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.