HowDoYouBreakAMan?

How do you break a man?

You take away his eyes…
No, that wouldn’t work. Then he would have no choice but to listen. Without the benefit of sight, he would begin to pay attention to each little thing you say. And not only understand more, but he would actually care. He would begin to sense past what seeing alone prevents him from actually “seeing”. A person’s beauty is only skin deep, and with the increased perception he gains from losing that sense of sight, he can begin to dig deeper into the diamond vault that is her inner beauty, A vault that has been kept behind lock and key in the form of pain and tears from past relationships. When you build up the walls around your heart in an attempt to hide inside yourself, he will be the one to feel his way around it, looking for the weakness that will allow him to be close to you. He would become the blind man that found the light in the truth hidden underneath the physical. He will see no evil, and his view of the world would remain untainted.
But he will not break; he will go on…

You take away his ears…
No, that wouldn’t hinder him. Without his hearing, he would be able to see the world in a better light. He would learn to decipher meanings behind actions that would usually be ignored in favour of a nod and a “Uh-huh” just to show that he heard you…but that doesn’t mean he was listening. Then the tenors of his mind begin to attune to the patterns of pitter patters on the rooftops of his soul. The observations he makes will become the basis of the music he hears in the depths of his chest. The sound that his heart makes when she strings together melodies in the form of actions that pluck on his heartstrings like the chords in songs, because words do little to describe affection when words are only movements of lips beyond his understanding. He will be free from the confines of sound and he will understand through his own physical experiences, regardless of what beat the world decides to play on the surface of his eardrums. He will hear no evil, and his own judgment will be the final word.
But he will not break; he will go on…

You take away his strength…
No, that would not stop him. He would just grow stronger in more ways than brute force. Without the facility of strength, he would gain the mental capacity to comprehend more than he ever has. The shackles that bind him would break and he would be able to fly through clouds of wisdom and skies of endless possibility. There is no cage for the human mind, and he would grow to reach unfathomable heights as he accepts his own weakness. Trading one aspect of power for another, he broadens the scope of his strength beyond what he learns and develops it to reach the unthinkable. The heavens become just another level to reach past, when the human body has failed to become an anchor. Instead of using his fists, his tongue becomes sharp as blades, with the skill of Blade hunting vampires. His verbal assault will go far beyond what jabs and hooks are capable of, his intellect acting as the ammunition. And with the increased eloquence he gains, he becomes capable of expressing his feelings to the greatest extent of his ability.
But he will not break; he will go on…

You take away his mind…
No, for he would simply live a life in ignorance. He would be unaware of suffering and the understanding of pain would be unknown to him. This idiocy would be his shelter from all the hurt the world can distribute and he will be invincible. The shell of naivety will be his armor and this crusader would be invulnerable from the evil of society. Nothing but the most basic and simple desires would present themselves to him, and so simple things like love and war would reflect off of the little bubble he resides in and fly off into oblivion. Without the input of others, he will hold on tightly to his own morality, with no second thought about his own mortality…he becomes selfless.
But he will not break; he will go on…

So how do you break a man?

You break his heart.
The heart that allows him the freedom to accept the ideas and impressions that reality has placed so willingly into his mind. The heart that allows him to see and hear what it yearns for most in combination with the irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. The heart that gives him the strength to place his heart on his sleeve and risk it all on a leap of faith into a jungle composed of cactuses known as “heartbreak”.

You cover the heart behind his eyes in the emulation of an eclipse, desaturating each color into nothingness. Without his sight, he loses track of what he was looking for. Tears flow from behind his eyelids as he loses the treasure he has spent a lifetime in search of.
And you break his heart…

You leave him isolated with nothing but the mirages conjured from the depths of his loneliness for company, and his heart will grow deaf. The slow beating will dawdle to a deafened thud as the repeated whispers of despair in his head torment him. He covers his ears in hopes that it would protect him from his own demons…but it doesn’t.
And you break his heart…

You take away the strength of his heart to beat for “the one”, and he withers away. Without the passion that courses through his veins, his mind becomes numb and paralysis runs its course. He becomes doubtful of his strength to go on and his weakness overcomes him, rendering him a pathetic shadow of himself. A shadow in search of a way out of the abyss he has fallen into on his race to the one he had fallen for.
And you break his heart…

You allow his own thoughts to torture him into submission. With no way to escape, he attempts to hide inside the bubble he had built, thought it only serves to keep him imprisoned in his own misery. In his own mind, his past circles him in shifts of regrets and “should-haves” and “would-haves” and “could-haves”. Memories upon memories begin to stack on top of each other in a macabre image of pain as he relives each moment he despised, as they continually flash through his mind. Without somebody to hold him in an embrace meant to comfort, he remains solitary within a sea of his own tears located inside of himself.
And you break his heart…

You break the heart that keeps him attached to the world. The heart that grounds him in reality. The heart that acts as his tether to the universe. Without it, he becomes a broken vessel incapable of reciprocation. The act of falling in love becomes the accidental injury dealt to his soul. As he himself falls in love, his heart plummets though the air at the same pace he has raced towards her. And when it makes contact with the rejection she issues, it shatters into fragments that are strewn across the landscape of his psyche. Constantly, the throbbing pain in his chest serves as a reminder of her…and he is left broken.

How do you break a man?
You break...his heart.

Based on "How to Break a Man" by Vince Ticsay

IDon'tPlayGames

I don’t spit game because I’m not in it for the scrimmaging. I’m in it to make a dynasty. I’m not looking for something like the Golden State Warriors that just make a quick run. I’m trying to build a long term team that’s a lot like MJ and Pippen for the Bulls in the 90’s, Magic and Kareem for the Lakers in the 80’s, Bill Russell and Bob Cousy for the Celtics and the Green Bay Packers in the 60’s. The New York Yankees in…forever. Lance Armstrong and his last testicle. I’m in search of the girl that would have us next in line like the New England Patriots.

I don’t play games, not the type to post up the big man and just drive into the hole…I’m not LeBron James. I can’t just send my ball into that dark hole everybody’s aiming for…I’m pretty damn far from a Tiger Woods. I can't hit a home run with her whenever I want to...I'm not Barry Bonds on steroids. I’m a Manning or a Favre waiting for the perfect moment to make that one play that means the most. I move the chains down the field for what I consider a touchdown, but really, it’s just something tiny like getting her name. Something that could probably win one game, but is downplayed because it’s a combination of a lot of little things that add up to a dynasty like her and I. A constant duet in mental contact while everything else around us goes at lightning speed. Sharing thoughts at the speed of Mario Andretti and Michael Schumacher and understanding every movement the other makes when she sends me messages like passes, she's my John Stockton and I'm Karl Malone. And if you mess with my partner I'll have you end up like Isaiah Thomas. Or watch me turn Super Saiyan like Michael Phelps.

They say good communication on the field can do wonders…but lately we’ve been playing on opposite teams too many times and off on the sides, I am constantly offsides because all I want to do is be closer to her. Though, all I want to do with her is just lay back and kick it...like Lionel Messi. But the blueprints to my plans always end up messy and deranged when I forget to take her reactions into account. I can't make plays, because I lack the necessary awareness of her feelings, going for a cross check to check if she feels the same way I do, but I end up blindsiding myself on the collision her "No" makes with my ego. Then fate gives me the yellow card, I guess I should have paid attention to that fair warning.

But I was too slow to react like...I was Shaq, being led by the misconception that he could actually do things outside of basketball. But instead he released 4 albums, 3 movies and a video game..all of which were crap. So I'm wishing I was Usain Bolt quick to realize the errors I was making before the final stretch. But I digress.

Off the snap, I read the defense around her heart…trying to find a way to bypass what was left behind by each guy that was there before me…going for the Hail Mary pass past the cockblocks and strong-armed defencemen she calls her friends and family I…leap the line of scrimmage like Priest Holmes in the hopes that I will be able to get seven points on the board. Seven digits out of the millions of numbers in the world that would lead me to a conversation with her beyond the confines of the field we are both playing on. But unlike her, I am an undrafted lower classman coming to prove myself to an entire league of players that are out of my league. Because I’m a nice guy…too much like a rookie Andrea Bargnani and the opposite of an Ocho Cinco-type cocky bastard that just garners attention.

In due time, I tell myself to take a break. I've been thinking of nothing but her non-stop and I can't even see when the offseason is supposed to start. Calling a timeout, I take some time out to clear my mind of every doubt I have ever felt about how we would end up. With a pep talk from my friends, I get my head back in the game and my ears back to listening intently to every word that comes from her mouth, hoping that something would spark a second wind. This is all-star break and the stars break apart in the night sky into comets and falling stars that I wish I could see with her by my side, wishing for more time in which I could convince her to spend more time by my side. Then I realize that I've been bending over backwards for her. You could basically describe my efforts as a guy in a gorilla suit jumping on trampolines and doing backflips to dunk a ball to appeal to the crowd. I'm the halftime show during my own halftime break, so it turns out that I can't get a reprieve from this girl that just keeps tugging on my heartstrings. The break I need is replaced with more work on my part, when I sorely need it. I mean, give me a break!

Constantly, I try my hardest like I’m the star in a montage of sports clips…but all I’m doing is sitting on the bench. Because nobody goes for the nice guy…There ain’t never been a clip of good sportsmanship shown on SportsCenter or ESPN…but I’ve seen Pedro Martinez throwing Yankees manager Don Zimmer on the ground. And there never been a highlight of a bunch of people hugging it out…but I’ve seen BJ Penn turn Joe Stevenson into a bloody mess. I’ve never seen two people sharing a win during a big event…but I’ve seen Mike Tyson bite off a piece of Evander Holyfield’s ear.

Now I know I haven’t been in a fight in years…but this one specific girl’s got me feeling so battered and bruised from the inside out, I’m internally bleeding out emotions in place of pain and I’m spitting out these words instead of blood. It’s heartache with a fracture hidden beneath the muscles that pump blood through my frame, reacting when she pump fakes a reciprocation of affection. Repeatedly, I've grown to resemble Perdita Felicien as I've failed to hurdle the obstructions in my path as I've attempted to race to her.
She has me feeling that I am only a pawn in this constant cycle of support…only there because I’m able to lift the weight of the world off of her shoulders on a daily basis because I LIVESTRONG like a bodybuilder in the form of a Tour de France champion. I took the place of her strong safety…calling audibles to provide her relief in the later innings on an evening through the audio in a phone call. But with the threat of overtime looming, I’m overcome with fatigue as the minutes I have logged in have piled on to render me useless…which isn’t really saying much.

And I don’t play mind games.
Even before we played off of each other’s emotions in these playoffs, I’m already in the right state of mind fit for an empire…that I’ve built like the Jefferson Starship, but instead of rock and roll I have built this city on a sea of tears and toil collected through the years I’ve spent looking for her. Then the years it’s taken her to notice me…then the infinity it’s going to take us to get together. All in the hopes that she will sit beside me as the Queen of Hearts...my heart. Then I can be the King like the Sacramento team when they had Webber and Stojakovic.

She’s a lockdown defender, able to negate every attempt I’ve ever made to catch her eye or ask her out to dinner and a movie. Don’t ask me how she did it…but she’s got my heart locked and cuffed to her wrist. Now that’s what you call a cardiac arrest. With no more timeouts left, I have no choice but to accept the penalty..unable to challenge the decision she has made with the aid of her coaching staff, a.k.a. her friends. Neither can I plan an offensive and change her opinion, because her parents have created that for her.

The whistle’s blown, now the flag’s on the ground and the official’s made it official, that me and her will never be official. So the game is done, the dynasty will never happen and I’m about to retire without ever setting foot on the court…fielding postgame questions during the interview they ask why I chose to give up. And I state the sad facts…
In 35 attempts I’ve come close to a completion only twice and those two were free throws willingly placed in my lap but taken away by the smug hand of fate because I chose to ignore what was right in front of me the whole time. Too late in the game did I choose to get serious and with all the fouls I committed in those crucial months, I have clearly fouled out in trying to sign my MVP onto my future dynasty. And that’s why…I don’t play games.