How Kobe took Shaq’s Swiss Army Knife Back in a Moment of Pure Bliss.

by Jake Appleman

There are no boundaries at the grammar school in the land of peace, chocolate, mountains and watchmen. Every nook and cranny, every angle and granny, is designed to affect the game and the way these kids—many of whom speak multiple languages—see the world. And, if you don’t know, now you know.

Ooh, “look” said prophet Aron:

3/2

 

“Ayo, my pen and paper cause a chain reaction

To get your brain relaxin, a zany actin maniac in
action

A brainiac in fact son, you mainly lack attraction

You look insanely wack when just a fraction of my
tracks run

My rhyming skills got you climbing hills

I travel through your mind into your spine like siren
drills

I'm sliming grills of roaches, with spray that
disinfects.” 

– Eminem

So it was written, and Eli Manning of Silver Springs, 

Uwe Blab of G-Unit Burg, 

And I, the fadeaway J from the NY-Sizzle, 

Arrive at this Utopian dream early enough. 

The brand new ball--we'll call it "Cesc Education", 

Word to my alma pa--

Is tugged through the streets of Geneva along 

My feet like the world's most loyal yo-yo. 

New age neo soul for the Arsenal.

Yo--you see those Shaq links? The Diesel knows 

What is what, and what is, in fact, marketing 

Though the Washington Mystics 

Might disagree. 

It's a special night tonight so we're

Just going to Blaze the beef

--Ra(r)e steak in this case--

Straight down the middle because that's just the way 

The world works sometimes.     

The ball scoots and skids across the slick concrete 

Like a strange red and black Hondo/Rondo hybrid 

With fantastic gas mileage. 

It's only fitting, then, that we walked 

Towards the concrete soccer court that lies near the

Concrete basketball court, on some straight 2000 Seasons/RFE ish. Because

The world needs our message. Ask my
younger--but not 

Youngest--brother. 

He knows what shirt I was rocking the
first night I 

Met him. A Yankee fan.   

3/1 

“I'm fantastic, FURIOUS like the Five from B'lawn

Brooklyn phenom'

Diss all peons, flow for eons

Mos Def is beyond, in fact most cats can agree on

Cause we on the same frequency, if not

change your dial and get on it, I flip on this here beat

Hit the deep street sonnets, who want it?”

- Mos Def

I'm trying to get a game going but the kids are reluctant. What are these 

American Giants doing in their land of play and imagination. 

Corruption? War? 

Wrong on both counts. We, an 

American trinity of sorts, came in

peace, as I flip bilingual scripts like

Octavio Paz, with annotated blood-red (unity) Typeface.

It doesn't help matters that there's a severe initial 

Language barrier.

Speaking Spanish and English has always served me, 

But appears to have abandoned me on this day. I might be 

Auto Bart, the bus driver without a cause. 

And then it happens. 

The beautiful game interjects itself into the

Narrative, a script changing plot point (hopefully) of glory.

"Roo-sky?" asks the kid with the biggish belly and 

Good self-control. Being a man of the world, I 

Answer, that

Yes, I do indeed have Russian blood--Ra, Ra, Ra--and 

all that jazzy, orange-y grape soda wonderfulness for 

and from the projects, a network established by a 

Hell Raiser with a heart of Gold.  

(Note: Kel Loves Orange Soda.) 

But the interrogation isn't over. When I try to 

Communicate in Spanish with them, they look at me, 

Eyes wide, like 

I could be from Spain. 

 

El rey Juan Carlos. Numero tres.  

Dude "shoots" like a rapidly fired bolt of light.

I respond with one of my favorite songs: "Fernando 

Torres, la la la la la,

Fernando Torres, la la la la la, 

Fernando Torres, la la la la la." 

9+1=10; Pey Donna, please. Always.  

They look at me with intrigue. Could this lanky 

Stork really be a surreal combo of this past summer's 

European Championship class.

(Winning goal: TOWERS --> TOWERS AND POWER...Salvation for Edward O (Le) Bannon)

The answer is yes and no. 

Yes, I'm sure of the fact that I have Sephardic 

Roots--estranged middle brother of earth 

misses Hale, Rain, Sleet and Snow, as well his protector. 

Amy, “I’m a hoe and my heart is burning for your love,”

A wise fisherman once yelled

At the top of his lungs whilst surrounded by a cul de sac of

Danger and self-loathing.

It's middle brother who we've gotten to peep on the regular 

Over the past few years. But I also have 

 

Friends the world around, and that includes, 

Mexico (since Incubus), 

Puerto Rico (bio luminescent), 

Columbia (soap op

Con arroz con pollo)

Guatemalan assistants, 

Chilean spices and of course, 

Leo Messi…ah…Spain and Argentina.

Barcelona…Catalina, land of peace…

E!'s Joel McHale would say that's a heck of a Chat Stew Home,
if he could say that in Spanish. Who knows, he probably speaks Latin,
or maybe managerial Minnie Soda. 

1/1

“Once the Grand spread his stuff, pockets fluff like Jiffy Puff

"Inside Stuff," Ahmad Rashad know I keep it rough

Blazin for the two-cen' and after black

Once I spit the half to that, shorties form a line at the welcome mat

Godly ways and action be fo' yo' satisfaction

Chicks feel me like attraction, move shoes like Foot Action

Justice Cypher Born be to leave the mic torn.”

- Grand Puba

Eventually, we split up for the first 3 on 3--Scoop it up, like Hoop It Up
for footie fanatics.

Midway through the game--I've got two kids on my squadron and the Maryland Crabs have one—

I start asking 

An incredibly talented young boy with a medium S(h)ade of brown skin, 

About the NBA hat that he's rocking. 

It has five teams on it and it looks cool 

In the front of the Green thing by the corner 

With the light blue elephants on it. 

Anyway, I ask the kids who they like in the league. 

"Kobe", the uber-competitive one responds. 

"Hah, I like LeBron," I respond, refraining from launching into an abstract tangent in Spanish

Regarding the importance of opposite day.

(Oh, I shall mention now that the half-Japanese looking boy

–he said his name was Noveau or something similar–said he likes Pau Gasol.)

And here’s the true magic:

Young Wannabe Kobe said he had something wrong with his head.

When the Shaqtus, or Shaq toos,

(As I was referencing myself in the thirty second person omniscient)

Reached out to try and touch Kobe’s head,

Kobe said, “No, I’m wearing a Moslem skull cap.”

Still, he allowed big brother’s hand to touch his head, ever so briefly,

A unity of high ideals and mindsets and family.

And in that moment, the Shaq three twos realized that he didn’t need to tell Kobe

That it didn’t matter that he was wearing the skull cap,

 

Because all three fundamentals

 

(shooting, passing, rebounding)

 

Are derived from the same creator;

 

A Canadian whose family made their home in the same Hamlet as my family.

It’s never rotten in Denmark if you’ve been marked.

Because when you’ve done enough work to ensure that the opposition will always keep a third eye on you, you’ve earned the respect of everybody that you’ve tried so hard to befriend.

2/1

“Hi!

Original Bad Boy on the case, cover your face

Came in the place blowed, and sprayed Puffy with Mase

I laced the weed with insect repellant, better check the smelly

Eminem starts with E, better check the spelling

With a capital, somebody grab me a Snapple

I got an aspirin capsule trapped in my Adam's apple (hurry up!)”-Eminem

We're running 3 on 5 (8) now because I'm feeling this surreal, strong and bad 

Mystikal DANGER.

WATCH YOURSELF!

Total football en espanyol.

Just call me Johan Cryuff-mas, uniting with the wonderful Swiss-Miss, spliced with my

own Hugo Boss (Madrid) Rafa movement (Valencia Oranges, the cit-Russ of the Gods)

I should point out here that when we were walking to the school, I was doing a

Marvelous impression. In SPANISH.

"El tiene la toca." 

HE HAS THE TOUCH, word to the Mister Stats--an original believer in 

The Shaq three twos

And the mind-bending power of the backyard Carriage house and its game film and
gator Aid.  UC Davis….and Ellen Davis and Al Davis and Eric Davis and Daryl
Strawberry and mister D.J. Some coach needs to D up play that record. 

Raiders of the Lost Ark--even Mike Lupica belongs, regardless of what new media thinks.

{You can be an Ace, or a pet detective, kick boxes with foxes,
Comb you hair in Poseidon’s wave

But if you don’t respect the game and the balance needed for clarity, you’re just another Bum begging to be found.}

Regardless, I should have called Beadle juice and renamed the phrase uttered 

by the Marvelous one: "El tiene la loca", 

 

Butt that would be, 

To quote my inspiration, "all sixes and sevens." 

“My defense is offense / offense is nonsense,” – caught in the Matrix, the Price is indeed Right.

Oh well, until the next 

 

Time, kids... 

We will

See.

J-03/06/09-9:51 

It's all love

And peace

The world around