An excerpt from Dave Dyer’s forthcoming fictional autobiography called “A Life I Could’ve Had…”
Being the only white guy at the park that day had nothing to do with what happened. I was used to athletic discrimination. In the 8th grade, I was 5’7”, 190 lbs and displayed the temperament of a rabid badger with a rash on his gonads while on the gridiron. My courageous feats and the thought of my arrival into 9th grade made the high school football coaches salivate like the rule against dating students had finally been lifted. Rumor had it that a motion had been proposed at one of the school board meetings to have funds siphoned from the new computer room budget just so the trophy case by the school entryway could be expanded to accommodate what was sure to be numerous accolades with my name engraved on them. Unfortunately, by my senior year, I was still 5’7”, 190 lbs and had hit my plateau round about the third game of my freshman season. I had gone from being groomed for greatness to being relegated as has-been or, worse yet, a never-was. During the sixth game of my senior year, thanks to a missed blocking assignment on the part of John DeBlaay, I was blindsided by a blitzing linebacker. My body twisted like a corkscrew while my leg stayed planted in the wet grass and I dislocated my kneecap. My dreams of being on the scout team at some DIII shithole were shattered in an instant.
Back to the park…I knew I was going to be the last player selected. My massive box office take meant squat in this environment. And the rumor that had been floating around about my conquest of Nicole Kidman was as believable as the Yeti himself. What did matter was that “The King” had shown up to the park that day and, as Kings do, he was holding court. I could smell his arrogance from 30 feet away the way a Rottweiler smells fear in the lesser man. Sure, his public image was that of a role model and for all intents and purposes, he seemed to be the kind of guy you wanted your kid to emulate, but that, my friends, was the work of an exceptional publicist. His private image was one that would make Gene Simmons look like a philanthropist. Everyone knew he had the empathy of a Nile Crocodile. And that hair? Come on…Ben Affleck did a better job confusing everybody about where it started and where it ended.
For the record, I should state that I’m not terribly good at basketball. In fact, I stink. I present an interesting dilemma for my teammates. I shoot…a lot…all the time. If you dish me the rock, you’re not getting it back…it’s going up. And roughly 94% of the time, it’s not going in. However, due to my admitted incompetence on the court, I’m rarely watched closely. Hence, I’m always open…always. And without fail, my cohorts are faced with the fact that multiple times during a game, they have no choice but to get the ball to me. But on this day, one man wasn’t having any of it. As expected, I was the last man standing. And wouldn’t you know it, the last-picking captain had a name that rhymed with “The Blonde Shames”. He did his best to bury all of his seething resentment towards me before he pointed his long championship finger at my face and with a condescending tone said, “You.” Not, “I’ll take him” or “I got this guy” or “Come on over”, just “You”.
As I made my way over to where my teammates were gathering to talk strategy, “The Blonde” pulled me aside. “I’ve heard about you. I know what kind of crap you pull when you’re out here. I also know the only reason they let you play is because you own this park. None of that means Donkey Dick to me. I don’t care if all five guys on the other team are hanging off my arms, you will not need a shower at the end of this game. And if you even think about taking a shot should you ever have the ball in your hands, I will dig my mitts into your a&%h— and proceed to turn you inside out. Do you have anything you’d like to say?” I could sense a tiny droplet of urine leave my body as the feeling of mildly damp cotton became familiar. I paused for a moment as I tried to gain some clarity and said, “You owe me a pair of underpants.” It was the best I could do under the circumstances.
