Street ballers is exactly what’s wrong with the game. They whack, man. Too much pub took they all’s heart. Now it’s just a bunch of tin men running around on a cartoon court. It’s silly. A spectacle’s that’s already been planted, growed and mowed the hell down. Yo, I read what you wrote in your last blog, D. How you into playin’ guitar now. How you singin’ all the time now– Which, by the way, cracked my ass up. No offense, money, but I just can’t picture you singin’. Yo, you boy and everything, but I gotta see that shit for myself. Anyway, like I was sayin’, I read your blog. ‘Bout how you movin’ away from the game and all that. And then last night I caught an episode of that AND1 Mix Tape Tour or whatever the hell they call it. I came up with a theory, D. Let me ask you something. Why you think you soured on the game?

Matt: Actually, I wasn’t really saying I soured, ‘Quee. I was just–

Marquee: I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause them AND1 dudes ain’t got no concept of the game of basketball. They just runnin’ up and down the court like a bunch of clowns. Tryin’ to blow up balloons that look like chickens. That ain’t ball, man. That’s the black version of the Blue Man Group — which, by the way, I took my old lady to see a couple days ago. Yo, we was fallin’ out over some of that shit they pull off. You ever seen them perform, D? The Blue Man Group?

Matt: No, but one of my old roommates used to date–

Marquee: We gettin’ off the point. Point is, it all came together for me last night. Them AND1 dudes is the Black Man Group. ‘Cept instead of not talkin’ none, they ain’t never STOP talkin’. You feelin’ my analogy, right? Yo, just ’cause you the writer don’t mean your boy can’t drop a fat metaphor on your ass. I got some literary skills, too, partner. Matter of fact, back when I was a kid I used to think about writing books myself. But as I got older I realized I ain’t got the patience. But I got mad ideas, yo. Tight ones. Anyway, I got so pissed watchin’ them dudes last night I threw a damn pizza box at the TV. Shit made me sick to my stomach. And it ain’t like I’m some kinda old-school purist or somethin’. I’m cool with a little evolution in the game. But them AND1 dudes ain’t even playin basketball. I swear, D, you might as well watch that game Kobe’s dad be coaching. You know what I’m talkin’ about, right? Where dudes play ball while jumpin’ up and down on trampolines. It’s that ridiculous. It’s blasphemous. You think Dr. James Naismith had this kinda thing in mind when he nailed up that first peach basket?

Matt: But it’s an exhibition, ‘Quee. And those guys are some of the best athletes–

Marquee: They some of the best clowns, D. They WWF without all the hot females. I played ball in Sweden, Denmark, Mexico, Spain, Bolivia, anywhere I could. I had a posse of racist white dudes chase my ass down the street with torches in Switzerland. Never forget that shit. Fall of ‘89. But at least I was playin’ real pro ball. Yo, put me on a court with any of these dudes — no lie, any one of ‘em — and I’ll send ‘em back to they mamas with skinned knees and tears in they eyes. Yo, anybody tried to pull my shirt up over my head I’d punch ‘em in the mouth. Take the rock and go dunk it on the other end. Know what? I’d love to see that dude Hot Sauce try somethin’ like that. The Professor. Shit. Air Up There. Yo, you think I ain’t seen cats who could rip off a 720? I know this one dude back in Chile who could spin around two times while holdin’ onto his goddamn left foot. Now that was a dunk. Dude went by the name of Houston. Like: “Houston, Houston, we have ignition.” Throw me up against any one of these tired-ass imitations and I’d send ‘em back to junior college. That’s about as far as any of ‘em got. You know that, right? JC, dawg. Even your guitar-playin’-ass got to the Big West — weak as that conference is. Yo, I’m tired of this AND1 Mix Tape crap. I’m tired of The Professor gettin’ props ’cause he’s a light-in-the-ass albino who could dribble through his legs. I’m tired of Escalade’s fat ass stickin’ his mug in the camera every ten seconds. I’m tired of these stupid MCs standin’ halfway on the court yellin’ into a mic. This ain’t the set of Yo MTV raps–

Matt: Hey, wait a second.

Marquee: What?

Matt: Didn’t you–?

Marquee: Didn’t I what, D? Go on and spit that shit out.

Matt: Didn’t you go to one of those open runs AND1 has before the actual team comes into town?

Marquee: This ain’t about me, D. It’s about the state of the game today. It’s about the decline in young folks’ fundamentals. It’s about–

Matt: Matter of fact, didn’t you get cut or something?

Marquee: Oh, now you wanna talk about back when I had my bad hip?

Matt: Rondo said something about that to me a couple years ago.

Marquee: Know what your problem is, D? You don’t listen. Can’t be no New York Times Bestseller if you don’t listen to nobody. No wonder y’all ain’t got this movie made yet. What you need to do is listen to what people is telling you.

Matt: I’m just asking a question.

Marquee: Better ask the waiter if they’ll take your Visa, D. ‘Cause I don’t got no cash on me. I think you owe me one anyway, money. I’ll be waitin’ for your James-Taylor-ass outside.

Marquee storms off as I settle our bill with the waiter. When I get outside he’s on his cell. He offers me a half-hearted pound and then sets off for the train. As I head in the opposite direction, toward my house, I think about how fragile our egos are. Athletes in general. It’s amazing. One negative comment can crush people like us for weeks. I feel bad about Marquee. I didn’t mean to hurt his feelings like that. But the truth is, I didn’t really appreciate the way he laughed at the thought of me singing.

Matt de la Pena
3stonesback.com