A Reticents Dream...

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Raptor faithfuls delivered big first win

Rose gets act together, Raps snap losing skid

Mourning for the Heat

Zo gets what he deserves: loud boos and a loss in Toronto

Former Purdue coach brings luck to down dinos

In your faces, everyone

With just over a minute remaining in what was to be the Toronto Raptors first win of the 2005-06 season, the Raptor coaches were seen standing on the sidelines, assumedly trying to contain a new emotion that was not only exciting them, but the 17,504 finger-crossed fans as well. The usual shots of Coach Sam Mitchell with head in hands and agonizing looks of frustration as a result of regular woes, were, this time, replaced by images of remembered success. It was a sight to behold to see Jim Todd, Alex Englsih, and Mitchell all on their feet and side-by-side during that last sweet minute of the game, English even letting lose a smile.

Alonzo Mourning, who was slated to become a Raptor last year, coming over from the Nets as part of the Carter ordeal, was fantastically boo'd on several occassions. The Miami big man showed a lot of audacity when he refused to play for the Raptors last year. Mourning, somehow thinking he had deserved the right to freely choose, wanted to play for a contender. I don't feel sorry for any man, despite any ailment, if he cannot conduct himself with some pride and professionalism in his outrageously compensated occupation. Many years ago, as a young basketball fan, Alonzo broke my heart. I had no idea paying to see the man play a game would sour all previous hailings I had for him. He is a true bitch, and it is my pleasure to have he and his contending team be the first to lose to the redeemed Raps. Eat a big one, Zo. You got worked by Araujo and became the desperate dino's first victim.

I have always said that a true fan must stick it out during the tumultuous times, especially if he is to enjoy the spoils of victory. What a strange thing it is to feel so much emotion - enough to verge on tear-shedding - because of such a pleasant obsession. When the Raps eventually won they stirred a growing cauldron of emotions and lifted the proverbial monkey off of their backs. Now, they can walk with the greatness that they have possessed all along. Now, they can justify standing tall.

Perhaps I am getting too excited and too hopeful for the future, but, I see now, all the Toronto Raptors really needed was a second - and absolutely meaningful - pre-season to get their stuff in order. I would, as an opposing team, take a step back and re-assess this team that has had its first, and most dangerous, taste of things to come.

P.S. Leo Rautins, the Heat cannot win with any help from Zo. They could have gone to him all game and the same result would remain. Sure, he would have mixed things up a little and D-Wade would have had fewer points then he did, but no way would Zo have such a large impact. I swear, sometimes you are a complete moron. Besides, the Raps would have stuck Araujo right back in the game to, yes, I will say it, intimidate the big man. Mourning sucks! Raps rule! And you are walking a fine line!

Wednesday Morning, Going Up

What a morning! With the fresh blanket – sheet, perhaps, would be more accurate – of soft snow upon the morning ground came a feeling of renewed vigor. Sure the clouds remained, but the general mood was reflected brighter by the new whiteness that delightfully hid most signs of wet, dirty dreariness. What more could I ask for to start a day? And then, not one, but two very auspicious windfalls – are there inauspicious windfalls?

As I lay awake in bed, letting the new light of day fill my room and senses, I felt never better. That is, until I ruffled through the insulating layers of sheets and down-blankets to find what was the cause of the faint beeps and slight tremors. What a delight to see that name, that number, light up on the small screen.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise.” More appropriate words I could have never spoken.

What a treat it is to possess the respect and care of one’s hero. Not to intimidate the man, but therein lies some truth. A good friend is this hero – first and foremost. Whatever. The man graced the ear of this truant on this, an ever brightening, November morn. I wasn’t ready to talk with him because, as always, I had so many questions to ask – so many, in fact, that I have a long type-written list on the go.

I couldn’t get to the list, but I had a core of questions, the obvious ones, swirling in my head to reach for – picture a contestant in a booth full of swirling dollar bills; that’s my head. Like the attentive friend he is, he even bothered to ask about my life. I spieled and he listened and I interrupted him a million times as I do when I get excited. I’m sure we talked for almost an hour! Reticent – happy to share rarely heard details, as is the new curriculum for Friday lunches with Pops.

Anyway, what a guy. My case is simply this: as I get older I feel more and more blessed, perhaps just realizing a few more truths to it all; this life. Sure, things become harder to swallow as the world reveals more and more of itself, but good things flood my heart in great torrents of love, whether it hurts or not, and they do so in an ever increasing momentum. It’s as though my eyes have opened to the morning light, and, slowly, they have adjusted, revealing more and more as the open wider and wider.

I meant this to be a short, but meaningful, blurb about my morning mood, so I shall call it ‘quits’ here. I am filled with an enthusiasm for life once again and look forward to more of what I was treated to this morning in the near future.

I know I say I understand and all that stuff. It is true, I do, but nevertheless, hearing from you is always a gratifying experience. I think you understand. I know you understand. With growing, heartfelt appreciation, thanks.

I did say two windfalls, didn't I?

Not minutes after I disconnected from my Bush-land buddy another phone call came over the line. A sweeter voice I could not imagine. A voice I don't hear enough. It's unfortunate, but I see the beautiful face of that voice even less. I was delighted to be treated to such kind tones either way. I miss that voice. I miss that face. Things don't always go the way you want, but you work with what you have; that is all you can do.

Thanks to you, too.

Try to write something in the style of spontaneous prose and come up with a forced and contrived effort to get what’s at the very outer limits of the brain - this is wrong. Anytime there is a force involved you lose your position as the leaf giving into the persuasive powers of the flowing river, avoiding the whispers of the wind, and you now have to face yourself for living with the chosen, but unknown, circumstances - this is wrong.

The dirty vibes hit ear and look for immediate exit; a poison chicken - right out the hatch. To continue with such played-out tones, whams, and twangs would to further a public proof of paltriness. I seem to lose myself to alliterations all the time; it seems to be the easy thing to do, after all, it is right there for you to work with, provided you continue on with the chosen victim of the alphabet.

My brain is frozen for the moment. The leaf has come to be immobilized by cold and time and now words are stuck in said predicament. Come spring the drips of warmth will thaw the prison of words into a rushing torrent of wild and fresh and preserved prose of undeniable origins. A flash flood of spontaneity will drench this page; fingers will drip, with glowing buildup, a great moist prose. Then you will know it is real – you will have the toilsome task of finger moving with respect to unknown speeds of which the words will forth with break through the brain dam – hoping to get them all down before they wash away into the foreign nooks and crannies of uncharted grey matter forever.

You see, despite frozen brain or the term of 'writer's block', there should never be a lack of anything to flow from within. Think of nothing and you, indeed, have something. Difficult a task as any nonetheless, but, as with any, practice is the key to it all. Practice opening the brains portals so that they become a garden hose spewing innards; keep the channels to the fingers open as wide as gaping gorges and electricity will shoot forth and, before you know it, will have branded your thoughts onto the pages of experience.