Part 2, the Genesis of YBF

I was born in Dubai where I flubbed about for a decade until we moved to the states.  I never played basketball in the great United Arab Emirates, but I want to say that I did know what it was.  I want to say I did, if only for of a vague memory of having played the stick figure version of hoops on Atari.  Considering how insanely skinny I was in my youth, the left basketball stick figure must've been my role model.  But anyway, by the time I reached Carnegie Mellon in Pittsburgh, I might as well have majored in hoops (with a focus in turnovers, according to my cohorts).   CMU was where I met a kid from the U.A.E.  And apparently he played for them in the Junior Olympics.  He wasn't bad.  To be honest, he was just a random person I played with.  But at least now he's served a purpose.  Two countries down.

So not much of a start so far, but the thing is he just wasn't anywhere near as memorable as the rest of the cast of characters around the UC and the ghetto gym.

First, if intramural team namer was a profession, I'd be somewhere on the spectrum of brilliant and horrific.  I was responsible for the "Badass Honey Bunches of Oats" kickball team.  I am also to blame for half of the galaxy altering matchup of Jigglage vs. Biguns in IM football.  We were Jigglage.  Of course.

But really, all of this is just an excuse for me to talk about YBF.

I created YBF.  If I do nothing else in life, I can still claim that.  YBF, short for Your Biological Fathers, was the greatest team ever in the history of hyperbole.   Borne of goofiness maybe, but it truly transformed us all into gods amongst pancakes.  No, we were actually more like the Bad News Bears.  From the collection of misfits, to the incompetent 90 year old coach/manager (me), even down to losing in the finals with one of our best players hurt, we resembled the Bad News Bears.  And we were a fantastic collection of misfits too - our main quality being that every one of us had a proclivity for smiling in a goofy manner here and again.  Well, that and we could all ball.


From the Nigerian NOOOO! to Mystery Ali,
from Superman in khakis to Vic Hung 33,
Big Tim, Little Tim, and OC Jack,
and Knice at all sports sending shots back
There was a Cherry Picking Sun,
and a Bharath the black hole,
the Fiercest of Berry's,  and a Big Smooth Paul
6'8 Kyle and me, shake and bake
We'd hit a jumper in your eye
and then we'd yell "STEAK!"

We were Your Biological Fathers

Top:  Mystery Ali, Superman, Vic Hung 33, Fierce Berry, 6'8 Kyle
Bottom:  OC Jack, little girl?  Little Tim, the Nigerian NOOO!, Knice, Big Smooth Paul
Dead:  Walter Matthau 

Although the past tense does seem to imply that something happened... hmm, sorry about that

For the astute amongst you, yes, you can surmise that this is an indication that my blog might contain terrible photoshops and even worse poetry.  Don't worry, the other nationals are much more impressive.  This post was just a way to introduce a cast of characters I'll reference now and again.

Kevin, Siuwah, Me, and Mark.  All Fathers.  Biological.  Yours.

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fin part 2

-Fahd

The Non-Basketball Basketball Resume Pt. 1

It occurred to me that I have stories, right now basketball stories, that I have a need to share.

I seemed to have lived a life.  It's not one I would wish upon anyone else, but it seems, it does seem as if I have lived a life.

Let me introduce it, for now, through my basketball resume.

Don't worry, I'm not going to regale you with stories of my on court conquests.  By many measures I was amazing, and by a million more measures, I was an abject failure.  Same as anybody else I suppose.  And I suspect those basketball moments, that each subsequent day become more dear to me as I get older and more incapable, are really only interesting to me.  So I'll spare you.  For now, at least.  It's not as if I played professionally, anyway.

No, but this post is still about my basketball resume.  Specifically, it's about the people I've managed to meet, to impress, to embarrass, and to be embarrassed by.  Though I've never played with or against anybody that played in the NBA, my resume, I think, is quite remarkable.

To give you some context, I've spread out my 31 years now in 4 countries and, for a very brief time, an immigrant detention center which might as well as count as 45 mini countries.  And this number of countries is only going to increase because as a friend recently referred to me, I am now a man without a country.

As a man without a country, it occurred to me that I have stories.  For example, I recently found myself wandering about looking for a game here on this sparsely populated, mountain and jungle covered island: the Commonwealth of Dominica.  Near a basketball court that some kids were misusing for cricket, I struck up a conversation with a middle aged man about hoops.  They're very friendly here and it turned out, this friendly middle aged man had played for Dominica's national team some years ago.  Very interesting.  He was only 5'7 so he must've been pretty good.  Curious.  The next day, I joined his team and no, he wasn't bad, but not quite Spud Webb either.  It was fun, anyway.  Afterwards, we all regaled/bored each other with our ancient basketball conquests, which is probably why you're being spared now.

And then as it got dark and I walked back, I looked around at the mountain behind me, the Caribbean to the right, and a magnificent array of stars lighting up all the space in between.  Somehow I was in Dominica.  Two years ago, I didn't even know what Dominica was.  Dominica, whose entire population you could easily fit in the Georgia Dome.  Dominica, where they had high speed internet even in the remote and mountainous interior, but where they somehow didn't always have interior plumbing.  What in the world was I doing in Dominica?  Apparently, I was hooping with a former member of the national team.  

I realized it then.  No, I don't know what I'm doing.  But I also realized one thing I had done.  Somehow, I had now played basketball with somebody from the national team for every country I'd lived in.  

And no, it's not much.  But it does give me a way to frame my stories for now.  And I do have a need to tell these stories.  Part of my own futile plan to convince the universe that I'm worth holding on to.  

So just hear me out, universe, for it seems, it really does seem as if I've lived a life.  

...

fin, part 1.

- Fahd