I would say R. I. P. Randy Larson

 I would say rest in peace Randy Larson, but if heaven is a playground i doubt hes doing that. 

Dunking again!

Its been 10 years or so but yesterday at the school during basketball night I managed to rattle a few dunks down. Dunking at the age of 41? Not too shabby. I have been running a bit for the last few weeks and have been playing once a week as usual, so I guess its paying off.

Vikes loose NFC championship game again

Vikings loose again - but they had more total yards - which we all know is what really matters, or at least that is what we used to say back in the Wilson street pad when ever we lost a Sega John Madden football (video) game (when I say "we" used to say, in this case I am referring to Big B and I).

About 7 or 8 years ago I told this dude I met at the pub on this island where I now live (he was from Pittsburgh and played linebacker for an Ivy league school when he was in college and was visiting the island on a bike tour) that Drew Breese (Saints QB) was going to be an awesome NFL quarterback (he had just been traded to the Saints from the Chargers at the time) and that I projected he would play in Super Bowls and maybe even get into the NFL Hall of Fame when it was all said and done with. I had seen him play in the Big Ten conference while he was in college at Purdue University and he torched every team for like 400 + yards in every game. And so he beats my Vikes to go to the Super Bowl, just like the Falcons Tim Dewight years earlier who happened to be from my high school. The Vikings always loose the big games (4 Super Bowl losses) and when Bret Farve (the Vikes QB) threw that last interception alls I could do was laugh. There always seems to be some connection between the players or a player on a team that the Vikes get beat by in the big game and my own earlier predictions about how good these players will become someday.

I Need to Start Writing Again

Trying to get back in the groove of writing and finishing my story I looked at and read parts of my blog. I see that the one and only comment anyone made on my blog was made exactly one year ago to this day. The person who made the comment is a friend of mine who also just happened to send me an email for the first time in a long long time yesterday. She encouraged me to start and keep writing again. So I am. The one year ago comment thing kind of seems like one of those strange serendipitous coincidences that seem to happen to me far to often. This is my month after all. The month I was born in. And so maybe the planets will align for me just right as the day of truth approaches. I will turn 40 in a couple of weeks, and as I stated in what I think was my first or second blog entry it has been a life long goal of mine to still be able to dunk a basketball on a regulation ten foot hoop when I reach this old age of 40 something. I've already written stories explaining the inspiration behind my somewhat unimportant and inconsequential (to the rest of the world) goal of mine.

I have not played or even shot a basketball in a year or more. I moved down the road this past year after living at the same place for six years, so the hoop and gravel court where I used to play is no longer and I have yet to set up the hoop at my new stomping grounds. I have been so busy caring for my animals and building my farm that memories and stories of a silly game I played when I was a much younger man seem somewhat childish. Last year I joked with another baller on the island here where I live that I was going to be doing the Rocky IV workout for my training by carrying logs on my back up mountains and that sort of stuff. Well, no joke, I've been doing that and more for the last year. My muscles are strong but my joints are not in such good shape. In a few weeks I do plan to head down to the gym on basketball night (for the first time in a couple of years) and see how much improvement and work I need to do in order to throw one down. Maybe it is not possible, and like a poem I once wrote, "But Who Cares." Not even I care anymore. At this point in my life basketball and working out and working towards the goal of dunking will just be something to break the monotony of my everyday life as a farmer and a shepherd. Basketball will happen at night now so it shouldn't interfere with my responsibilities on the farm. My only concern will be the hitching or walking of the 10 miles up island to my place of residence at like 9 pm at night afterwards. I don't expect that I will come close to dunking the first time out (in 3 weeks) but it should be fun trying (I hope). I have two pair of new and basically unused kicks my mom bought and sent me a couple of years back. One pair is a pair of Nike Hirachies and the other is a pair of Jordan's. I have been saving them for this event. I have some new sweats to boot (from mom this year) so at least I will be banging them off the back iron while decked out in style. I even have a digital camera so I can film it.

The reason the passion is gone has to do with the life and death experiences I have had this year raising livestock. That's as much as I will say about that. When I start telling my tales of the basketball playing days gone by maybe a bit of the passion will be rekindled. Man, do I miss the days of youth and innocence, playing ball from morning all the way into the late late night everyday in the summer during high school. It was special, and for me and my crew the way we took on all comers, the way we trained and practiced in secret to get a leg up, the way we worked on our jumping ability like we were obsessed, and the way my hard work payed off so that I could jump and dunk and score on anyone like I was a player in a video game, it is something that I can't just let die, it is a story I want to tell. I want it to live, and so it does here, on my blog, if nowhere else. I wonder if the fellas back home still remember, still dream, still reminisce when they get together, or are they too to involved in their adult lives. Heck, for all I know they are still playing. If they are then it is probably fueled by the mid life crisis phenomenon of being afraid of loosing their youth. Most of them are a few years younger than myself, so maybe they are not at that point in their life yet. The last time I talked to one of them (six years ago) they were all getting into cycling again (and maybe even Ragbrai). The cycling and Ragbrai stories are yet to be written, but that is my next book (and then the fishing and hunting stories).

For the year or so since I last wrote I have been always aware at which point in my basketball story that I am at in my blog. It is the return to Dubuque and the University of Dubuque for one last semester of playing college ball, this after living in the ICE for a crazy year of partying and more street balling. Now it is time to tell about my life living on 'the low end' as we called it. This part of the story is more about my struggles just living where and how I did and less about any great games or great dunks that I experienced. There are some good basketball stories from the year and the summer I was gone when we (Big B or Big Swan and I) rolled up to the D and played some street ball with the old Dubuque ballers at Asbury Park. I can't remember if I told those yet or not.

When I look into her eyes I see into them and they grow vaster and are like an emerald green lightly glowing gradually rolling hillside, the light shining from the center through the springtime trees.

Basketball was a sacred game, more than a game, especially to the black guys I played ball with in Dubuque who were from the inner city. My JV coach and roommate D Rog was the champion of this phenomenon, and he was a phenomenal ball player. The required skills and the dedication and the commitment to becoming a great baller were regarded as akin to honing and committing ones self to becoming a skilled craftsman in any trade or art or even in any other sport for that matter. One phrase that I like to use when referring to practicing and becoming a better baller is, "hone your craft". No doubt about it the ballers I met while attending UD had done and were doing just that: honing their craft as ball players. And so did and so was I at the time, just like the most of the rest of them. But to the kids like D Rog and Mo the game was even more than just a learned craft, it was their way out of the ghetto. I'm sure you've heard that same phrase and that same story before. But to see it and experience in the real with them, that changes the story for me from a cliche to something much more real. As for my story and my basketball journey in comparison to theirs: When I turned 18 I was thrown to the wolves by my parents after being kicked out of the house (or at least very strongly encouraged to leave). Luggage was my high school graduating gift. Could there be anything less subtle? I did get some help paying for college from my parents. I was smart in school and I could have studied anything and been successful, but yet not smart enough or wise enough to try to earn scholastic scholarships. I just wanted to play college basketball. The world and the U.S. and the rest of society and the Great American Dream and the corporate world and the grand illusion of it all caused me to want to escape into the game I loved to play and into the world and culture that revolved around it, no matter what the cost. So in a way I had chosen a path that made basketball my way out too, a way out of not confronting all the bullshit I saw in the rest of the world. So it was an escape for me also like it was for the college ballers from the ghetto, albeit my escape was a little more internal than theirs. But also I want to point out that maybe instead of escaping and running away from something maybe I was running to something. In any case what I want to make clear or at least the point I am trying to make is that basketball was more than a game to us, and since it was the way out of the ghetto and a chance at a career for many of the ballers I played with and against, it was a skill set and a real social phenomenon that can be likened to any skill, craft, or art that earns people a living and or recognition in our society.

I feel good inside when I think back to my old playing days. When I replay particular games or plays inside my head it puts my mind in a happy place. I worked hard for about 15 years at becoming the basketball player I wanted to be. During my playing days (except for the last few years or so) I felt like the underdog poor gangly street baller that I was and I never felt like I got the respect I deserved from a lot of folks that were in the local basketball community in the IC. Without the respect a baller doesn't get picked up to play in good pick up games or invited to play in the playing sessions organized by the likes of local b-ball enthusiasts such as Randy Larson (U of Iowa basketball booster and founder of Prime Time Summer Basketball League and a local Lawyer and a former City Councilman and also a restaurant owner), or asked to play on some peoples City League or intermural teams etc... I usually had my own teams and I did get asked to play on a lot of other teams and I did have more than respect from the old school ballers at the rec and from the Des Moines kids and ballers that lived above me in the "Johnson St. Pad II and from the CR crew I hung with... but some of the ballers that played at the Field House, specifically some of the black crowd, and the "referee crowd" (who made up our long time intermural rivals) did not respect my game, even though I don't see how they couldn't in the end considering the success I had against them. When I think back and as I write my stories I realize more and more how much actual success on the court that I had and how I fulfilled many personal lifetime basketball goals, and how hard I worked and how lucky and fortunate I was to have the God given size and skills and coordination to become the baller that I did. If its pride that fuels my writing or my reminiscing than I don't really care. With the isolation and the loneliness I have in my life now anything that gives me a sense of self worth, a sense of accomplishment in my life, and also makes me truly happy inside, must be a good thing. For all the words and the stories that sound overly boastful there are words and stories that I have included and potentially left out but that I still remember (or at least feel) that balance my personal sense of humility with my pride and ego. The broken bones, torn muscles, and dislocated joints; the on court ass whippings and the poster boy getting dunked ons; the thousands of late, late, night shooting sessions at outdoor courts like Dodge Street or Longfellow; the jumping workouts at Shraider Field for years or at Mark Twain when I lived on Pine Street; the giant hill I ran while at Dubuque while wearing my boy Shot's hip weights; all the weight lifting I did for like 10 years; the walking for miles to find a court to work on my game when in high school; the put downs, jealosy, and back stabbings; the attending of schools in far away places and the 100,000$ plus in student loan debts so that I could play college ball; the coaches and their yelling and all that crap; the let downs and the heartaches; all these things and more I experienced and endured during my life as a basketball player. I miss it all actually. The basketball journey I took was to say the least all that I had hoped for as far as the overall experience and its ups and downs and what it taught me and the man and the baller that it helped me to become. So great was this journey that I feel compelled to share it with others. Remembering back on it all as I grow older is a good thing, it is for me the next best thing to playing, and dare I say, or at least I wonder: is thinking back on it all even better than actually living it and experiencing it as it happened? During the playing days the pressure of always wanting to improve or of just winning the game at hand (important not just for the sake of winning but so you and you're team didn't have to sit out and loose court) didn't allow for the time to admire the on the court accomplishments of the day. At the end of the day after a day or afternoon of playing was usually a great time to mentally replay and rap about the events of the day with roommates and peers, but in the later years of playing to go home to an empty house with no one to rap to was a real lonely feeling, a terribly lonely feeling. On one such occasion I was so struck with a sense of grief and a feeling of utter let down in the knowledge that the day of hooping and an era of balling had come to an end for me that it compelled me to write a poem about it (But Who Cares?), and even after that day, some 10 years or so later, I'm still writing about it.

The Art of the Finger Roll Lay Up

My slam dunk mentor Shot Blender once said: "Finger rolling is more fun than dunking." I wasn't sure then or now if he was serious or just trying one of his Jedi mind tricks to throw me off. Never the less I liked the concept. I mean I really liked the concept. So much so that I took it and made it my own style, and it was such a unique style that I think it would be hard for anyone else to imitate. The impossible but oh so cool play that I use to day dream about that inspired my finger roll style, think of it as like a shot in the shooting game 'h-o-r-s-e', was to finger roll / dunk the ball at the same time. The shot would be like a dunk done by a player that was so high in the air that they could backwards flick the ball through the hoop with their finger tips below the rim inside the hoop at the release of the ball and the palms up. Of course this is a more or less impossible shot for anyone except the likes of someone like Dr. J, but one of my patented moves came close. On the play I would finger roll the ball coming from the right side and at the front of the rim with a kind of reverse spin on the ball that made it look like the rim was sucking the ball straight through the hoop. On occasion I also liked to act like I was going to thrust the ball through the hoop and then stop and freeze in the air while holding the ball over the rim, and then drop it through the net. I question now if my "style" was actually just showboating. My style was my way of expressing myself through movement and through playing the game. To me it was art. To me it was like something that I was trying to make beautiful. But make no mistake about it, my finger roll was a weapon on the court. It was one of my main weapons. One factor in why I was able to develop the unique style of shooting a lay up was because of the fact that I was a streetballer. Most of or maybe all of the high school coaches I ever met would never have allowed me to use or practice finger rolling on their teams. I have so many stories of former college teammates, and or opponents in pick up games at the U of Iowa Field House or from the rec center, who told stories about not being allowed to finger roll in high school. In pick up games on occasion some opponents acted like my finger rolls were illegal or a joke or something. In those instances I felt inspired and compelled to leave the finger roll haters in awe after a dominating jaw dropping performance in those games. When I played for the Iowa City Central Junior High Little Hawks seventh grade basketball team our coach Don Munson taught us to shoot a layup using the same form as a set or jump shot but off of one foot instead of two. In seventh grade I used a running hook shot for my layup over would be defenders. In my life I ended up breaking all the rules, including the 7th grade coach's lessons about the proper way of shooting a lay up. I did everything my own way. Even now it's not like I'm gloating (o.k., maybe a little), its more like I'm an outside observer just looking back at my career and reminiscing, but not quite. I try hard to be honest in my assessment of my skills and abilities (or at least of my former skills and abilities). As for my seemingly rebellious like attitude I still don't know if it was a good or bad thing as far as how my life turned out or what levels of success I achieved. On the court my rebellious finger roll was crucial to my game and to my identity as a baller. To set up my favorite finger roll coming down from the right side of the court there is a trick I used to use. Actually I kind of long forgot about it and only remembered it upon writing this while thinking back. The trick was usually employed to set myself up for the finger roll that I liked to use at the front of the rim, but could also be used in other situations. I stopped using this deceptive technique sometime when I got older and when the competition became wiser. My trick was to stare at the corner of the backboard as I was dribbling toward the basket and position my body as if the hoop was located at the point where I was staring (and then hopefully the defender will follow suite) . The defensive player is usually taught to stay between their man and the basket (it's instinctive for all ball players to do this for the most part) so if successful in my ploy I would lure the defender way out of position and leave him trying to guard the space at the side of the backboard which allowed me all the extra space I needed to get to the front of the rim. This maneuver left many an opposing player wondering what in the hell just happened to them. Most experienced players know where they are on the court without looking or thinking about it. The lane and the three point line etc... are subconsciously absorbed cues to proper spacing. Of course playing outdoors where there is seldom painted out of bounds lines or any other lines made my little trick even more effective. I'm pretty sure I gave up using this strategy by the time I was in my college ball playing years, but I kind of wish I would have tried it more. The problem became that if the trick didn't work it left me with the only option of stopping and backing out, if I could, or passing it back out. The dilemma of deciding whether or not to try and use the trick on any given play brings up one whole new and most crucial aspect of playing basketball and using a preconceived move against a defender. When I was in high school and still honing my skills and perfecting my craft as a ball player I found that in games I would often times decide what move I was going to try and use as I drove to the basket. This is opposed to how I played in later years where I would just react to the situation and allow my instincts to decide and make the move for me. This concept of just reacting is coached and practiced in all team sports. It doesn't mean that a player should go off and free lance and do whatever, discipline is still required, but a player needs to react to the opposition and to the defense which isn't going to do the same thing or be in the same place time and time again. An athlete practices moves and skills so that in game situations those moves and skills feel natural. Thinking about things takes more time than just reacting, and a player that thinks to much becomes robotic like and often looks disjointed and choppy in their movements. During some college games the contradiction between my instincts and me thinking about what to do (or what coach wanted me to do) caused me to get happy feet. Nothing else feels like the feeling of having happy feet. The conscious mind and the instinctive subconscious mind are in complete opposition to each other during those moments.

One play that happened time and time again while I was playing at UD was when after I would get a steal in practice and head off racing down court there was always one player, the same player every time, the kid from Morton Ill. affectionately known as "Boulder head", would be back on defense waiting in the lane to try and take the charge. He hated to do it but had to because it was a practice with coach watching and yelling etc... On the plays Coach blew his whistle and called a charge on me every time whether it was one or not. Boulder Head would always fall down in the classic charge taking position whether I made contact with him or not, and coaches always reward a player for hustling back on defense and getting in position to try and take the charge (that crap - someone trying to take a charge - never ever happens in streetball or even in pick up games). So many times I found myself racing down the court after a steal with Boulder Head back on defense and thinking about what move I should try and make on him. I feel I can or could beat anybody one on one in most cases, but in practice and with coach calling an offensive foul on me every time that Boulder Head flopped made me question what play I should try to make. On almost every occasion I just took it to the hoop regardless of the outcome. I started just running into and slamming Boulder Head to the ground since I was going to get called for the foul anyway. By the way Boulder Head and I would talk and laugh about our head to head encounters after practices, we both understood the circumstances of the other. We had to try to please and impress the coach if we wanted playing time. This whole tangent has precisely to do with my trick of staring at the side of the backboard, and a big question that floats around in my head is whether or not I ever tried to use the trick against Boulder Head. My guess is that I tried it at least once early on but since it did not work I just abandoned it all together. I am pretty sure I never finger rolled after I dropped Boulder Head off like an old timer waiting at a bus stop as I drove by. He would have fouled me or did foul me before letting that happen.

Another move or a set of moves that presented an option for me to use on a drive involved beating my man baseline and doing one of three things. These set of moves are all used from the right side of the hoop and done using the right hand to shoot while jumping off the stride. The first option is to twist to the left while coming up under the rim and using the right hand and the ball's momentum raise up and dunk the ball or drop it in, or sometimes even just flip it in off the glass. The other options I used which are distinctly my own style and my own inventions is to drive hard from the baseline as I passed under the basket while driving the defense back under the hoop and instead of twisting to the left I would create enough space so as to twist to the right and while cupping the ball (ball held between wrist and hand) and using a windmill motion while bringing the ball up and around in a clockwise motion from the right hip and up next to the chest and over the head and then either unraveling the cupped wrist so as to finger role the ball up and over the hoop on the release as I passed under and then by the rim, or unraveling the cupped wrist and releasing the ball off the glass as I slapped glass while floating under and then away from the basket (a cup slap). I've never seen anyone else do this move. I could generate lots of upward momentum using the cupped ball method, and I could even do an impressive windmill like dunk from the front of the rim using this style. These are some of the tangents and options based on my finger rolling style of play that I developed and they served me oh so well for the 15 years or so that I practiced and used them.

2009 age of 39 dunking workout update: way to busy to focus on specified jumping workouts but I have been biking everywhere, walking and running up mountains, dragging and carrying large logs around, and stretching when I can. As long as my back doesn't go out I would say so far so good. I must be getting stronger in my legs and everywhere else, which is good, even though it is a consequence of the life style choice I have made and the position I am in of moving my goat herds and building fences on and near small mountains. Springtime is a busy time of year for a farmer, and any silly goals of playing basketball or of dunking need to take a back seat to the reality of making a living and surviving.

Yesterday was a good day. As was usual I flipped on the radio in the morning as I was waking up and started listening to the Jim Rome in the Jungle sports talk radio show. In the third hour of the program a caller named Brad from Corona (Cali.?) called in with an all time great call which included a Tasmanian devil / Troy Palamaulou (an NFL champs Pitt. Steelers defensive player) impression. I was laughing so hard. This cat Brad is the next "big new thing" to play his way into the Jungle's annual smack off. Continuing into the day the weather was incredible and the temperatures kept climbing as the day wore on. Later that night the Vancouver NHL hockey team ended an 8 game loosing streak and their new star and 10 million dollar player Mats Sundine finally played a good game and won the first star honors for the game. Right after the game ended I indulged in one of my guilty pleasures by watching a reality tv show. What made it so entertaining was the fact that I know one of the contestants in the show and she received major attention and lots of coverage in this particular episode. The show and especially my friend that is in it had me laughing really hard once again on that fine day. Laughing truly is medicine for the soul.

The Jim Rome show helps me feel connected to the sports world and culture I left behind when I headed for the north lands some seven years ago. During my 7000 mile journey to Alaska by myself (save for my two dogs) I listened to the radio of course and during some stretches I got no stations at all on any AM or FM frequencies. Static across the dial. But there was a long stretch through parts of Nebraska and Wyoming and Montana where there was nothing but one station and The Jungle could be heard coming through loud and clear. It was awesome. It actually gave me goosebumps. The listeners to The Jungle are called the clones, and they will be the only ones to catch any inside jungle jokes or references, so when I say that I hope I don't make Marty from Detroit jealous with my story revealing my admiration for Romie the clones know exactly what I am talking about. I started listening to Rome when I worked a state job driving around in a truck all day by myself (like Marty). I hated on Rome for a long time because of the "Chris" Everit incident and like the New York Jets I thought Romie did mostly negative interview with athletes. After the 9-11 World Trade Center attacks talk radio entered my life even more and during that time I listened to NPR all day waiting for the next thing to happen. After a few weeks I went back to listening to the Jungle. One thing about Rome that finally clicked for me: You have to realize and recognize his southern Californian accent and attitude, and then his often satirical and sarcastic style makes way more sense and then he and the show is much funnier. Being isolated for seven years now its great to know that on five days a week I can just switch on the radio and feel connected to the world I left behind. And a small world it is. Every now and then I hear interviews from people I know and met and used to see on a regular basis and its about the only time I ever get to hear anything about my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes (which is a rare thing actually). I have written many a letter or e-mail which I never sent to the Jungle - they were all way to long and way to wack for that sort of medium. My vocabulary most definitely includes what I call "Rome-isms" so I thought I would give a shouts out to the Jungle Crew for bringing a little humor and entertainment into my life, and to the "next big new thing", Brad from Corona, in this years smack off!