If you’re Clipper rookie Mike Taylor, you should probably stick close to Baron and them if you’re headed to the ‘hood to hand out some turkeys. You know, if folks don’t know you then at least stay close to someone that they respect. He doesn’t really get clowned too bad, and Elie Seckbach kind of sets him up, but still.
Actually, more disturbing for all of the Clippers in attendance is all the Kobe Bryant chatter. I mean dang, kids. You got a whole hoop team out to South Central to give you some free ish, and you gotta go and be bringing up that dude all the time? Especially when his squad just bopped on the Clips twice in the first week and a half of the season? That’s messed up. Especially coming from “Lil’ T.”
“…I threw the ball with two hands at first, then developed an awkward jump shot, a crossover dribble, absorbed in the same solitary moves hour after hour. By the time I reached high school, I was playing on Punahou’s teams, and could take my game to the university courts, where a handful of black men, mostly gym rats and has-beens, would teach me an attitude that didn’t just have to do with the sport. That respect came from what you did and not who your daddy was. That you could talk stuff to rattle an opponent, but that you should shut the hell up if you couldn’t back it up. That you didn’t let anyone sneak up behind you to see emotions—like hurt or fear—that you didn’t want them to see.”
-Barack Obama, Dreams From My Father
I’m staying in a lodging facility that places peace and quiet above all else. Thus, there is only one television here. After sneaking out for a couple of hours—to a nearby sports bar—to watch the Warriors/Hornets and Clippers/Lakers games, I returned just as the Barack Obama television event was reaching its conclusion on the community TV. He had just sounded the rallying cry of his campaign’s final week: “We must choose our better history.” And after the perfunctory God Bless America, the room had gone quiet. Until one woman in attendance uttered the phrase, “I hope he’s the real deal.”
This made me think about basketball. It made me think about the games I had just watched. But more specifically, it made me think about the psychology of the game and how this particular sport, more than just about any, cultivates an absolute desire to be the man. Basketball makes you want to be the guy who gets the ball in the last two minutes. The guy who even the most talented teammates defer to. The guy who gets announced last, when the scoreboard is flashing highlights and the game announcer summonses his best ring-announcer hyperbole.
That guy. Basketball makes us want to be him. Like no other sport I’ve ever played.
And yesterday I watched two games simultaneously, my head ping-ponging back and forth between flat screens watching four players vie for recognition as the man. On screen one, we had Stephen Jackson and Chris Paul. Screen two, Baron Davis and Kobe Bryant. Each screen, a showcase of contrasting styles in the man-ness. Each screen a collision of different measures of hubris and frailty. The absolutely critical swagger of self-assurance counterbalanced by the even more absolute weight of the odds against. Which, in the case of these four black men took me back to my beach reading from earlier in the day, to a particular observation made by Barack Obama.
“At least on the basketball court I could find a community of sorts, with an inner life all its own. It was there that I would make my closest white friends, on turf where blackness couldn’t be a disadvantage.”
Reading this quote and the one cited earlier a little differently—considering the “post-racial” Obama politic through the lens of basketball—I was struck by what it infers about the possibility of an Obama presidency. Read More »
Apparently not satisfied with a not-quite title run led by “Little Flying Warrior” (as he is known in China) Kobe Bryant, the Lakers have upped the ante. Their newest acquisition took the Deion Sanders-esque stance of nicknaming himself “The Monkey King” after initial comparisons labeling him the Chinese Magic Johnson seemed insufficient to encompass his skill set. While apparently the full range of his talents were not on display in Beijing, a quick perusal of the nickname’s origins sets the bar for MK, real name Sun Yue, pretty high.
Here’s the story. Original Monkey King, Sun Wukong, was the hero of the classical Chinese epic novel, “Journey to the West.” Pictured, above left, from a television adaptation, his powers are considerable. This accounting comes from the fine folks at Wikipedia.
Sun Wukong possesses incredible strength, being able to lift his 13,500 jīn (8,100 kg) Ruyi Jingu Bang with ease. He also has superb speed, traveling 108,000 li (54,000 kilometers) in one somersault. Sun knows 72 transformations, which allows him to transform into various animals and objects; he is, however, shown with slight problems transforming into other people, since he is unable to complete the transformation of his tail. He is a skilled fighter, capable of holding his own against the best generals of heaven. Each of his hairs possesses magical properties, and is capable of transforming into a clone of the Monkey King himself, or various weapons, animals, and other objects. He also knows various spells in order to command wind, part water, conjure protective circles against demons, freeze humans, demons, and gods alike, to name a few. Unlike most gods, he earned his immortality through battling heaven and earth.
The real issue here is the hair. Dude is not only capable of considerable beardosity, but each of his many hairs are possessive of magical properties. Apparently, he’s also a 6′8″ guard. So, if you’re Monta Ellis and it’s December and you’re lined up on a gimpy ankle against the Monkey King, watch out for the hair. And beware those spells that can apparently “freeze” defenders. End of the game, down one? Forget Kobe. Get the damn rock into the Monkey King’s hands. Unlike others, he’s earned his immortality battling heaven and earth. Monkey King is going to totally rule.
