Hoop Dreams: A Blog

[defrocked]

Just wrote and it and threw it onto my MySpace page (I know, I know), but figured it could have a place here as well. (Is this the right forum though?)

Hoop Dreams

It's always interesting to hear an adult recollect about their childhood and what they wanted to be "when they grew up". On any given playground around the country, there are dozens of future astronauts, veterinarians and movie stars. In reality, when all is said and done, it turns out there were a lot more cashiers, receptionists and line cooks than originally planned. While all are valuable, important occupations, they clearly lack the glamour of most children's dream jobs. In all honesty, if a child grew up dreaming of punching a time clock, working for some guy in wrinkled Dockers and an ugly button-up shirt, I'd send them to therapy. That's not normal.

As for me, I was going to be an NBA star. I would be taken number one overall in the draft and play center for the Detroit Pistons. In fifth grade when we were to predict where we'd be in 20 years, I wrote that I'd be playing alongside four of my elementary school buddies winning championship after championship.

In all honesty, I was just humoring my buddies. I mean, with the odds stacked so much against making it to the pros, I'd have to drop them along the way. Nice knowin' you, guys. Maybe you can live in my mansion.

So I practiced in my driveway every day, dreaming of playing alongside Isiah Thomas and Bill Laimbeer (obviously ignoring relative ages), schooling the great Air Jordan on a regular basis (although occasionally airballing shots and serenading the entire house to the sound of a rattling fiberglass garage door).

Airballs aside, and you'll just have to trust me on this, I was a pretty decent player. Even as I began eating more than playing (or anything else it now seems) and ballooned in size, I could still play. Embarrassed as much by the prospect of not fitting into the jerseys as anything else, I never tried out for my middle or high school teams. But that wasn't the end of my dreams. Who ever said a few games as a 13-year-old decided a career in professional sports? Heck, the aforementioned MJ was cut from his JV team.

Several knee injuries through my early teen years further slowed my progress (except in the area of waist size – for that journey was going much too quickly and smoothly). With these setbacks, I decided a career as the Pistons center may not be as attainable as I once thought. From what I saw, and I kept close watch, there weren't many slow 6'3" centers with bad knees getting drafted, never mind first overall.

So my dreams of basketball stardom dropped from the pro level to college. In its new incarnation, I would shock everyone, this no-name walk-on who only played because the star player suffered some catastrophic injury (don't worry – he'll walk again one day!). The season seemed over, that is, until 3, Andy McLean (yeah, still Andy at that point), stepped on the court and started dropping threes, killing the competition with and-1 drives where I would just get leveled and get up like it was nothing. Like Dwyane Wade, minus the wheelchair and crying (…and vagina). The announcers would compare my toughness to the legendary Brett Favre – no Brett Favre would start being compared to me!

Well, needless to say, I single-handedly carry my dark horse school (yet undecided, but it really didn't matter) through the Big Dance, hoisting the championship trophy in early April and winning the Tournament MVP in the process. Yes, that would be my dream. (For sports fans, think an even less athletic Gerry McNamara – yeah, a bit far-fetched, I know.)

But apparently if you only play once every couple months, your skills begin to diminish. Who knew? So as the years went on (complete with additional knee injuries here and there for good measure), I enrolled in college at Western Michigan University knowing I wasn't ever going to step foot on the court as anything other than a fan.

By sophomore year in college, I saw my brother Nick after months of being away, and the guy had dropped what seemed like 80 pounds. The jerk goes and looks all thin in front of the rest of the family, making me the fat brother. Seriously, if some distant cousins were trying to remember which of us was Nick and which was Andy, I pictured them recalling, "Oh yeah, Andy is the fat one. Andy like candy. Nick like quick." And with that, I knew I had to lose some weight.

So I worked hard that year, determined not to be the fat brother, and equaled his weight loss. I suppose it would have been easier to sabotage him, but sneaking Snickers bars into turkey sandwiches on wheat bread is tough…trust me.

Now a comparatively-svelte 6'3"-210, I began to play basketball at Western's rec center more, slowly chipping away the years of rust. My dreams of basketball domination were slightly adjusted, from college MVP to rec center star. I'd show up, still looking soft and undefined, surely not like a player to worry about, and take over the game. While I had long ago given up the dream of being able to dunk a ball, I could still take over a game with killer jumpers, sprinkling in passes to display my superior court vision.

Playing occasionally, I quickly realized that while I held my own, some of the other players' athleticism was just too much for me. While I impressed in half-court games, full-court was always a game of speed, which was my biggest detriment. With shaky knees I had accepted as mine for the rest of my life, I couldn't envision waking up one morning with newly-acquired blazing speed.

In my junior and senior years, I learned the game of racketball, briefly flirting with the dream of going pro, until I realized a pro racketball player probably doesn't exist, and if it does, is about as glamorous as a school bus driver (with apologies to those brave souls).

So I graduated from Western, and my dream of being a rec center star left with me.

These days, with a life more rich than I could have ever dreamt of as a fifth-grader, I still house my hoop dreams deep down. At this point, they've been relegated to dominating half-court games at the local YMCA. Yes, it's come to fantasizing about draining shots over short, bald accountants with too-short shorts and knee-high socks, but it's my dream, damnit!

And maybe one day I can pass these dreams on to my child, forcing them to attempt to accomplish what I never could. And isn't that what being a parent is all about?

[Zip Goshboots]

Being a parent is all about wondering why the fuck you became a parent.

[Timone]

and how

[Glenn]

Great read, defrocked.

Are these blogs all going to be personal like this one (which is fine) or are you going to get into topical stuff too?

If you want to do some regular writing, I'm sure we could find a place for you on the front page.

At minimum, maybe put a link to your MySpace blog in your signature.

[defrocked]

I write occasionally, really with whatever happens to hit me at the time. I'll pass anything your way that seems to fit under the WTF umbrella.

[Cross]

good read

you really shouldve played highschool basketball though. that is the best thing about my life right now and probably the best and only chance to play really good organized basketball.