Roy L. Pickering Jr.'s Blog, page 23

The Lottery Ticket - A short story

The Lottery Ticket

By Roy L. Pickering Jr.
Copyright by Roy L. Pickering Jr.







Giving up on relationships used to come easily to me. You see, I didn't believe in wasting time. In most getting-to-know-you type situations I was able to tell within fifteen minutes whether the woman I was kicking it to was worth the effort of further pursuit. Don't get it twisted, I'm not referring to strictly sexual interest. When it came to that, it only took me about five minutes to determine whether a young lady could be sweet talked into my bedroom. By the time I reached my thirty-fifth birthday, however, one night stands had lost much of their appeal. Call it growing up, or perhaps merely diminished enthusiasm over the idea of exclusively physical encounters. I'd had more than my share of fast and furious hook-ups in the past. Their entertainment value was no longer what it used to be. So I began looking for something more substantial. I felt I was at last ready for a courtship with potential. To accomplish my new goal, I developed a sophisticated screening system. I asked the women I met pointed questions that cut straight to the chase. I bypassed small talk and went directly to investigative communication. Since interviewing people is part of what I do to make a living, making the transition from my professional dealings to my personal life was relatively effortless.

The technique I devised served me well. It alienated women who were cautious about baring their soul so soon, which was okay by me, because I wasn't interested in the guarded type. I was perfectly willing to open up right away about who I was, what I dreamt of, what I longed for. If a woman didn't share this in common with me, I didn't give a rewarding relationship with her much chance. Why start up what was destined to finish? When my forthright manner scared a woman off, I figured it was better to ascertain incompatibility right off the bat than taking the slow scenic route to the same disappointing destination.

Plenty of women weren't intimidated by my strong approaches. To the contrary, they found my style refreshingly distinctive. I stood out from the pack of wolves drooling over their every move because I expressed sincere interest in matters other than how to get into their jeans. The fact that I was often the lone wolf with concerns other than sex on the brain had the effect of making me more appealing than I ever imagined I could be. Yet although the candidates were plentiful, I would find each of them lacking in some fundamental way and have to continue my search. I was frequently told that I was being too picky. But how can one's criteria be too exclusionary when it comes to selecting a life partner? I wanted it all because I felt I deserved it all. To see it any other way would have been a disservice to myself.

Beauty lies everywhere, particularly in this sleepless city of super sized dreams that I reside in. So it could only serve as a portion of the equation, of no lesser or greater value than the others. I also sought intelligence, and compassion, and sensuality, and spirituality, and confidence, and independence, and humor, and ambition, and humility, and tenderness. Like I said, I wanted it all. Within fifteen minutes, give or take a few, I was able to calculate how much of these qualities a woman had to offer. Far more often than not, a lovely and pleasant woman would fail to adequately stimulate my interest. This left me with nothing to do but cut the conversation and my losses short. No hard feelings, at least not on my part. Every minute spent with someone I had ruled out of contention was one that could be better utilized by moving on to someone new. I knew the right girl for me was out there. I just had to keep plucking strands of hay from the stack until my needle was unearthed.

"You look at honies the way you look at your lottery tickets," my best friend Terrell would say every now and again. "How much money have you squandered on the pipe dream of getting rich in one quick strike? Twice a week every week for how long has it been now?"

"Over fifteen years."

"Fifteen years." Terrell shook his head, one twist to the left, one to the right, then back to the left again. I had seen the gesture of exasperation from him countless times, most often when somebody on the Knicks had missed a late game jumper. "Do you have any idea how much money that adds up to?"

"Actually yes, I have done the math. Not nearly enough to make me anywhere near wealthy. But it's a chunk of change I wouldn't refuse if you offered it to me."

"You could have been putting that money into a retirement account, or investing it, or putting it into a savings account and earning interest." Terrell paid his bills by advising people on what to do with their money, so I understood that when it came to delivering such lectures, he couldn't help himself. "Hell, you could have been putting all of those dollar bills under your mattress and sleeping lopsided but soundly. But to just squander it. What kind of sense does that make?"

"The law of averages will work to my advantage sooner or later," was the line of logic I typically employed as rebuttal. "I play the same six numbers every time. Eventually they'll hit. It's inevitable. I've had some pretty close calls. The day I stop playing those numbers is the day they'll come up."

"Close calls and two bucks will get you a subway ride around the city, Dale."

"Well, I do love to travel."

Terrell would shake his head again, then concede that it was my inalienable right to spend or throw my money away however and wherever I saw fit. "Wasting money is one thing," he'd conclude. "But throwing away the opportunities you've had to be with so many fine women truly boggles the mind."

"I know who I want," I would explain for the tenth, or fiftieth, or hundredth time. "It's just a matter of finding her, whoever she is. And I know I will find her. I just have to be patient, and persistent, and steadfast."

"And knuckleheaded."

We would laugh and then move on to other subjects, such as the exploits of our favorite sports teams; workplace accomplishments and frustrations; the latest achievements by Terrell's ridiculously bright daughter, Briana; the most recent acts of mischief by his precocious son, Stephon; or the latest committee joined by his beautiful activist wife, Anita. Terrell had found what he was looking for in life. My own expedition was still ongoing.

Six months ago, Terrell and I were sipping after work cocktails at a trendy midtown bar that was owned by the latest rags to riches rap star who had come to dominate the music charts by rhyming about the women he'd laid and the enemies he had conquered. As usual, I thoroughly scoped the place out to see who most piqued my interest that night. Fortuitously enough, she happened to be standing directly to my right hand side. I introduced myself. Five minutes of conversation passed in a heartbeat and the intrigue remained. After fifteen minutes I was charmed by all I had learned about Heather and anxious to know more. Three hours later, Terrell long departed by then, Heather told me that since the next day was a workday, it was time for her to head home.

"Can I get your phone number?" I asked, full of hope that this could lead to something extraordinary.

"Only if I can have yours in return."

"You have yourself a deal, Heather."

She gave me her business card, but I didn't have one of my own handy. I looked through my wallet for a scrap of paper that could be spared. Two lottery tickets turned up. One had been purchased the prior weekend and I already knew it to be a loser, but had neglected to throw it away. The second had been purchased earlier that day. I squinted in the dull neon lighting of the bar to determine which ticket was the worthless one that I could write my phone number on. That's when my cell phone rang.

"Yep, I'm still here. Yeah, she's right next to me. Let me call you back in a bit, Terrell. Later, partner."

I gave the paper I had written my phone number on to Heather. Her cute shy friend Lisa, who had remained in the bar for much longer than she cared to while Heather and I were getting to know each other, was a tad irritable by that point and now had one foot literally out the door.

"Heather, are you coming?"

"I'll give you a call," I said.

"Until then, I guess."

"Until then." The mirror behind the bar reflected the goofy grin I was unable to wipe from my face. I liked this girl and was curious to see how much more I might come to like her.

There were unfortunate instances when my screening system would fail. On these occasions, a woman who at first seemed to be a perfect match for me would prove herself within a date or two to be anything but. The woman who had visually and intellectually seduced me on first meeting would turn out to be a mirage. In a one-on-one setting over a candle lit dinner, her considerable flaws would come to harsh light and I would realize that I had been duped. Better late than never to discover my mistake, it was easy enough to avoid compounding the error of my initial poor judgment. No point in getting into deeper water when the sensible plan of action was swimming to shore. A kiss on the cheek at the end of such an evening would effectively nip the acquaintance in the bud.

I took Heather out to dinner on a Saturday night, two days after we first met. High expectations had been set. They would not be met. Instead, every twist and turn of our conversation led to disappointment.

"This is a tough menu for me to choose from. I'm a vegetarian."

"Is that right?" I asked, fully intending to order a rib eye steak, medium rare.

"It isn't just for humane reasons, though that's certainly a major factor. I don't think people are careful enough about what they put into their bodies. Monitoring your cholesterol level is a very serious issue. I won't even get into mad cow disease, but trust me, it's only a matter of time before those diseased animals make it into our restaurants and supermarkets."

"Until they come up with mad broccoli disease, I guess you should be safe."

My humor changed the subject, not that it succeeded in producing laughter or even a smile, but subsequent topics were not improvements.

"Did you see the stunt pulled by Britney, Beyonce, Pink, and Cher the other day? When will these beautiful young women, and Cher, stop exploiting their bodies for shock value? They're sending the message to young girls that being intelligent and talented isn't enough for a woman. The only way they can keep our attention is by showing us what their mothers and plastic surgeons gave them."

I knew better than to confess that I had been rather entertained by the award show grind session she was referring to. It was clear enough that this would stir up feminist issues for Heather to rant about. No matter what I said, even if I agreed with her ninety nine percent, I strongly suspected that the one percent of dissent would cause me to be branded as a male chauvinist pig.

"I haven't caught much TV lately," served for what I thought was a safe reply. "Too many reality TV programs and award shows for my taste. I pretty much watch TV for just news and sports. The Jets let me down this year, but I think my Knicks will go far."

"I loathe sports. They turn men into zombies transfixed by a bunch of millionaires running around with a ball. If I want to see people sweat on television, I'd much prefer to watch Survivor. Or Fear Factor. Or American Idol. Or any of those shows. I must confess that I find them all very addicting."

It had become blatantly evident that we were nowhere close to being on the same wavelength. I was amazed that she had managed to give all of the right answers during our first conversation, yet was now giving nothing but wrong ones. Clearly I needed to do some tinkering with my screening process to make it cover a broader range of subject matter. I had eaten a light lunch the day I first met Heather and thought we vibed so well. Perhaps the alcohol later consumed made me less clear headed than I'd thought I was. I promised myself to drink glasses of water in between stiffer beverages in the future.

"My friend Lisa who was with me when we met teases me all the time about my reality TV obsession. But the way I figure, those shows are a pleasant diversion from news about the unnecessary war that our undeserving President forced us into."

I definitely knew better than to go there. Talking politics on a first date is never a good idea, even if you intend it to also be your last date with the person. Suffice it to say that Heather and I were of differing opinions on the president's use of military force. My physical attraction to Heather had not subsided. To the contrary, she was even prettier on second sighting. She possessed many other admirable qualities as well. Heather was a wonderful woman for some lucky guy to find. But I would be taking a pass on being that guy. If I had any uncertainty about this, it went away when she informed me that she would be popping outside between dinner and dessert to satisfy her cigarette craving. I was not amused by the hypocrisy of her chiding me for the food I put into my body while she insisted on inhaling tobacco into her own. And very few things were as much of a turn off for me as kissing a woman with cigarette breath. So I hurried the date along to its conclusion, escorted her home, then turned away from her doorway, certain that by design I would never see Heather again.

When I arrived home that night, I fed my cat Charlemagne to whom I now knew Heather would be allergic, sorted through my mail, then turned on my computer and went online. After reading a few emails, sending out a couple, and deleting several that promised to help decrease my debt and increase my girth, I went to the state lottery website to see what the day's winning numbers were. That's when my jaw dropped and my life changed.

2-9-17-25-48-53. There they were on my computer screen, the sweetest digits I had ever seen. I'd been playing them twice a week, fifty two weeks per year, for the last fifteen plus years. Now at long last they had hit. Either I was the co-winner, or better yet, the sole winner of sixty-two million dollars! Not capable of caring less about the annoyance of my extremely sound sensitive upstairs neighbor, I shouted for joy. Tears were shed and a victory dance was performed as visions of my future appearance on MTV Cribs, pointing out the best features of my tricked out mansion, went racing through my giddy head.

Eventually I stopped hooting and hollering, and my upstairs neighbor stopped pounding on his floor / my ceiling. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then pulled out my wallet and removed the lottery ticket within it. I gazed lovingly at the six printed numbers that matched those on the computer screen. Would I purchase a Hummer and then a Bentley, or the other way around? The dilemmas of the rich and ecstatic. Then my celebratory mood abruptly ended.

"What the hell?"

The date on my ticket was wrong. It belonged to Wednesday, three days earlier, when another six numbers entirely had been drawn. This ticket was an expired loser. What I needed was the one I had bought on Thursday for the Saturday drawing. I glanced through my wallet again, but there was no sign of another lottery ticket. Slower and closer examination of my wallet and its emptied contents produced nothing but frustration.

I was no stranger to the concept of misplacing useful or valuable items. If given a nickel for every time my remote control went temporarily missing, winning the lottery would not have been necessary to make me a wealthy man. My keys went AWOL at least twice a week. My sunglasses, my watch, and various other paraphernalia often played an annoying game of hide and seek with me as well. Some people would no doubt label me scatterbrained, but I'd read once that such behavior was a sign of genius, and that sounded much better. I had never misplaced a lottery ticket before, but there was a first time for everything. So I prepared to play the role of bloodhound and go rooting through every square inch of my apartment.

"Charlemagne, by any chance have you seen a little piece of paper with numbers on it lying around? You didn't eat it, did you?"

My overweight feline responded with his patented blank stare before smugly turning his back on me. You'd think that providing food, shelter, and a clean litter box would earn a modicum of gratitude, but you would be wrong. I began my search by turning up sofa cushions, because my sofa had an uncanny ability to swallow whole any possession smaller than a microwave oven. That thought reminded me of another good place to look. I'd once found one my cufflinks in the refrigerator. Its partner was later found ensconced in my bed sheets. My apartment often felt too small and I was planning to look for a larger place when the lease ran out. At moments like this one however, the enormity of space to comb felt overwhelming.

"Come on, Charlie. Just give me a hint and I'll buy you a bunch of new stuff to scratch and shed on."

The rotund furball again refused to give me a meow of acknowledgment. I got down on my knees to look beneath the sofa. I found that I needed to do some serious dusting under there. And then it suddenly came to me. My memory brought back the scene with razor sharp detail. I now knew precisely where the ticket was. I had mistakenly written on the back of it and given my fortune away to Heather.

Apparently my evaluation of our date needed to be revised. Turns out we would definitely have to go out again. After all, my luxury cars, gargantuan residence, and the yacht I intended to throw phenomenal celebrity attended parties aboard would not be paying for themselves. I had to get that ticket back. Problem was, I couldn't just point blank ask for it. Heather was no fool. She would suspect that I had a damn good reason for wanting it, soon discover that she held a winning lottery ticket in her possession, and proceed to cash in my destiny. She probably would not figure out on her own that she was sitting on a gold mine. Only if I foolishly tipped her off. I needed to somehow find where she had put the ticket and secretly return it to its rightful owner. Despite the clear signals I had given towards the end of our first date that she really wasn't my type, I would now need to convince her that I'd had a change of heart. And so our great love affair unfolded, with no less romantic a start than that of Romeo and Juliet, Rhett and Scarlet, or John and Lorena Bobbitt.

"I can't believe you never told me that's why you got involved with Heather," Terrell would say to me nine months later.

"It wasn't my proudest hour," I admitted. "I was considerably paranoid about the whole business. And I didn't think it would take so long to be done with. I figured we would go out a few times, she'd eventually invite me over to her place, and I would casually manage to get her to reveal where the ticket was. But it turned out to be a lot trickier than that to manage, and to take a whole lot longer than I had imagined."

"Your tie is crooked, Dale. You don't want to look like a slob today. Too many eyes will be on you, waiting to see if you chicken out."

"Not a chance of that. I'd be crazy not to marry that woman. She's the best thing by far ever to happen to me. And as gorgeous as I know she'll look in her wedding dress, I'm pretty sure she'll get most of the attention. I do look damn good in this tux, though. You're looking rather sharp yourself, Terrell."

"Thank you. As your best man, I figure it's my duty to be as least as suave as Superfly."

"I can't believe you're still insisting after all these years that he's cooler than Shaft."

"By far. So you aren't nervous at all, Dale?"

"Just the opposite. I can hardly wait to make it official."

I was charming as could be on my second date with Heather, while she continued to be equally irritating. The more I learned about her, the less appealing she grew. So it took some effort to convince her that I wanted to pursue a relationship. After awhile it took
considerable effort to convince myself that the prize was worth the hassle of the chase. But I would remind myself of the dollar value of the prize, and that would give me the motivation to soldier on.

It was not my intention to hurt Heather. The last thing I wanted was for her to grow attached to me, knowing that I planned to bail the moment I had obtained what I wanted. I didn't see myself as some sort of playboy, con artist, or money minded lothario. I simply felt that I deserved to get back my lottery ticket and reap the benefits I'd been contributing towards for a decade and a half. A horrible mistake had placed the ticket out of my possession. I needed to fix that mistake expeditiously so Heather and I could both return to our true destinies. Hers was to be a cigarette smoking vegetarian feminist. Mine was to be filthy rich.

Nine months later I stand beside the woman I love, our friends and families looking on. I've just been asked if I wish to take her as my wife. Of course I do, and so I say as much. The past several months leading up to this moment have been a chaotic blur, but now all is calm, and right, and good. Fate has blessed me. I glance over towards my best man and best friend. Terrell's smile beams back at me. We've been through a great deal together, being friends since junior high school. A lot of good times have transpired in the intervening years. This one ranks right up there at the top. There's no more denying it, even if we wanted to. We're all grown up now. We're grown men with a couple of amazing women by our sides.

I clasp hands with my brand new bride as we head down the church aisle together.

"I love you so much," she whispers into my ear as the camera flashes dance about us.

"I love you too, Lisa."

It's funny how life works out sometimes. If Terrell's phone call had not distracted me while I was trying to make out in dim lighting which piece of paper to write my phone number on, I never would have given Heather the wrong lottery ticket. Without doing that, I would not have bothered to see her beyond our first date. After two months of trying somewhat comically to get the ticket back without revealing my objective, I finally gave up and simply asked her if she still had it. When she requested the reason for my query, I admitted that it was a winner and offered to split the money with her. But unfortunately, there was nothing to split. Heather had copied my phone number into her address book on the night we first met, after which she discarded of the ticket. I had considered that she might have done this, so although I was disappointed, it wasn't especially difficult to accept that I would not become a millionaire. It was actually relief that I felt, because at least there was no longer reason to continue with my masquerade. I did not wish to date Heather any longer, and I told her so. I said that I wished her well, but my heart wasn't in our relationship because it had been claimed by someone else. Then came my next big confession. While pretending to be Heather's boyfriend, I had fallen hard for her best friend Lisa.

I didn't get my mansion, or yacht, or fleet of luxury cars. No fifteen minutes of fame on MTV. Instead, I found a woman to spend the rest of my life with. Not a bad tradeoff. Lisa and I are very happy. Our wedding was a beautiful affair. Regrettably, her friend Heather was unable to attend. I think she's trying to avoid me. It isn't that she was devastated by our break up, or by finding out why I had been dating her to begin with. It turns out that she left New York a couple months ago and promptly bought a huge house in California. A wealthy relative passed away and left a substantial amount of money behind as Heather's inheritance. That's what she claimed anyway. I suspect otherwise, but I'm not complaining. The way I see it, Heather found her winning lottery ticket, and I found mine.

What's Race Got To Do - Got To Do With It

Due to the nature of this blog I never know what I'll be writing about next. Zero advance preparation is put into topics of discussion as my posts are nearly always a reaction to something interesting going on in the world, my personal take whenever I feel the urge to contribute to the narrative. I did not think there was much chance I'd be writing about Casey Anthony because I had paid insufficient attention to the matter as it unfolded. On my way up the TV dial to obtain daily intake of political postering I frequently passed by Nancy Grace's show. Every so often I'd pause, just long enough to gather that the case centered on a woman who had been photographed partying perhaps a bit too hard, although countless similar shots can be found on Facebook serving as profile pictures. From this I gathered Nancy and most likely the prosecutor as well was aiming to prove Casey was an unfit mother. Plenty of unfit parents do not resort to murder of course, but certainly this non June Cleaver type behavior was being displayed to indicate Casey had her own interests at heart over those of her child.


I noticed from the number and frequency of comments on Facebook and Twitter that many people were following the trial with voyeuristic fascination. The consensus appeared to be that the majority believed Casey to be guilty and wanted her to pay dearly. I was unable to tell from these glimpses if the defense or the prosecution was doing a better job of proving its case beyond doubt, but most people outside the jury box were inclined to believe the prosecutor.



When the Not Guilty verdicts were read aloud I fully expected the mass outcry to follow. Far more surprising to me were the various comments about race being a factor, though in hindsight I suppose they should have been anticipated as well. Throughout the trial I don't believe I saw a single statement about racist motivation pertaining to the case. From what I could tell the various participants in this particular tragedy were white. I learned when the verdict was pronounced that the judge was black, but so what? The chatter was not about a display of bias on his part. I began to ask in earnest on Twitter - What's race got to do with it? One person basically replied - Oh, you know. No, I really didn't. I was sincerely clueless, though perhaps in hindsight I should have anticipated the reaction. But at that moment I legitimately wanted to know who the heck had behaved in a racist manner towards who in this matter, and why was it not remarked upon until a verdict was rendered.



Soon enough I got my answer. The verdict was supposedly racist because a white person who most (and that would include other white people) believed to be guilty of a crime was acquitted. White privilege on full display. Had Casey been black she would've gotten the chair. Never mind that the alleged victim was a white child. People started bringing up the OJ Simpson verdict even though it in no way bolstered their argument about racism in effect. Both cases illustrate that a person of any race can get away with killing white adults and children if they have good enough lawyers. Also possibly if the evidence against them is insufficient of if they happen to truly be not guilty, which isn't quite the same thing as being innocent, but in a court of law it's close enough.



When people began bringing up Michael Vick and Plaxico Burress I grew increasingly baffled. Other than also being high profile legal cases, what was the connection, what point did they prove exactly? That black people not named OJ are always found guilty and whites are always set free? That's a pretty easy theory to disprove, isn't it? The names of Oscar Grant as well as Aiyanna Jones, another little girl lost, also surfaced with tenuous connections made to the Casey Anthony trial. One name that did not come up was Derrion Albert - yet another somber cautionary tale.



Do I believe too many black people are doing jail time for drug related crimes because it's the most convenient way to attempt escape from a cycle of poverty? Yes, I do. Do I believe there have been many cases of racial profiling (most of which don't make the news) by police officers? Yes I do, even though I also appreciate how difficult a job cops have and recognize that for the most part they are the good guys on our side. But do I believe the judicial system is set up exclusively to screw over black people and simply make a few whites a little nervous before sending them back home? That's preposterous, no? Yet that is what many seem to believe.



It's one thing to acknowledge that racism by certain whites against blacks in general exists, another to point at every single perceived injustice as proof of racism at work. Here's what I've learned about life. 1) Some things are my own damn fault. If I want a better result I need to step up my game. 2) In certain cases as Howard Jones told us - No one is to blame. Another name for this phenomenon is Shit Happens. 3) Sometimes someone in particular will not give me a fair shake, not on account of race but because they're a jerk or perhaps believe (falsely of course) that I'm a jerk. Bias may not be fair at times, but nor is it always race based. 4) In the remainder of instances perhaps the way I've been treated has been a direct result of my personal ratio of coffee to milk.



The line between well warranted cynicism and self-pity party delusion isn't all that thin - Is it?



I echoed these sentiments on Twitter in abbreviated form and the most tangible result I noticed was a handful of lost followers. Shame on them for having such a narrow minded perspective. They will not be missed. And here I am once again willing to rub people the wrong way rather than nodding in agreement with folly and trying to sell books. Must be a reason for it.



REST IN PEACE, Caylee Anthony - child of God.

Black Versus Really Black

This week President Obama did not exactly have compliments heaped upon him. Mark Halperin, editor-at-large for Time magazine referred to him as "kind of a dick" on a talk show and Republican presidential hopeful Herman Cain declared that Obama isn't "really black". Not as really black as Herman Cain feels himself to be anyway. I've discussed my feelings here before [example #1 - example #2] about labeling an African American "less black" than others due to one idiotic set of criteria or another so no need to go down that road again. People of other ethnicities have no idea how lucky they have it not needing to address matter this time and time again. The issue happens to be a central one examined in my novel Patches of Grey (latest review of it can be found here) so while I can always come up with more points to make on the subject, I'd rather not beat a dead horse (what an awful expression). Instead I present the images below and leave it up to you to choose which of these gentlemen fits the bill of legitimate strong black man, and which ones are merely pretenders to the ambiguous throne.

Down goes Lebron - Down goes LeBron

My tweeted thoughts (with a few from other folks on Twitter sprinkled in as well) on defeat of the Miami Heat's Big 3 ("led" by a prematurely crowned king) at the hands of the class act Dallas Mavericks. Proof positive that teams beat collections.




RT @KingJames Now or Never!!


Great players have been prevented from becoming champions before. Ewing, Barkley, Malone, Iverson, the list goes on and on. But they shared a trait. When those guys got to the Finals they went for it with everything they had in them, left it all in the court. Left in defeat but not shame. Can you honestly say that about LeBron's performance in the Finals this year, particularly in Now or Never quarter #4.





Champs know how to close the show. Snatch spotlight & force other guys to be spectators to their greatness. LeBron is a near perfect hybrid of Magic Johnson & Michael Jordan physically. But at do or die time he was neither magical nor like Mike.






Being in spotlight voluntarily means you take the good with the bad. THE DECISION was choosing to shine spotlight on spotlight, so if LeBron and his fans don't like the negativity headed his way, there's only one person to blame and it isn't the media or "haters".






The last pro athletes to be as despised as LeBron is (at least for the moment) were probably George Foreman & Joe Frazier because Muhammad Ali was a master of spin control. Lebron's the opposite.






Ali got people to hate his opponents. Neat trick. LeBron got people to hate HIM. Only useful if you WANT to be the bad guy, feed off it. I don't believe that's truly what LeBron wants or what he feeds off of.





Before Ali was beloved he was often perceived as the "bad guy" in the ring. He thrived regardless of whether you loved or hated him. It will be interesting to see if LeBron's game is affected at all by his popularity level going forward.





Good thing for Miami that Dirk's feelings were hurt by LeBron/Wade mocking, causing him to hoist bricks for much of final game of series, otherwise Mavs win it by 20+. Congrats to the Dallas Mavericks, new NBA champions.




Of course Dirk got his in the 4th. You know why? Cause that's what champions do. Take note, LeBron.



Maybe now Dirk starts getting long overdue credit. The dude shoots 3's like Reggie Miller, crazy handle, fall back Js at ridiculous angles, solid post game, all of this at 7 feet tall. Incredible!



With all due respect, those who thought Miami would win are those who get all caught up in highlight reel dunks rather than fundamental basketball.



Once Dallas manhandled the Lakers, who were a damn good team that very possibly beat the Heat as well, it was clear that this was the Mavs year.



Never anoint yourself KING prior to having a throne. So let it be written. So let it be done.



Mavericks may have had just 1 championship run in them. Heat are just starting. But so are Bulls and Knicks. East is up for grabs.



Good point. Franchise already celebrated. They just didn't realize they were partying for less than they thought. RT @tclarkusa Heat fans, don't be mad at LeBron think back to huge parade you had when you 1st got him.





Did you see the number of blue jerseys in arena during game 6, supposedly a home game for Miami? If any NBA franchise does not deserve another championship, it's the no real fan base Heat.




Reporters in press conference tried so hard to get Spoelstra to blame LeBron. He wouldn't crack, unlike LeBron.



Heat were nowhere near more talented than Mavericks. Just WAY more hyped is all.




I'm certain Dirk left court after win to gather himself emotionally, not to diss James & Wade. Great series. Great storylines. Great #NBA season.



I don't in any way see Spoelstra taking the fall and getting fired unless there's tape of him telling LeBron to wilt under pressure. How do you get fired for leading a team all the way to the Finals, even if the young man is viewed by his bosses more as a caretaker than coach?



I plan to be happy for a couple months over the Heat loss, then will get back to my own little life. Thx for the advice, LeBron.



God did not want LeBron to win a ring this year, proved it by inventing the 4th quarter



Time for the "I know I repeatedly said Heat would win easy, but always knew they'd get smoked" tweets.



Nice to see both communist Russia and the Heat fall in my lifetime. #TakingItTooFar :-)



Heat fan nation is not based in Miami. Spread across nation in hearts of guys & dolls who drunk the LeBron Kool Aid.



"There are NO SHORTCUTS. NONE." - Dan Gilbert



RT @mcuban how amazing was it that dirk, brian cardinal and ian mahini planned to all sign with the Mavs this summer !! #big3 #makingithappen



RT @DanLevyThinks Pat Riley? RT @clintonyates: Awwwwkwwarrrd. —> RT @KingJames The Greater Man upstairs know when it's my time. Right now isn't the time.



LOL RT @Unsilent: I hated LeBron before hating LeBron went all mainstream. #hatehatehate



How many shots did Dirk take & make in 4th quarter after starting game 1of 12 shooting? How about LeBron who started off hot? #TaleOfTheTape



LeBron has proven to be a master of one thing. Taking a bad situation and making it exponentially worse.



Was result of NBA Finals caused by what Mavs did or what Heat (particularly you know who) didn't do? Some of both IMO, mainly Mavs performance.



Most fluffy trending topics on Twitter bore me after an hour or so. LeBron's downfall is an exception, doesn't even require a hashtag.



Tweets defending LeBron are particularly entertaining. Most start "Not to defend LeBron but..." No need to finish such a sentence.


I still can't believe those intense pre-game pep talks by LeBron didn't work. "We should go out and win, man. Or not. Either way I'm rich." LeBron James gives Ray Lewis-esque pep talks, if Ray had a lobotomy that is.



LeBron should get this picture as a tattoo. If it doesn't inspire him to greatness, nothing will. twitpic.com/5b0yo5






When I tweeted & blogged about Pippen's remarks, stating LeBron belongs nowhere near Greatest Of All Time discussion, some guy bombarded me with video clips that were supposed to prove how fantastic LeBron truly is. Wonder where that guy is now. He's been curiously silent.


Here's my G.O.A.T. blog posting: http://bit.ly/lBXZL2




And here are my thoughts on LeBron leading up to his DECISION: http://bit.ly/9inkWn






When I first started going in on LeBron after The Decision, I freely admit much of the anger stemmed from my hopes he'd land on the #Knicks



I know fellow #Knicks fans felt as I did. Obviously fans in Cleveland were enraged. Hopeful fans in a couple other cities also upset...



But reading Twitter over last few weeks and most especially today, DAMN, it's clear a lot of folks from all over the country don't like that supposedly royal dude. It isn't just spurned fans that he rubbed the wrong way.


This twitter name says it all - @LaughAtLeBron



I get why people don't like LeBron. Seems very arrogant & his DECISION really felt like it went against competitive spirit of the game



I think people who used to admire LeBron when he played in Cleveland turned on him because great players lead. Going to South Beach was following. Point blank



As for those who defend LeBron, they're entitled, but I've yet to see a single compelling reason to do so except maybe pity.



After the tone and content of his comments in that post game press conference, I don't have it in me to sympathize/empathize with LeBron. Showed zero humility



I lost respect for Wade along with LeBron on account of that coughing mimicry nonsense. Dirk as a 13 year vet deserves respect. But at least Wade played hard throughout series. What did LeBron do? Have you ever had a deer in your headlights? Then you know what LeBron did in the Finals.



Playing poorly is not a sin. Playing scared is not a sin. Continuing to be an arrogant jerk while playing poorly & scared? Makes you soft IMO


I am convinced now that LeBron made the right DECISION by picking Heat over Knicks. Pressure of New York would have CRUSHED him.



I'm no hypocrite though. I'd take LeBron in a heartbeat if the #Knicks could acquire him for a bucket of KFC with extra large Coke



But even on #Knicks, LeBron would have to carry Landry Fields bags for at least a month before I started cutting him some slack.



I seriously thought I was hearing things when LeBron made that "go back to their lives" comment. I may have literally said "Oh no he didn't!" A Hollywood scriptwriter could not have come up with a better line to make it clear LeBron was the villain of this story.



Barkley spit at a fan; Rodman kicked cameraman; Artest ran into stands to fight fan; many NBA sucker punches. But LeBron REALLY messed up



Tiger Woods gave lamest public apology ever but was still smart enuf not to say "now go back to your sad sexless lives"



If LeBron defends Jason Terry a fraction as hard as his die hard fans defend him, Heat sweep. Nah. Simply means it takes Mavericks 7 games rather than 6 to get their rings.



Regarding his obnoxious press conference statments, he's been taking questions since high school. LeBron doesn't blurt things out at this stage of the game, he says what he means and either hopes it goes over okay or simply doesn't care.





LeBron seemed very mature for his age coming out of high school. He has since stood still at best, possibly regressed


Poor, deluded Shawn. Our educational system is failing today's youth. lol http://tinyurl.com/3r3mgda




Blame Michael Jordan - http://bit.ly/mK5N7L




@WhitlockJason piles on http://on-msn.com/l782Ut


Another good article about LeBron - http://es.pn/kbHWyF

G.O.A.T.?

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My tweetstream went crazy today after Scottie Pippen seemingly stated in an interview that he considered LeBron James rather than his old running mate Michael Jordan to be the Greatest Of All Time. Even prior to Pip's clarification, many felt he made a valid point. MJ loyalists lost their minds of course. As for me, one who admires both Michael's and LeBron's games while viewing them mostly as the enemy throughout their respective careers, below is what I had to say one tweet at a time.



What has Pippen been sippin?


Technically the NBA GOAT discussion should begin & end with Bill Russell. I don't see anybody putting their achievements up against his.


Kareem weighs in on GOAT question. "Jordan, Kobe, LeBron, Magic, etc. can all go F themselves & then build me my damn statue!"


To which Karl Malone added "The guy who scored more points than me during NBA career is the best of all time."


Let me settle this GOAT debate once & for all. There have been many NBA princes, only one true KING. Bernard




If you HAVE to pick a guy to be GOAT, with various variables and intangibles thrown into equation, the greatest player ever (i.e. most complete skill set) is probaby Oscar Robertson


If LeBron had played under 90's rules of allowable physicality, he'd be lesser than what we know him to be. If MJ had had today's offensive freedom, he'd have been even greater.


Ultimately you need to see full range of player's career to make an informed judgment. Right now MAYBE you can compare Jordan and James peak to peak


Mr. Bryant was not mentioned by Pippen but surely cannot be excluded from this conversation. I'm waiting to see how Kobe adapts over the next couple years with much less lift to work with. Then I'll compare him to Michael Jordan who smoothly transitioned from a sky high player to one who excelled from closer to the ground. I'm not even thinking of LeBron as a GOAT candidate yet. He's a work in progress, or at least his career is still progressing even if his skill set is now as good as it will ever be. LeBron, who entered the league with unparalleled fanfare, may or may not eclipse all who came before him.


RT @ScottiePippen (the guy who got this mess started when many indeed did get him wrong) Don't get me wrong, MJ was and is the greatest. But LeBron could by all means get to his level someday.


Forget GOAT. I'm not even convinced LeBron is better than Carmelo Anthony. And I'm not just saying this because Melo is on the Knicks now. This opinion was formed when he played for the Nuggets, which is why I was in favor of giving up the farm for him.


What remains beyond question is that Michael Jordan to this day is the best marketed athlete of all time. Everything fell into place for him.


MJ's advisers told him do a sneaker line, commercials with Spike Lee, cartoon movie to reach the next generation of consumers. Lebron's advisers suggested THE DECISION. So clearly there's no argument about which phenomenal athlete had the better off court team.


LeBron would've won titles if he replaced MJ on 90's Bulls. I assume this can be shown by simulating it on a variety of video game systems. MJ probably doesn't win titles with 2000's Cavs, even more of a 1-man team than Derrick Rose's Bulls. MJ maybe leaves Cleveland as LeBron did, but surely not to join a guy like D-Wade who legitimately stakes his own claim to considered the best in the league at this time.


Much as this Knicks fan hated MJ back in the day, I decided he was GOAT when Ewing went out to double him so MJ dished to Bill Wennington for game winning dunk. I'm referring of course to Jordan's 55 point game in his return to Madison Square Garden after coming back to league from mini-retirement. The lack of ego display by a most egotistical individual and the determination to win by any means necessary impressed me more than most of his game winning shots.


A big part of what makes a guy considered GOAT is singlular moments. Wilt's 100, Kobe's 81, MJ's 55 in MSG comeback. What is LeBron's signature? I'd say despite many incredible games that he's still in search of one.

Archived thoughts on the matter:
Piece written about LeBron shortly before he joined NBA - The Art of Being Michael Jordan

Sugar and Spice and Sports Fanatics

When you grow up fantasizing about pro sports stardom (which I still do all the time, btw), it deeply invests you in fandom. You're living vicariously
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Most women don't come to sports fandom through quite the same route. Rarely envisioned themselves as pro QB for obvious reason
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So illogically or not, due to his boyhood daydreams a sexist dude will conclude his sports fandom is far more legitimate than that of any woman
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Does this mindset extend to women who are pro sports journalists and broadcasters and commentators? Yep, no doubt. Especially when they're easy on the eyes
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Not that these guys don't recognize a place for women in the testosterone fueled world of sports. That place would be on the sidelines and those women are called cheerleaders
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And as Penny Marshall taught us, women less interested in the condition of their nail polish than their sisters in estrogen do have leagues of their own. But the female fans of which I speak are not those drawn to the WNBA. I'm talking about those who root for sports played at the most elite level, and that means watching the guys
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There are men who will never truly accept/acknowledge the existence of women who live for highlight reels and walk off victories and knockout punches and thunderous dunks and bone crunching tackles and recitation of stats from memory as much as them
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But these need dudes to get over themselves and realize they now have more things to talk to more women about than ever before.
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Current stream of thought reminds me of a day when I was playing 2-hand touch with my crew as a kid and this girl wanted to play with us
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She ended up having an amazing game, not because she was so athletic, but because we were afraid to mistakenly touch girlie parts
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This girl was not very attractive. Only thing worse than being slugged for touching boobs is being slugged while deriving no pleasure from it
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I wonder to this day if she thought she was too fast for us to catch or realized the secret of her success.
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I watch and know A LOT about sports but concede A LOT of women in my tweetstream know more than I do. No knock on my manhood.
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Sports blogs that routinely show bikini clad women (which I personally appreciate in piggish fashion) to attract men probably alienate more potential readers than realized
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This is my second time blogging about women's appreciation for sports. The first time I posed a question and learned that the answer is FOOTBALL

Ample Evidence to the Contrary

Recently an evolutionary psychologist named Satoshi Kanazawa wrote an article for Psychology Today with the provacative title - "Black Women Are Less Physically Attractive Than Other Women". I didn't read it, nor do I plan to, and I don't suggest you do either which is why I'm not linking to it. Google if you wish. Why Psychology Today published such obvious foolishness is beyond me. But they did, so I decided to write this rebuttal. And although it isn't backed up by a bunch of advanced degrees and doesn't have much of a page count, a glance below shows clearly that I've won the debate by a landslide. Because even though I hate as a writer to admit it, often times pictures do effortlessly speak 1000 well placed words. Sometimes they imply that Mr. Kanazawa probably got shot down by one sista too many and decided to vent his frustration in the most absurd manner. You didn't need to hear his nonsense just as you probably don't need me to tell you you're beautiful. But I'm telling you anyway.

Latest Book Reviews

SAG HARBOR - Colson Whitehead is a wonderful writer. Although I wasn't a Sag Harbor summer kid myself, the author and I are about the same age so much of his reminiscing about his experiences as a 15 year old stirred similar memories I possess. Sag Harbor is a work of fiction, not a memoir, but it reads as much like the latter than as a novel, and no doubt it was largely inspired by the author's youthful days. Not a whole lot happens in Sag Harbor, basically a group of teenagers kill the abundance of time they have on hand, and I know plenty of readers would have a problem with this. I wouldn't have minded if the story had been more eventful, might have awarded it an extra star in this review if it was. After all, if you're writing a memoir about a period of time when nothing particularly earth shattering took place but it nonetheless was vivid in your thoughts because it was a critical period of your life, then you need to be true to what did and didn't happen. But if you're writing a novel, certainly you can feel free to throw in a little drama. Whitehead resists this temptation and simply gives us a first person tale about an introspective person on a summer vacation somewhere roughly in between the end of his childhood and beginning of his manhood. What does Benji think about as he makes his transition to becoming Ben? For the most part he reflects on his days up to that point for he knows they will soon be coming to an end, and he wonders what the future will hold for him. He holds memories that are both crystal clear and cloudy. As for his insight into tomorrow, like the rest of us he can only guess a little and hope a lot.



The Picture of Dorian Grey (Oscar Wilde) - I knew what this story was about long before finally reading it. That's probably common. The famous premise is a fascinating one, though I found myself wondering if the narrative would have been even more impactful if written as a short story or novella length rather than stretched out to a full novel. The Lord Henry character who serves the purpose of putting bad ideas in Dorian's head gives multiple speeches throughout detailing his hedonistic world view. If the number or word count of these lectures was cut in half I don't think the story would suffer much from the absence. Another decision made by Oscar Wilde was not to show readers very much of Dorian's behavior. His first act of cruelty is laid out before us as is his final one, but in between we are only told that his bad reputation precedes him without being shown what he has done to earn it. It's left to our imagination. A few more scenes exhibiting decadent behavior rather than various dinner party conversations in which a pro decadence philsophy is expressed would have made for a juicier read. Would it have made for a better read? That's arguable, as perhaps it also is whether this book is intententially homoerotic or simply written during a time when heterosexual men were much more comfortable going on and on about how good looking a guy was. What's beyond debate is that Oscar Wilde came up with a great idea to build a story around, one that is as timeless as the desire for eternal youth.



The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Stieg Larsson) - I wanted to find out what all the fuss was about. Larsson's debut novel and the two sequels that were published either simultaneously or else in rapid succession have topped Best Sellers lists for what feels like forever. As happened previously to me with the first Harry Potter book and The DaVinci Code, curiosity won out. I was unable to let the cult phenomenon pass me by. But I was not overwhelmed when finally getting around to reading it. The character this novel is named after is its strength, even if the story is not primarily about her. Her distinctive personality and outlook set her apart from cookie cutter characters to be found in many genre titles. But the writing (or it's translation) was mediocre at best and as for the plot, it's engaging but by no means tremendously original. This is a whodunnit, but the ending is not especially difficult to guess at least partially if not completely. I don't even consider myself a particularly strong follower of clues in mystery novels, but one does not need to be Nostradamus to make accurate predictions here. I'm by no means trashing the book. It's fairly engaging and certainly easy to read. But my verdict is that unlike many others, I don't feel compelled to read parts 2 & 3. I'm fine with waiting until the inevitable movie adaptations hit cable. There is no shortage of thrillers/mysteries that are equally or more compelling than this book. The things I can think of that made Larsson's work stand apart are the Swedish setting (which is really no big deal), the fact that the author died after delivering the manuscripts but before publication, and that they were published basically at the same time so readers who enjoyed the first could go immediately to the second and then the third title in the series. Immediate gratification. The mystery of why these books became such huge sellers is a much more puzzling one than those Larsson writes about. But perhaps things get juicier as one delves deeper into the series.



Middle Passage (Charles Johnson) - What a wonderful, powerful, thought provoking, surprising read. The first two attributes are on account of Charles Johnson's mastery of the written word. His prose grips the reader from first sentence and doesn't let go for a second. It goes by so quickly that I found myself wishing it had been padded to last another 50 pages or more. Why was it surpising? Well, I expected it to focus primarily on the horrific middle passage in which people were enslaved and transported in barbaric fashion from Africa to America. And the bulk of this book does in fact describe such a voyage. But before we get to it we are introduced to the protagonist, a fascinating character who is a freed slave that ends up on the ship basically by accident as he flees to avoid a forced marriage to his impatient girlfriend, a seemingly mild mannered lady who has taken matrimonial matters into her own hands in rather brutish fashion. Once he is aboard ship and particularly once it has monstrously taken on cargo, which includes not only members of an ancient African tribe but also their god, the narrative is so intense and perilous and chock full of life and death double dealing on the unpredictable high seas, that the early part of the novel is mostly forgotten. But without giving too much away, as Middle Passage reaches its conclusion suddenly we are back in the world of the original cast of characters. The physically battered protagonist is much changed mentally and emotionally due to his adventurous ordeal. But he has one last dangerous set of circumstances to navigate before he can be fully saved. Ironically, being saved means opting for a degree of monogamy and commitment that his avoidance of got him into so much trouble in the first place. Freedom has an entirely different definition to him from beginning of the story to the end. So yes, this book as expected was about the atrocities of the slave trade. But slavery is more of a backdrop than focus of the action packed tale. What it ultimately ends up being about is the lengths a man goes to live a carefree existence, and what he must go through to learn that caring for people other than himself is a far superior way to live.



LATEST REVIEW OF PATCHES OF GREY found at Reads 4 Pleasure




‎5 Best Books About Surviving the Teen Years: at The Sunday Book Review




Find of the Day: Web site featuring titles sold as ebooks for as little 99 cents - 99CentNetwork

On my birthday I significantly discounted cost of Kindle edition of Patches of Grey, which was of no use to you if you happen to be a Nook owner who shops at Barnes & Noble web site. Well pout no more because the Nook edition is now on sale as well for just $2.99

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Excerpt from Feeding the Squirrels - Video

If intrigued by what you hear, my novella Feeding the Squirrels is sold by SynergEbooks. They publish in every variety of electronic format you can think of and you can find it anyplace where ebooks are sold. If you own a Nook, head on over to the Barnes and Noble web site. If you're in possession of a Kindle, next time you're shopping at Amazon give it a download. If you write reviews of the books you've read, I'd appreciate seeing what you have to say. Happy Reading!

Sale of the Century

Jay Z raps that he has 99 problems but a female dog ain't one. Well STOP THE PRESSES, because if you have 99 cents and a Kindle then you too have no problem. No problem obtaining my novel Patches of Grey, that is. March 23rd is my birthday and I've decided to mark the occasion in a most celebratory fashion by giving a gift to you. By you, I mean the book buying public. I mean those of you always on the look out not only for a great read, but also a great deal. I mean those of you for which cost may have once been an object, but no more, because it has been reduced from $8.99 to $0.99. My math is terrible but I believe that's a savings of something like 89%! And there's no waiting in a long line to bring it up on your screen. You are now less than a buck and a few mouse clicks away from having an electronic copy of my debut novel in your possession. If you'd prefer to hold a bound copy in hand, if you're still an old school ink and paper type soul, you can spend a little more to obtain the printed edition from Amazon or one of the independent booksellers that carries it. If you'd like an autographed copy then you'll need to purchase one directly from me via PayPal. But if all you care to have is the story itself, and if you are currently a Kindle owner or else destined to become one in the not too distant future, your wallet is an extremely light hit away from reading my book. How long will this mega sale last? Well, that's up to you. I'm not under the impression that Patches of Grey will be making me a rich man. My goal is simply for as many people to read it as possible. I put a tremendous amount of work into it, happen to feel that it's a fantastic impactful story, and would love for a significant amount of people to check it out and judge for themselves. So long as a respectful number of readers are deciding to give it a shot, the Kindle edition of Patches of Grey will remain at the budget friendly price of 99 cents. To reach the maximum count of people I suppose I could just give it away, but I'm feeling generous, not crazy. Once you've read my novel I really hope to hear your thoughts on it. Please leave a line or two on Amazon or GoodReads.com or your book review blog or wherever it is you state opinions on the books that come into your lives. I look forward to finding out what you think, just as I'm anxious to finish the edit of my second novel Matters of Convenience, get it out there, and learn how you feel about that one also. Then once again there will be cause to celebrate. My uncopyrighted motto is "Another Day, Another Milestone". So what are you waiting for? If you're thinking of getting me something for my birthday, I've just given you a mighty big clue what I'd value and cherish most of all. You may come to find that you've given yourself a wonderful gift as well.

Happy Reading!

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