Listening to> 'Key To My Life' - Boyzone
Reading> 'My Year of Meats' - Ruth L. Ozeki (finished)
Working On> Cleaning up kitchen
Film of the moment> 'City Of God'
I know, I thought I would be drunk off me arse this V-Day. Happy V-Day everyone!
Instead I'm cleaning dishes and listening to Boyzone. *chuckles* What in the world?!
I got a V-Day gift: Stinky gave me a pink hippo. I wonder if she's referring to my stomach as the hungry hungry hippo. *hangs head* I ate her food.
On the other hand I gave five v-day gifts: one was for Tea, my co-workers, and then one for Stinky. I never think I'm going to send anything to anyone for V-Day, which means last-minute shopping at Bullseye. In the end, I was left with plastic cups which I filled with candy and handed them at work, before scampering away. Stinky received a box of chocolate as penance for eating her chokies the week before. I am now subsisting on leftover sweets. This new diet sucks.
That's right, I'm on a diet. What kind is it? No eating chokies, sweets, or processed food. Just veggies, whole-wheat bread, fish, and loads of milk. I'm also supposed to eat six small meals a day, and exercise for a bit. *sticks finger in ear and looks away* Stupid dietary regiment. I've been crashing for the past week. Without caffeine and sugar, I've become sluggish and inattentive (sure signs of withdrawal). It's just like smoking, and something I'll just have to ride out. Still... *chomps on candy* I don't even like sweets.
After reading 'My Year of Meats', I've gone off beef as well. As the narrator notes, when it comes to beef in the US, we are ignorant. Not ignorant in facts as we have all heard the dark whispers of cattle being fed their compatriots, or the shadows of mad-cow disease flittering amongst herds - but in that we choose to ignore the health risks. I should know. I've read 'Fast Food Nation' twice. Attended seminars by Buddhist priests who expose the indescribable horror committed in the name of consumerism. Listened to the rant of a fellow dormmate against the 'diseased' practice of eating meat. Gah. I am never eating non-organic meat again.
If I had enough courage I'd cease eating meat altogether. Which is difficult, because I am addicted to the taste of blood. I mean, meat. Both, maybe.
I had to take off my silver necklace last night. It turns out I'm allergic to silver. Stinky says it could be that the necklace isn't true silver. Could be. Mam would be heartbroken if it turns out I'm allergic to gold, as well. But if my hunch is right, and I'm a werewolf, well...
And now, instead of wallowing in self-pity and despair by writing about yet another potential relationship that ended quite badly, let's delve into something else. Only because it's St. Valentine's Day.
In class, I spoke about basketball. That's right, my greatest love in high school was the sport of basketball. I had always imagine that I would continue running down the blacktop with a ball in my hands and my hightop shoes. Instead, I haven't been on a court for two years. My basketball has been handed down to my two younger brothers who regularly practice their slam dunks out in the backyard. My sneakers were thrown away after it became clear I would never play in them again. I never watch my teams play the game on the telly. Basketball has lost all passion. How did that happen?
It all started in 1995. My sister and I were sent to a British boarding school on an island in the Pacific. To pass away the time, the school allowed an exeat to the local shopping mall. Our matron accompanied our trip to the bookstore, where I found a manga called 'Slam Dunk'. The first volume starts off as a slapstick teen comedy. A young redhead school hoodlum named Sakuragi Hanamichi has just asked his classmate out. She apologises and declines, saying she has a crush on someone who plays on the basketball team. Crushed, tears stream down his face as his gang celebrate his 50th rejection in the background. Sakuragi is understandably sore for a few days, headbutting everyone who even utters a word that sounds like 'basketball'.
One day, someone asks if he plays basketball. Whirling around, Sakuragi prepares to slaughter the questioner but is stopped by the sight of a lovely young girl. She attends his highschool, and would like to know if Sakuragi likes basketball. Sakuragi falls in love at first sight with Haruko, and claims to be a genius at basketball. Despite proving to her the opposite when he tries a slam dunk and hits his forehead on the board. Haruko is undeterred and sees great potential in him. Sakuragi's gang, on the other hand, would like nothing more than to burst his bubble. They goad Sakuragi into asking Haruko whether she has a boyfriend, this 'Rukawa' she constantly refers to. When asked, Haruko blushes and confesses that she has a major crush on Rukawa, the school's star basketball rookie.
Sakuragi is crushed, and his gang is overjoyed at the 51st rejection - but something is wrong. Instead of Sakuragi taking out his frustrations by headbutting his friends, the poor lad is crying and singing a sad love song. <-- This was midway through the first volume! I was hooked from then on. Later on, we find that a misunderstanding leads to an ever-growing rivalry between Sakuragi and Rukawa, plus a very interesting basketball match between our favourite redhead and the captain of the basketball team - who turns out to be Haruko's older brother.
This was a great comic, but what really captured my attention was Sakuragi learning the game. When I first read the manga, I was subpar at playing basketball. I didn't care for the rules, and played by passing the ball to others and staying behind. With Slam Dunk and its 31 volumes, I learned to dribble, shoot, rebound, NBA rules, and even to concoct my own plays. All of which were to be particularly important when I finally joined the basketball team two years later.
Slam Dunk shared the love of basketball, and I never forgot it. I still collect the manga, as Raijin in North America has just recently published English editions. Everytime I turn a page, I'm reminded of a simpler time where I drink, eat, breathe, and dream basketball.
Sounds boring, I know, but it was the best years of my life. I had great friends, good music, a fun hobby, and the world in front of me.
'Slam Dunk' is a bit difficult to find. Visit Raijin Comics for more information, or better yet, call your local bookstore to order a copy for you.
Why did it take two years for me to finally take up basketball? There was a slight hiccup with the company that published 'Slam Dunk'. A couple of months passed before the following volumes were printed, and I lost interest in between. But once I found volume 3 and 4, I was in love. Specifically, with the character 'Sendoh Akira'. A genial star basketball player from a different high school, he has the most gravity defying hairstyle in the manga. Sendoh is also seen smiling most of the time, and has a kind personality that is the perfect foil to Sakuragi's hotheadness. I found him to be the perfect man - never mind that he wasn't real, he was absolutely perfect! And if he loved basketball that much, why, I should love it just as he does. That's why, when my best friend decided to not re-sign for the team that following year, I stepped in.
*blushes* So my love for basketball may have started out of my love for a manga character. How strange does that sound? No matter how the idea of joining began, I quickly enjoyed playing. At the time I was also playing netball, a similar ball game but with taller hoops and limited mobility. My position for both games became goal attack, or shooting guard. In actuality, there was someone more talented than me in shooting. Seeing my predilection for fouls and rebounds, my basketball coach moved me to small forward. My closest buddy became the other forward and we actually competed to out-rebound each other. Kimmie, the best three-point scorer we had, was the shooting guard. She was the skinniest twig that ever played the game, but she was deader than roadkill. What does this all mean? *grins* It means I had fun pushing down people, stealing balls, commiting flagrant fouls and getting away with it. Sounds horrible, doesn't it?
Y'see, there were two styles of play with our team. First of all, we played against each other during P.E. and after class. And when we did during P.E., it was almost always the team with the strongest players against the team with the weakest link. For some reason I played with the weak team more than I did with the strong players, even though I was one of the starting five. It didn't matter. My team nearly always lost against the opposition, but I always made sure we had a fighting chance.
I went nuts; I was center, point guard, and shooting guard all in one. I called the shots, passing the ball, encouraging my teammates to shoot when they hesitated. I fell down on my knees, got up and brushed off another scrape. I scream for a pass, faked, and shot a two-pointer. I pass to the girl who never knew what to do and yell at her to shoot. She surprises me by making a layup.
Three minutes left, and we're down by ten points. The coach is yelling at us to hurry up. I shout back to keep calm and steal the ball from a distracted opposition player. Keep your cool, I said, back to your positions. I pass to a waiting player under the basket, who throws it easily into the net. Eight points to go, I bellow. A flurry of movement passes me by as our team is again done by ten by a reverse layup. I curse, but run hoping to catch the ball that's being lobbied to the opposite court. It thwacks my right hand and I bounce it against the blacktop twice before jumping into the air and knocking the ball against the board into the hoop.
One minute, shouted the coach, come on, come on. Off my high, I land on my feet and smile gleefully as the ball is grabbed by another teammate and hurled into air. Everyone seems to be jumping for it, but I jump even higher and clinch it against my palm. The world falls back into place and I cradle the ball against my chest, grinning in victory. Hold it, the coach yelled, jumpball! He has the ball and looks at me and the other. When I whistle, you jump for the tip-off, understand? We nod. Coach hurls the ball into the air, a brown spot momentarily eclipsing the sun. But the whistle pierces our ears and I'm off the ground. The tips of my fingers push the ball away from me and I gasp. No one is able to reach the ball in time. The other gets to her feet first and grabs onto the leather. Ten seconds, I hear Coach yell. I follow her but in my haste trip over her shoes and fall on the jagged edge of my hipbone.
The whistle screams again. Everyone on my team surrounds me, are you okay, are you okay? I take a deep breath and push myself off the ground. I want to say no, that I've lost the game, but only smile weakly. I'm fine.
Because we were segregated into these two skilled camps, the team was very competitive. I wasn't alone in feeling discourage at losses. When we played against each other during training sessions, tension was very thick. Plus with so many members playing both basketball and netball, it was difficult to find someone who was the more basketball-oriented.
Then there was our mode of play with other schools. We were inexperienced, but not without passion. When our team was being fouled against, we all reacted. There was bad blood against the American girls' basketball team, for instance. They resorted to many petty tricks to unnerve us, and the referee (a local who had a particular distaste for our school) was very biased. It affected us greatly because we return home feeling disgraced and ashamed at losing to them. I remember the lonely bus ride where no one could meet the other's eyes. But that was the game where I began to foul discriminately. And I was pretty good at it too. Who ever said basketball wasn't a contact sport? It was wrong of me, of course, but if they were doing it, I should too. Basketball became a vendetta sport for me. A push, shove, scratch - that was all in my arsenal. Sendoh wouldn't have liked it at all.
It was hard to keep a cool head playing basketball. We were the only British school, yet we were treated almost like lepers. When our team finally made it to participate in the local basketball tournaments, we were told there had been a mistake and two of our team members were disqualified for being too old. Coach became very red and had a talk with the organisers, where he informed them that no one had said a damn word when he handed in the paper a month earlier. As a gracious gesture, they let us stay to play the number one team in the district. We lost of course, but it was the team's last game and we played it proudly. The only way the opposition was able to score was to make three-pointers, because they had trouble with our defence. And everyone scored, including me, at least once. We played like there was no tomorrow. We had only six players, and Coach used everyone of us. He had yelled at me earlier for chewing gum, but me and Jen snuck in chocolate to motivate us. Gold chocolate coins melted in my mouth as I played, wishing it wouldn't end. But end it did, and those little sprites that played us came over to shake our hands and give us hugs, thanking us for playing them.
That might as well have been the end for basketball for me. Sure, when I moved to L.A. I was obsessed with the game. I supported the Lakers in '99, and switched to the Kings later on. My brothers began to play basketball, where before they were more interested in football. Our whole family sat in front of the television to watch Laker, Bruin, and the playoff games for three years, before I decided I never wanted to watch it again. It just wasn't the same. Not in the land that created the game. Basketball was no longer my passion. Just an old love that had run its course.
P.S. Sendoh's birthday is reputed to be on 14 February. Happy b-day Sen-kun!
