Birth of the Storm

I am training for a half marathon.  I've never trained for anything in my life.  I am clearly excited about reaching this goal to finish without stopping because I often share my thoughts and experiences about it.

This post is no different.

During a particularly enjoyable short run tonight, I enjoyed a perfect temperature, a comfortable pace, the realization of how far I've come and how improved my endurance has become as well as the smoothness of the motion.

My playlist was also hitting the mark with a nice variety of songs that normally don't shuffle on during my runs.

One song, "How You Like Me Now" by The Heavy took me back to a distant memory.

I started reminiscing about when I hooped in Cleveland.  It is a story many have heard before.

I was heckled up and down the court.  It was bad. Real bad.

For whatever reason, I kept going.  That's how bad I wanted to play and no trash talk was going to keep me away.

But I never said a word back.  It wasn't my neighborhood.  It wasn't my place.

To be frank, I was the only white guy there and the trash I heard was because I was white and not from there.

Whatever.

Back to the story, I never never got the ball.  Nobody guarded me but that was mostly because nobody guarded anyone. The only time I got touches was when I mixed it up and rebounded.

Whatever.

Finally, one time it got to me.  Maybe the losing was getting to me.  It was a long time ago, I can't really remember details.  Mostly visions.

And words.

The only words I said......."GIVE ME THE DAMN BALL!"

I was alone in the corner.  I can see it now.  The look on the kid's face.  Almost in mockery.  It was as if he said, "you talking to me? YOU want the damn ball?  You?  Alright then, shoot."

So I made it rain.

I looked him in the eye (or so I like to think.  I probably looked to the ground) and pointed to him for his dime and turned to run back.

Silent.

The Storm was born.

After that I received the ball more often.  I dropped more bombs. The heckles and jabs slowly morphed into chants of "BIRD!!"  The most recognized white baller at the time.

I remained silent.  It was more fun to smile and soak it in.

Soon my buddy joined me and he quickly earned the tag of Paxson and other names.  Ehlo. Stockton. The list goes on and I bet he remembers better than I do.  We made a good team though.  I was happy to have some one to share that with from my "neighborhood."

Later, I would have similar stories. Staff vs student basketball games that were way more competitive than one would think.  Middle school kids are bigger and better than you'd assume them to be these days.  At least they were at the school I taught in which was coincidentally in the same neighborhood where I rained threes in high school.

Nobody gave me the ball.  Grown adults.  Still, I couldn't get a look, still heckled by my students in the stands.

Then I hit that one three.  My only shot.  Crowd erupted.

All I did was smile.

When I returned to Columbus, I played in a league with my school among teachers from other schools. Again, super competitive for a bunch of out of shape, gym class heroes.

This time, I got the ball.  And still, it rained.  It poured.

I told the stories of my youth and a fellow teacher donned the name, "The Silent Storm."

"Mr. Huey don't say a lot.  But when he shoots....he makes it rain."

I love it.  How You Like Me Now?