To be or not to be...

Dear Basketball,

We’ve known each other for quite some time now. I was first introduced to you when I was three years old, right when we moved to our new home near Eagle Rock. You seemed just as young back then, coming to me in the form of a six-foot tall Fisher Price court. At the time, I had no idea about your storied history. I barely even knew your name. I only heard about you on Sundays, attending my dad’s Pac Rim games, or during the times when I would sit with my dad as we watched some gold team run around on TV. Little did I know that there would be countless hours spent with my dad in our tiny backyard as he showed me how to dance with you.

I’ve always heard the saying that sports don’t build character, they reveal it. But it’s only now that I’m a little older that I’ve come to understand the meaning of the axiom. With you being a metaphor for life, I’m beginning to realize that even as a young kid, you showed me and showed the world the one personality characteristic that is both my greatest strength and my greatest weakness. I’m beginning to learn that ever since I was young, I’ve always been an extremely driven and determined individual.

When I was six years old, my parents put me in a league that my dad’s friend set up. There were only two teams, a red team that was older than a blue team, and we played against each other every Saturday. Every game was a battle. But my blue team, the younger team, lost every single one. There would even be a championship game at the end of the season, and for two seasons in a row, we lost every game including the championship game. I remember crying after some games; I wanted that trophy so badly. But I also remember playing in my backyard every single day of the week, just for the Saturday games. I didn’t understand you back then. I didn’t understand the work it would take to be great. I learned quickly. But we still lost every game, and everyone’s parents began to feel sorry for me. Here was a little boy, pouring out his heart and soul into every game, and then I’d leave the gym quiet, holding back tears. They tried giving me a consolation prize, the only kid to get one from my team, but I refused it. They even asked me and the other two captains, Matt and Jayson, to join the red team. I told them ‘no’ right away, but Matt switched to the red, and Jayson played one game against me but came back because he felt sorry for me. To this day, I don’t know why I didn’t switch; I was so tired of losing. Something in me fully embraced the challenge of bringing the blue team to glory. Something in me would not give up for anything. I played just two games in the third season before my parents pulled me out because they were tired of seeing me upset. I later found out that my blue team won that championship game that year. I would get the trophy that I had wanted more than anything for two years, in the mail. It still sits in my room, “Speedy Oil Youth League Champions 1998”, meaningless.

I say that this competitive passion to endure that you’ve shown me has been my greatest strength, but it’s also been my greatest weakness. The passion and ambition to be great has sometimes put me on my own lonely island. And sometimes, in my determination, I get too caught up and I overlook other things that are important to me. My hunger has been an attribute that few people have understood about me.

I became most close to you when I came to St. Dominic at that same age. I began to go out to see you everyday at recess and lunch for 5 on 5 half-court games. I would be the captain of one team, and a kid named Andre was always the captain of the other. He would pick JC first, and then Michael second, and then we’d play for fifteen-minutes. And somehow, someway, they would always win. I would lose everyday, twice a day. It helped that they were the three best players at the time, and they always ended up on the same team. I remember getting the first pick one time, only to watch in horror as JC actually gave the ball to the other team every time. I was always frustrated. I was frustrated for myself and my teammates; no matter what we did, we would never win. I yelled at teammates who would lose the ball or miss a shot. There would be games when I wouldn’t pass to anyone just because I only trusted myself. To add insult to injury, Andre loved to talk and poke fun at my frustration and my serious approach to these pick up games. JC and Michael didn’t respect me. Some teammates were afraid to play with me, and then would join in the trash talking when they’d play for the other team. Kids can be cruel that way. Nobody seemed to like me. Nobody understood me. I had very few friends then, and I remember going home and finishing my homework quickly just so that I could go outside and practice. But for every day from second grade to fourth grade, I would play during every recess and lunch, and I don’t think I won a single fifteen-minute game. Now that I’m older, I’m realizing how different people are, and I’m learning how different I must’ve been. How did I have this incredible will? I didn’t understand why my teammates didn’t have this same burning desire for success. With the way that we always lost, most seven year olds would have quit—in fact, some of my teammates did—but I never would. There were times when I’d play already knowing my team would lose, but I consistently went out and gave it everything I got every time. I didn’t know it at the time, but looking back at it now, I was a very different kind of little kid.

And then, you smiled upon me and blessed me with success. In 5^th grade my dad coached the team. Respect for me became a requirement. I remember JC and Andre coming up to me to ask me if they made the team, and I remember thinking, “they’re really talking to me.” For the next four years I began to have fun playing with you, and my popularity only grew and grew. I was team captain, starting shooting guard. There were no longer any arguments or trash talk during recess or lunch. The game was pure, and I kept working hard throughout the years and over the summers to keep team success. By 8^th grade, our class was united. I had embraced everyone as a friend, and everyone had finally embraced me. The only argument people had was, “Who was the best basketball player in the school, JC or Brian?” and I loved it. JC and I never talked about it ourselves, just out of respect for each other, but even our P.E. teacher got into it and had us play one-on-one during one class. I got my butt kicked. The truth is, that rivalry drove me to work to become a better player. I took whatever people said against me as a challenge. Every little thing was fuel for me to keep practicing. I like to think that it drove JC to practice hard too. No matter what, we were better as a team, and we won 10 out of 12 games that year and went to the playoffs—a very successful season for the Saints.

But in that 8^th grade summer going into high school, I neglected you. I held someone else more important, and stupidly assumed I could easily enjoy the same success in high school. I made the first cut for tryouts, but then I was cut after that. I got into my dad’s car, told him I didn’t make it, and a single tear streamed down my face. After that, I knew I never wanted to feel that way again. I worked extremely hard that summer. I sacrificed everything and made it a point to see you every single day. I even got to know your cousins, ‘Running’, and ‘Lifting’, and I saw them during the week as well. It was here that I learned that I’m the type of person, that if I want something bad enough, I’ll do whatever it takes for however long it takes in order to get it. I was at my best with you. People at the park would marvel at the shots I’d hit in their faces, or the passes I’d make in between defenders. JC had made his high school team and I challenged him to one-on-one that summer, and this time, I beat him convincingly. I was bitter, and I worked so hard to try and win you back. But life being the way that it is, I tried out my sophomore year, and I was told that I was good enough to make the team, but there aren’t enough spots. I was heartbroken. Because when I was young, and I needed someone to lean on, someone I could trust, someone that seemed to understand me, I always went to you. You were a sanctuary for me whenever it felt like the world was against me, and then it was like you were gone. I did absolutely everything I could, and it still wasn’t enough. Over the next two summers, I’d still practice and improve, but now not as hard. I’d go into tryouts and already know I wouldn’t make it, and I’d hear variations of “good enough, but not enough spots”. I would play for two more teams, one in my sophomore year and one in my senior year, and I’d win a total of 4 games from both teams. You had left me, and it seemed like no matter what I did, we just weren’t meant to be.

Now it’s as though we’re both making an effort to be friends. I watch you on TV or read about you any chance I get these days, and I respect you more than ever. I’ll always remember how we bumped in to each other when Kraig, Michael, and David re-introduced you and I. It was awkward, and we had a tough season, but ultimately you’ve given me the confidence to trust in you again. And by winning a championship on this Pac Rim team, you’ve reminded me just how good of a friend you can be.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is a thanks, basketball. Thank you for my father, mother, and sister. Thank you for the Speedy Oil Youth League, the blue team, the red team, and Matt and Jayson. Thank you for St. Dominic’s, Saints’ Basketball, Andre, JC, Mike, and all of my life-long friends. Thank you for the respect I’ve been given. Thank you for the confidence you’ve given me. Thank you for every teammate I’ve ever had. Thank you for Coach Thomason, Coach Adams, and everyone else who also said I couldn’t. Thank you for letting me meet Loyola Track & Field. Thank you for Ice Water, and for Kraig and David. Thank you for the love of shoes and for the love of hip-hop. Thank you so much for Inside Moves and Tito Ricky. Thank you for idols to look up to and personalities I can identify with, in Michael Jordan and then in Kobe Bryant. Thank you for the Lakers.

More than anything, thank you for letting me get to know myself. The best relationships are the ones in which you learn about who you really are, and in doing so, you learn about life. You’ve definitely done that for me. You were my best friend when I had none. You were my refuge when no one understood me. And when people started to understand me, even though I’ll never fully understand what you did, you gave me my space to grow on my own. Thank you for showing me that it’s ok to never give up. Thank you for showing me what it means to work hard. Thank you for teaching me that falling is a part of life, and that getting back up is a way of life.

The only thing in my life right now that I know is true is that I love you, basketball. And coming from a man who hasn’t loved much besides himself and his family, it means a lot for me to say that. You have given me the confidence to take on any challenge. You’ve always been there for me, and you’ve shown me what it takes to succeed. And because of you, I know that no matter how difficult the journey, no matter how long it’s going to take, and no matter how many obstacles are in my way, I will have the strength, passion, and courage to remain driven.

Much love and respect,

Brian Paggao

Quote of the Day:

"What is love? Love is playing every game as if it's your last."

~Michael Jordan

With the tributes starting to come around as His Airness takes his rightful throne in the HOF, I thought I'd put my version of a tribute in a little early.