Read Online Sasquatch in the Paint by Kareem Abdul-Jabbar - Free Book Online

asked Theo if being here “among his own” made him feel more at home. It didn’t. He didn’t feel intimidated either.
    Gavin introduced Theo to the other players. Then, without any small talk, they jumped right into playing. The play was different than at Palisades Park. More fancy dribbling. More fouling. More shoving.
    More trash talk:
    â€œTake off your skirt and play like a man.”
    â€œYou call that guarding? I wouldn’t let you guard my fries at lunch.”
    â€œYou need GPS to find the basket, son.”
    A couple of others that were way more colorful.
    And several that involved body parts in unusual situations.
    More than a few of these comments were directed at Theo.
    Gavin was on the other team, of course, and volunteered to guard Theo. He played rough, but no rougher than the other kids. A teammate would lob the ball to Theo for an inside layup and someone would jump up to block, slamming Theo just enough so he’d miss the shot. The first time, Theo let it go. The second time, he called a foul, but everyone just laughed, even his own teammates. “No blood, no foul,” they said.
    They didn’t really mean that, because a few plays later Theo got knocked down by one of the players and skinned his elbow. Blood seeped through the shredded skin. But still, no foul.
    â€œYou need an ambulance, little cousin?” Gavin smirked, helping him to his feet.
    â€œI’m fine, dude.”
    â€œIn case you haven’t noticed, no one around here says ‘dude.’ That’s surfer talk, dude .”
    Theo continued to play, getting elbowed in the ribs, stomped on both feet, hip-checked in the crotch ( that felt like he might need an ambulance). After about an hour, Gavin told them he had to leave. Theo said nothing, but he was relieved. He felt as battered as if he’d been whirled in a blender. The rest of the guys complained and tried to talk Gavin into staying, but he pointed at Theo and shrugged, as if to say, “I’m babysitting, nothing I can do.”
    On the walk home, Theo said, “You didn’t have to quit on my account. I was doing fine.”
    Gavin snorted. “I don’t want Uncle Marcus giving me a hard time about his baby boy getting hurt.”
    â€œDid you hear me complain?”
    â€œNope. And you surprised me with some skills. Still, you’re like a toddler wandering into traffic. Not one of the real players.”
    â€œReal players? All they did was shove and foul. In a real game they’d all have fouled out.”
    â€œThat was a real game. What real game are you talking about?”
    â€œIn a gym, with referees.”
    â€œThat’s just one kind of ‘real’ game. Not the only kind.”
    â€œOh, I see. It’s not a real game when you have to play by the rules. Right, gangsta?” Theo said “gangsta” as sarcastically as Gavin had said “dude.”
    Theo expected Gavin to get angry. But he didn’t. That was new.
    Gavin laughed. “Look, I’m just saying, your problem is you don’t play basketball to win. You play to not look stupid.”
    Theo stopped walking. He could feel his skin heating up with anger. His cheeks actually burned. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œThe way I see it, little cousin, there are three types of jammers. First, you got your average player with no particular talent who enjoys hanging with his boys. That’s me. I can play okay, but the game don’t mean nothing to me. Win or lose, same deal to me. Next, you got your guys who are always watching the clock or the score or whatever, just praying for the game to be finished because they think everyone’s judging them every second. They’re panicking the whole time they’re on the court, thinking they don’t have what it takes. That’s you, man. Finally, you got those who never want the game to be over, because each minute is like living on some