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Growing up in Indy, we were conditioned by our surroundings to stay close with the groups we grew up with. We still call each other the North Central kids, the Carmel kids, the Cathedral kids. Rarely did anyone go outside of their comfort zone, because there was no reason to… you had multiple middle schools feeding into a high school, and a whole new array of people to get to know. As one who has been able to break the mold, it’s time I gave props to my new patna dem.
Everyone and his brother has given Paul George props for his on-court performance. He’s a 2 time NBA All Star and a franchise player for the team who was the favorite to win last year’s NBA Championship. I don’t need to reiterate the basketball accolades of PaulStar. I need to give him props for the way he’s handled adversity at the age of 24.
I would bet my top and bottom dollar that when most humans...
Everyone has a favorite superhero. Batman, Superman, The Flash- you get...
Last weekend I was at Indiana University’s homecoming. I was intoxicated, because freedom. My friends and I were leaving the apartment before heading out to the bars when we ran into one of the neighbors having a cigarette by himself. “How’s your freedom tonight sir?,” I asked him. “Uh.. my freedom?,” he responded. “Everything secure tonight?” I went on to say, by now at everyone’s annoyance.
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November 26, 1998 was the day that my love for sports was flipped upside down. I was in the fourth grade and just started playing tackle football. I began showing interest in watching Professional Football. I was at my Uncle’s house to celebrate the annual holiday of giving thanks (props) when we settled in to watch the Dallas Cowboys host the Minnesota Vikings. One minute into the game Randall Cunningham chucked the pigskin deep down the field and a purple flash ran under it and trotted into the end zone. At the end of the first quarter, I experienced déjà vu as once again Cunningham hurled the ball deep to the lanky receiver wearing the number 84 for another fifty-yard touchdown. Finally, as the third quarter was winding down, that same receiver caught a screen pass at midfield and literally ran past every member of the Cowboys defense for a fifty-six yard score.
Have you ever walked briskly down a busy New York City street on the Upper East Side at about the time it’s just starting to get dark and shuffled hastily into a glowing Barnes & Noble, only to ride the escalator you’re greeted with down into a haven of aesthetic ecstasy as thousands upon thousands of crisp, new books with perfect spines are arranged from left to right on shelves over fifteen feet high? I have, and, well, damn…
The roar of the arena gets into your spirit and you’re forced to join in with a Neanderthal-like shout. You react to the sound of two helmets crashing with the clenching of your teeth and disposition on your face. You just witnessed a man dehumanize another man, and you do not feel in the slightest bit empathetic. What the hell is wrong with you?! Absolutely nothing. You’re a barbarian, and you enjoy nothing more than watching gladiators spar until the clock reaches 00:00.