Mexico Trip

I've been thinking about writing this story for many years now. The trip and the basketball I played in Mexico was the highlight of my career and one of the greatest adventures of my life. The team was around the .500 mark in the games prior to the winter break. Coach gave us about four days off before the trip so most of the guys on the team went home and had an early Christmas with their families. Big B and I went home to the ICE and saw and partied with our old friends from high school etc... During the normal age college years it was fun to see everyone roll back into town and see them out at the bars. The IC downtown bar scene seemed deserted each year during winter break except for locals back for the holidays. I have always stuck to the notion that it was good luck to get drunk the night before any important game or event, and the night before leaving back to Dubuque was no exception. I remember being so hung over at the one last practice on the day before we left for Mexico that I was border line sick, but for some reason I was jumping out of the gym at the practice. The moment finally came for us to leave. It was early in the morning and Reecey, White B, Big B, and myself all loaded into Big B's red S10 pickup and headed up the ice and snow covered road to the school. It was still dark, and as I sat crammed in the little truck I felt a strange flame like sensation near the back of my neck. It was Reecey's (aka Morris Vankinscoff's) hot dragon breath seething from his mouth, burning my neck, and stinking up the truck as usual. There were some groggy early morning cracks on Reecey as usual. I hadn't slept hardly a wink that night do to the great anticipation. Once at school we all loaded into a couple of vans and then headed off to Chicago's O'hare airport. A lot of the fellas slept on the van, but not me. I was way to excited. Big B had an interesting story about his last time at O'hare. The last time he was there was with our friend Jonas from the IC when the two of them had come back from Europe. Out of pure curiosity we looked in a certain spot in some bricks for where Big B and Jonas had supposedly stashed a little baggy with some herbal medication, but it wasn't there. Getting into the airport and onto the plane didn't take very long. We boarded an Air Mexicana plane. There was snow coming down and it was cold. It was the first time I had been on a large jet since I was a little kid flying from LA to San Francisco with my mom to visit my aunts in California. The team was spread out on the plane, I sat next to Big B. We lifted off and it seemed like we were out and over the Gulf of Mexico in no time. Some of the guys on the team (like Havatake) were taking advantage of the in flight hospitality service and drinking beers, Heinakin to be precise. The JV were scheduled to play a game against the Mexican Junior National team soon after landing in Mexico City, but before we arrived in Mexico City the air line had to make a stop in Acapulco. We all had to go through customs in Acapulco and board the plane all over again. Their were Mexican girls in black swim suites handing out Heinakins in the Acapulco airport. The temperature was in the 90's F. so the climate adjustment from winter weather and temperatures of the mid-west to the climate near the equator was a factor. Acapulco was a huge city of about two million people that stretched from the coast up over a coastal mountain range and back down the inland side of the mountains. This was all readily seen from the air. We would be heading back to Acapulco for our final four days of our ten day trip. All our games were going to be played in Mexico City. I can't remember landing in Mexico City or anything about the airport or the bus trip into the city. I remember the gym, the court, and the opposition from the game we played soon after arriving in the city. Coach Spock was handling all of the coaching duties for the JV. Our JV team was tough inside but we had no depth at the guard spot. Duke was a bit slow due to the fact that he was coming off a year of rehabbing a broken leg. Cray Murphy was playing varsity only. We were playing in front of a roaring and feisty crowd of about 4000 people in a good sized gym. Once the game started it seemed like I was the only one who could score. With no classes to worry about, no food or meal money to worry about, no worry about missing practices due to science labs, and no worries about getting to class or practice, all I had to think about was playing basketball and enjoying the trip. I felt care free and relatively healthy (except for the lingering hang over) and played the basketball of my life. The ballers on the other team were skilled and athletic. There was one player in particular that stood out amongst the rest. He played a similar position as I did and was about the same height. He had some awesome dunks against us in our game, all of them jumping off of two feet. I was the only reason that our team was able to stay in the game. I'm not bragging, thats just the way it was. I wanted my teammates to get involved and stop playing scared and I even tried setting them up for easy baskets when I had the ball on offense but it wasn't working. The best thing I could do was just take the ball to the hoop and score. There were some interesting differences in the Mexican officiating of the game. We were playing by international rules and the one difference that stood out the most was that when a team shot a free throw people were jumping in the lane way before the ball left the shooters hand. I went in so early one time just to see what the refs would do that I practically gave up on the play because I thought for sure that the refs were going to blow the whistle, but they did not. There was another player on the Mexican team that I clearly remember. He was the most blatant screen setting head hunter I ever played with. When we were on defense they ran a two man pick in the paint for a wing or post player to cross through to the opposite side and the head hunting cat was putting his elbows up and setting moving screens and he was going for our heads or necks every time. It was crazy. The thing was, I was a streetballer, and the no fouls and no rules style of play was what I was used to and it allowed me to excel in all of the games we played in Mexico. Even though I was going on lack of sleep, jet lag, and being hung over, I was hyped to be where I was and to be playing against the best young players in Mexico. We were in the biggest city in the world and it was the largest crowd I ever played in front of. When the second half finally got under way I stole the ball on a pass from the point to the wing and away to the races I went with the other teams two best players hot on my tail. D Rog and Mo used to ask me why I always flared out before shooting a lay up. There were a few reasons for this and they all had to do with the same principle. The biggest reason was that growing up playing on the black top or on concrete and playing on the many outdoor courts located in the ICE it became natural to flare on a layup attempt (as opposed to taking a straight line to the hoop) in order to avoid crashing into the poles that held up the hoops. So flare is what I did on the play during my break away lay up in Mexico City and it allowed the defenders a chance to go for a block as I jumped off of my left foot and went up for the shot attempt. I had no thoughts or preconceived plan of what I was going to do, it all just happened. As the two defenders tried to maul me in the air I stretched up and out, cocked my arm, and then slammed the ball through the basket right in the faces of the opposing players. The refs actually called a foul and I was awarded a free throw attempt on top of the basket. The crowd thundered its approval, and some of the players on my team along with Coach Spock yelled their approval while I calmly acted like nothing special had just happened. We as a team were getting our behinds spanked in the game so that was part of the reason why I didn't feel the need to celebrate the play. I missed the free throw. Lil' Lamb, the varsity starting point guard, was in the door way leading to the locker room waiting for the upcoming varsity game and was about the only varsity player to witness the dunk. It was my only college career dunk in a game and it occurred against the best players I ever played against in all my college years, in front of the biggest crowd, and in the biggest city in the world. I was the only JV player to play in the varsity game and because these games were not going on our official NCAA season record coach had all the varsity play equal minutes and platooned us in and out of the game. The opposition for the varsity was a team that had seven Mexican Natianal team players on it and two Olympic players. They had some real bruisers on the team including a huge black dude with dread locks who looked to be in his late twenties, but their best player was a guard who drilled some thirty foot three pointers on us and threw some super sweet no look full court feeds to his teammates for easy layups. The player on the Mexican team who dunked all over us in the JV game also played on the older team and he had some nice dunks in those games as well. Our team was outmatched and we lost by about 20. I probably led the Varsity in scoring that game and scored about 12 points or more in every varsity game which was enough to lead the Varsity in scoring on the trip. After the game and my dunk all the players were announced in front of the crowd and each player exchanged an article of clothing with an opposing teams player. When my name was announced I stepped out and waved and made the most stupid looking face I ever saw. How do I know it was stupid? Because a photographer came up to me and asked if I wanted to buy a photo of me making the face after the game. I still have the picture but I inked a beard on it to cover the ugly face. I felt a bit embarrassed in the spot light after dunking in the JV game. Some fans asked me to trade hats with them after the game. I was wearing a Charlette Hornets ball cap and exchanged that for a cowboy hat (which I gave to my dad after returning to the states). It is a tradition in Latin America and Europe to eat meals with the opposing teams after a game. The home team extends its hospitality by treating visiting teams to a meal and entertainment. So we went to dinner after the game in a large hall. There were many small tables set around and we were told where to sit. We were divided into two or three players from each team at a table. Havatake was at my table and the two best players off the Mexican junior team, the dunk machine and the headhunter, sat with us. It was Christmas Eve, and in Latin Culture the period between Christmas and New Years each year is a time for everyone to celebrate and get hammered, even for those who otherwise never party ever during the rest of the year. Beer and Tequila were available for free, so G Money and I proceeded to drink several small bottles of Tequila each. I loved the Mexican food and ate everyone else's plate and Big B and myself were the only ones enjoying the food. Once drunk off my ass I started telling stories to the two Mexican players by making hand gestures. I demonstrated the dunks by the one player and the head hunting picking style of the other. They laughed and seemed to enjoy it. At the time I did not know any Spanish except for "Mas cervesa por favor" which once translated means "More beer please." I also learned the phrase "cuantos dineros?" which meant "How many dollars?"

My laptop was out of order for over a month, and during that time I made a huge list of stories to tell about the trip in Mexico, and I looked at some newspaper clippings of stats from my UD games and discovered the proper order for some crucial basketball stories from my time spent in Dubuque. All this and more to come soon.

G Money Sells me Out!

Coach told me that I reminded him of Dan Donavon, a former player of coach's at UD who was killed in a car accident while attending UD and playing on the basketball team. The university hosted a yearly tournament that was set up in his honor. It was in the fall semester and early in our young season. I remember sitting on the bench in those early games chomping at the bit to get in and thinking how I could have scored at will against some of the competition I saw. I did play and I did score, but game action was limited. One incident in particular occurred during the tournament that clearly stands out and affected my playing time. It occurred after our first game of the two game double header, and sitting in the upper bleachers behind one of the baskets was Big B, Zeke, Havatake, and myself. We were all liquored up pretty good. Inspired by my memories of the good old days when D Rog and Mo still played for the Spartans and remembering how UD's little gymnasium was packed to the rafters and the home fans, mostly football players, would get chants started up in the balcony section behind the basket like, "A rope, a tree, lets hang the referee..." (they got reprimanded in the middle of the game for that one), I started my own version of jeering and mind games with the other two teams that were playing. One specific important point is that my comments were very timely and in good taste (in my opinion). For instance after a missed shot I would say out loud at just the right moment so the player could hear me, "Oh man, what a brick." Or during a free throw attempt right before a shot I would say to the fellas in a loud voice, "This guy really sucks." The fellas were crying from laughing so hard. Havatake never wanted to be outdone and felt he had to do or say something funny. He made some rude comments and then a lady sitting in front of us turned around and asked us(him) to be quiet, and so G Money aka Havatake told the lady, "Shut up you fat bitch." Good one Money, real smooth and tasteful. The lady left and must have complained to someone because word got to coach who appeared in the stair way and called us all over. Havatake was like, "Zeke, quick, give me your gum." Zeke took a wad of gum out of his mouth and Havatake grabbed it and began chewing it like mad. Coach informed us of the complaint and was obviously mad as hell, and asked if any of us had been drinking. Havatake immediately said, "Coach, I haven't been drinking." In actuality he was drunk off his ass, more than anyone. I, being of age, honestly and calmly stated, "I've been drinking." And Big B too said the same. We were both suspended for two games and Coach Spock supervised extra running after the next two practices (he let us off easy). Havatake started the next couple games, scored like 20 points in one game (the best game of the season for him) and solidified his role as a starter. I missed the next game in the Dan Donavon tournament and the one after. A common theme in my life is having people who pretend to be my friends sell me out for their own personal gain. This story is just one of the times Havatake did me that way. He was my teammate and I always let things like that go thinking that somehow things will all come back around. I forever lost a level respect for the kid, but none the less for years to come I tried to help Havatake out how ever I could, whether it be job related, a place to crash, personal advice etc... I felt like an older brother to most of my younger friends and teammates, Big B included. I did have some decent games that same semester before the teams trip to Mexico. Against Mt. St. Clair in limited action I was 3-4 from the field and1-1 from the line for a total of seven points. I think coach was yelling at someone on the bench every time I scored that game. The Mad Russian (as Big B used t0 call him) Cray Murphy hit me on some good transition passes in that game, and I made all my easy open shots for once. Then there was the game against Platteville that fall, where I would score a career high 10 points and nearly led the team in scoring (Brute Mahone scored 10 or 12 also). I blew some plays early on in the game but because the whole team was fouling out coach had no choice but to continue to play me. I reached a point in my mind where the 1000's of fans and our insane coach and my previous nervous caused mistakes just didn't matter and I was like, screw it, what have I got to loose now, lets just play ball and take it to the hoop. The next time I got the ball I made a spin move on the baseline from the post and came up under the basket and dropped the ball in the net for two. The refs called a foul on the play, an offensive foul on me, and counted the basket. Coach went nuts and rightly asked them how the hell can the basket count if its an offensive foul? At half time in the locker room coach gave me a compliment in front of the whole team, the only one that I can remember, and said, "That was an NBA move out there!" We got our buts spanked by Platteville that game 103 to 57. Platteville shot 34 free throws in the game, we shot 2. The refs were clearly payed off. Platteville was a Division III powerhouse and their coach Bo Ryan had won a National Championship there two years prior. Platteville is also known for being the home of the Chicago Bears mini camp. It was also a UW school I had considered attending when my girlfriend got the teaching job and moved to nearby Boscobel. One of D Rog and Moe's teams were the only team of coach's to beat Platteville in his 25 years at the helm for the men's UD basketball team. Platteville never forgot that loss and made sure that payback was severe. When rapping to D and Moe about their win against Platteville they said they had to overcome all the same ridiculous calls and the fans and all that, but with their depth and talent and the Loyola-Marymount style of play they ran so well they just kept trading blows with Platteville and out ran, out athleted, and outscored them. Mahone came up to me after our game with the score book in his hand and congratulated me on leading the team in scoring, even though I saw what looked like the fact that he had 12 points to my 10. What did it really matter anyway, we got whipped good. Practically our whole team fouled out so even White Boy Roy Sneaky Sig got a few ticks. That game made our team reevaluate everything we thought we knew about ourselves in the yet so young season. We had a long ways to go. The trip to Mexico would be just the thing we needed to pull together for the conference run in the New Year.

Hawk Killer: Taste of the ICE Tales

At the University of Iowa Field House pick up games are played to 15, win by two. In a game one day at Field House noon ball I put up a one game stat line against a team that had Hawkeye basketball legend Chris Kingsbury on it that read something close to this: 15 assists, 20 rebounds, and 10 points. I was working for the U's parking department at the time and I was still taking classes at the U even though I had already earned my B.A. in History. I was playing over the lunch break with my co-worker and intermural teammate named Sleepy. Sleepy had his own streetballer background and legacy growing up in nearby Cedar Rapids. Sleepy scored 11 points in our victory that day over the King's team, all his shots coming off full court assists from me in transition. Kingsbury could have matched up against me in the game but he decided to guard someone else at the opening check. He didn't even look at me and seemed to be avoiding eye contact for most of the game, until on one of those special plays where I jumped about elbow rim high to snatch a board, then a dribble or two out to get some space, and then I threaded a wicked full court no look pass on the money to my boy Sleepy who was streaking down the wing for an easy lay up. Kingsbury stared at me for a moment or two after that play, like 'Who is this guy?' Besides his usual high arching super long range hang time three pointers that fell straight through the hoop without even moving the net, the King made some awesome moves on the base line. Jumping off of two feet from outside the lane he would hang with like three or more defenders jumping and fouling him and hanging on and then after the defenders came down the King still hung in the air on his way to the hoop and scored the bucket. I never saw this side of his game when he played in games for the Hawkeyes. I had a good view of his baseline drives and it seems strange that I wasn't involved but the man I was guarding had a sense of spacing so I always found myself really far away from the play. Kingsbury was instinctively driving away from me and using the base line and the back board as his friend to avoid and shield off would be defenders. The game went into duece to at least 25 points and lasted what seemed for ever and thus it was the only reason I was able to get the stat line I did (or what I calculated or estimated I had from memory after the game). Kingsbury and my team were trading baskets like it was the Final Four match of the Hawkeyes with Ronnie Lester going against Louisville and their star Daryl Griffith. And, like any streetballer proud of their assasin like work against an established big time baller, I'm happy to claim victory for my team that day. For all you big time ballers let it be a lesson, you better play hard and win the game or some no name has been former Div. III baller like myself will be talking junk about those games for the rest of their life. One former Iowa player that stands out in my mind as always playing hard and dominating against anyone he played was Indianola's Chris Street (may he rest in peace in the heaven that is a playground). I would see Streets dominating pick up games always with a crowd of people gathered around his court watching. He tried to block every shot any one on the opposing team put up. I remember seeing him block someone's shot into the bleachers one time and then walking to the sidelines and taking his mouth peace out and staring in my direction as I was just walking in the door. I never had the honor or priviledge of playing with or against Chris Streets. He was killed in a car accident during his playing time at Iowa during the period I was playing for the Spartans of UD. I was looking forward to following his future career in the NBA. Some Hawkeye players like a kid named JR Krotch from Morton Ill. did not impress me so much. I played against him once and hit at least three three pointers over the 6'11" flag pole thin Hawkeye hoopster including the game winner. Krotch played good in games coming off the bench as a freshman and sophemore for Iowa and again he played well coming off the bench as a senior, but he did not do so well when in the starting lineup when he was a junior. I had a chance to talk to Krotch once at a party (I lived in the same house and worked with one of Kotch's teammates who played on the grey squad). I told him I played college ball at UD with another kid from his home town, and that I thought Kotch had a chance to get drafted and even play in the NBA. He was like, "Yeh, yeh. I know." I was like, "Bull shit, you don't know!" and started going into stories about how BJ Armstrong used to work every day and night and in his free time at his game, often alone in Carver Hawkeye arena dribbling all around, shooting free throws, lifting weights, making grades etc... while his teammates, who were more athletically gifted and endowed, Ed Horton and Roy Marble, hit up the night life and everything that came with it and in my opinion never reached their full potential. After hearing my rant Krotch got up and walked away pissed off and I over heard him saying, "That guy is an a-hole and doesn't know what he's talking about." The kid he was talking to, another baller and another roommate of mine nick named "Crow" responded to Krotch by saying, "Oh, he knows what he is talking about." Kotch never got his shit together like I told him he needed to if he wanted to make it in the NBA. So one day while I was working (at the parking department job) and at the end of Krotch's senior season I saw the kid working out in the Field House with then assistant coach and current Tennessee head coach Bruce Pearl as I was walking through the gym. I stopped and watched Kotch for a minute or two and saw him see me, so I said aloud, "Its too late Kotch! Its too late." Kotch was drafted that year into the NBA, a first round pick by the New York knickerbockers. He never made the team. It was too late.
My main "home court" in all my days of playing basketball was at the Robert A. Lee Iowa City Community Rec. Center. I first started playing there as a kid in the mid 1970's. When I was still in high school my crew used to play against the likes of Roy Marble, Ed Horton, Kevin Gamble, Kent Hill, Michael Reaves, Michael Morgan etc... all x-Hawkeyes who were current Iowa players at the time. They often came in on Sunday afternoons with their own five and wanted to take on Shot and me and our crew with Rog and Lonnie and Al or who ever, so we always obliged and to tell you the truth we held our own. We never beat those guys but we put a few scares in them, even taking games into duece with them. We were running a cherry picking fast break outlet style of play that got us a lot of easy baskets. Rog and Shot had world class speed and with Shot's leadership we competed better than most would expect. I also played against other Hawkeye greats and future (now former) NBA players like Les Jepson, AC Earl, and Brad Lohaus. Also I played with and against the likes of slam dunk phenom and former Hawkeye Gerry Wright aka Sir Jam-a-lot. Also Kenyon Murry, James Moses, Brian Garner, Rodel Davis, Wade Lookingbill, and Troy Skinner. I used to throw half court no look pass ally-oops to Lookingbill and Davis and they would slam it home. Garner was the most creative pure passer I ever saw play for Iowa, and I copied, learned, practiced and used the passing skills Garner had perfected. I hit or tipped in game winning shots over NBA 7 footers Lohaus and Earl on more than one occasion. After playing at Dubuque I came back to the IC and schooled Iowa Grey Squad players in intermurals and in pick up games on a regular basis. The greatest player I ever saw play was Lewis Loyd at the rec center playing in a men's city league game. It was just after he had been kicked out of the League (NBA) for drug abuse. He made the usual best players in city league look like little kids. I remember Loyd's style and moves and there is no doubt watching him play in my home gym influenced my own style. Lewis even came up to me and said high a couple of times. One of my lifetime goals was to win that city league title, especially the toughest division against all the former college and sometimes pro players. I was able to accomplish that goal with Big B. and our new school crew on a team called Volven Concrete, which was one of the best teams I ever put together and played on. All these stories are written in my yet unpublished work called "Story of a Streetballer from the ICE - Personal Slam Dunk Life History". The blog stories are about where I honed my skills during "The Dubuque Years." More of those stories to come.

Big B. decided to come back to the University of Dubuque my sophomore year for the primary reason that the team was planning a trip to Mexico over winter break. The coach traveled abroad with the team as much as NCAA regulations would allow, which was once every other year. Coach had us do all sorts of fund raisers like selling pizzas door to door, book binding for a local publisher, and working the football games. Working on the "chain gang" (yard and first down markers crew) during the football games was pretty cool. I liked being right up close, as close as possible to the action and to the battles in the trenches. At the start of the school year there was a change over in roommates at the Wilson Street Crib. Big B., White B., and Morris "Dragon Breath" Vankiscoff were new roommates while Spike and Stace moved back into the dorms. D Rog also eventually moved in some time after Mick Glajoe moved out and after he got back from playing pro ball in Czechoslovakia. Ike moved into the Loras college on campus apartment style dorms and joined a fraternity. On one of the first weekends before or right after classes started that fall the Zeta bitches (thats what we called the female sorority that had all the best looking gals in the school) threw a house party. A few of the Zeta's lived in a nice downtown old brick home they rented. There was a keg and some football and baseball players at the party. Big B. and I were smashed as usual, and the beginning of the school year was always something to celebrate and get crazy, so what did we decide to do but throw the keg out the window in an attempt to play a risky prank. I admit I came up with the idea on my own and talked Big. B. into going through with it. We got the keg out the window alright, but we were busted right before we could carry it away. The botched attempt almost provoked a fight between the basketball players and the football players. White B. almost got choked to death from a tough little football player named Crazy Jake. Rue came into the party just as we were skidaddling and I warned him to watch out but he was like, "Oh Matt, I ain't worried about none of these guys." White B. was punked by the little tough Jake character and afterwards he was carrying on about how he should of unloaded on the kid. We went and got some more beer somewhere else and went to the dorms to see Johny Duke. White B. and Duke were injured the previous year so they acted as equipment managers the previous season, but this year they were playing on the team. I don't know what I was thinking but I got Johny and Big B. to go over to the dorms where all the football players lived and standing outside the dorm I yelled and provoked a line up of football players to come out and hear my rampage about the treatment White B. had received at the hands of Crazy Jake. Jake was out there and he was the main spokesman on the team. It was three (actually Johny Duke was just watching), so two against twenty. I decided to lighten up my approach and went into a speal about how we worked the football games (on the chain gang and so forth) and how we cheered on and supported the football team when they were playing, and that I only hoped that they would give us the same respect, support and treatment. At some point in the conversation Crazy Jake casually made a move and all of a sudden put me in the same death grip choke hold with one hand around my neck as he had done to White B. Fortunately he was just demonstrating what had occurred between him and White B. and not really trying to harm or punk me (OK, maybe he was trying to punk me a little bit, but with 19 other guys backing him up it wasn't hard). I kind of liked that little toughy Crazy Jake after that, and it is somewhat amazing that Big B. and I walked out of the situation unscathed. That whole night was a hell of a way to start off the new school year and it most definitely set the trend for crazy drinking binges and mad parties to come. I always remembered that story as the time that Big B. threw the keg out the window.

White B. was a white kid from Bloomington Ill. who grew up in the projects. He was the most authentic black acting and talking white kid I ever met. He was also a self proclaimed gang member of the Vice Lords, and that was where his true loyalty always lay. He blew his knee out his senior year in high school and that no doubt set his basketball game back so far he probably never fully recovered. He was a computer science major of all things. His first year he lived in the dorms and roomed with a black kid from East Chicago named Black B. (they had the same first name). Black B. played varsity as a freshman his first semester but became ineligible the second. They got into a lot of trouble together that first semester. White B. had a fine ass girl friend he met that first year in the dorms. She was a local gal and I liked it when she came over to the Wilson Street Crib to hang out and sometimes she even brought a friend or two with her. White B. developed a few nick names during my two and a half year long tenure at the school. Sneaky Sig was his most other well known nick name which he got from blowing the cover on his boys and their female playing ways. After White B. moved into the Wilson St. pad I came under the illusion that he was fairly responsible because I always saw him bagging up the trash in the kitchen and taking the garbage out. He claimed he was just trying to get rid of the smell for when his gal came over. There was one particular hustle I had created (I'm sure it was done a million times else where) that White B. found to be absolutely hilarious. I received a ton of junk mail about joining record clubs and so forth. My little trick involved creating various aliases so as to receive a whole bunch of free tapes in the mail. White B. thought that my main alias "James T. Eastwood" was about the funniest thing ever. Whenever he brought the mail upstairs into the crib he would come in the living room or the kitchen and say, "Looks like their is a letter for James T. here," and then he would laugh out loud or to himself. The UD baseball coach once called White B. nothing but a "clown in a circus." B wasn't impressed and probably thought about how to get even. I got to play with Sneaky Sig in JV his first year of playing, which was my second. I played JV and Varsity my sophomore year because coach wanted to play me as much as possible due to all the practice time I was missing because of all the afternoon science labs I had to attend. There were several new faces on the team that second year. Moe and D Rog were in Europe playing pro ball and Spock took over the JV coaching duties and the assistant varsity coaching position for the team as he attended grad school. He also began dating Ike Lambert's sister. New faces on the team included Jerry Putzman from Bellevue, Cryan Ryan Pickle La Te, Mick Cousins, Chubby Rundy aka Spanky and Bad Samrun, all from small town Iowa, Chuckie Amsterdam from New Orleans, and Kale Barron from Indiana. Li'l Lamb, from Gary Indiana, was coaches new favorite little project. Li'l Lamb ran the point. Chuck was a 6'6" Junior, a transfer that was a force to be more than reckoned with on the inside. Big B. took a liking to old Chuck, and the two of them along with Brute Mahone and the freshman Putzman battled for playing time for the big man spot on the team. I also competed for playing time with those guys even though I was more of an outside wing player than any of them were. The biggest thing that affected my playing time was the fact that I missed a lot of practice, due to, as I've stated several times, the fact that I had afternoon science lab classes. I liked the fact that I was the only one to play on both varsity and JV every game. I got to play with my main homie from the ICE Big B and with my other roomies from the Wilson Street Crib who were all on the JV team. This was an overall, JV and Varsity, more talented team with a lot more depth then last years team. Mark Black and Period Baby had transferred to Iowa (to my hometown) but Zeke, Brute Mahone, and Darby Allen (when eligible) were upperclassmen now and gave our team needed experience. The kid from Morton Ill. on last years team transferred out as well, along with Ike Lambert of course who was now at Loras. Havatake and the mad Russian Cray Murphy were still on the team. A newspaper article appeared in the local paper previewing the teams upcoming season. It read:
"UD Focuses on Defense. But their coach still reluctant to slow down offense.
The University of Dubuque men's basketball team won't be confused with Loyola-Marymount this season. Not if the UD coach can help it. The Spartans (11-14, 8-8) were the Iowa Conference's best offensive team last season with 82.7 points per game. But they also gave up a league-leading 85.1 points. "Defense is usually the determining factor for the conference positioning, " said the coach. "How we fare will be determined by our defensive play, rebounding skills and taking care of the basketball better than we did last year. I've seen some very good things offensively that I've been pleased with." The UD coach would like to see improvement on the defensive end of the court. However, he has no intention of slowing down the Spartan attack. Four starters return among six letterwinners, including point guard Cray Murphy (Bellevue, Iowa), 3-point threat Chubby Rundy aka Spanky, Darby Allen, and the league's leading free-throw shooter Zeke Waunson. UD's coach must replace center Shad Spock, an all-league second teamer and the conference's top rebounder. But the Spartan's look to be solid up front. Six-foot six Chucky Amsterdam, 6-7 junior Brute Mahone and a pair of freshman, 6-8 Jerry Putzman and 6-5 Big B Growley, will all play. Mahone is a big, strong, inside player. Amsterdam and Zeke are a blend of both strength and finesse. Putzman earned all-state honors at Bellevue, Iowa. "I'm excited about our new kids," said the UD coach. They're energetic, quick and have the skills we looked for. Putzman runs the floor well and can hit the outside shot. We can use him inside and outside. Zeke and Chuck came into practice in great shape," said the coach. "Zeke is one of those tireless guys who go and go." Former Iowa City High standout, 6-3 Matt Clearsky, and Brag Havatake (Dubuque Hempstead) are slotted for duty at small forward. "We've filled in some holes that will make us a better basketball team," said UD's coach. The Spartans open their season Saturday at Cornell and host Mt. Mercy on Tuesday. The annual Dan Donovan tournament (UD, Clarke, St. Ambrose, and Marycrest) tips off next Friday. 'I've been impressed with our attitude," said the coach. "We're young and we will be up and down - to start." If the Spartans find their rhythm, they could be in the thick of the Iowa Conference race that tips off in January rather than in December. By then the Spartans will have already played 10 games."

This article appeared in the Telegraph Herald and was written by some cat named Craig Reber. I changed the names of the players in the article and put in "coach" where ever our coaches name was used. A couple things about the article. I wrote my summary of the team and listed the cast of characters on the team and so forth from memory, then I copied the article down without reading it beforehand, and I hadn't forgotten anybody. They are alike in many ways and I find coaches descriptions and his predictions about the team to be strikingly accurate to my own assesment of the team and to how we performed through out the season. It is funny how so little is written about Havatake and I, but to be honest I found great comfort in the fact that my name came first in order of who was "slotted" to start at the three spot. Ironically I ended up playing at the four spot and Havatake played at the two. Black B was not mentioned at all because of his inelgibility status. The article at the end states how the team will have played 10 games before conference play starts in January. It did not say anything about our planned trip to Mexico where we were scheduled to play about five games each for JV and Varsity (I would be the only player to play equal time on both teams on the trip). It was good to see my boy Big B Growley get a little run and a promise in print from the coach that he would see some playing time. We had a game early that season at Cornell College in Mt. Vernon, Iowa, a school I had attended right after high school and against the first college coach that I almost played for. At the game I saw a few cats from the IC that I knew well. They were ball players I had grown up watching and playing against. One was and would be years later (after the Dubuque years) a prominent on the court personal rival in my hometown. His last real name is so cool I have to mention it: McCool. It is real and I hope he doesn't mind me revealing it. There are several stories already written about him in my IC collection of street ball tales. I was put in the game against Cornell early on and soon when on offense about my second series I picked, pivoted and flashed into the paint just as I had been coached, received a good post feed on the left side from 6-8 freshman center Jerry Putzman. I caught the ball, drop stepped, slapped glass as I shot it, posed for a brief moment in the air like I was His Airness himself or something, and then watched my shot attempt roll around the rim and spin out. Out of the game I came. I was embarrassed with my lack of concentration to make that possibly all so crucial shot. I pulled that trick all too many times in my short career as a basketball player for the UD Spartans. I have always wondered if I would have just made that damn shot if coach would have left me in the game and if it would have allowed me to get in the flow and score like I could and then who knows what would have happened with my basketball career and my life. Instead, I missed it and back to the bench I went. Big B's mom was at that game also and afterwards she told Big B that she thought she understood what college athletics was all about after seeing the game. I'm still not sure what she exactly meant by that. Big B didn't get a chance to play in the game. I'll point out some irony right now so it won't be lost by the reader who only reads this story and not the entire "The Dubuque years" episode. Both of my two full years of playing I shot 50 percent from the field, which in both years led the team. Coach never acknowledged that fact when giving out the end of the year awards, apparently due to my lack of playing time and shot attempts. I did miss some gimmies, too many, but 50 percent from the field for the season? Thats pretty good! Coach never gave me the chance to perform at the end of the game when I was loose and into the flow of the game and when the game was on the line. I'll say it now, I have always had philosophical differences on coaching with every coach I ever played for, and I always thought that I would be a better coach than all of them some day, if that's what I ended up doing for a career. My opinion of "better" coach I supposes means a fairer coach. Not wiser, smarter, more clever, more knowledgeable, just fairer. I always despised hypocrites and it seemed and seems that I am good at finding and pointing out the hypocritical nature of everything under the sun, including in regards to my own behavior. These thoughts may seam like tangents or insignificant moments in some poor fools life (mine), but I have been mulling over these memories for about 17 or 18 years now, and things like the missed shot against Cornell, coaches hypocritical tendencies (spoken philosophies vs. actual actions), and all the little but important moments that possibly could have changed my life so much, still affect me to this day. Its hard to say what possibly could have happened if some of the little things had happened differently, but I have imagined some of the possibilities. Maybe missing that shot at Cornell for ever made me hungrier to prove myself and help put a fire inside of me to try and prove to myself that I could be worthy of shouts out from all the fellas that I ever played with or against and them saying, "Old Matt was a hell of a ball player. " A Streetballer from the ICE.

Over winter break that first year the team had a chance to vote on whether they wanted an ineligible player from the first semester, Allec Hasbeen, to join the team for the spring semester. Allec was a former Div. I player at the University of Oregon, played his high school ball in New Orleans, and played on the offensive juggernaut UD team the first semester when Big B. and Big Swan and I had just arrived on the scene. Allec had to apply for an extra year of eligibility which he had lost when going down to an injury when still playing for the Oregon Ducks. The NCAA granted him the extra year but Allec couldn't get his academic standing in line with NCAA regulations for the first semester of my first full year on the team, and when we as a team took the vote nobody knew yet if he was going to be eligible for the second semester. The team vote came back as a majority "no". I had voted "yes" to let him on the team. The fact we were even voting was messed up. It should have been coaches decision. Coach had Allec come in and talk to the team and we had a re-vote. I had encouraged others to vote yes because I thought it would make our team better and that it would have made me better. Allec worked out on his own all year, lifting weights, going through shooting drills, running etc... It was just like I had always done growing up, and I respected him for his commitment and passion for the game. Of course some would argue that if he had that much passion then he should have studied harder so as to be eligible to play. The second team vote came back as a majority "no" again, but it didn't matter anyway because the kid didn't make the grades. I talked to Allec about it one time while in the weight room after the season and told him how I wished he could have played with us and that I voted "yes" to having him on the team both times, and that I tried to persuade others to do the same, but he didn't believe me. I then talked about how I had admired him for his work outs and that I did the same thing and that I almost asked him if he wanted to work out together. By then I may have convinced him that I was sincere in wanting him on the team even though we may have been competing for playing time against each other. He would have been the best player on the team and it would have been great to go up against him every day in practice. I ended our conversation by saying that it was disappointing that he didn't get himself academically eligible and that consequently the whole voting thing didn't even matter. It was a whole lot to do about nothing in the end. My very first semester when Big B. and Big Swan and I would make it to the UD games wearing our turtle necks and gold chains I used to like to watch Allec race down the floor and one hand thunder dunk on the opposition. He could get hot and nail a barrage of three pointers in a flash in the Loyola Marimount high scoring offensive system they were running. Yep, it was a shame I didn't get the chance to play and practice with and against a thoroughbred like Allec Hasbeen.

The first year in review: Basketball wise it was a great learning experience. I honed my game and had a lot of fun playing JV, and even though I blew some wide open inside shots in varsity games, I made some shots too. My first official NCAA points came in a varsity game at home during my freshman year on an assist from Darby Allen. Darby was a guard from Gary Indiana who had a lot of game and also a lot of athleticism. He was fun to watch play and fun to play with. He could jump off the stride or off of two feet and in practice or pick up games he cleanly and legally blocked my shot many times way above the rim. He played a lot at the point, but also got some time at the three position. In the game where I made my first field goal Darby penetrated into the defense coming from the top of the key while I had made a cut and clogged the lane a little, so I popped out and next thing you know Darby through me a pass and without thinking I made a quick side step move and launched a short jumper. Swoosh straight through it went. The crowd erupted. I couldn't feel a thing as I raced back on defense. Darby gave me a shout of encouragement and I thanked him for the pass. I scored on a three pointer later in the game and that was it, ending the game with 5 points. It feels good thinking back about it, and it took me a while to remember it. For years it was readily accessible in my mind, but I guess the waves of time washed it back into the vaults of long ago memories. There was a point in that season that I thought I might break the starting line up. There was a second year player ahead of me at the 4 spot from Morton Illinois, and in practice I was gaining on him fast. I remember coming to practice on some days hung over and or feeling the strain from an evening spent with a lady friend and I would just be throwing down dunks left and right. One of the seniors on the team, a guard from Maquokita Iowa, said to me before a game, "Its your time to shine." I think he liked my warm up routine, but I felt a bit stupid because I wanted to show my stuff in the game and not in warm ups. The team ended the season around the .500 mark, so we won some and we loss some that year. Life in the dorms the first semester was memorable and I only have good feelings when thinking back about the experience. Moving into the Wilson Street crib was an adventure which was only beginning by the end of that school year. I was completing my courses on the way to an Environmental Science degree (I had hoped), but I had to spend more time in the class room than any one else on the team because of the many science labs I was required to take, and the labs were interfering with practice time. This would prove to be costly for my basketball career at UD in the upcoming season. All in all it was one of the most exciting years of my life.

I lost two days of writing trying to publish stories from laptop to the internet. The laptop's mouse pad is to blame. There are a few more good stories about Ike Lambert and Big Stace from the semester I lived in the dorms. The first has to do with an ally-oop dunk Ike threw to me during our team organized pick up game sessions that took place before and after the start of the season. We were playing on the short courts in the upstairs gym at the UD sports complex. Our game was on the court nearest to coaches office. A lot of times the teams were segregated because the black guys would always pick each other. When ever I called the next game I would pick up anybody who asked me to play, but sometimes I picked up all white guys so as to demonstrate that we could whip some ass on the court. Ike was almost always on my team (Big B. was in the IC during this period). I rarely dunked in games after I suffered the ankle injury during the intramural game the first semester I attended UD. Ike threw me a pass in the pick up game from about the free throw line on a transition play and I jumped off the stride and barely caught the pass on the end of my fingertips and proceeded to hammer down the dunk on the fools under me which shook the whole backboard and posts attaching it to the wall. Ike had thrown the pass what looked like a foot or so too high, which he mentioned to me during the ride home. It was a dunk to remember. There is nothing quite like the feeling of making a play like that, which was something I had dreamed about for many years as a kid and it was an ability which I worked very hard to achieve. Nothing else in life has compared to the feeling of dunking a basketball in a game. Now a days about the closest I can come to reliving those feelings is to drink back a few brews, take a couple tokes, and write about it. The plays on the court were like artistic expressions of self in physical movement and in sport, but they only last for the brief moments when they take place and then alls thats left is the memory, the act itself for ever gone like dust in the wind. At least my stories are something that can be read and experienced over and over and by many more people.

Ike and I played the same position at one point during my first full season. He had started at the three spot but coach moved him to the four position, which is where I was playing. Coach told me that I should explain the role of the four spot in the offense to Ike. I did, incorporating many coaching lessons about flashing in the paint and posting up from not only my recent experience but from all I had learned from other coaches at the various colleges I had attended. Ike took my advice and went out on the court that night and had his best game of the season, scoring over 20 points in the game. I was a good coach and I enjoyed teaching others the craft of playing basketball.

If I'm going to talk about my dunks I better talk about the times I got dunked on. One such time I was playing in a game against a high school kid from New Orleans. The kid had connections with someone involved in the UD men's basketball program so he was allowed to participate in our team organized pick up games. On the play the kid stole an inbounds pass using an old school slick trick (which I had used before on others) and then lean in dunked on the inbounder, nuts in face and all that jazz. The problem was that I was the inbounder. Later that same afternoon I was matched up against the kid and I hit a crucial jump hook over him from the free throw elbow (I was a good three feet further away from the hoop than I thought when I had already committed to making the move). Darby was on my team that game and said "Thats how you talk shit back to him!" I didn't understand what he meant at first and replied, "I don't need to talk trash." Darby was like, "That's what I'm saying." Then I got what he meant.

The kid from New Orleans had moved to Dubuque to get away from the hood and the temptation of the street life. When playing against Ike on another occasion he knocked Ike to the ground and from the sidelines I yelled, "Help him up!" The N.O. Kid responded with a slew of swear words and something to the effect of, "I ain't pick'n that mutha up!" Our coach had told us that if we knock a teammate down in practice or in a pick up game to help him up after wards. Soon after the incident coach said that no non-UD students could participate in our pick up sessions. That was not what I had intended. I went to a game of the N.O. kids at Dubuque Senior High School, one of three large high schools in Dubuque. Senior was made of limestone bricks, looked like a prison from the outside, and lay in the heart of the city. I was hoping to see the N.O. baller dunk on some short white Iowa boys, but the kid hardly played, and when he did get in the game he looked nervous and out of place. Even though we had our run ins I was rooting for the kid to do well and I wanted to see him dunk in a real game. I asked some of his partners about what the problem was. I could relate to his situation because I was a streetballer myself learning to adapt to organized ball. I never even played for my high school yet I was playing in college. I passed on some advice that he should keep playing and working to get better if thats what he really wanted to do. Never give up on your dreams, especially with all the natural talent that the young man has. A couple years later I saw him. He was waving a wad of dollar bills around and was sporting gold chains, gold rings, gold capped teeth and diamond earrings. The story was he had gone back to New Orleans and turned to the street life and to making easy money. One last tidbit of information about the kid that I'll never forget. Word got around that someone had cracked on the kid and said he looked just like the dude from "Tales from the Cript." That was an all time great smack running blast from someone who spent time in that old river town. The kid did look a little bony in the face and he did resemble the Tales from the Cript host. Of course the smack talk is all good fun and ingrained in the culture.

Big Stace lived down the hall from Ike, Spike and myself the one semester I lived in the dorms. He was a muscular black kid from Dunbar High School in Chicago. The first time I saw Stace was in the weight room. I thought for sure he was a football player, but his first couple years at UD he just wrestled. His wrestling coach was an old school, and I mean an old school style coach. He used to be the head football coach before the university made him step down for what some say was overworking the team. I really liked that old coach and I was lucky enough to have a chance to take a class that was taught be him ('History of Sport' was the name of the class). Stace and I had talked about starting a push up program where we would agree to do 100 push ups everyday regardless of what other weight lifting we did. I guess Stace thought I had agreed to start because he went ahead and did it for a long while and then was very disappointed when he found out that I hadn't been doing it. I had been lifting free weights every day, and that year I bench pressed the most weight on the basketball team (265 lbs 3X) at our end of season strength testing. I was still dating the teacher who lived in Boscobel when I first moved into the dorms. She came to visit one time and attended the UD Commencement ceremony with me and with Big Stace. I have never seen someone act so polite, charming, and so smooth as I did when I saw Stace around my girl friend. I guess he was impressed with my selection of such a cute tenderoni. Stace and Ike had a general education requirement class together with me that semester and we had to drag our asses out of bed and be to that class at 7:30 AM ! three times a week. The class was called Music Appreciation. Stace was like a walking zombie in the morning. He used to sit next to me in class and copy my notes down word for word. I was curious as to whether he was even contemplating what he was writing so I wrote some "mom jokes" down and he copied them word for word not discovering them until later on when studying for the upcoming test. I made sure he had all the correct notes and apologized and talked to him about his sleepiness problem. I let him look off my test paper during the test even though the teacher stood behind us and out loud said to me during the test, "You don't have to let him look at your paper. " I responded by twisting and hiding my paper and saying "Hey!" like 'Hey, what are you doing looking at my paper.' That provoked a chuckle from Stace and some others nearby. I justified my actions of making my paper available for him to see because I felt guilty about the "mom jokes" and because I knew that he had a morning sleepiness disorder. He and Ike had to study much harder and longer than I did just to get a passing grade. It seemed unfair to me. D Rog and Moe's take on Big Stace was they thought he was a fake. It had to do with them trying to hook up with some she-males one night and toking on a jizzoint and Big Stace fake hitting it when it was passed to him just to try and impress the ladies. My take is, oh well, in some ways Mo and D had their less than on the level qualities and skeletons. Stace had some very good qualities in my opinion, and we all had some bad. One night a few of us were hanging out in Stace and Zeke's room watching a movie. One of the co-eds from across the way came by and said she wanted to talk to me. Her name was Sarai. Next thing you know we were in her room getting down and dirty. At the last moment she asked me to put on a jimmy hat. I didn't have any so I called Stace and Zeke's room and talked to Zeke who said that I could come over and grab one off Stace's dresser. I went and grabbed a couple, but a she-baller named Fanny Bronze was in the room and sniffed that something was amiss, so the cock blocking beee-ithch called Sarai and told her that I had come into Zeke's room bragging about knocking boots etc... It was a flat out lie and Sarai wouldn't even open the door for me afterwards. The full truth came out a couple years later. In fact Fanny had a crush on me and I kind of liked her. She had her 15 seconds of fame when at the beginning of the women's basketball season she was leading women's Division III NCAA basketball in scoring and it was even posted on ESPN. Sarai was known as an "STW bitch". Sarai and her friend Alley Cat were both Environmental Science majors as was I. STW stood for "Save The World". I used to defend the fact that they were Env. Sci. majors but I thought the STW tag was hilarious. We used to say 'STW' like Chuck D in Public Enemies and Professor Griff's song about the 'S1W's'.
Stace moved into the Wilson street crib at the start of the summer. He said I could borrow any of his gear to wear. I guess I got carried away because I wore his gear out. He had a lot of Starter jerseys and some hip gene overalls which G Money (aka Havatake) and I would wear around that summer with only one strap fastened. What a couple of tokens we were. I'm sure Stace was clowning me behind my back about wearing out his clothes. At least I made sure everything was always returned and returned clean and washed. That summer at Wilson Street was crazy, and a lot of it is a blur, but things were only going to get crazier after that.

First NBA game of the season on the CBC this Sunday morning as I finish rewriting my lost work. Toronto Raptors basketball! vs. Bobcats from Char. North Carolina. I hitched south yesterday to Corner Store for beer, came home and watched Hockey Night in Canada, Vancouver Canucks shut out Minnesota Wild, Canuck's goalie Bingo Bango Bongo Roberto Luongo on a record setting tear of keeping the puck out of the net. Its hard to believe that I like watching hockey about as much as basketball now. Hopefully today's NBA game is a good one.

I am trying to write all the Ike Lambert stories down before moving on, and as I am thinking back I am confused at the timetable of things, particularly regarding playing in games against defending Division III National Champions UW Platteville, a team coached at the time by the great Bo Ryan. Our team must have gone on the road to Platteville my first year, because I remember getting in the game and running an inbound play under Platteville's basket. I came around the screen set by Ike and was fed the pass. I pulled up like I was going to shoot but was intending to drop it into Lambert just like old times from the three on three Lancaster tournament. Ike thought I was going to surely shoot it and turned his back on me trying to get rebound position. I had no choice but to launch a shot which hit the side of the back board missing any rim what so ever. I glanced over at coach at the bench as I ran backwards while getting back on defense. Coach glared at me and yelled, 'Matt?" with his hands and shoulders in the question pose. I just nodded and played defense. That story is blurred in my mind and combined with my memory of the game against Platteville the next year. A couple things don't make sense about it. Did we play at Platteville two years in a row? Usually teams alternate playing on each others home court from year to year. During my second Platteville game Big B. had transferred back to UD and he was on the team. That story to be told later.

Lancaster 3 on 3 Tournament

Ike Lambert and I and a friend of Ike's from his hometown of Hazelgreen entered a three on three tournament in the town of Lancaster Wisconsin. I knew the town because I used to drive through it when I was going to school at UW Richland. At the tournament I saw and played against some of my former teammates from UW Richland. We played some tough games against some of the teams that had older physical players. They all knew who Lambert was. A few years prior Ike had led his high school team to the state tournament, made it to the finals, only to loose by one point in overtime. Ike said the whole town followed the team bus to Madison to watch the game and cheer on the team. Ike was a basketball legend in his hometown. I always saw my self as a play maker on the basketball court, at least more so than a scorer, so playing with Ike was easy. Just pass him the ball when he posts up down low and chalk up two points. That's what I did in Lancaster and that simple strategy won us the tournament. All that we got were some t-shirts for our troubles and that was about it (that t-shirt became highly coveted by some of my friends from the ICE and I eventually gave it to my old friend Big A.). After the last game Ike and I were hanging around talking to some of the younger guys that he and I knew (the UW Richland guys) when a dunk session ensued. The adrenalin was flowing after the hard fought victories and Ike and I put on a dunk show. I was two hand reverse dunking, throwing it off the glass and catching it then dunking it two handed, bouncing it off the floor and then catching it and dunking, and bouncing it off the floor then off the glass and catching it and dunking, and I was even doing statue of Liberty 360 dunks. Ike was throwing down some mean jams as well. I'm sure we celebrated the victory and the day mighty hardily later that night. There was and probably still is a great basketball tradition in south west Wisconsin. Ike's church had basketball leagues and tournaments starting for kids in grade school. The church had its own gym where I got to see Ike's little sister play. She was unstoppable. That little gym was packed and had more people in the bleachers at those games then the games at UW Richland. Over Thanksgiving break one year Big B. and an old baller from the ICE who we knew from the Robert A. Lee Rec Center named Larry O'Garry were all invited to Ike's house for Thanksgiving dinner. Larry was playing ball for a rival school near Dubuque called Upper Iowa University and just happened to be visiting when Ike invited us to come. The food was awesome and there was an old tradition in Ike's hometown of the ball players getting together to play on Thanksgiving day. Larry didn't have any basketball shoes with him so I lent him my coveted pair of Blue Air Jordans that Shot had given to me way back in the day. I played like crap that day, and the old ballers from Hazelgreen were unimpressed and whispering under their breath and making sny remarks about the fact that I actually played ball in college. It was easy to see that they were resentful of my college baller status. They fouled me on every play. Ike didn't get the same treatment. O'Garry had his usual good outside shooting game and Big B. did his usual thing. My girl friend from Ike's hometown came by and she too was unimpressed with my performance. Oh well, thats the way it goes sometimes. I still had a great time being with the fellas and having an awesome meal at Ike's with his whole family. I vaguely remember cruising around with the guys in Ike's black Cutluss Supreme later that night while a bit liquered up and some other guys yelling something at us and Big B. quickly rolling down the window and yelling back ,"Hey! Why don't you try to shove your d_ck up your a_s and see if fits!" but he didn't quite finish it before busting out in an evil but contagious uncontrollable laugh. That sticky fingered O'Garry "kept" my shoes. On that trip he had been saying how the only rap song he liked was "Down with OPP" which stood for "Other People's Property" ,or so I've been told. Those blue Jordan's were some sweet shoes and I might still have them to this day had O'Garry not stolen them. That chump! I didn't see O'Garry for years after that but eventually I did run in to him back in the IC (probably at the U of I Field House courts) and confronted him about the shoes. It was water under the bridge by then but I tend to remember things like that and I just wanted to hear what he had to say about it, which was not much.

I started writing this blog on a Wed. but now it is Thursday. Yesterday was the day after the U.S. Presidential election and it was the day I found out who won. It was a historic moment when it became official that Barack Obama, an African American was voted to be the next President of the United States of America. The CBC TV news here in Canada gives lots of air time to U.S. issues so I was able to follow the election relatively closely. During the highly watched Iowa caucuses, the first caucus to take place, Obama's crew apparently played basketball at some point, I assume in Des Moines, Iowa's state capitol. I bet it has been talked about a lot down in the states that Obama played point guard for and led his high school basketball team to a state championship in Hawaii. Later I saw an interview Obama gave and he talked about playing basketball in Iowa and then winning the caucus. In the next state he didn't play and they lost the bid to Hillery Clinton, his Democratic party rival. Obama said because of the outcome in Iowa he and his crew planned to play where ever possible. Since Obama claims Chicago as his home now and a lot of my stories are about kids from Chicago and even trips with teammates through Chicago (not written in this Blog as of yet) and because of the basketball connection and because of the historic importance of the event I thought I may has well enter a little story about it to mark the occasion. My hopes and prayers go out to the new president elect and to the whole nation for a better future for the world.

Bad Back acts up in current life as writer/farmer

Tough day for me today in my current real life situation. I hurt my back leaning over to turn on the TV this morning while trying to check the most recent weather update for the next few days. This blog entry is one where my real life meets my past life. Cross over blogging. A couple months ago a wrote a blog entry called "Story of a Street Blogger from the ICE". It was the blog about the blog. I lost it as I tried to post it online (I type my blogs on my laptop then I have to go outside and over to the landlords house to plug in online where I then attempt to post what I have written or edited). My back pain has to do with basketball in regards to something I mentioned in my first or second blog entry, that is the fact that upon turning 39 this coming January I want to train for a year so that I can hopefully be able to dunk a basketball at the age of 40, which is one of my lifetime goals. I was already in pre-training mode but that has sort of fallen by the wayside with the onslaught of fall wet weather and being so busy on the farm where I live. I did manage many 20 mile long very hilly bike rides to the south end and back during this past summer. Speaking of the bike rides I finally tried Red Bull energy drink, and let me tell you, it is the real deal. It actually gave me lots of energy for the rides home and for work on the farm afterwards. In any case, the back pain I have and the 45 minutes of being virtually paralyzed from the pain this morning has me questioning the reality of achieving my goal of dunking on a ten foot high regulation hoop at the age of 40. It was a bad back that ended my basketball career. But that happened many years after Dubuque. The story is troubling to tell because it rekindles the frustrating and helpless feelings I had concerning my last employer, doctors, lawyers, Workman's Comp. etc... I would have been very happy to stay in the IC working at a job I liked and playing basketball in what I bet is one of the greatest basketball Mecca's in the world (and yeh, there is some home town bias in that comment, but there have been books written by people who have traveled across the U.S. and played at all the famous or relatively well known basketball play grounds, rec centers, and field houses and the U of I Field House in the IC has received the highest ratings possible). I better save those stories because the focus of these blog entries is supposed to be about my University of Dubuque basketball experience.

So where was I last time. Oh yes, first full season, playing on the JV squad but getting some varsity time as well. My memories of that season are a little blurry, especially concerning the second semester once Ike and I moved into the Wilson Street pad. We picked up a couple roommates named JT who was an awesome UD linebacker on the football team, and Scooby, a former UD basketball player. Two black kids from Chi town. Ike wasn't so sure about having the two new roomies. He was from small town Wisconsin after all and there were some cultural differences to be worked through in the new arrangement. Both JT and Scooby and another athletic muscular black kid from Chi. named Big Stace (who at one time or another wrestled, played football, and eventually even basketball - after I transferred - for UD) all avoided playing basketball for the team or in pick up games with or against me because (only a theory of mine) I dunked on all of them at one time or another. JT got two handed rebound dunked on while playing in a full court game on the lower courts in a pick up game one time, and another time someone threw me an ally-oop which I proceeded to two hand dunk on him. Big Stace got similar treatment. Scooby, Spike and I were playing 24 or 21 in the upper gym (where the team practiced and played) and I drove baseline and cup dunked on old Scoob. I think the thought of a white kid from Iowa dunking on them and making them look helpless to do anything about it is what I think they most feared. Spike told me that Scooby said he thought the only two players on the UD team that he thought could play in "The League" as they called the NBA were Ike Lambert and myself. Two white guys? Cool, but in actuality I thought he was nuts. That being said I would have to say that that was one of the greatest basketball compliments I ever got. Ike and I were the same height and ended up playing the same position. JT ended up running up a huge phone bill which he never payed and he and Scoob eventually moved out (maybe I kicked them out, can't remember for sure). At the end of the year Ike found out that his mom got a job for our cross town and inter conference rival, Loras College. He could get free tuition if he decided to transfer, and since his family did not belong to the upper class or financially endowed, Ike did just that. There were no shortages of potential new roommates. Spike wanted to move in during the summer, and so also did Big Stace, and unfortunately so did non other than Mick Glajoe. The basketball season that year ended uneventfully. I can't even remember it. I was drinking heavily at the time. I made a point of drinking every night for a month straight. Kills off internal parasites ya know (or so I always say and hope). Havatake was my main drinking buddy. His dad drank vodka like a Russian, so drinking was in G Money's blood. Finding money to drink wasn't so easy, but it wasn't so hard either. 40 oz. bottles or quarts of beer were only about a buck and a half. I got a little spending money for food and rent from my mom and from my dad (divorced when I was three) and from my grandparents (God bless their souls). I could eat cheap by shopping at a grocery store called Aldi's Save a Lot, cooking for myself, eating deer from the freezer that Big B and I would bag every year during deer hunting season, and by eating with the team and by sneaking into the campus cafeteria. I always had food sent and given to me by all the sets of grandparents and by my mom and dad. I tried to share with other hungry and poor associates and teammates. I earned the nickname of MacGyver (old TV show where a guy made a bomb out of anything available) for creating food when it looked like the cubbards were barren. As part of my financial aid package I was "awarded" work study. The first semester that year I had a job working the desk at the sports facility. I was unable to find the discipline in myself to consistently show up for my shifts. The office I was to work in was in the lower level of the sports complex facing a brick wall. This was a very small school and hardly any body ever came to the desk. We weren't supposed to shoot baskets or anything when we worked (although I usually did and the head man hardly ever complained). With my major as Environmental Science I had more hours in class than any one else on the team (besides flight majors who the coach usually made pick between basketball or flight school) because of all my lab time. I only lived on campus the one semester and did not have a car consistently through my UD tenure so transportation to work (and practice) was also an issue. It seemed every time I was supposed to work there was something else going on. Especially during my Sunday shift at the work study gig. I could not discipline myself to study during the three hour shifts. The tiny equipment check out room was like a prison, very depressing, very dreary. And being on a college basketball team is like having a full time job. We did fund raisers and had other functions through out the year. There was weight lifting, practice, and game travel. And I had to play and dress for two games every time (JV and Varsity), with a women's game in between half the time. Yet others on the team did it all, worked a job and played on the team. Or at least one other person did it. Ike Lambert had a job working at a local bank where he counted the change every night. He would have a full day and then at the time of night when I was about ready to settle in he would say that he had to go to work. That was a good time for me to study when we lived in the dorms. Ike would always come back with McDonalds and he always offered me a burger and fries. What a good friend, no doubt about it. Ike had to study a lot harder than I did just to pass his classes. Ike had discipline. Probably from his dad making him do chores on the farm every day. We went to his house on several weekends and I always wanted to help him with the chores and he wouldn't even let me. Big B once said that Ike got his strength on the basketball court by wrestling all those cows around and throwing those bales of hay around. Spike also worked at the same work study job I did and he used to remind me about my shifts coming up and give me a hard time when I skipped out and when I eventually got fired. The head of the sports facility who was also my boss was a really great guy, a good boss, and he gave me so many chances after I had skipped work so many times. He always told me how I was a really good referee in intermurals. I had to ref one of D Rog and Moe's intermural games when I was playing for the UD team and they were coaching. I knew the game of basketball and the rules and I always tried to do a fair job when refereeing. My boss even went so far as to tell the basketball coach about my potential. Reffing is a hard gig and who wants to get yelled at all the time and for only like 5$ something an hour? When the final call came from the boss about me being fired and all I told him how I thought he was such a nice boss and such a swell guy, and I meant it. He tried to give me the job back but I told him I didn't think I could do it, that it would be much more of the same thing, not showing up or leaving early and still writing down my full time (or having someeone else like Spike punch me out). Spike tried to cover for me so many times. It seemed that the poorer kids on the team had it made. Their school was payed for a lot of the time. At UW Richland my two pals were getting payed to go to school. I was going deep into financial debt due to the student loans. Not taking advantage of work study and by spending money on booze and taking out more student loans and financially taxing my entire family has always been instrumental factors in shaping my life experience, from the time spent at UD and after. For the record, my life time experience in the business world of making money and working a job does not necessarily follow the blue print of how the work study experience went. I have worked jobs where I was a dependable long time loyal employee. I guess I just didn't have enough free time to my self during the semester of work study. I tried to get other jobs while in Dubuque, and I got them and the people were instantly impressed with my skills and abilities but all the jobs were so depressing I couldn't keep my sanity working them so I eventually quit them all soon after starting. Now that I am writing and thinking back about my UD days I am realizing how I compared to others in regards to how I was seen as a person, not just as a basketball player. I could have done so much more and done so much better, in basketball, in paying for my schooling at the time, in studying and learning more, and in being a more responsible human being and a better friend. I guess thats what I am doing in a way by writing these blogs, by telling my story, and working through the memories of my failures and of my successes regarding the game I once loved and the life I lived while playing it.

The following summer was one of the best I ever lived. Basketball, making money doing something I enjoyed (working basketball camp), parties at the Wilson Street Pad, the women, it was the best Dubuque summer ever in any case. Spike and Stace moved in and over the summer Spike and I shot a lot of hoops at a few different parks we found. One was a little park located on a dead end street that came to a point atop the limestone cliffs that overlooked the city and the Mississippi River Valley. The court had a nice hoop but the pavement was small. I liked that and I told the fellas that I thought the small court really forced us to develop our inside game. The other court was down on the low end, located somewhere in the middle of the long narrow seemingly endless downtown. It had a nice hoop as well, maybe just shy of 10' (I loved playing on rims that were just a little short of ten feet) and it had a full court sized blacktop, but there was only one hoop. Spike and I found a game of 21 there onetime with like 12 other brothers playing. A cat that used to hoop for the UD JV squad (during the very first semester Big B, Swan and I showed up on the scene) named Main (brother of Square, another former UD player) and Scooby were there in the mix that day, and maybe even the aspiring rap artist "Emerge", who tried out for the UD team at the beginning of the previous year. Basketball wise the whole set up was perfect for me. I may have been the only white guy there, but maybe not. This was street ball at its purest form. No out of bounds and no fouls, unless crazy obvious and over the top. This is the game I grew up playing. Tip ins were a key factor in this type of game, and I loved to basket hang and tip players out of the game, something I had mastered over all the years of playing 24 at Longfellow Elementary and Dodge Street Park (aka Oak Grove) back in the ICE. In the martial art of Kung Fu I've heard it said that it can be more easy to fight multiple opponents at one time than fighting a single opponent. Its the same when playing a game like 21 or 24, where no one person really commits or can commit to playing match up one on one defense. Even if one person tries to match up they usually get screened out or picked by other players on the court who are taking up space. There's always a group of players huddled around the rim and in the paint waiting for a rebound. A few quick players who feel they got a chance at stealing the ball on a dribble often times take turns guarding or double teaming players from the outside. There was a lot of cats on the court that day. I had the mojo flowing, that feeling like the basketball spirit had a hold of me. In the game I soon started raking in rebounds, put backs, tips, and wins. I had my favorite spots to stand, right on the side and underneath where I could grab any soft shots that rolled off, any air balls that I could put back before any one knew what happened, and any near misses that just nicked the rim that may have just as well have been air balls. After checking the rock up top and hitting a few deep shots, and I mean deep long range jumpers, I drew several defenders almost every time I got the ball. Sometimes I would use old tricks to catch people off guard for a quick and easy two. And then there were the two times that I broke through the initial wave of defenders by a spin dribble or high dribble and cut through the lane and tried to jump over and dunk on like seven dudes. On the two occasions I tried this I hammered the ball of the back of the iron, shook the whole back board, post, park and the whole Low End with the power of my thrust, and nearly broke the steel rim off the pole. A still frame photo of those two plays must have looked like the old Michael Jordan poster that came in the Wheaties boxes where J. (one of many nicknames for Jordan) is shown jumping over about ten kids on his way to the hoop at a court that had colorful graffiti painted on the wall in the background. After one of the dunk attempts I made a comment in response to someone else's remark like, "I should have dunked it backwards on all of ya." That wasn't well received, but from my perspective I was just telling them what I really thought, and so "matter of factly" as my good friend Kemp once told me. Now, some 20 years later while writing this, maybe I was a bit too bravado in my confidence and attitude. I wasn't known as a trash talker, but some people took my "matter of fact" style of responding or remarking as trash talking. And people probably still do to this day. I'm always just being honest. But I do know and see how people take my confident know it all style and the whole thing tickles me, especially the fact that I can, or could, always back it up or at least gain their respect trying. Surprisingly the city of Dubuque took down the hoop at that downtown park. I bet they saw it being used so much (you know, by all the gang banging and drug dealing black guys from Chicago, oh yeh and by those basketball players too) that they decided to tear it down. That was a sad moment when I heard that news. That was a real nice court and hoop in a real nice park in a nice folksy downtown neighborhood.

I lifted a lot of weights with Spike and Big Stace that summer. We would head up to the UD sports complex and down into the weight room where there were free weight stations to get in a great work out. Basketball camp started sometime in July and lasted three or four weeks. We got free room and board and were payed 200$ a week. An Iowa high school player by the name of Rafe Lafrentz was at the camp that year. He went on to play at the University of Kansas and even the NBA. Coach had several local area coaches come to the camp to help out, and some were older guys from the IC that I knew and had grown up watching and playing against. Like every summer I traveled back to the IC now and then just to get away or to go and party with old friends in the bigger college town that had the better night life. Kids from the team would occasionally come back with me over the weekends. I was looking forward to the next season, especially because the team was planning to travel to Mexico over winter break. That news was enough for Big B to reconsider his plans and he decided that he had better not miss such an opportunity, so he decided to transfer back to UD at the start of the next school year.