Watching Basketball with his Son

Posted on June 12, 2007

Robert leaned forward in the recliner and pointed at the TV. “See how he bends his knees like that,” he said, “that’s what you’re doing wrong. You have to get low when you’re playing defense.” Michael, his son, looked up from a handheld video game and whimpered. Robert continued: “You play lazy, and that’s why they always beat you.”

Michael got up to leave the room, but Robert stopped him. He snatched the video game and shut it down. “Stay a minute, see how they play,” he said, using his arm to guide Michael to the couch. Michael slumped forward and leaned on his palms, watching through splayed fingers. They’d watched this game before, maybe a dozen times. Each time, Robert tried to get his son to appreciate the nuances of great basketball—the head fakes, the way players moved off the ball, the subtle should shimmy to slice through the lane. Mostly, though, he wanted Michael to see the hustle. A tiny guard rushed back to block a fast break lay-up from behind, pinning the ball against the backboard as the shooter sulked away. Robert pumped a fist and shouted as if seeing it for the first time. He could feel the redness in his face—whenever he yelled, the blood rushed to his head, and, lately, he felt a tightness in his chest. It was too late for him to get in great shape, but not yet for his son. Almost, though.

Michael hunched forward to pet the dog and his shirt lifted up, allowing the fatty rolls to spill out over his waist. He was thirteen, and he was fat. They told him he would grow into it, but that was a lie. He wouldn’t ever stop, because he didn’t care. He was lazy, and he would rather clatter away on the computer than go outside and play with real people. His friends were fat too, and Robert hated when they came to the house, their mouths outlined with chocolate and fruit punch, their eyes dulled by years of staring blankly at the monitor. When they came over, they’d take turns in the computer chair, shooting at aliens, or pretending to be goblins and trolls. The ones who didn’t play barely talked—they just shoveled food into their mouths mindlessly. At the end of the night, their seats were always outlined in dropped popcorn.

“Dad,” Michael said, “can I have my game back?”

“Watch this play.” Another fast break, this time ending in an alley-oop. “See how quick those guys are? You can’t do that stuff unless you work out.” He turned the volume up so Michael wouldn’t hear the faint jingle of the ice cream truck as it approached. “Don’t you want to play like these guys?” he asked, poking Michael in the ribs.

“They don’t even put me in the games.”

“They don’t put you in because you’re out of shape.” He’d given up on soccer after three years, baseball after one, and tennis after two weeks. He would probably quit on basketball for after this year too, and then they’d move on to football. After that, what was left? Robert was never a star, but he’d been a good athlete and had his varsity letters.

“Would it kill you just to try to like it a little?”

“But I hate it,” he said. “Why can’t I do what I want to do?”

His wife yelled from the kitchen: “Are you giving him that old lecture again, Robert?”

“Just trying to show him what it’s like to be a great athlete,” he said. The ice cream truck had turned down their street. No matter how loud he made the TV, the jingle danced over it. Michael rushed out of the living room to fetch a dollar from his mom, and then charged toward the truck.

Robert stood in the doorway, eyeing his son as he nibbled on the edges of a nutty buddy. His cheeks were smeared with ice cream, and he waved at his father. Robert turned away and walked back inside. He knew he was supposed to his love Michael because he was his son, but he just couldn’t. He flopped back in his recliner and stared at the TV, knowing everything that was coming, and wishing he could be a part of it all.

Sportfiction Interview Series: Who Watches the Eastern Conference Playoffs?

Posted on May 21, 2007

Note: This is the first in a continuing series of interviews we’ve conducted with unique sports fans around the world. The series will continue approximately whenever we feel like continuing it. This interview was conducted last night, in a grungy sports bar in Northeast Philly, with Mario Cortes, the only man in the country who will admit to having watched every game in the NBA’s Eastern Conference playoffs.

Cortes was already at the bar when we called to meet with him. Although it was only 11 AM, he wanted to be able to catch “Cold Pizza,” or whatever it’s called now, to hear Skip Bayless’ take on LeBron James. We skipped that and showed up later—we stopped listening to him when he said Ichiro was a better athlete than Lance Armstrong.

Anyway, we arrived around noon, and Cortes was already on his 5th Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t seem to do anything but watch basketball, purchase multi-colored headbands, and wear said headbands to games for his multiple Rec league basketball teams, for which he plays small forward. Cortes is fairly fit—maybe 10 pounds overweight, which is pretty good for a 45 year old man. He has a nicely maintained goatee, and, by most accounts, appears to be a perfectly well-adjusted, sane person who made a fortune when he sued a carpet company at age 38 in response to what he believed were excessive static shocks that caused him undue pain and suffering, not to mention mental anguish.

He welcomed us politely and told us to sit next to him at the bar. We sat, and the interview began.

Sport is Stranger Than Fiction: So, um, what the hell dude?
Mario Cortes: Whaddya mean?
SISTF: Well, have you really watched every game? Even the Magic-Pistons series?
MC: What’s not to love about Grant Hill?
SISTF: He seems like a nice guy, but we heard his own family didn’t even watch games three and four.
MC: All the more reason to watch, right? If his own family doesn’t support him, someone’s gotta do it. I like that guy, ya know? Plus, he was going back to Auburn Hills to play his old team, and you had Darko there…
SISTF: You watched the games for Darko too?
MC: No one ever talks about him, but he’s playing okay now. Sure, he’s no star, but he’s okay. And Carlos Arroyo has some nice games. The US slept on Arroyo and he made them pay.
SISTF: So, is this some kind of national pride scouting thing, taking one for the team, doing your patriotic duty to watch games no one else watches?
MC: Well, kinda, I guess. I mean, the US is cool. I want them to win and all, but it ain’t really about that. It’s more like—here’s me, and there’s a TV, and the games on, so why not see how Carlos Arroyo’s playing? Read more

A press release from Kyle Korver and Kevin Curtis regarding racial inequalities in professional sports

Posted on April 17, 2007

With the full support of their families and friends, NBA forward—and Ashton Kutcher body double—Kyle Korver and NFL wide receiver Kevin Curtis are proud to announce the founding of the Alliance for the Preservation of White Athletes (APWA), a civil liberties watchdog group that intends to fight unfair hiring practices in professional sports.

It is common knowledge that the number of white athletes in the NFL and NBA is diminishing rapidly, and the APWA is very concerned about this trend. “I just don’t feel comfortable being stuck in a locker room with all those black guys,” Korver says. “I mean, it wasn’t long ago that there would have been two, maybe even three American whites on the floor at once, and now we’re lucky to see that a couple times a year.”

“It’s sad,” Curtis says. “White kids in the suburbs used to have role models they could believe in. Steve Largent, Fred Biletnikoff, Ed McCaffery, that McConkey guy who played for the Giants, I think. Now, there’s just me and a handful of others, and I include guys like James Thrash who probably aren’t even white, but they could pass for it if you looked from really far away. The point is, there aren’t enough white guys in the league, and, frankly, I think it’s wrong.”
Read more

Tyrone Hill Writes a Haiku after watching the NCAA Championship Game

Posted on April 4, 2007

By: Sam Powers

Joakim Noah
Repeat college champion
Uglier than me

Sam Powers is a teacher at a private high school in North Carolina and, yes, he knows his name is the same as Screech from “Saved by the Bell” ha ha, very funny, never heard that one before. He’s tried to be a Carolina Panthers fan, but just couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm for an expansion team, so he sticks to basketball.

An Open Letter from Tim Hardaway to the Public

Posted on February 21, 2007

Hey y’all, this is Tim Hardaway, checking in to clear my name. Y’all might’ve heard about how me and Dan LeBatard were talking about that gay dude from the Magic, and how I said some things about how I wouldn’t want no gay dudes on my team. Somehow, since then, the media’s got things all twisted and they’re trying to act like I’m some kind of hater, like I’ve got some kind of problem, know what I’m saying? And the thing is, I’m not a bad guy. I just wear my heart on my sleeve, you know, like I always did on the court, and you all loved me for it back then. So what’s the problem now? Why you gotta act like I’m some kind of monster?

Yeah, sure, I said I hate gay people. And then I said it again the next day. But, like I told some reporter yesterday, I only hate gay people like I hate broccoli. I mean, broccoli’s gross. Seriously, nobody likes broccoli, right? I mean, unless it’s covered in cheese or butter. Kinda like gay people. Nobody likes them, not even with butter.

See, that’s how I think on people. I kinda like compare them to foods, you know? Gay people are broccoli because they’re gross and you don’t like them and you only have to swallow it because they make you even if you don’t want to and you think it’s disgusting and evil.

Same kind of thing with Mexicans. They remind me of pizza, cause it’s everywhere, you know, but not all of it is good, and there’s some real nasty pizza out there. I’m a thin crust man, myself, by which I mean, I’m against illegal immigration and I wish they’d learn to speak English.
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