Award Tour Vol. 37: The Irony of That

There are many instances, where myself, my brothers, and my cousins have destroyed property that did not belong to us. Not intentionally but... does that really matter?

There was the time my younger brother Dee, broke two t.v.s in the house in one day (and it was the early 80's - back when t.v.s had dials that went from Channel U to 13 - and the dial was the remote control... unless you broke the dial - at which point the pliers you used to change the channels became the remote control). There was the unfortunate incident in which my brother Tre and I, dropped my father's bar - you remember that one right?

Our destructive ways weren't limited to things in our own house (oh no... we shared the wealth). There was the time when I went bowling, and I sent my ball hurtling down the alley employing a style that I created called the "Three Fingers of Death"(indicative of the fact that it is a style that relies solely on power and makes no account for accuracy whatsoever). Inexplicably, the pin sweeper activated as the ball was coming down the alley. The ball was not amused, and showed no mercy, cracking the sweeper at both hinges and sending pins and debris into both adjacent lanes - that my friends is destruction.

Of course, I could go into the story about when my cousin Martin and Tre were outside playing catch with a football, and one of them (throwing an errant pass) struck a transfomer on one of the telephone polls, and knocked out power to the entire block.

And who could forget when Mitchell (Martin's older brother) got a full head of steam, came running down the alley way to dunk on a basketball goal that we all knew couldn't take what he was about to give it. We tried to stop him exclaiming , "Mitchell, NO!" but to no avail... as he took flight and brought the "hammer down" on the rim - it just gave way like a sliding door at Wal-Mart on black Friday. The worst part of course, was that it wasn't our basketball goal... it was just a goal in the neighborhood that occasionaly we could go shoot on (until after that day). Being the responsible youth that we were, we looked at the destroyed basketball goal...

... and ran.

This brings us to the topic at hand. Myself and Tre, have gone to another neighbor's house (this time with permission) to play basketball in the backyard. Their basketball goal is ridiculously low (maybe 9 feet high on a good day) so no one really comes to play any serious basketball. All there is to do here is to dunk - sounds like fun (reads like trouble).

Cameron goes first (afterall this is his court and his backyard). Though the court is already lowered, Cameron has absolutely no "hops" (ability to jump high) and as such he requires the use of a picnic bench to get an extra boost before doing his dunk. His first offering, a one handed jam...

...I am not impressed.

"Yeah, baby yeah", Cameron said in self congratulatory tone as he strolled back clapping his hands. "Was that it?", I asked in a disparaging manner. He seems unaffected by my comments but that's okay because this was just the first salvo. I plan to wear him down.

"Uh oh - looks like we got a challenge", said Tre stirring the pot. I backed up with a smirk on my face (cause really - what did Cameron think he was doing here? Certainly not winning, not against me). I got a decent running start and launched. Though I didn't actually need it, I also jumped off the same picnic bench threw down a thunderous one-handed tomahawk dunk that echoed in his enclosed back yard. I didn't have to say anything as I strolled back... the silence said it all.

Cameron remained quiet and collected himself. He slowly nodded his head and sucked his tongue like, "okay - good one, good one". This was not him conceding defeat - but like I said I planned to wear him down. (Besides... what did Cameron think he was doing here? Certainly not winning, not against me)... He backs up, gets a running start (refusing to dribble the ball opting instead to carry it in his hands in front of him like a football), jumps off the bench and soars until it seems like he's floated in mid-air for a moment. "Hmmm", I thought to myself, "this seems all wrong. I mean, this shouldn't be majestic at all... but yet there he is... levitating gracefully in mid air like I do... which also shouldn't be happening. He should have plummeted like a rock... cause...well... he's not ME." Cameron sends home a two handed dunk that went in with a boom - shattering the silence. The whole scenario was impressive.

Tre "ooohed" and "ahhed" outloud in part to continue stirring the pot - but also because it was warranted... dude just came with it. Now it was my turn to stand in stunnned silence as he once had just a few seconds before. Where did that come from? I didn't know he had that in him. Someone check the settings on The Matrix I think someone has been fiddling with the controls. No way he should have been able to pull that off.

His last jam wasn't just spectacular - it was a turning point. You're saying to yourself, "How could that be so? You were only 3 dunks into the contest. How could one dunk change so much?". Good question... what one must never lose sight of is the fact that Cameron is Cameron and I am me. There is to be no competition here, anymore than lambs being led to slaughter are said to be competition for those who will soon kill them.

There was the belief, the expectation, hell... there was everything except a specific law of Physics mandating that Cameron would present no serious threat or challenge to me at all. Afterall I don't just play basketball - I live it - Cameron on the other hand is a skater (and from what I hear... not altogether a great one at that). When he leaves from here he is probably going to go hit the half pipe and "catch some air" - will he also go regaling his friends with stories of how he just dethroned a verifiable neighborhood legend? Will I allow such Tom-Foolery to transpire? No.

I don't care what hyped him up - I will not be deposed by a skater. If I lose this contest, I might as well renounce my melanin and go home and hide in the basement. I cannot allow this to happen.

I back up a step and close my eyes, as though I was whispering a prayer in the wind. All is silent and I remain still - I am channeling all my African ancestry and 400 years of oppression into this next dunk. From Shaka Zulu, to the run-away slave. From Henry Flipper to Colin Powell (I'll over look that whole "Bush Administration" thing for now) I'm about to paint the White House black (if you thought this last set of metaphors was the pinnacle of my ridiculous descriptions, I promise you I will do even worse in the next few stanzas).

I open my eyes and take off towards the bench. As I barrel forward I can hear each step thundering beneath me, and each one more powerful than the next. I plant one foot on the bench and launch as though I meant to never come back down again.

This is how things should be... Cameron on the ground earth bound and ME flying through the air... THIS is the natural order of things.

I fly through the air and close my eyes. Afterall, I don't need to see this... only those standing around me who are unfamiliar with my work need to. I am Thor and this basketball is my hammer - whom we will call Mjolinor. I need not gaze on in awe as you casual observers will... for I and my hammer Mjolinor - are on all too familiar ground. We shall once again do the astounding as though it were trivial - and you, who are uninitiated, will watch on and be amazed. [Insert Acute Delusions of Grandeur here]

I cock back with both hands and let fly with the dunk.

Boom!!!
Creak... POP!!!
Tinkle, Tinkle, Tinkle...

It is finished - except for the sound still echoing in the neighborhood - The Dunk is over. I am on the ground with my eyes closed...

...with the rim still firmly grasped in both hands - it was at this point that I knew something had gone terribly wrong.

I open my eyes to see 3 things: the entire backboard and rim ripped off it's foundation and sitting at my feet, Cameron holding his head with both hands with a look of shock on his face similar to a man realizing he hasn't won the Lotto just after he told his boss to kiss his a$, and Tre jumping up and down laughing so hard that no sounds were coming out.

No one has to tell me that I won the dunk contest - I know I have (there certainly won't be any chance to prove I haven't with the entire back board torn from it's foundations and washers, nuts, and bolts still tinkling as they rained down on the pavement from their once fixed position on high) . I get the feeling that this is going to be another Pyrrhic victory. I look at the backboard and back over to Cameron who is frozen in place, and back at Tre who is still laughing.

Broken Backboard + Not Mine = Time to Go (It's a tried and trusted equation that's never failed me before- why change up now?)

I gather my basketball, apologize quickly and then what do I do? I go home and hide in the basement - like - the basement was some sort of cloaking device and though people might come looking for me they would never find me. Silly to the nth degree I know... but still there's something about all this that you have to appreciate it... when I find out what that thing is I'll get back to y'all - just know for now that there is something.