I received an unexpected gift yesterday from a skinny kid named Devin - a trash-talking 15 year-old with a very good crossover. Devin has no idea.
Late yesterday -- a chilly Sunday afternoon -- I went by Rand School (here in Montclair, NJ) to shoot baskets, as I often do. After a while, three kids who'd been playing at the other hoop invited me -- after much quiet deliberation -- to play two-on-two with them. We played "old guys vs. young guys." My teammate, Duane -- the other "old guy" -- is a 22 year-old graduate of Montclair High School (class of 2012). I'm 57 (and a 1976 MHS grad). Our opponents were two 15 year-old high school freshman.
These kids were athletic and very good, but they were also a bit short, and very, very thin -- in that way that 15 year old boys can be. Duane and I won a few games in a row -- a surprise to our young adversaries. I played well -- relying on my height, my accumulated "knowledge of the game," and a pretty good shooting touch. A lot of pick-and-roll lay-ups, short range "jump" shots, and some "jump" hooks.
Throughout the game, Devin -- the better and cockier of the two 15 year-olds -- said, over and over and over, "Oh yeah!... Oh-oh-oh YEAH!" and "do you really think you can guard me?" (I couldn't.) Devin's "Oh yeahs" had virtually no relationship to his performance. An airball. A swish. A missed defensive assignment. It didn't seem to matter. This, I gather, was Devin being Devin.
At one point, after I scored an unspectacular basket, Devin yelled at his teammate: "Oh! How can you let that old man do that to you?"
After our fourth game -- our fourth win in a row -- Devin looked at me and said: "Damn! You play just like Tim Duncan... You must hear that all the time."
Pause.
Uh, no. No. No one has ever said that to me.
Now, Tim Duncan is one of the ten best ballplayers ever. He is 7 feet tall, and he quietly does everything right on the court. He is unspectacular, unflashy, and completely effective. He has, perhaps, the highest "basketball IQ" ever. Tim Duncan is now almost 40 years old - roughly my age (give or take 17 years) -- so Devin surely sees him as a very old guy.
I wish I could have honestly said this: "Tim Duncan? Why, sure, Devin. People tell me that all the time! And people often tell me that my emails remind them of William Faulkner. And my scholarly work reminds readers of Keynes, Marx and, once in a while, Foucault. My teaching? A little bit Paulo Friere, a little bit Dr. King. My sense of humor? Some say Richard Pryor, others say Lenny Bruce. My kids' friends occasionally comment that I remind them of Atticus Finch."
I am grateful to young Devin, and very appreciative of his youthful lack of perspective.
And I'm reminded -- once again -- that I ought to spend a little less energy fretting about the judgments of my highly educated colleagues (I'm a college professor). Many of my colleagues are quite brilliant, admirable, and/or otherwise impressive. But relatively few of them have ever said anything to me as gratifying as Devin's comment. (And, further, most of them can't guard me.)
Today, I am very sore. But that's to be expected. That's the way that we -- Tim Duncan and me -- roll.