I got a high-end chef’s knife and a Bill Russell #6 Celtics jersey for Xmas. I will henceforward be known as The Celtic Ripper. Beware!
Click to enrippen.
Category: Basketball
Several things happened today that reminded me how we’re all connected.
First, a poem I wrote ended up on a show I love, The Basketball Jones. The poem was inspired by a line one of the hosts said on the show and I Tweeted him about it. I certainly never expected it would be read on the show. The reading was hilarious, as were the hosts’ comments afterward.
Second, in the comments for that episode of the show, one of the viewers said that in addition to The Basketball Jones, his other favorite show is The Jazz Session. How crazy is that?
Finally, I went to a job counseling meeting yesterday that was part of the requirements for my unemployment benefits. Today I got an email from a guy saying that he was sitting behind me at the session yesterday and that he’s a fan of RocBike.com and follows me on Twitter.
Totally crazy.
3 CommentsAt 11:30 in this clip from The Basketball Jones, you’ll see the strangest thing that has ever happened to me as a poet.
Ep. 629: Trades, Poems, Doodles from The Basketball Jones on Vimeo.
One CommentListen to this poem using the player above.
The title of this poem comes from a surprising place — 3:03 into this episode of The Basketball Jones. Tas Melas says it, and based on J.E. Skeets’ reaction, I think it may be something originally said by Stan Van Gundy. In any case, as soon as Tas yelled the line, I paused the show and wrote the poem. It just about wrote itself. This is not, of course, a poem about basketball. Like much of what I write, it took a turn into Relationshipland.
On a side note, if you’re a basketball fan, The Basketball Jones is a must-see show.
tell the story when the ball is in the air
not after she’s left and the crowd goes home
tell it when he can still be the last-second hero
a hometown Jesus on the shoulders of adoring men
tell the story before she cried, before he made her
tell it while the boy in the nosebleeds
clutches a program to his chest and yells because
this is what men do
tell the story so we can all cheer and buy the jersey
so we can tell the guys at the bar that we were there
tell the story when the ball is in the air
Listen to this poem using the player above.
This is not part of the November poem-a-day thing. I wrote it at the basketball game tonight.
Cheerleader
I am waving.
I am waving.
I am waving.
No one is waving back.