We Are Andre

 

Redland The NBA playoffs began this weekend, as did the requisite hype about gravity-resistant superstars and dynastic empires rising and falling, all of which are true.

But the best story of the 2017-18 basketball stories has already been told. And it has nothing to do with the playoffs.

If anything, it has more to do with the anti-playoffs. Of falling short. Of rejection, failure and futile energy. And of Andre Ingram.

Ingram is a case study in frustration. Lanky, six-foot-three and of middling strength and speed, Ingram managed to get a basketball scholarship at American University, a small college in DC.

He had a respectable-if-forgettable career there, averaging 14 points a game at the tiny college. He had hoped to go pro as we hope to get the job we dream of, find the love that completes us, fill the gap that only we can. And, as happens to so many of us, reality pimp-slapped us a bit.

Ingram managed to land a spot on a team in the NBA’s G-League, the sport’s minor league farm club system. There, injured pros go to recover. High school phenoms are groomed by veterans. And players like Ingram eke a living to the tune of about $19,000 a year (the average American income is $27,000 a year, according to the US Census Bureau).

But while the G-League does a heckuva job with metrics like points-per-game, 3-point shooting accuracy and turnover-to-assist ratios, it has no barometer for internal organs — namely, the heart and brain. And Ingram has both.

While he toiled in the minors, Ingram — who earned a degree in physics from American, for Chrissake — supplemented his income by being a math tutor. After all, hoop dreams can’t afford Cheerios for two kids and a wife, all of whom joined the Ingram brood. For 11 years, he played in the echo chamber of gymnasiums that barely muster fan smatterings. The G-League is the GM of pro basketball.

But he did something quietly remarkable on the assembly line. He gave a shit. He earned the coy dollars that came his way. He did what We do on the line: Make sure the bolt is tight.

And while he’d never be featured on ESPN or Sports Illustrated, he became something rarer than a superstar. He became a Remarkable Joe. Ingram took what he learned in college and became a better adult. He’d earn a reputation as a man who busted ass in the journeyman circuit that took him to spots in Utah, Oklahoma and, finally, California. He’d shoot more than 700 3-pointers, the league record. He’d go from 14 points a game in college to 22 a night.

And last week, he got a call from his employer for an exit interview at season’s end — a performance evaluation for the rest of us.

But instead of meeting with human resources this time, Ingram was greeted by Magic Johnson, the general manager of the Los Angeles Lakers and local god to this city. And Luke Walton, Laker coach. And TV cameras. And a miracle: An offer to play the final two games of the season in the NBA.

He’d be offered $14,000 for two games — 75% of his annual salary. He’d be in an arena with actual people. He’d be playing against the Lebrons of the world. He might even catch a glimpse of himself on ESPN, management told him, though they’d need not have worried about making the sale. As he’d done all his life, Ingram recognized Fortuna.

His debut came against the Houston Rockets, the favorites of many to win the title. He’d go up against James Harden, the league’s likely MVP.  As Harden sauntered into Staples Arena sporting his trademark Beats headphones and throngs of reporters and fans, Ingram walked unnoticed  among fans wearing a school backpack and holding the hands of his wife and kids.

On court, he was easy to spot. He was the only 32-year-old rookie — and the only player with a healthy dollup of gray hair. His team, like every other in the NBA, was fated to lose that game.

But not before Ingram punched his time card.

Ingram scored 19 points. He went six-for-eight, a terrific percentage, on his shots. He went four-for-five on his three pointers.

And for one beautifully-strangled minute in time, Ingram was Lebron. Fans stood for him and shouted “MVP!”  Stars tweeted about him. For a day, he held the Lakers best points-per-minute average. The team had to manufacture replicas of his jersey to meet customer demand.

Now, the NBA will pay attention in tryouts. Stars will look up his pre-season stats. ESPN will do a half dozen stories about his games. Fans will ask for photographs. He will be heard from again.

You are Andre. We are Andre. And when we aren’t feeling like him, we can still learn from him, because his life sermon is Waterford clear:

When Life gives you lemons, don’t make lemonade. Pick up the lemons and chuck them back as hard you can. Aim for the nuts. Aim for the face. Slice it with your thumbnail a little before you chuck it, so it gets in Life’s eye.

Fuck fate. It never had an outside jumper anyway.

 

Factslaps are back, dear bitches:

  • A study using MRI scans showed that the brains of people who exercise moderately look 10 years younger than those who don’t.
  • Installed in 1410, the world’s oldest astronomical clock is still in operation is in Prague.
  • The world’s most expensive perfume is Clive Christian No 1 Passant Guardant. It costs $143,000 for 30ml and comes in a flask studded with 2,000 diamonds.
  • A recent  study found that 80% of mass shooters showed no interest in violent video games.
  • Scientists at the University of Alberta spent seven years working out that human urine contains 3,079 different chemical compounds.
  • Studies have suggested that losses are, psychologically, twice as powerful as gains. So winning $100 feels as good to us as losing $50 feels bad.
  • Research has shown that dogs actually like the silly, high-pitched voice their owners use to talk to them.
  • Ben & Jerry learned how to make ice cream by taking a $5 correspondence course offered by Penn State, because one of them couldn’t get into medical school and the other couldn’t sell enough pottery.

Well a Hush Fell Over the Pool Room…

Editor’s note: The serendipity of the calendar demands this. We just wanted to wish everyone a happy and peaceful Easter, celebrating the resurrection of Jesus from the dead.
April Fools!

 

My mom tried to skateboard once.

Well, “tried” might be a generous term. So might “skateboard.”

In truth, she stepped on the board the way someone would step on a sidewalk crack. We were living in Detroit, she saw me rolling up and down the drive, and thought, I presume, “How difficult can it be if a 10-year-old can do it?”

But when mom stepped up, the board skittered out from under her, rolling down the driveway and landing mom square on her ass. She hobbled into the house, probably cursing kids today, and never got on a board again. But she also likely never forgot: Set, then go. Set, then go.

The same can’t be said for Laura Ingraham and her SS comrades at Fox News, a network that’s adopting the same mystifying politicking strategy as the GOP: attack a demographic.

She began with Dreamers, who she said should be in front of the firing squad for DACA’s failures. Then she took aim at Parkland survivors, who she said had neither the experience nor maturity to discuss adult matters (like guns and DACA?). Then, perhaps intoxicated by free-range chickenshittery, she  hammered one of the Parkland kids on Twitter for his rejection from several colleges.

“David Hogg Rejected By Four Colleges To Which He Applied and whines about it. (Dinged by UCLA with a 4.1 GPA…totally predictable given acceptance rates),” she keystroke-belched.

Aside from her capitalization problem, the attack was a stumper. Normally, Fox and Fiends go after races and genders. Why would anyone think it prudent to take a bead on a demographic — that’s about to come of legal age, no less? Are we really taunting kids over rejection letters? Is this the swamp or the drain?

It suggests a larger dilemma for the GOP, which finds itself on the wrong side of the three big G’s of politics: god, gays and guns. Millennials already constitute the highest percentage of atheists in American history. What high schooler does not know a gay or transgender classmate? And we know how they feel about AR-15s; the gun debate is over, even if the legal wrangling is not. There’s a reason a Republican presidential candidate hasn’t won the popular vote in an election since 2004: They’re not popular.

Kids like popular. And first impressions matter.

And finally, to Miss Ingraham, who has proved a fine substitute anus for the departed Bill O’Reilly (Tucker Carlson was a ratings disappointment, perhaps because he looks like he’s always trying to stifle a fart).

She had softened her tone by Saturday afternoon, tweeting “Any student should be proud of a 4.2 GPA —incl. @DavidHogg111. On reflection, in the spirit of Holy Week, I apologize for any upset or hurt my tweet caused him or any of the brave victims of Parkland.”

But there’s no saving the crow you had to eat. In response to Ingraham’s first insult, Hogg did something slyly brilliant: He tweeted links to Ingraham’s dozen sponsors, nine of whom pulled the financial plug. The sponsors may eventually return, but Parkland again schooled adults on mature behavior.

And fucking with the wrong people. Coming after kids on Twitter is like challenging a Comic-Con fanboy to a Star Wars trivia contest. When mom took that spill, she did what kids are waiting for other adults to do: act like one. She was done with boarding, but she wasn’t about to ban it. Nor was she going to grab it to challenge Tony Hawk to an X-Games skate-off.

Laura: Set, then go. Set, then go.

Away.