NBA Career

• Ryan Thompson
• Short Story
• 2011

Two hours till the game. Fans are pouring through the door like water to a cup, all waiting for the big man, Jason Terry.

Me and Jason go way back to the fourth grade. He worked hard in his endeavours. Always shooting for the best results. I was better at maths though. Ray was a quiet and kind kid but never seemed to fit in with my group. So every lunch I’d sit with him, do some maths and just hang around and wait anxiously for the bell. Now with his big shot career and all, you’d think he’d be too busy for nobody’s like me, but he isn’t, he makes time. Often when I'm laying in the gutter, I wonder how I got here and why I'm not living it up like him. I guess we just took separate roads. Sometimes when I'm there resting, I’ll hear a distant voice shout my name. It’s always him. The only other social interaction I get is from the dozens of fans as they walk to the arena. They smirk and swear but you get used to it.

I had a further twenty minutes to kill before the game. So I picked up my briefcase ( found it in a dumpster near Mc Donald’s ) and made my way down to the training room. I gave him my usual supportive speech and then hung around with the rest of the gang until the siren was sound.

Out they went. Ready to take on the New Orleans Hornets. As the game progressed, the fans got louder and louder. Sweat dripped from post to post as the players ran furiously down the court. Once again went the blasting sound of the siren as they came into half time. Now was the good part. Out comes the cheerleaders. So that’s what I did for the next five minutes. The fans on the other hand were reaching there hands out and screaming, begging for an autograph, but they were soon cut short by the buzzer.

At the end, it was a two point game. New Orleans had the advantage as star power forward, Kevin Garnett, was off with a leg injury. Twenty three seconds left, Celtics ball. The crowd became silent like they’d been struck by lightning. But when the ball hit the floor, they started again.

Twenty frantic seconds later, Jason was finally given the ball and up came the three. Time stood still as the ball ricochet off the backboard and spun around the rim. But it wasn’t enough. As the buzzer went the Celtics took defeat and the Hornets gratefully accepted the win.

Once again, I picked up my briefcase and headed for the door. A further twenty minutes was exceeded before we actually left the building. It was almost impossible to get out, for there was a hurricane of fans blocking our path. Eventually though, we found our way.

As we moved out of the stadium, I then pulled out the comfort speech. Basically it was some kind, comforting words tied together with one big one. I intended for it to be long for I hate having to return to the piss-filled hole I call home. It smelt like the blood and sweat from ancient roman gladiators or an open cut miner after a long day of coal. The foul stench of rat faeces still linger on my blanket( Tuesday’s Mavericks Times ). I awake to the ghastly sight of decapitated birds and masticated mice. Those are some of the lowlights I generally cope with. Hey, I could write a book about that. ’Tales of the Gutter’. When I finished up my speech, I said goodnight to Jason, sent a prayer to my favourite saint, good old’ saint Benedict, crawled back into my gutter and fell asleep like Katy Perry after a big night out.

Two weeks later, after a long night of celebrating the Laker win, I awoke at the crack of dawn. I grabbed a nearby jumper and cloth ( never know when your going to need a cloth ) and lay there in serenity, waiting for my morning visit from Ray. As usual he was earlier than expected. He wore a bright, suede tracksuit with green lace up shoes. My attire was a bit different. I had a busker’s hat with a green stripe, the jumper and cloth, and the same green lace ups Jason had. I was ready for a run.

Twenty minutes later, we had found ourselves at the end of Smith St. A place even I was unfamiliar with. All around us was classic American franchise. Hot dog stands and buskers, and plenty of children prancing about. Further down was the Riviera. We ran passed it and headed further down that road. Ray knew the way. We continued up hill now, back towards the stadium.


On our way back, we were interrupted by a call from Doc Rivers, the coach of the Dallas Mavericks ( Jason’s team ). I let Jason have some privacy and headed back to the stadium. It wasn’t long before Jason caught up with me. He informed me that Doc said he has training today. So back we went, this time taking the scenic route. A generic sensation was established as we walked by the ocean and through the gardens. It was beautiful. Never had I ever seen the ocean this majestic in all my life.

As we entered the stadium the sound of balls echoed around the building. The sound bounced off the walls like insect assassins, making there way in for the stealthy kill. We made our way onto the court, dodging balls left right and centre. I found a comfortable seat and watched as they trained under the coach’s provisions.

When they’d finished training ( and believe me, it took forever ) and headed in to the locker room, Mr Rivers confronted me. Apparently Jason had informed him about my old basketball years, playing for the University of Kentucky’s, Kentucky Wildcats. Not to brag but I was the leading point guard who always brought our team to victory. Mr Rivers seemed a little different. I’m not saying I know him like the back of my hand, just he was different. In a good way. There was no way I could prepare myself for what he was about to say. One in a million I reckon. He offered me a potential place on the squad depending on if I impressed him or not or if he was even bothered with the paperwork. Guess that’s what managers are for. What was my answer? Yes of course. Who would turn down an offer like that? It’s not like I had anything to lose but maybe the jumper and cloth, some bad BO, and a gutter. So that was it. Tuesday, I would present myself to him and show him what I got. I know I got game. I was taught by the best. After school, Jason and I used to head down to Rucker Park and shoot till the cows came home.

It came Tuesday. I picked my bum up out of the gutter extra early today. Excitement bubbled throughout my body like a witch’s cauldron, ready for a nice roasted rat. Goosebumps run up and down my legs. Nothing was going to stop me now.

I made my way into the stadium, full of determination and spirit. My heart was on fire. I was pumped. I made my way to the office where Doc was waiting for me. In his hands was a flash, green uniform, the ones they wore on away games. I slipped it on in the change rooms and darted back to the court, like a leopard chasing its prey. And so I began. At first I was a little rusty, but it soon all came back. I was playing like I was before, only better. This was the life I was hoping for but will I win my chance? Am I ready?

Turns out yes. He said I was outstanding. Documents later and I was ready for my first game. Turned out we were playing Pheonixs Suns. And for the next few weeks, I was on the front page, the cover story for various magazines, sports illustrated’s number one contender, but most important of all. I was finally where I wanted to be. And even till today, people shout my name….


Jason Kidd