I come to a very difficult point in my writing and storytelling process. For the past 15 years I have been thinking about whether or not I was going to tell the whole story of my lifestyle and memories during the Dubuque basketball years, especially the one year spent back in the ICE before "The Return." I decided to leave a lot of information out about the girl friends and the basketball player's courting habits. I think its understood that in writing memoirs or an autobiography that the author is not putting in every detail or description of every memory of every event that happened. There is a filtering process. The idea of me putting the story on the blog was so that it would give others a chance to comment, respond, set the record straight from their point of view, or even the chance and a forum to tell their own story. But what if some people don't want their story told? Do I have a responsibility or an owed loyalty to my former teammates and coaches and friends and family? First of all these are just letters and words on a screen. They tell a story. It is just a story, that's all it can ever be. What ever happened in the past occurred in their own moments, and anything else, like a story about the past, is not the event itself but just words inspired by or describing those moments in the past. Some might say I "sold out" by revealing so much, or that I sold my teammates and friends out by writing a book while looking to get paid. My response to such an accusation is that we all make decisions in our lives, and we all have to live with those decisions. I believe we need to "own" our past actions. In my life I have made some bad decisions and have done some stupid things and I have included some of those stories in my blog, and some stories, especially revolving around really personal things like relationships with girlfriends, have been excluded. At least, as I have mentioned, if a person knows about the chance they have and how to respond they are encouraged to do so. And if I was requested to do so I would take any information out or change names completely or what ever was necessary to appease any unhappy former teammates that I write about. I told everyone back while I was still playing college ball that my plan was to write a book that included the whole college ball playing and lifestyle experience. And most important, what I am saying: the stories, the descriptions, the smack, the exaggerations (I really did see the bottom of G Money aka Brag Havatake aka Air Par's shoes on his dunk at Mt. Mercy) are all done so in an effort to pay tribute to everyone I ever played with or against on the hardwood. As an author and a storyteller I think I and my story would be a sham if I didn't tell the whole story in the most honest and best way I could. In my current life while writing this I went down to the pub the other night for the first time in about three years and I had a conversation with this older guy who is an aspiring writer who wants to tell his story about his travels and adventures to and through such places as Africa and Australia, some 70 countries in total, and about the soccer and the ladies and the week he spent in a Kenyon jail etc... During our conversation the guy brought up the issue of whether or not he wanted to include the stories that might inhibit him from getting a job or something like that down the road. My response was that his story, and mine, were about things and events that happened 20 years ago or so... and they happened in different countries than where we are now both living and that as writers we get a free 'get out of jail card' when it came to storytelling or reporting.... How did or do guys like Hunter S. Thompson get away with it? And I should have mentioned my favorite documentaries as further examples: "Hoop Dreams" and "Dog-town Z Boys". Those stories can't be told without having certain cultural issues of everyday life being a visible crucial component to the story. In "Dogtown Z Boyz" the writer and director of the film, Stacie Peralta, is an important member of the crew that he is telling the story about, which is exactly the same position I am in when writing about my basketball stories. Peralta was sort of the 'good' kid in his crew, which made him the outsider, and Jay Adams, one of the other legendary members of the original Z - Boyz, is portrayed as a kid gone wrong who got into gangs and dealing drugs and who blew it all (his skateboard career) for the street life. I watched and analyzed the documentaries about the making of the documentary and realized that in many ways I am writing about a much similar situation. Telling as much of the whole story as an author can, albeit in an artistic manner (or thats how I tell stories and try to somewhat avoid any blatant blasts or remarks that may incriminate someone in an all to obvious fashion) is necessary for making a film like "Dogtown Z Boyz" what it is, an authentic peak back into time and into the life of those kids growing up in the ghetto beach slums of Santa Monica and Vennis during the 1970's and finding skating as a place where they could express themselves and display their talents to the world. The California lifestyle and the '70's drug counter culture were central to the story of those guys lives. Their story in many ways parallels my and my basketball crew's story. My favorite part of that film is the story of Jay Adams. His story has the most dark elements in it. I get goosebumps every time I watch that part. Maybe it was because I see a bit of Jay Adams in myself. I see a bit of myself in all the big three from the Z Boyz crew (Tony Alva being the third member) that were highlighted in the movie. Surfing and skating is what bonded that crew together, and basketball is what bonded me to my crew. In one of the making of the docs either Tony Alva or Stacy Peralta made a comment about the fact that for Jay Adams it was all about the skating, and never about the money or the competition. I can relate to those sentiments. In my conversation with the other aspiring writer at the pub the other night I also said something about the fact that we all make mistakes in life, and we learn from those, and if we tell others about our experiences maybe they can learn from our mistakes and also from our successes. As writers we have to stay true to form. Living in Canada and in BC do we have to be scared to tell a story about things that happened so long ago in places like the neighboring country south of the 48th parallel? When I was playing ball I was caught up in the culture, which included college life, basketball, and hip hop. Part of that culture included smoking herb. Who went to college and didn't try it at least once? Over time smoking became more of a spiritual action for me. I am not proud of everything I did, and I'm not telling the story in order to say, "Hey look at me, I'm cool, if you want to be like me then do what I did". I have to write about some of the non-related basketball things that if I left out then the whole story wouldn't make sense, there would be a big obvious whole in the story. These potentially controversial issues makes for a better and more interesting story too. So all that being said I need to tell about some things that happened during the year that I had moved back to the ICE before returning back to UD for one last semester of playing college ball and living at the low end. I mentioned in my last post that after moving out of the duplex where my old mates Shot, Dodger, and Doc were living, I moved into the green house on the corner of Johnson Street and Burlington Streets with Big Swan. We moved into the upstairs apartment with Big B, Big A, and a couple other dudes living below. Swan had moved back to the Quad Cities for a couple of years after his brief stint in Dubuque. While there he had got into some trouble and wound up on probation. He transferred his case to the IC where he was assigned a new probation officer. I came back to the ICE that same year. A perfect storm was brewing with Big B, Swan, and I and a few others all moving back to the ICE after being away usually either traveling or off going to college somewhere else for a few years. We partied hard that year back in the ICE. I became obsessed with closet gardening during those years, an idea that Big B. had planted into my head years earlier(pun intended), but I certainly would have gotten around to discovering it or trying it eventually regardless of anyone else's influence (remember that I grew up in the 70's in a very liberal town with a huge University and for 5 years I lived right down the road from the U. on Iowa Ave. in an apartment with all college students... what do you expect?). While back in the Quad Cities Swan had rekindled some old connections, "organized endeavor" connections, and since he was facing a huge fine regarding his probational circumstances, using his connections Big Swan and I set up shop so to speak and attempted to start our own home business from our basement... rrr.... or closet... rrr... or you know what I mean. One of the problems with our lack of financial success had to do with the sack slinger principle number one: Don't get hizzzigh on your own supplizzzie. During my year back in the ICE I can best describe myself as an angry rebel. There are many a story where I would come home to the duplex where Shot and the rest lived and I would walk in the door with two cases of beer, usually Rhinelander, slam them on the kitchen table, break open the flaps, pull a beer out, and slam it home all in one gulp all in front of the roommates looking on in half disbelief, all in an attempt to inspire the fellas for a crazy night of drinking and partying and storytelling and adventuring out to the bar scene where the ladies were... That trick worked at least a few times and one time Shot and our friend Brandon K (x-skate boarder back from going to school at Humboldt State in Northern Cali. where he played La Crosse and smoked dank ganj.) got hammered and then road their bikes downtown to the pentacrest that was across the street from the bars where they then attempted to camp and spend the night, only to be awakened early in the morning by a large number of University public safety officers with flashlights. I was crazy but not that crazy or stupid to head off downtown to spend the night outside while being so wasted. While I'm thinking about those days I got to give a shouts out to Wally coming over after the bar scene every night to our Cedar Street pad near Hickory Hill Park and hanging out and listening to the great hip hop tunes that were coming out that year (1993) and blasting out of my old Peavey speakers and 200 watt. stereo. Actually before moving out of the Cedar Street pad Big Swan had already received a shipment from Arizona that put our little business on the map, and that particular batch went down as one of the best stuff ever to come through us and into the ICE. Swan was the man behind the scene, I was the front man and therefore received the credit and the rep, which I really didn't want. I would rather have been the man behind the scene, and attention for being 'the man' or something like that is not necessarily a role I was comfortable in or something that I was good at or even accustomed too (some may argue that point - maybe I grew into it over time). The potency from that one batch became legendary (so many stories!), and Wally and I used to toke up back at the pad after a night out and listen to those base heavy sounds that rocked the airwaves in the old Cedar Street crib and tell stories about old Longhorn and Little Hawk days gone by. Big Swan and I made some very memorable trips up to Dubuque during that year. Those stories and more will come in time. The time for the one year of trying to regain a shimmer of those old hops is drawing near. So like an old shirt I once had I must 100% commit myself with "No Fear!"