Alright, so here’s the deal. I’ve spent the past month or so changing my mind back and forth as to whether or not I was going to tell the Trillion Man March what happened at the Harlem Globetrotter tryout in early August. I signed a confidentiality agreement with the team, but then thought that maybe I could write about some things from the tryout anyway, but then changed my mind and realized that I probably shouldn’t mess with the confidentiality agreement, but then changed my mind again, but then changed my mind again, but then changed my mind again, but then changed my mind again. Get all of that?
Many of you have asked me about the tryout either by emailing me or by stopping me at Chipotle, and I keep playing the confidentiality agreement card, which usually makes you as upset as my fiancée gets when I refer to her as “my future first wife.” And rightfully so. My dodging of the question made me more of a puss than Carson Daly’s single painted pinky fingernail. In my defense, the last time I ever even thought about challenging authority was when I refused to go to the principal’s office in 6th grade after I pulled a chair out from under Brandon Brocker as he was trying to sit down at lunch (he totally deserved it). Unless, of course, you count the time I angrily told Coach Matta to “suck it” at practice and emphasized my point by crotch chopping at him (this really happened and I really wasn’t messing around. I got pissed when he said something about how I suck at rebounding it prompted me to have a rare outburst of anger. Luckily, everyone thought I was joking, including Coach Matta. For the record, although I’m undersized and I’m as athletic as Rosie O’Donnell, I’m a force on the boards). Or if you count the time I never signed my real name on the per diem sheets last basketball season. Or if you count the time I used all 15 minutes of my fame to raise hell with the 2009 NBA Draft. Or if you count basically my entire high school sports experience. Ok, so I have a long and sometimes notorious history of challenging authority. Give me a second to search for another excuse…
Alright, I got it.
What if I told you that I didn’t write about the Globetrotter tryout for a few weeks because I honestly didn’t know if I made the team or not? What if I told you that I didn’t want to write about the Globetrotter tryout because I was saving it for something much bigger and much more important than my blog? What if I told you that these past three sentences sound like a 30 for 30 promo for ESPN if you read them out loud? What if I told you that I killed this paragraph by writing all these sentences in the form of questions and because of that I’m just going to move on to the next paragraph?
As I so eloquently alluded to in the last paragraph, two better reasons for not writing about the tryout are that I didn’t know my fate for a very long time and after I eventually learned my fate, I realized the entire experience was too good of a story to waste on a blog entry that nobody would read. But if you are reading this you obviously are interested enough to have read a blog about what happened at the tryout. And many of you have inquired about my status with the Globetrotters because the Globetrotters are coming to your city (no, I’m not going to link to Big & Rich) and you want to know whether you should buy tickets. Considering all of this, I feel obligated to let you know if I’m on the team in the next paragraph. Just be warned that I might come across as a bigger tease than the chick from “Chattahoochee.” (By the way, can we assume that Alan Jackson’s cure for blue balls is a greasy burger and a grape snow cone? I have no idea how that could possibly work. Can anyone confirm or deny this method?)
Since I’m running out of ways to prolong the announcement, I’ll just cut to the chase – I will not be playing with the Harlem Globetrotters for a variety of reasons (one of which may or may not be because they don’t want me on the team). I know that many of you are thinking to yourself, “Of course you aren’t. You suck at basketball and being good at the sport is kind of a prerequisite for being on the Globetrotters.” My response comes in the form of two counterpoints. The first is this. The second is that I can guarantee you that there is much more to the story than my sucking at basketball. My short-lived relationship with the Globetrotters was so entertaining, that I decided a blog entry wouldn’t do it justice. Instead, I’m going to devote a chunk of the book I’m writing (tentatively titled “Don’t Put Me In, Coach”) to my time with the Harlem Globetrotters. Obviously, this seems like it’s nothing more than a tactic to get you to buy my book when it comes out (hopefully in March) and I can assure you that it absolutely is just that. However, this will also give me a chance to have a lawyer look over my confidentiality agreement and let me know what exactly I can write about (I seriously do plan on finding a lawyer). In the meantime, the Trillion Man March can speculate about what happened during my 36 hour trip to Long Island in early August and fill in the details as they see fit. Hint: there were black people there. ___________________________________________________
Your awesome YouTube was sent in to my by Nick Z. There’s your shout-out, Nick. And here’s your video.
Proud To Be An American But Even Prouder To Be A Buckeye,
Club Trillion Founder