Put me in coach…

Business…the column this week is on the post-mortem lives of Tupac and Bob Marley. Shouts out to Hasan, whose research in cultural studies and my exposure to it made it possible for me to even begin to write something along these lnes. Next week, the column will be on OutKast, Rosa Parks, and shame.
So your intrepid writer just got that good NBA Street V3…whoooo!

Now, JR, Dricoe, Trey, and I spent an entire summer playing the first version of this game. Go to sleep playing the game. Wake up playing the game. Playing it while we ate. It was that serious, man, but this one more serious. The tricks are insane, the graphics are improved, and it’s positively addictive. Jump on it if you’ve got the time.
And the soundtrack’s got a decent mix of hip-hop over the last thirteen years or so. More on that in the column during the first week of March.
Man, I’m on an intramural squad at Carolina this year, so I went to the gym to get in shape and get my game on…sorta.
Okay, I’ve never masqueraded as though I was a great basketball player. Just a capable one. Man, I was ashamed of myself. You would have thought I’d never played before. So all bad, man. And my surgically repaired knee is screaming at me right now. I’m too young for this, man. Then, when I finally got the jumper working, no one was looking. Shucks.
It’s interesting, though, because as much as I like hoopin’, it really makes me nervous sometimes. Nobody wants to be the one to mess things up, yanno? But more than that, I play so rarely now that the flow of the offense often escapes me. But, gotta get it all right soon, man. Did go for four buckets in the second game I played. That’s much more decent. But man, I was dropping passes like Todd Pinkston. That’s so embarrassing. And nobody likes embarrassing.
And I’m gone…

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