November 5, 1955!
In 1992 I was in the Cub Scouts. I don't really know why I joined in the first place, but I think it had something to do with wanting to learn how to tie an awesome knot. That, and the book that they give to kids to sell them on all the amazing things you'll do in the scouts is pretty good—it definitely piques the interest of a 3rd or 4th grader. The Pinewood Derby, Cub Country and other seemingly spectacular things were all laid out and mine for the taking. I talked my parents into it and they signed me up.
I went through the motions for a few years—earning all the requisite badges for the meaningless busy work that didn't really teach me anything I'd ever use in the long run. I got the Bobcat, the Wolf and the Bear badge and they were all sewn on to my navy blue shirt that I wore with mock pride every week. There were a couple of interesting experiences, though. One of my Scout Masters was a dentist, so for one of our weekly activities he took us to his office and make a plaster cast of our own hand doing the Scout Sign. Mine turned out deformed and a little ghoulish actually. I guess that could act as a metaphor for my entire experience with the scouts, but that's a little deeper than I want to get here.
That, of course, was a complete lie. Wednesday at 7pm was when Beverly Hills 90210 was on, and I'll be damned if I was missing that.
I was far more comfortable learning what harsh realities the privileged rich kids in California were discovering than examining my own faith. I was 12. I had no faith.
I want to write a book.
I want to go on the road with a professional basketball team for an entire year and turn that into a book—Hunter S. Thompson with the Hells Angels or campaign trail style*.
Or do you go with the perennial loser that hasn't been in the post season in years? There are no expectations so all the pressure is off. You may get one or two guys that feel like they should be playing for a winner, but just don't have the supporting cast. Kind of like Ray Allen when he was in Seattle. He's doing everything he can to carry a team, but the rest of them are just happy to be getting paid to play the game.
Ideally, it would start the day that training camp opens and follow the team until the finals were over—regardless of whether they were in the post-season or not. I wonder what it would be like to watch the playoffs with someone like Steve Nash, whose Suns missed the post-season by merely two games. That would make a great chapter, I think.










I've never been to Boston. And to be honest, I don't think I'll ever make it there.



