Award Tour Vol. 12: He Will Not Be Negotiated With

Day Three – we’re putting days 1 and 2 at King Drew Medical the rear view mirror. The only good thing about them is that they’re behind us. I know my jumpshot is better than to literally shoot 0% from the field (hell statistically I should have hit a shot by accident at some point) and I know that somehow, Tre and I probably saved the world by keeping that abandoned swimming pool closed (feel free to thank us when you see us on the streets, by the way… you say thank you with a gift… preferably money).

Anyway we’re out. Destination: Venice Beach. I’ve heard about it for years, and now that I finally get to see it I have to admit - it was everything that late 80’s soft porn B-movies suggested it would be… except for the women galavanting around topless… that part wasn’t true (and I have to say I’m a little disappointed by that… I feel like my Block Buster Video collection has made me the butt of the longest running practical joke in history). Still, if you’re a young single man “half” naked is better than “no” naked. Take what the defense gives you.

Other than that, yes Venice Beach was a rich tapestry of insanity, full of characters that seemed to leap right off the pages of poorly written novel and into real life. Hundreds of smiling, talking, eating, people as colorful as that old school Crayola Box of 64 Crayons that the “one kid” in class had (you remember the one, the one with the special silver and gold crayons and the built in crayon sharpener? Yeah… that one. And oh by the way, I was “that kid”).

So to recap, Venice Beah: Crazy looking people, crazy talking people, crazy acting people, fair maidens, permanent stationary gypsy fair… I definitely belong here.

Anyway, we go a little ways up on the walk way and stop at the basketball court, and there are so many women there you would have thought it was a casting call for the kind of music video that can only be played really late at night… (again half naked > no naked, you can’t argue with that, that’s math). They were all crowded around the basketball courts, like they were half watching, half waiting to be discovered by some hot shot director.

I can’t blame them (for not paying attention to the game) I was only half watching the games too. It looked like standard issue street ball. Oh yeah I’ve heard about how the place was legendary (and it’s possible that I came on an off day) but the only thing that seemed extraordinary about it was the on-court arguing. The level of bickering, back biting and finger pointing on court reached a level that is usually reserved for places like Congress and the Senate. Every turnover, every shot, every defensive stand was the precursor to a heated argument between players –

- who were on THE SAME TEAM.

Now some might say, this is due to the legendary competitiveness of the games on the court. I’m going to go ahead and offer a preemptive “uh …no” right about here. The theory I’m running with is the “barking” was less about the game, and more about the women watching it. Right now, right this very moment you’re saying to yourself, "naw it could never be that" but I personally consulted with our expert panel and they’ve already ruled that it can be that… so let’s move on.

I flash back to the days when I played basketball for an intramural team at Georgia Tech. On one particular night our point guard, let’s call him Jalen invited his then girlfriend to watch the game. Prior to her arrival, Jalen brought the ball down court and distributed it to his fellow players (as a point guard should). Somewhere in the middle of the first half, when his lady showed up – he proceeded to make an Anti-“And 1 Mix:Tape”. (you may interpret that to mean it was footage of Jalen making a fool of himself instead of his opponent.)

He waved off plays that had been working, started calling plays (that to my knowledge) didn’t exist, launched a barrage of high arching 3 pointers that had a better chance of achieving “low orbit” than going through the hoop... I mean seriously… the only thing missing from this package was circus music coming from a pipe organ. And nothing could stop it, I mean it just took on a life of its own. Carefully choreographed plays during time outs might have well been called “Intermission” – cause Jalen wasn’t listening to anything but the beat of his own drummer… and that drummer was deaf in one ear, and has no rhythm.

The minute the time out ended and Jalen stepped back on the court he simply picked up where he left off in his aerial assault on the basket (and I do mean assault - from fadeaway 3’s on the fast break, to running one handers from behind the basket; shots clanged off the rim and back board like swords clashed on shields in Braveheart).

Now if just inviting one woman to a game could do this to Jalen, what could a crowd full of desperate Luke Dancers do, to a court fell of dudes on a hot day in Cali? You don’t even have to pre-heat the oven… this is a cake that bakes itself. Over inflated egos + underdressed estrogen = foolishness. And if you haven’t learned anything else today, you’ve learned that Math is brutal dictator – he will not be talked down, and he will not be negotiated with.