The Superstar and I

I glance at the alarm clock by the bed where I’m lying on, with my left swollen foot propped in ice and the clock just turns past 11:00 pm. Ok, the Sportscenter is on now, flipping the channel to the show. Ah, basketball highlights. The Lakers are playing against the Cavaliers. Oh, Kobe is down? The video clip shows that after he rebounded the ball, his shoes fell on an opponent’s shoes and his ankle bent 90 degrees. Out of the game indefinitely, with only six minutes left in the first quarter. Then, I looked back to my left foot…

Two days ago, I sneaked myself onto Gallaudet campus, with my silver car and my youthful face that could easily belong to one of the freshmen, even I’ve graduated from college and one more month left to having lived 24 years of life on Earth, to play basketball at the gym. I got into the gym and saw a bunch of blacks already playing basketball. Every time I’ve been there, I see but blacks players there. Where’s the others? They must be busy playing poker or in a drinking game somewhere. Anyway, I warmed myself up by just shooting jumpers, from the free-throw line, three-point line, the corners, use the glass, fadeaway jumpers. Then, I was stopped by a black guy who asked me if I wanna play scrimmage with dem. I said ok sure. We took turns to see who could make the three point first to be the captain. One big black guy with “power forward” body made the first three-pointer, and I was next. Swoosh—I was the second captain. Time to pick the team. I picked the white guy who thinks he’s Eminem. No, I didn’t pick him cuz he was white—I picked him cuz he’s a hustle player and has some touch to his shooting. The rest of the team, I let “Eminem” make recommendations cuz he knows them better than I do, then I picked them. Time to play ball. Except they were arguing whether if we should play full-court cuz only 4 vs 4, not five players. The “power forward” obviously didn’t want to run on long court and he insisted on playing half-court only. None of us wanted to mess with him so we went ahead his decision to play half-court. After a couple of baskets scored between us, one guy on my team lost his man and he was wide open at the corner; he got the ball and he’s gonna shoot the ball. I wasn’t going to give him an easy look so I left my man, ran to the opposite side and tried to block his shot. The ball just sailed over my outstretched arm. As the gravity welcomed us back, my left foot dropped on his f—- shoes, whacked!. I arrived onto the floor lying. “Son of a b—” I said. Sprained ankle, god, I hate sprained ankles. I couldn’t get up—the pain was too great, so I crawled like a baby to the wall and told my team to get a substitute. Out of the game indefinitely.

The latest report on Kobe Bryant’s sprained ankle showed that x-ray was negative but he will have MRI tomorrow to determine if ligaments are torn. I looked at my ankle again. The only treatment I gave my foot was an ice and two pills of advil. I didn’t have a damn crutches or aircast to hold my ankle upright and I have to limp all the way to work yesterday, today and tomorrow too. I ain’t surprised if five or six doctors have already looked at Kobe’s ankle by the time I make it to work. Eh, the superstar and me.

Now, the Sportscenter is showing NFL playoffs previews…

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