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The Time I Juked an NBA Player (Hoop Dream Memories Pt. 1)

Yesterday, Saturday Nov. 4, 2017, I was playing in my weekly Old Man Hoops game and I did a wrap-around-the-back fake pass on the  way to a left-handed layup attempt. That’s right attempt. I blew the layup.

Million dollar move, 10-cent finish as they used to tell me on the playground.

My basketball buddies, however, are used to seeing my wrap-arounds, and my elbow passes, and my nutmeg dribbles through the defender’s legs.

Showing these ‘trick’ plays too many times, as I certainly have, diminishes the surprise factor and thus the play’s effectiveness. My percentage effectiveness is about 50/50 and that may be way generous to myself.

In real coached basketball if you did a move like an elbow pass and it flies off into the bleachers, the coach would give you some bench time for sure.

But in the relatively uncoached version of Old Man Hoops, of which I am the oldest player at 57, I’ve got the senior citizen greenlight card that allows me 100 percent interest free validation for anything I do, stupid or not. Of course the ‘playground’ consequences of failing to complete a trick play or two means your teammates may quit throwing you the ball.

Winner Mike’sMadness to raise money forthe Lew Body Dementia Associationn was  UAB’s team. Average height was, oh, 6’8”. Me out front in  the middle (the short guy) am  6 feet tall so you can see that height estimate was no exaggeration. My team never played UAB though, guess they heard about my wraparound.

But back to yesterday’s around the back wrap. I can’t even remember who was guarding the play, a fast break, whether it was James the doctor or Owens the DJ or Justin who works with me at Alabama Media Group. (Or Dan or Dennis or or Rodney), I can’t even remember who was on the other team sometimes.

But anyway I wrapped it around the back, which makes the ball invisible to the defender for a nanosecond. The hope is to make the defender think you are throwing a  behind-the-back pass and force the defender to commit to another player who is hopefully streaking down the  court beside you (hopefully 2 teammates, one on each side for options.)

Anyway, as I have said, I cleared some space with the fake, put it up with my left off the backboard, but it bounced off the front of the rim, no score. 

A play that was very forgettable.

But it led to me  today to thinking about another play long ago that I still remember in vivid detail.  Probably because it replays in my head all of the time.

It was the time I juked Chris Gatling, a former NBA player who was in the league for more than a decade.

The first round pick in 1991 of the Golden State Warriors, he averaged about 10 points and 5 boards over his career. One year in Dallas he was 19 and 8.

So I’m living in the San Francisco Bay Area and working in Oakland. The date is fuzzy but probably 2004-ish. I was working at the Oakland Tribune, which as a benefit helped subsidize a membership to Club One Fitness. It was a really nice gym a short two blocks away from work. I saw Danny Glover there a few times and Billy Joe Armstrong with Green Day. But not on the basketball court.

There was a game every noon hour during the week. Occasionally you would see current and former Golden State Warriors players like Jason Richardson, Chris Mullin, Adonal Foyle or Chris Gatling. Most like Mullin and Richardson were working on shooting or other drills. Others like Foyle and Gatling would come play in the pickup games, which were at times very high level from my perspective.

Foyle was a Colgate graduate and an NBA center, whom I talked to several times. He was intelligent and fun to play with as he would do all  the things his Warriors coach would never let him do, like shoot three-pointers and dribble the length of the floor. Always laughing it up. In reality he could have just stood under the rim and dunked the whole time.

Gatling on the other hand was kind of aloof, didn’t talk much.  I remembered him from when he played as the guy who had a steel plate in his  head, apparently from a childhood accident.

OK, that’s a lot of build-up for a play that happened more than a decade ago and lasted all of 3 seconds.

I do have to say here that I was in my mid to late 40’s and probably in the best basketball shape of my life as I played full-court basketball outside and inside about 3 or 4 times a week. I also could shoot fairly well which made up for other deficiencies and got me into games I didn’t have any business being in.

Anyway I got in a game and Gatling was playing on the other team. I had the ball on a fast break, a teammate of mine filling the lane on the right but no one is on the left. Gatling, somehow, had beaten us down court and was basically waiting for us, looking to swat whatever ‘weak ass shit’ I was going to throw up. (That’s what he looked like he was thinking anyway, I’m not sure he actually verbalized those words. He didn’t have to.)

Did I mention that he was 6’ 10” tall?

I was dribbling with my left, watching my teammate to the right out of the corner of my eye.

I turned my head to look at my teammate while simultaneously picking the ball up and going around my back. Gatling bit and committed to the guy he thought I was throwing a behind-the-back pass to. That split second the ball goes behind your back, the defender is confused. Where is the ball? Did he just throw it to his teammate behind his back?

So still with my head turned to look at the guy I was using as a decoy, I kept the ball. It went from left hand, around the back to my right hand which touched it to my left hand for a lefty lay-up. Gatling’s ball swatting arms never really got close.

Some of the small crowd of ballers waiting for next game fell out laughing and whooping. I snuck a peek at Gatling jogging back down to the other end. He seemed unperturbed as was his demeanor, thankfully.

Did I mention he was 6’10”?

And that was it, one of my hoops dream memories. I will post more  here from time to time.

And Chris Gatling, if you ever read this, get in contact. We could re-create the move at the next Mike’s Madness event to raise money for Lewy body dementia, which I have. I’ll even let you swat it into the cheap seats.

Below, see Steph Curry mimic my move.

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10 at 10

Okay here we go , , I”m going  for 10 at 10.

Remember how to play, random shuffle all songs and let’s see what your first 10 are.  Just like 5 at 5.

If you want to play put your results in comments.

Here’s my shuffle 10 tonight:

“Wake Up’ Arcade Fire

‘The  Tallest Man, the Broadest Shoulders;’ Sufjan Stevens.

‘Breathe’ Sean Paul

‘Has Anybody Here Seen Hank?’ Waterboys.

‘Stickshifts and Safety belts;’ Cake

‘Jealous Guy,’ John Lennon.

‘Eight Hundred DollarShoes’, Elton John and Leon Russell

‘Daydream,’ the Lovin’ Spoonful

‘Ballroom,’ Bill Frisell

‘We are Each Other,’ the Beautiful South.

 

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Catching up (Update )

I’ve done 25 album reviews now. And overall post count is 32.

BTW, my last post about the Beatles was a little joke. I actually am familiar with the Beatles. I have other Beatles discs and I am planning to review them. It’s hard because what’s left to say about the greatest and most influential rock band ever? I may save them for last or later in my ‘B’ category.

Mike’s records

If you didn’t see it,  AL.com ran a piece on my Best Worst song  bit .It contained an informal poll and last I looked Bread and Butter was winning. The comment section contains numerous best/worst candidates.

Another reminder. At 5 p.m.. Central (or a little before that): Don’t forget 5 at 5 today. Just put your five songs in the comments section of the original post.

So, 25  records down, 653 to go..

As we like to say in Alabama, let’s get her done.

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The Beatles Live At the Hollywood Bowl — 652

ALBUM: Live at the Hollywood Bowl (first released 1977)

MVC Rating:  3.5/$$$

This is a live album from a group called the  Beatles. Seems like a decent enough band, kind of a cross between the Dave Clark Five and the Flaming Groovies.

Too much screaming by fans to tell if these Beetles are the real deal, though. NOTE: There’s aparently another  re-mixed version from 2016

Counting down my 678  vinyl records  before I die of  brain disease.

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Another hugging, this has got to stop

I hugged my pastor on Sunday.

So did hundreds of others after (and before) the services at First Presbyterian Church of Birmingham on Oct. 29, 2017.

It was the Rev. Shannon Webster’s retirement service followed by potluck with fried chicken and more pasta salads, fruit plates and macaroni and cheese than you could shake a big spoon at. The abundance was threatened by appetites and attendance.

After more than a decade here, Shannon will be soon leaving Birmingham with his wonderful wife, Lou Ann, a  social worker, for his beloved home-state New Mexico. See AL.com story.

Tears flowed as tributes were made.

The church stakes claims on it being the oldest church in the city of Birmingham with roots going back to the 1850s before settling into its current place at 2100 4th Ave. North in the late 1800s, and I couldn’t believe that my first attendance was only about two years ago.

I’ll soon be a very regular attendee as my wife, Catherine, begins working there as interim associate pastor. She’ll be working with  the Rev. Catherine Goodrich,acting  head of staff.

Trust me when I say that they will be one dynamic duo.

Like Shannon, the two fit right into the historic church’s legacy of pursuing social justice causes. Shannon and the church were a big factor in the battle against  unfair payday lending practices. The church started the women’s shelter, First Light, on the same street.

Social Justice  is in the church’s DNA. .The mostly white church stood up for civil rights in 1963 and paid a price for it, including the pastor, Dr. Edward Ramage’s job. Ramage was one of the clergy Dr. Martin Luther King  Jr. addressed in his letter from Birmingham jail. The letter was like a revelation, an epistle from Paul, Ramage said.  Clashes within  ultimately ended  Ramage’s  tenure there.

Shannon, a guitar playing, singer songwriting, New Mexican, wrote a song about Ramage which was  featured on handouts with music and verse on this day, his last Sunday. Here’s part of ‘Peace of the City’:

Generations down the years have steadily accrued, both the faults and fears of ancestors and the gifts and good they knew

So the prophets still call us to God’s will and its of their names we sing Shuttlesworth, Ed Ramage too and Martin Luther King

So, on this special Sunday I was thinking about the irony that I was once again at the intersections of 4th Avenue North and 22nd Street (and 21st St. N. There’s actually two intersections and adjacent blocks but i’m using the ‘city block’ as a literary device).

This city block is the place where my journalism career began, the place where I started playing basketball at the downtown YMCA and now the place where I have found solace in my church home .

After living (in order) in Maryland (born), Texas, Alabama, Minnesota, Indiana, Georgia, Alabama,  Florida, California, and now Alabama again, I realize something  keeps calling me and my family  back.

And it’s not just the state, it’s this city block.

Like the canyons and mountains of New Mexico are calling Shannon and Lou Ann.

Shannon, here are some words to a song by your favorite theologian, Kris Kristofferson, to take us out of here, then listen to Kris sing it..

Was it wonderful for you was it holy as it was for me
Did you feel the hand of destiny that was guidin’ us together
You were young enough to dream I was old enough to learn something new
I’m so glad I got to dance with you for a moment of forever

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 Some People are Mean

(Tattered coat of not many colors features  right shoulder rip.)

I was standing in line at a local Birmingham brewery on a crowded Friday after work. There were two people trying to serve about 50 people at a time.

Guy at my right shoulder disturbs my reverie by tapping me on the shoulder.

“Nice jacket,” he says.

Slightly discombobulated by the compliment, I managed to get out, “Thanks.” I start to look at my jacket with new eyes. Oh this old thing,  I thought silently, surrendering to the force of flattery.

“Where did you buy it?” he asked.

I didn’t hear him at first and was frankly becoming confused by all of this attention from some random guy in a beer line, but I politely asked him to repeat the question.

“The coat, where’d you get the coat?” He was oddly smiling.

I mean this was an Alfani, brand of the esteemed Macy’s department store chain. But I didn’t tell him that. I was holding back a bit now – that would be my walk-off homerun. It’s an Alfani my man, I would shout  in jubilation..

I told him it was a little worse for wear and I believe I got it at a thrift store. I had been reading about the B-52’s and their thrift store chic for a post on my blog. So it was all that came to mind.

(I later remembered that  I really got it at a Ross bargain store in Northern California, which might have made it  even more chic). Not just a thrift shop but a multi-hundred store chain of cheap clothes and clothing rejects.

But somehow my body was telling me something my mind wasn’t processing.

My mind was telling me: Here’s a fellow human being, making a connection – that’s what life is all about.

My body had something else to say: Fists start clinching I move my feet to get square.

“Did you buy it all wrinkled and crumpled up like that,” he asked, touching the jacket with disdain and laughing at me, yes, at me, before turning away toward the bar.

At that time I realized I had a small rip on the back of my right shoulder right where he was standing.  Catherine had long ago pointed it out. But myself being an astute observer of popular culture knew that ‘rips’ and ‘tears’ were good. People BUY clothes like that, right?

But I was momentarily stunned as what just happened sank in. I stood there with a flood of reactions washing over me, shame, confusion and stupidity. How could I let someone do that to me?

Then I felt anger, thinking: “I’m going to knock his ass out.”

I quickly dismissed the dumb notion of violent retaliation, but I was sad for my reaction and for the victims of bullying who face far worse every day because of things they can’t control, their skin color, sexual orientation, weight, and heritage.

Not trying to get too heavy here. But I am a short-timer. I have Lewy Body dementia. And I find myself wanting everybody to live Rodney King’s dramatic call for getting along. I don’t think my emotions that day were the result of my disease. I think they were representative of what happens every day starting in houses where people yell, and at jobs where folks are demeaned.

It wasn’t that this ‘incident’ was so egregious or harmful. I’m a big boy at 57.

And yes, I believe I could’ve kicked his ass.

But that I would ever want to is what makes me sad.

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The Beach Boys — 653, 654

ALBUMS: Pet Sounds (1966) Shut Down Volume 2 (1964)

MVC Rating:  Pet Sounds, 5.0/$$$$$; Shut Down 4.0/$$$$

So, we’ve had the Beat Farmers, Beat Rodeo and the Beat. Before we get to another band with a ‘Beat’ in it, let’s go to the Beach.

This  copy of ‘Pet Sounds’ is a little worn. My rock roots were decidedly Beatles, Rolling Stones, the Who, Al Green, Hendrix, Janis, Otis Redding, Allmans and so on.

The Beach Boys didn’t sound like those. To my rock n roll ears, the Beach Boys tilted slightly toward Pat Boone’s version of ‘Tutti Frutti’ not Little Richard’s definitive take.

The Beach Boys on the west coast, specifically Southern California, seemed so white-surfer- boy with a decidedly middle class orientation — and there’s nothing wrong with that.

But for all their initial radio beach and car songs, there was genius at work from Brian Wilson. Listening to arguably their best work, ‘Pet Sounds,’ one is struck  by the arrangements and interlocking melodies, a jazz sensibility.  ‘God only Knows’ is a near perfect song. Sloop John is perennial.

Shut Down has Fun, Fun, Fun, which is definitely worth the three Funs. Shut Down also had some talking interludes which reminded me of a Zappa interlude if Zappa wasn’t so cynical. Come to think of it Zappa was actually making fun of the Beach Boys. Interestingly on Pet Sounds, there is some secret freak out at the end of the album after ‘Caroline No.’

Counting down my 678  vinyl records  before I die of  brain disease.

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The Beat Farmers — 656, 655

ALBUMS: Tales of the New West (1985), Van Go (1986)

MVC  Rating: ‘Tales’ 4.0/$$, Van Go  3.0/$$

Now this group I haven’t listened to in more than a decade but I remember a time in the 1980s that some of my close Birmingham News friends thought this (first record anyway) was the greatest thing since sliced  beets. We even had a tradition that lasted years where we passed around a can of beets. Never opened it mind you, just passed it along, the same can.

I don’t know how it started exactly but at the height of Beat Farmer mania, someone bought a can of beets to a party held by say Will and Adele. So then Bob and Tondee have a party and guess what:  Will has a can of beets behind his back. Surprise! Beets! Tag you’re it!

(I know it, sounds like a B-52’s song but that’s what happens when you are living in your own private Idaho). This little beet shenanigans was going on about 1985-86

When the Beat Farmers came to Birmingham we all went to the Nick to see them. Or was it still the The Wooden Nickel at that time? Anyway, the band lived up to its reputation as being one of the best bar bands anywhere.

I have to say, and stop me if you can, but I truly believe that The Beat Farmers’ style was rootsy,  and grounded in the beat.

And they were  funny. If not a little profane.

Their funny songs were often sung by the now deceased Country Dick  Montana, who had to be midway between 6 and 7 feet tall and had a bass voice so low, it made the china chatter when we put one of his songs on in the  house. Here’s a sample lyric from California Kid with Country Dick on beat vocals (at the risk of revealing what we all thought was funny when we were 20-somethings.

She undid my boots, she untied my jeans
She untied my tubes I had tied in my teens
‘Bout that time the front door was kicked in
And there stood some scumball all covered in sin
He said “that’s my woman” I said “that’s no lie”
I blew a hole in him just as big as the sky

I got my Colt Forty Five, right by my side
I’m the California Kid, I hope you’re quite prepared to die

Whew! The Beat Farmers ladies and gentlemen.

They also had a song called Happy Boy which was silly enough to be a regular feature on the Dr. Demento show.

Country Dick died Nov. 8, 1996 with his boots on in the middle of a song, massive heart attack at age 40.

The video below will feature one of their more ‘normal’ songs.

Counting down my 678  vinyl records  before I die of  brain disease.

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Beat Rodeo — 657

ALBUM: Home in the Heart of the Beat (1986)

MVC Rating: 3.0/$$

Well, I don’t even know what genre this is. Easy listening power pop with fresh commercial country thrown in?

It’s on IRS records with Scott Litt (REM) producing.  I had some high hopes going into revisiting this 1980’s album.

It’s not bad, it’s just kind of, well, (whisper) boring.

Probably not a good thing to say about a rock band.

I think ‘It Could Happen here’ and ‘Song for an Angry Young Man’ are solid and nearly excellent songs. But there’s a lot of filler here.

I actually enjoyed this video more than the album.

Counting my 678  vinyl records down before I die of  brain disease.

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The Best Worst Song Ever (Winner)

A  couple of weeks ago  I posted my runnner-up for Worst Best Song Ever. The competition is stiff but 1964’s ‘ ‘Bread and Butter’ by the Newbeats  had the right ingredients: inane lyrics so bad they are funny; a catchy ear worm tune that you wish you could purge from the jukebox in your head.

And, if you remember this post, Bread and Butter had a secret weapon. A happy looking grown man with a falsetto that sounded like the noise coming out of Linda Blair’s mouth when her head  did a 360.  And there was video evidence that the three young men could not dance.

But that  was only good enough for second all time.

The winner contains similar ingredients: inane lyrics; catchy earworm tune so powerful  a prescription is required just to listen to it.  People I have tested it on have wandered around for hours with glassy eyes singing softly Na Na Na Na.

(‘And then we can Na Na Na’, indeed, double entendre much?

The frightful video features  a Dutch Mountain Man with a powerful voice trading vocals with a sprite of a woman with a delicate voice who alternately seems afraid of and playful with  her King Kong partner. He covers his face and plays peek-a-boo with his violin.

Ultimately for no reason, he picks her up like a sack of potatoes.

Words cannot capture the virus that is this song . Check out the video below to see Mouth and  MacNeal (yes that’s their name) ‘perform’ “How Do You Do.’

An experiment at a children’s pre-school  showed powerful  results of the song’s mind controlling properties as nearly every child after only one listen began chanting ‘How do you do Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na.’