Why must my basketballs be stolen?
I love basketball. I am more than happy to share the joys and triumph with anyone willing to listen. That is why I ask your indulgence for a few moments so I may share my tale of thievery and woe.
At age 47 I am pulling a Rodney Dangerfield and going back to camp. Not just any camp, mind you, but the Oconee County resident Coach Mark Fox of the University of Georgia men's basketball team's Father-Son camp in a couple of weeks. My 10-year-old son can truly use the tutelage of the outstanding instructor. Me, it is to see if I can hit the three in a real game on the big stage in Stegeman.
A red Wilson ball and blue Wilson ball - both as ugly as could be found at the Mego-Lo-Mart - were snagged by me to see if I could get back in shape. No luck and soon thereafter they were snagged by someone in my 'hood.
I purchased a couple of the cheapest, odd looking rubber basketballs like this other than it has some really odd "havoc" scallops in the weave instead of the typical symmetrical like this knowing full damn well some kids would rip them off. So should I go get more like the pink ball or maybe find the special Derrick Rose
edition instead. Maybe get some racks of five balls each so I can practice my three point drill instead? Then I will imbue the hoodlums with many more new basketballs in my neighborhood. As long as they are 29.5 grams (official size) and have reasonably decent dimples to catch the reverse spin on my patented back door layup. I could just be responsible and bring the new basketballs inside instead I suppose. Or if you or Chief O'Dillon see any kids suddenly playing with really new and odd looking Oconee Blue or North Oconee Red basketballs. Also I need to write my name on their big so no one is tempted to rip them off nearly as much.
But it was fun biking around every single subdivision and cul de sac on this side of town, to seek out that haunting sound, the familiar echo of a basketball bouncing on a driveway, see those kids exercising in the yard. I made it all the way to White Circle, to see the neighboring Confederate flag, and get am unexpected head jerk at the home where all the arson occurred.
Somebody out there knows something. Somebody knows who was toting gasoline and basketballs down the street. Somebody knows who does not like me dribbling two basketballs at once or maybe they want to learn how to do it themselves? Somebody knows who did not like an African American officer dating a caucasian lady. Maybe someone just wanted to teach that officer "a lesson?" Well, listen, no harm, big foul, just turn your redneck ass in, bring me back my basketballs, and let Chief O'Dillon know your racist equivocation.
Remember, it was not all that long ago when we had an elected treasurer in the local High School senior class was an open member of the Ku Klu Klan. One brave soul decided to stand up to this racist bully and his family received threats of having crosses burned in their yard. His father made his son call off his anti-racist crusade, and this was not even a generation back locally. So those who wish to bury their heads in the sand to petty crime, hate crimes and assorted corruption I say it is time to wake up and stop the hate being done in our names now.
So I did get three replacement basketballs, including an all black ball. I wonder how long that will be tolerating in my neighborhood. So now I am going to try to dribbling three at a time at all hours.
One neighbor is afraid of a blue Toyota pick up truck. Me, I just the kids in the dune buggy to drive slower and the neighbors with the airsoft armory to aim a little less frequently in my direction. I would also welcome no more basketballs leaving my carport, but a continued safe place for my son to pedal around the subdivision would be welcome.
At age 47 I am pulling a Rodney Dangerfield and going back to camp. Not just any camp, mind you, but the Oconee County resident Coach Mark Fox of the University of Georgia men's basketball team's Father-Son camp in a couple of weeks. My 10-year-old son can truly use the tutelage of the outstanding instructor. Me, it is to see if I can hit the three in a real game on the big stage in Stegeman.
A red Wilson ball and blue Wilson ball - both as ugly as could be found at the Mego-Lo-Mart - were snagged by me to see if I could get back in shape. No luck and soon thereafter they were snagged by someone in my 'hood.
I purchased a couple of the cheapest, odd looking rubber basketballs like this other than it has some really odd "havoc" scallops in the weave instead of the typical symmetrical like this knowing full damn well some kids would rip them off. So should I go get more like the pink ball or maybe find the special Derrick Rose
edition instead. Maybe get some racks of five balls each so I can practice my three point drill instead? Then I will imbue the hoodlums with many more new basketballs in my neighborhood. As long as they are 29.5 grams (official size) and have reasonably decent dimples to catch the reverse spin on my patented back door layup. I could just be responsible and bring the new basketballs inside instead I suppose. Or if you or Chief O'Dillon see any kids suddenly playing with really new and odd looking Oconee Blue or North Oconee Red basketballs. Also I need to write my name on their big so no one is tempted to rip them off nearly as much.
But it was fun biking around every single subdivision and cul de sac on this side of town, to seek out that haunting sound, the familiar echo of a basketball bouncing on a driveway, see those kids exercising in the yard. I made it all the way to White Circle, to see the neighboring Confederate flag, and get am unexpected head jerk at the home where all the arson occurred.
Somebody out there knows something. Somebody knows who was toting gasoline and basketballs down the street. Somebody knows who does not like me dribbling two basketballs at once or maybe they want to learn how to do it themselves? Somebody knows who did not like an African American officer dating a caucasian lady. Maybe someone just wanted to teach that officer "a lesson?" Well, listen, no harm, big foul, just turn your redneck ass in, bring me back my basketballs, and let Chief O'Dillon know your racist equivocation.
Remember, it was not all that long ago when we had an elected treasurer in the local High School senior class was an open member of the Ku Klu Klan. One brave soul decided to stand up to this racist bully and his family received threats of having crosses burned in their yard. His father made his son call off his anti-racist crusade, and this was not even a generation back locally. So those who wish to bury their heads in the sand to petty crime, hate crimes and assorted corruption I say it is time to wake up and stop the hate being done in our names now.So I did get three replacement basketballs, including an all black ball. I wonder how long that will be tolerating in my neighborhood. So now I am going to try to dribbling three at a time at all hours.
One neighbor is afraid of a blue Toyota pick up truck. Me, I just the kids in the dune buggy to drive slower and the neighbors with the airsoft armory to aim a little less frequently in my direction. I would also welcome no more basketballs leaving my carport, but a continued safe place for my son to pedal around the subdivision would be welcome.
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