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.

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.

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.)

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.”

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.

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.

A Month of Facts about Dru: Day One

I'm starting up a new month-long (approximately) series of brief posts. I am going to share one truthful small bit of information about myself each day. I think I'll try to write true stories or facts that most people generally don't know about me and are too indifferent/uncreative/afraid to ask me. Now, don't expect me to tell you my social security number or mother's maiden name or anything. I have to keep a little something to in reserve to maintain my mystique.

There are a few reasons why I am gonna try this.

1. I am the most interesting man alive.
2. I feel like my writing skills have atrophied over the past several months due to disuse, and I need to do something, anything, to exercise them... This is the equivalent of lifting a one pound dumbbell once a day, I guess.
3. You know what they say about writing: "Comedy is hard and drama is easy, but any fool can write autobiography." Or something to that effect. I don't know who says that. I might've made it up myself. Whatever.


Here is today's true story:
The first comic book I ever owned was X-Men Classic #62, which my dad bought me way back around the spring/summer of 1991. Changed my life. The comic itself was a reprint of Uncanny X-Men #158, in which Rogue (still a supervillain at the time) and Mystique infiltrate the Pentagon, and Wolverine, Nightcrawler, Storm, and Carol Danvers (aka Ms. Marvel, and depowered at the time of this story because Rogue had absorbed her powers) must stop them.

No, I don't hold the story in any particular high regard now, but I am not ashamed to admit that it still blew away my seven-year old mind. Just look at this awesome Mike Mignola cover!

http://media.comicvine.com/uploads/0/4/42029-6685-47698-1-x-men-classic_super.jpg

To this day, I still have no idea what's happening on this cover. I assume Rogue must've absorbed Storm's powers. It's just crazy, though, with all the lightning and bolts of raw energy blasting out of Rogue. It looks like she's killing the X-Men! Storm looks unconcious, Wolverine looks dead, and Nightcrawler looks too scared to teleport! Those lightning bolts are everywhere, and shooting out of Rogue's body! Not even her hands! Look at that picture! Lightning bolts are flying out of her breast and buttocks and she's still killing the X-Men! Take note that I don't think this scene really happens in the actual story. So as a kid, I was just super confused, and yet blown away by the unrestrained madness in the artwork that I was hooked for life.

And now you know the genesis of how I became a comic book lunatic. I owe it all to a Mike Mignola cover on a dated Christopher Claremont X-Men reprint.

Misadventures in Saturday Balling 09/05/09

The Fob Academy was in full effect this past Saturday, but I didn't play with them. Got to the courts about 11 AM and I saw a group of them on one court. They had their cones set up for drills, too. I don't know why. They placed one at the top of the three-point line and one more at each end of the free throw line. One dude would practice curling to the cones at each end of the free throw line and his buddy would pass him the ball. Then the first dude would take a jump shot. A third guy stood around offering his moral support to both of his friends. It was all very heartwarming to see.

The problem was that I have no idea what was the point of having those three cones set up. It was basically one guy doing the same thing over and over again at the same two spots. It's not like he was posting up on a stationary chair like Chairman Yi. None of the cones were necessary at all, unless he had some sort of learning disability which prevented him from remember where he was supposed to curl and where he was supposed to shoot. If that's the case, then I suppose I accept responsibility for being a scornful jackass. But I highly doubt it.

There were a lot of players from the Fob Academy that day. They just claimed one court and had full court games among themselves. The guys I usually played against weren't there, either. Or if they were, I couldn't tell 'cause all Asians look pretty much the same to me.

I ended up just shooting around for a while. My buddy Ma (aka OptionZero) was there, but he was in a halfcourt three-on-three game. Surprisingly, Tiffany showed up. (I can't think of a good nickname for her.) Shot around a bit. Then we played horse. I'll keep it real. I lost to a girl. After that, I knew it was gonna be a lousy day for basketball.

Fortunately, the first game I played, I had this one white dude on my team who was just a dominant player. He was probably around 6'3 or 6'4. Pretty athletic and had relevant basketball skills. We just kept feeding him the ball. He could score in a variety of ways because no one else on the court was close to his size and strength. He posted up, he slashed to the hoop, he drilled jumpers, he rebounded, he blocked and changed shots on defense... Dude was just a complete player. We pretty much killed the other team. I missed two fast break layups that I usually make. That's what happens when you lose to girls at horse before you play with the big boys. Your game just goes downhill. I don't think your biorhythm can recover after something like that.

The second game we played, everyone decided to mix up the teams. I wasn't on the tall dude's team. We got murdered. I don't even remember the score, but it wasn't close. I had a pretty embrassing turnover that game, too. The tall dude had a shorter friend who was also really good, really quick and just good basketball skills. Anyway, this guy was guarding me while I brought the ball up the court. Now usually, players usually play kind of off in this situation. It was just one-on-one, and we had just walked across the half court line. I decided to test the guy, so I just started dribbling in one spot, daring him to move in closer. Dude called my bluff, only his reflexes were way quicker than mine. One swipe, two swipes, and suddenly he slapped the ball right out of my possession. By the time I realized what happened and turned around, he was already dropping in a layup. It was that bad. I knew I should have just gone home after Tif beat me at horse.

Yeah, it was just one of those days. I definitely didn't get enough rest Friday night. It was the Xbox. That Marvel Vs. Capcom 2 is straight crack.

I think I will go play some of that now... I know I have a chance at winning in that game.

An Archive of Previous Misadventures in Saturday Balling

I'm posting up all the past installments of my "Saturday Balling" entries. Why? I don't know. For posterity's sake, I suppose. Went through the trouble of writing them so I might as well keep them. No one's gonna look at this anyway, so whatever. Maybe it'll all end up being something funny to laugh at in fifteen or twenty years.

08/29/09

This past Saturday was rather eventful, as some of you may already
have known. Not too many ETCers showed up. It was just Garland
"Chris Paul" Woo, Jeff "McInnis" Yim, and me. (Two of my old high
school pals rounded out the team.) Yes... The Fob Academy was in
full force once again.

I got to the courts first. Surprisingly, there was nobody there.
Literally. For a while, I was the only dude there, so I was just
shooting around until people started arriving. The Fob Academy
arrived after like half an hour or something, as did Garland and one
of my other friends. We started off with some three-on-three. That
game was pretty forgettable, but I'm pretty sure the good guys
triumphed, 'cause evil never prevails. One of the fobs was okay (he
could shoot) but the other two were just kind of tall and slender.
Not too many actual skills that concerned me.

Once the rest of the Academy and my other friend arrived, it was on.
There were two other guys there, so the Academy got one of them and we
took the other. Full court, five-on-five. (Jeff showed up a few
minutes into our game, if memory serves.) It started off as a pretty
ugly game. Lazy fobs resorted to a 2-3 zone 'cause none of them could
man-up. Lousy wusses. We were missing our outside shots for a while,
and one of my friends wasn't boxing out so we kept getting beat on the
rebounds on offense and defense. The Fob Academy probably had six or
eight offensive rebounds and, like, two second-chance points. (Their
field goal percentage was pretty low, I'd say. One of the guys kept
grabbing boards but he had the filthiest shooting form I've seen in my
life, and even though he tried, he could never get it in.)

As you know, Garland got injured during the game. What many of you
may not know, however, is how he was injured. This is what happened:

Hurm. Well, I was gonna make up a story to make him seem superheroic
and everything, but after at least fifteen minutes of trying, I've
come to realize that I'm just not that creative, so I'll stick to the
truth. The basic story is that he twisted his left knee something
fierce after he threw down a vicious tomahawk jam on the fobs. The
Asian man's body just isn't built to withstand such thunderous
athletic activity at such intense speeds, so his knee buckled.

At the time, we didn't know how serious his injury was. We just
stopped playing, carried him off the court, and hoped he'd get
better. Jeff came into the game and took his place. He joined in at
the right time, too, 'cause we must have been down like 8-2. He was
definitely the difference-maker in the game.

Them fobs were dirty, too. For example, we made a shot from beyond
the arc, so we thought it was worth two. However, they started saying
that every shot was only worth one point - AFTER they had counted two
of their own three-point shots as two points! So even though they had
nine or ten points at the time, they really should have had two fewer
points. This was seriously the kind of argument that starts fights at
streetball courts. We decided not to start a fight, so we just
acquiesced, humoring their deceitfulness.

And course, being the Fob Academy, they called tons of stupid fouls.
Every week I go, I see these guys, and every week they call about
thirty extra fouls. I hate that... For example, one of them would
just try to drive in from the top of the key, and he expects a foul,
so he calls it immediately. It's friggin' stupid. I don't know why I
even play them. (Other than the fact that there is often no one else
to play.) They argued and whined every single possession. They had
this one possession where they called four fouls. Shoot, I'm
surprised they didn't start saying that our players should have fouled
out.

I managed to exact some measure of vengeance, though, when I had the
ball and drove to the sideline. One of the fobs' legs barely brushed
me, and I immediately called a foul. Then I picked up the ball and
looked 'em all in the eye. That was pretty satisfying. I guess after
that, they either felt ashamed or scared, and they didn't call too
many fouls.

So, like I said, with Jeff in the game, we had new life. We had a
great comeback. Jeff was sinking jumpers, slashing to the hoop, and
finding ways for his teammates to score. Eventually, it became a one-
point game that just started going back and forth. It was around this
point when one of the fobs, this dude in a blue shirt, started getting
all loud and cocky and whatnot. I guess he thought he was rallying
his teammates or something, by shouting things like, "They can't do
this!" and "We can make it!" but I thought he just seemed like a
tool. None of his teammates seemed to respond to him verbally,
either, he looked silly. He'd make a shot and then pound his chest
and scream... Now, if he were Kevin Garnett, I'd be intimidated, but
he was just some skinny Asian guy at Lowell. Not really the same.

That blue shirt fob really had it in for me, though. He kept looking
at me and trying to take me off the dribble and stuff. We started
playing a little rough as the game progressed. To his credit, he
didn't call a foul every time I made contact with him. (It was more
like every other time.) We got tangled once or twice fighting for
some loose balls and he tried to trip me. I ain't gonna lie to you
all; I brought out some of my dirty tricks on him. I kinda pushed him
in the back a few times when we were fighting for rebounds and
"accidentally" elbowed him a few times. Pushing him in the back was
kind of dangerous because he was jumping and could have crashed into
the metal support pole for the hoop. I guess didn't really mind,
though.

The best part was that we finally managed to win the game. We were
playing "Win by Two" and it was hard-fought. Jeff made the assist on
the game-winning basket, too. He basically saved our honor and
pride. The look of disappointment and frustration on the fobs' faces
was great. I mean, a couple of the fobs seemed like nice people; one
of them actually seemed to show genuine concern when Garland went down
and helped me carry him off the court. But that blue shirt guy
irritated me. Yeah, I definitely didn't shake his hand and say, "Good
game" after we won. That's something I learned how to do from LeBron
James, baby!! Why would I want to shake hands with someone who wanted
to beat me up? IT DON'T MAKE NO SENSE

I think the blue shirt fob's shirt was some sort of Christian-based t-
shirt, too. It had some sort of Jesus Fish design on it and, I think,
the name of a church or something. Too bad. If I weren't a Christian
myself, I probably would have asked him, "Where is Jesus now?!" and
laughed at him or something.

In the future, I hope more of us would play ball on Saturday
mornings. Either we could have enough people to play amongst
ourselves, or we can simply continue to assert our dominance over the
Fob Academy. I think so far, I'm 5-0 lifetime against the Fob
Academy. They haven't defeated me yet, and I plan to continue the
streak.

WHO WILL RIDE WITH ME?!

08/22/09

Last Saturday was interesting. I encountered the same group of "pesky
fobs" that we played a couple weeks ago when the pastor played. When
I got to Lowell, it looked like they were running the Fob Academy
there... They had cones set up on one of the courts and they were
doing drills and stuff.

My buddy Chris (not the Birdman) was visiting from San Jose, and we
shot around while waiting to see if any ETCers would show up. While
we were warming up, the Fob Academy started doing footwork drills with
the cones and increased the intensity. Eventually they started
playing five-on-five. I don't know if they were trying to impress us,
but the Elbow Fob was there so I didn't respect their game. Also,
they had to stop every three seconds because someone would either call
a foul, a double dribble, or a moving screen.

After a while, my old friend Ken showed up. Three of the Fob Academy
members challenged Ken, Chris, and me to some three-on-three. While
we played, Justin "Timberlake" Travis Earnest Ho (aka TYRONE) and
Danny "Manning" Ng showed up. One of those fobs was pretty good. He
could make decent jumpshots and his handles were okay. The other two
fobs were just tall and had blond hair. It was close for a while. I
think we were actually down by six points but Chris started heating up
and the fobs had no answer. They had no interior d and we just kept
driving it to the hole. At one point during our run, one of the tall
fobs thought he could kill our momentum and tried to fire a long range
bomb, but I timed my jump correctly and swatted him back into his
mother's womb. That was pretty much the storyline of the first game I
won that day.

The next game we played was with the same three fobs. This time
Justin and Danny were on my team. Justin had no fear of getting his
ankles broken; the dude played in his sandals. Now, if you're a
regular baller, you know that there's a certain dress code for when
you go to the courts and play. I don't know what's more ridiculous,
showing up to a basketball court with intention of playing while
wearing jeans, or showing up wearing Birkenstocks. The decent fob
player took one look at Justin Travis and scoffed openly. I couldn't
understand what he said to his comrades in Chinese, but I bet it was
the fob equivalent of "This guy doesn't even have shoes. It's gonna
be a slaughter, so we might as well go easy on them."

So of course we still whipped their sorry derrieres. At one point,
the Fob Academy was like, "Okay, this Birkenstocks guy can score, we
better guard him." But by then it was all too late. I don't even
remember what the storyline of that game was. For those fobs, getting
beaten by a team with a guy wearing Birkenstocks was probably the most
humiliating and most degrading event of their entire lives. But for
us, it was just another Saturday.

Also, I must point out that Jean-Marc sent me an awesome text message:
"Better is one day in His courts than a thousand elsewhere." Psalm
84:10, baby! (Okay, so I had to Google the reference because I'm not
as spiritual as some of you others...) Let this be a call for any and
all of you who read these entries to also drag yourselves out to the
courts so we can worship God through our aggressive, but loving,
domination of lesser basketball players.

Taking this piece of encouragement to heart, I went back to the Lowell
courts later that afternoon. (Some of my old college buddies came
down to SF to visit me and play ball because our plans the previous
week were spoiled when I selflessly decided to give three bridesmaids
in distress a ride to Oakland.) So I almost literally spent one day
in His basketball courts.

My afternoon games were more intense five-on-five fullcourt games...
What's annoying is that we lost all three games we played, and to the
same basic group of people. (The Fob Academy had left by then.) The
first game we lost was by like one or two points, but it was my fault;
I made a lazy pass that led to an easy layup for the other team, and
that was the winning play for them.

The other two games we lost were crap, though. Those games were
basically two-man shows where two of my teammates just dominated the
ball and kept driving and trying to force up tough shots while the
other three of us kind of just stood around the perimeter. (The three
of us who didn't touch the ball much were angry at our other two
friends, but somehow we found it within ourselves to forgive them.)

In the second game we lost, there was this really annoying chubby
white guy on the other team. I think his name was Sherman. The dude
had absolutely zero basketball skills. His entire game consisted of
standing around and screaming, at the top of his lungs, "HE GOTS THAT,
BABY, HE GOTS THAT!" over and over. That's seriously all he did. He
didn't contribute to the game in any other way. He was just a body,
yelling that inane phrase on every single possession. That was his
way of playing defense. It's been a long time since I've encountered
a person that irritating, the type of person I wish I could punch in
the face without breaking my own hand. What angers me is that the
dude sucked and didn't contribute to his team's play, but I still
lost. Please pray that I will never see this guy again because if I
do, I will probably end up sinning when I end his life with my bare
hands.

On the other hand, I went the entire day without dropping a single f-
bomb, so at least there's that.

08/15/09

I don't know exactly what action took place last Saturday, as I wasn't
there. Some of you who were there told me that there was a decent
turnout, though, and some of the Focus kids showed up to play with and
learn from the veteran ETCers. From what I understand, Gilbert
"Arenas" Kwan aka AGENT ZERO was beasting on them all. Not sure if he
made anyone cry or quit the church, though. But I am glad he only
turned it on when I wasn't there to get crushed.

(For the record, I don't care how young a kid is; I will never
intentionally let him win. You should see me when I am playing ball
with fourth and fifth graders. I might let them make a couple of easy
shots to keep them encouraged, but I don't let them beat me. Gotta
toughen them up.)

It is nice that people are coming out on Saturdays to play the game.
It pleases me to hear that people are having good fellowship while
going all-out to destroy and humiliate every opponent that steps on
the court. That's basketball, baby. That's life. That's how the
world should be.

So the reason I wasn't able to play last Saturday was 'cause I went to
a wedding up in Sacramento. I was gonna play basketball with some of
my old college buddies that night, after the wedding, or maybe even on
Sunday afternoon, but something unexpected happened. I already told
some of you what happened, but I still think it is an amusing story.

It turned out that three out of the five bridesmaids needed a ride
back to Oakland. My buddy, the groom, made a general announcement
about it and said they were all single. It was basically every man's
dream scenario. Somehow, I don't know how, but somehow, I was the
only person at the wedding who was going back to the Bay Area.

(Sidenote: Our very own Chris "The Birdman" Wong also happened to be
at the same wedding, but for some reason he needed to stay in
Sacramento that night. When I asked him why, he said something about
having to sleep in his own comfortable bed. Typical.)

Anyway, despite my plans to play ball that night or the next day, I
ended up volunteering to give the three bridesmaids a ride back to the
Bay. But this was a game I had no idea how to play, if you get what
I'm saying. I mean, I know how to play basketball. I know I ain't
the greatest baller or anything, but at least I know how to play
enough to not utterly embarrass myself. I think I was just in over my
head.

Driving a hundred miles with three single bridesmaids (that I just
met) was a high pressure situation. I kept trying to think of
interesting things to say that could be interpreted as charmingly
disarming. Nothing. It seemed like our conversation throughout the
car ride was pleasant but completely platonic. No flirting, no
coquettishness, no nothing.

I even started driving at the speed limit, reasoning that driving
slower would allow us to share more time together, and that perhaps
I'd be able to think of something witty or at least leave a memorable
impression. Nope. Nothing happened. Sure, they thanked me and
everything, but I doubt they will remember my name in a week's time.

Maybe I should have tried harder to catch the garter during the
wedding reception. I could have grabbed it, you know. It seriously
went right to me, but I consciously decided not to stick up my hand
and I just let it fall on the floor. I wonder if that would have
helped me. That is something I will never know, and a regret I will
have to live with for the rest of my existence in this dark world.

I guess I am not clutch in real life.

08/08/09

I would like to make playing basketball on Saturday mornings a regular
thing, if possible. Lowell basketball courts, 11AM. I won't be able
to play this weekend, but I delegated and made Garland "Chris Paul"
Woo this week's honorary team captain. Hopefully any and all of you
who want to play ball will be encouraged to play this Saturday. If
not, then I will definitely be there next week the fifteenth. (Unless
we get raptured before that day comes, or something.)

This past Saturday was some good times, if I say so myself. Had a
decent turnout, probably around a dozen of us were there. Pastor
Alton showed up and I got to be on his team, so obviously we destroyed
the other guys we played. It was definitely one of those rare sports
moments when I felt comfortable believing that God was on my side, if
you know what I mean. I was also more motivated than usual to display
good sportsmanship and not cuss inadvertently.

The first game, we played amongst ourselves 'cause we had enough
people. My team won and then some pesky fobs had next, and they tried
to step up to us. Man, those guys were annoying. There were four of
them, so Garland was on their team. (I guess he is too old to stay up
past 11:15PM but not so old that he can't run around the basketball
court like Speedy Claxton in his prime.) They played like little
pansies (Garland excepted, of course), calling numerous fouls that
would have made even Tim Donaghy ashamed. Every little amount of
physical contact resulted in a foul for those guys. One of them even
tried to tell me I was setting a moving screen when I was simply
attempting to walk into position to set a legal pick one foot away
from the defender. And some other fella called a double dribble on
the Pastor! That's blasphemous. I don't know if I've ever seen
anyone call a double dribble in street ball.

Some of those guys could shoot, I suppose, but they were no match for
us once we decided to get tough. Pastor Alton exhorted us to "take it
inside" and just pound them like nails down low. Those lousy fobs
were soft like cotton candy and we swallowed them up in the paint.
MELT IN YOUR MOUTH, BABY

I also saw Gilbert "Arenas" Kwan and Chris "The Birdman" Wong after
they played tennis. I saw them playing basketball on one of the other
courts and I just didn't want none of that.

After most everyone left, I stayed and played another game with some
strangers. We played against that team of pesky fobs again. We
whooped them again, of course. It was bad. We had such a big lead
that one of the guys on my team was trying to do White Chocolate
behind-the-back passes on fastbreaks and stuff. I also had a really
satisfying block on one of those fobs. I think he wanted to call a
foul on it, but he was too busy trying not to cry from embarrassment.

Top 5 Punks in the NBA: The Dru Addendum

This is my take on Chris' recent topic on NBA punks. (Come on, dude - Rip Hamilton? How's that guy in the top five of your list?)


5. Bill Laimbeer
Yeah, I know he's retired. What's he doing now? Coaching and winning championships for a WNBA team? He's washed up. The reason he makes my list, though, is because there was never a person I ever hated in basketball more than Bill Laimbeer. Not even Dennis Rodman! I think I hate Bill Laimbeer more than Kobe Bryant. (Someone should remake Bill Laimbeer's Combat Basketball and toss in modern players.) Bill Laimbeer and the Bad Boys were in their prime when I first started watching basketball back in like '89. And then the early '90s... Man, I hated Bill Laimbeer and the Bad Boys for all the dirtiness they played on Michael before he finally won. Plus, Bill Laimbeer used to always get into these fights with guys I liked, especially Barkley. I think watching those Bill Laimbeer vs. Barkley fights really helped my young, formative mind to quickly grasp the concept of good vs. evil.


4a. Joakim Noah
Yeah, pretty much all the reasons my fellow Tan pointed out in his post. Noah's a giant rat-fink. He reminds me of a taller Tyronn Lue, another guy I don't like and who would likely have made my T-Mobile Least Fave Five if I were writing this back in 2002.

4b. Bonzi Wells, Jason Williams (White Chocolate), James Posey
Sorry to cheat so much on this list, but I feel like I have to point out that I still don't like these guys. They were all on the last good Memphis Grizzlies team but their horrible attitudes made me lose respect for them. To tell the truth, I never liked Bonzi even when he was a Blazer. His antics never made me smile like Rasheed's did. And Jason Williams was always a dickhead for that time when the Kings came to Oakland and he commented on the Bay Area's Asian population by musing, "Didn't we kill all those chinks back in 'Nam? [insert fratboy machine gun sound effects]" James Posey, well, I don't know if he's really a jerk or not, but I'll just lump him into this group regardless. (Now that I think about it, he did give Monta a cheap shot a couple years ago. That's a good enough reason.)

The nail in the coffin for these guys is how they made their Hall of Fame coach retire (undisclosed "health reasons." In other words, those three guys were making him sick.) from coaching just by being jerks. Hubie Brown was trying to do something good with this team and then he had to deal with all these lousy attitudes. And now Hubie is probably one of the top two or three color commentators out there. You can actually learn about the game of basketball from listening to him talk. And he comes off as such a gentleman that I have zero respect for Bonzi, Williams, and Posey... Even though Hubie himself is such a gentleman that even when he commentates their games, he always says something positive about them.


3. Nate Robinson
I don't like this kid. First of all, he's a stinking cocky person. There's something annoying about his swagger on the court. He must feel like he has something to prove to everybody just because he's short. (I knew a kid like that in high school and one time I almost kicked his ass, but he got scared and backed off.) Winning the dunk contest is nice, but it's not like he even deserved to win... That was Iggyhop's trophy all the way and the only reason Robinson won was 'cause he's shorter. It sure wasn't because it took him like 17 tries to make a dunk.

And you know what else, Robinson's attitude is terrible. Larry Brown was his coach when he was a rookie and I remember reading interviews where Robinson was criticizing Brown as their season was heading down the drain. That's beyond absurd to me. I have no respect for a player who doesn't respect one of the greatest coaches of all time, especially when the coach is HIS coach (and he's a rookie). That's one of the reasons why I have no sympathy for the Knicks. Yes, yes, I heart FDNY and all that... But the Knicks? They deserve everything they've got right now, and I hope they remain bottom feeders at least as long as the Niners and Raiders have been crap.

Also, Robinson's role in that Knicks/Nuggets brawl a couple years back completely demolished any last vestiges of indifference for him. People criticize Melo for sucker-punching Mardy Collins and then backing off. Take it from a guy who's been sucker-punched a few times in his life: Mardy Collins had it coming. And Robinson definitely helped escalate things to the point where Melo had to unleash the fury. What a little instigator.


2. Isiah Thomas
I liked him when he was a player. Even though I hated the Bad Boys, I still liked Zeke, Joe Dumars, and John Salley. Now, I am kind of indifferent to John Salley and The Man Show (or whatever Spike TV show he was on). I still like Joe Dumars. But the Knicks are a joke and Isiah's the punchline.

We know he was the one who really started that Knicks/Nuggets fight. He made a little-used rookie go in and commit a hard foul. Come on now. If you're a rookie in the NBA and fighting for every second of playing time, and your coach tells you to go in to hurt the other team, what are you gonna do? Some people with self-respect and dignity might refuse to play dirty, but can you really blame a stupid person for obeying orders?

George Karl doesn't like Isiah, either, so I know I'm not alone.

Oh yeah, and the sexual harassment thing. And the terrible personnel moves as GM and the bad coaching. You gotta love it whenever Bill Simmons the Sports Guy writes about the "Isiah Face," man! Zeke: just another reason why I ain't feel any sympathy for the Knicks or their fans.


1. Bruce Bowen
Come on, is there even any question here? I am just shocked he didn't even crack Chris Tan's list. I don't have much, if any, love for Harpring or Fortson but Bowen tops them. He's constantly labeled by other players as the dirtiest player in the entire Association, and I am inclined to believe them. Just go to YouTube or something and do a search for "bruce bowen dirty" and see what you get. Try to find the clip where Bowen jump-kicks Wally Szczerbiak (or some other random white dude) in the face. How many times, during the course of a single game, does Bowen pull some dirty cheap shot on opposing players? And it's not just cheap shots, but he does stuff that can hurt or injure people. At least he's finally been suspended a game for his dirtiness. I could probably go off for a couple paragraphs on why else I hate Bowen, but I will assume that you already agree that he is a big fat punk. (Unless you're a Spurs fan.)

Ray Allen hates him, too. Good enough for me, if not a court of law.