.)
__________
Balling at the church retreat was good times as well. That was pretty much all I did all afternoon… on Saturday and Sunday.
The court at the retreat site wasn’t anything special. It was smaller than normal. They had those double rims that always irritated me, and I think the hoops might’ve been a few inches lower than usual. (Not that I could touch the rim or anything – I can’t jump.) To top it all off, the ground wasn’t perfectly smooth. But when you’re desperate, it don’t really matter, I suppose. It’s like that Al Harrington shoe commercial: “You don’t need money to play this game. You need shoes. Protégé. Only at Kmart.”
You don’t even need a court to play this game as long as you have shoes. And maybe a ball. And some baskets. Al Harrington said so. And he’s a genius. He graduated from high school and went straight to the NBA, which proves he’s smart.
Saturday, we had enough players to play some four-on-four, full court. We had some decent games. Pastor Kim was on the other team. At one point, I swatted one of his shots. I was about to boast, maybe say something like, “Aw, yeah! Put THAT in your next sermon!” but then he picked up the ball and laid it in while I was mentally formulating trash talk. Sometimes I wish I were quicker on my wits. Maybe I should have just done the Dikembe Finger Wag. Oh, well. Next time I swat a pastor, I guess I’ll have to be prepared.
Not much else to say about Saturday’s games other than they were good exercise and I realized I could no longer take anyone off the dribble with my whacked out foot. It’s not like I was ever the quickest dude or anything, but I feel like a slow white guy now. It’s like if Eric Snow woke up one day and found himself in Jud Buechler’s body. I might still have that explosive first step, but it’s the second step that I’ve temporarily lost. Also, Galen’s Shane Battier-esque defense frustrated me and I had some nasty turnovers. On the plus side, I can honestly say that I didn’t cuss a single time that day. Even though Mike Singletary doesn’t like moral victories, I am willing to take whatever I can get. But I think I won those games anyway, ‘cause Pastor Alton was on my team.
Sunday, I warmed up by playing some dodgeball with the fellas. That was amusing. At one point, while dodging, I must have planted wrong and really hurt my right foot again. Waves of pain just blasted my foot. I wanted to quit but I think there were girls watching so I didn’t say anything and just acted like nothing happened even though I lost my agility and couldn’t really run effectively.
The first game we played was five-on-five and each team had a girl. I think they played pretty well. Tiffany and Denise knew what they were doing and made some shots. At one point, Denise stuffed Pastor Alton’s shot and he immediately clutched his shoulder so we had a little injury timeout. He’s a Pastor, so I assume he actually has some past injury with his shoulder, and he wasn’t just pretending to be hurt ‘cause a girl blocked his shot. Although that would be pretty funny if true. I don’t know. If Tiffany had blocked one of my shots or something, I probably would have just pretended to have a sprained elbow or something. If she’d given me the Dikembe Finger Wag I would have pretended to have a concussion. Fortunately, that didn’t happen.
The girls only played like one or two games with us, and then I guess they had enough. I don’t remember the games too well ‘cause I played so many of them and had a bunch of different teammates.
The fun thing was just playing with fellow brothers and sisters in Jesus. It’s a different feeling than playing against the Fob Academy all day long because I don’t really get as pissed off if my team is behind. Also, I feel like I can kind of trust the other Christians not to call fouls every single possession. I can lower my guard and enjoy the game. I wasn’t as obsessed with having to win the games so I tried some things I normally wouldn’t go for if I were playing to win. Even with my hurt foot, I tried penetrating, but that usually ended up in me forcing up a stupid bad shot. If we were playing the Fob Academy, my stupid bad shot tendency would decrease dramatically, I promise you that.
Towards the end of Sunday afternoon, this one large white dude joined us. I don’t know who he was, but his body type reminded me of Oliver Miller. Dude was a big dude, but he kept trying to play like he was A.I. or someone! Can’t believe he kept trying to do crossovers when he couldn’t even dribble without taking his eyes off the ball. I thought those were some pretty bad moves. He played better when I told him to post up can catch a lob down low. He was able to score then. But every time he tried to take someone off the dribble, he’d lose the ball. Either his defender would just pick him clean or he would just completely lose the handle. I even saw him try to split a double team while his head was totally pointed straight down ‘cause he had to look at the ball while he was dribbling. I felt embarrassed.
I lost the last couple games that day. Each time, Pastor Alton hit a game-winning jumper over me. I guess that’s a sign from God that I must study my Bible much more.
After basketball, we played some football. I have been obsessed with football the last few years but I rarely get a chance to play even touch football, so it was a blessing to be able to have a few guys. Alex the Man has a rocket arm like Alex Smith. Brian Chang was playing like Brian Dawkins. He had five INTs and I think he would have had a few TAINTS if he didn’t keep trying to toss laterals. (TAINT stands for Touchdown After Interception. It’s one of my favorite sports acronyms of all time, baby! I can say it all day long. TAINT, TAINT, TAINT. There’s just something about this acronym that makes me laugh. Pretty lowbrow, but whatever.)
Gilbert “Brown” Kwan was playing like Randy Moss, too. He burned his man on a streak and caught a bomb in stride after playing a really laid-back game up to that point. In the post-game interview, he quoted Moss when he said, “I play when I wanna play.”
Thursday, October 15, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Three
Today's true story:
Even though I am right-handed, I wear my watch on my right wrist. I have done this ever since I was a little kid. I used to have this Mickey Mouse watch way back when I was in elementary school. I think that was my first watch. Well, I always noticed that my pops wore his watch on his right wrist even though he, too, is right-handed. I pretty much just imitated him and it became a lifelong habit.
You know what's weird, is that kids today just don't know how to tell time. Maybe it's 'cause they've grown up in a digital age, but they cannot read an analog clock worth crap. Even fourth and fifth graders still have trouble reading an analog clock. Shoot, I could read a clock when I was in kindergarten. I don't know what parents teach their kids at home these days.
Even though I am right-handed, I wear my watch on my right wrist. I have done this ever since I was a little kid. I used to have this Mickey Mouse watch way back when I was in elementary school. I think that was my first watch. Well, I always noticed that my pops wore his watch on his right wrist even though he, too, is right-handed. I pretty much just imitated him and it became a lifelong habit.
You know what's weird, is that kids today just don't know how to tell time. Maybe it's 'cause they've grown up in a digital age, but they cannot read an analog clock worth crap. Even fourth and fifth graders still have trouble reading an analog clock. Shoot, I could read a clock when I was in kindergarten. I don't know what parents teach their kids at home these days.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
A Month of Facts about Dru: Day Two
Today's true story:
I once punched a girl when I was in kindergarten. I clearly remember this. It was a rainy day, so for recess we were all in the basketball gym. Kids were playing with balls and running around. I guess I wanted to join in on the fun. This other girl had a ball and I wanted to grab it from her. She resisted my manly overtures so I responded by slugging her in the stomach. She doubled over and started crying, but I got the ball and had fun.
I don't remember if she told me on me right away. She probably did, I guess. I probably got sent to the principal's office. It's just that the thing I remember most was that when I got picked up from school that day, I didn't tell my mom what happened. However, that night, the girl's mom called my mom and told her what happened. That was when I got punished. I don't think I've ever intentionally hit another chick since then, although I've definitely had opportunities.
It's funny, now, to look back on this incident. I really don't remember much about it other than the visceral thrill of physically assaulting another human being. The only true punishment I remember to come out of this is the shame and dishonor I felt when my mom learned about what I did, and I realized that I'd brought disgrace to my family name. I've spent the last 21 years of my life trying to repair that damage and I still don't know if I can over fully restore my honor.
This was definitely one of the key points in my life, and certainly played a significant role in shaping my personality. I try not to punch people nowadays, though; when you're a little kid, it's almost okay to punch other kids because you're not likely strong enough to do any lasting damage and all you'll get is a timeout and maybe a spanking. When you're all grown up, fighting people for no good reason is a way for you to get killed, arrested, or sued.
Also, this incident is proof that violent videogames and comic books did not make me a violent person. As I stated, this incident, which was possibly my first-ever successfully thrown punch, occurred when I was in kindergarten. I didn't even start playing videogames until first grade, and as I mentioned in my first fact post, I owned my first comic book at age seven (which probably means I read my first violent comic book around that same age). I don't know why, but I feel compelled to point out these facts.
So what I'm saying is violence just came naturally to me. Guess I was just born bad.
I once punched a girl when I was in kindergarten. I clearly remember this. It was a rainy day, so for recess we were all in the basketball gym. Kids were playing with balls and running around. I guess I wanted to join in on the fun. This other girl had a ball and I wanted to grab it from her. She resisted my manly overtures so I responded by slugging her in the stomach. She doubled over and started crying, but I got the ball and had fun.
I don't remember if she told me on me right away. She probably did, I guess. I probably got sent to the principal's office. It's just that the thing I remember most was that when I got picked up from school that day, I didn't tell my mom what happened. However, that night, the girl's mom called my mom and told her what happened. That was when I got punished. I don't think I've ever intentionally hit another chick since then, although I've definitely had opportunities.
It's funny, now, to look back on this incident. I really don't remember much about it other than the visceral thrill of physically assaulting another human being. The only true punishment I remember to come out of this is the shame and dishonor I felt when my mom learned about what I did, and I realized that I'd brought disgrace to my family name. I've spent the last 21 years of my life trying to repair that damage and I still don't know if I can over fully restore my honor.
This was definitely one of the key points in my life, and certainly played a significant role in shaping my personality. I try not to punch people nowadays, though; when you're a little kid, it's almost okay to punch other kids because you're not likely strong enough to do any lasting damage and all you'll get is a timeout and maybe a spanking. When you're all grown up, fighting people for no good reason is a way for you to get killed, arrested, or sued.
Also, this incident is proof that violent videogames and comic books did not make me a violent person. As I stated, this incident, which was possibly my first-ever successfully thrown punch, occurred when I was in kindergarten. I didn't even start playing videogames until first grade, and as I mentioned in my first fact post, I owned my first comic book at age seven (which probably means I read my first violent comic book around that same age). I don't know why, but I feel compelled to point out these facts.
So what I'm saying is violence just came naturally to me. Guess I was just born bad.
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