Player Season: The Pickup Artist Who Hacked Nike (2 page)

Speaking of teammates, three of them were my closest friends: "Hawk", Kyle and Justin. One day, someone tried to shoot us.

Hawk was very competitive, always rocked a buzz-cut with a widow's peak and was seldom seen wearing anything besides athletic clothes. In stature, he was of an average height paired with a slender frame and a chiseled face. He was the wild card of the group, an intimidation specialist. We never knew if he was going to quietly and sympathetically talk to a girl or if he would lash out and punch some guy in the face for looking at him the wrong way.

Kyle was the opposite of Hawk, believing in peace, not war. He towered above the rest of us at 6'5" with curly brown hair and the face of a newborn child. He wore surfing clothes with dark sunglasses and was more interested in going to the beach than he was hitting baseballs in a cage. A social being; almost never had a problem with anyone and prided himself on being liked by everyone.

Justin was the most talented of the groupby a long shot. He was taller than Hawk and me but fell a few inches short of Kyle, his hair was closely trimmed with freshly cut sideburns and the body of a full-grown man. Justin's brother, BJ Upton, was already selected #2 overall in the Major League Baseball draft and Justin almost certainly faced a similar fate. He was the guy you wanted to compete with but in reality–you couldn't. All you
could
do is try to keep up with him. Justin liked to have fun but he was cautious because unlike the rest of us, his career was lined up and waiting for him.

The four of us spent most of our days lounging around Kyle's house, playing video games. Kyle's parents were always willing to lend a helping hand and their most recent gesture of goodwill was allowing another teammate of ours, JD, to live with them once he became homeless.

On a Friday afternoon, JD's phone began ringing while we all sat on the couch watching SportsCenter. The call was from his girlfriend, and she delivered news no guy ever wants to hear – she was cheating on him.

"What is his fucking name?" JD screamed.

His name was Adrian, and naturally, JD wanted to fight him.

Hawk knew Adrian so he quickly gave his number to JD, whose face was now glowing red with anger. No, Hawk didn't do this out of the kindness of his heart; he simply wanted to instigate and then be entertained by a fight. Either way, JD called Adrian and challenged him to a duel.

"He wants us to meet in an open field," JD announced, after making the call in solitude.

"You're not doing that, tell them the fight is going to be here," Kyle's dad quickly responded, likely with the same intentions as Hawk.

Kyle's house was positioned in the center of a court, or a cul-de-sac, in a suburban neighborhood. The fight was scheduled to go down at 8PM, so we had a few hours to spare to gather the troops for war.

While JD called his friend for backup, Hawk approached me slowly nodding his head, and asked to have a word on the back deck. I assumed his plan, whatever it may be, was designed to make the fight more interesting.

"We should go pick up Ted," suggested Hawk, confirming my suspicion.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea," I told him.

Hawk aligned himself with large, African American people and Ted was a large, African American person. Although he was only 15 years old, he stood at a staggering 6 feet 5 inches tall and weighed around 250 pounds – a good asset to have at any fight. His reputation was that of a loose cannon, and his dreadlocks served as corroboration.

So Hawk and I drove to Ted's house, picked him up and explained the situation on our way back to Kyle's.

"Oh, this shits about to get cracking huh?" said an excited Ted, even though the fight had absolutely nothing to do with him.

Once we arrived, we noticed 30 people were gathered outside the house, all of them allied forces. No matter what army the other side showed up with; Hawk and I brought Ted, The Incredible Hulk.

"Brad, can I grab this baseball bat out yo' trunk?" Ted asked.

"Have at it man," I told him.

Everyone was lined up in the driveway of Kyle's house, waiting for the other side to arrive. I was strategically positioned beside Hawk and Ted in the front yard; the street at the end of the cul-de-sac was approximately 200 feet away. Suddenly, six cars pulled up and parked in the middle of the road – it was the calm before the storm.

The first person to appear began walking directly towards us. He was Hispanic, short and heavyset with a shaved head; much older than the rest of us and he wore a black t-shirt with blue jeans sagging a few inches below his waistline.

I didn't know who he was but I
did
know there was something in his hand. Once he got close enough – I realized it was a gun. For me, this was the first time seeing a gun in real life, so I was apprehensive, to say the least.

The Hispanic stopped ten yards from the driveway, and pointed the gun at us sideways.

"Who's talking shit?" he called out.

At this point I began slowly backing up because I knew I wasn't going to say anything. I'm a fan of rap music, but I wasn't willing to be shot over such a foolish pretense.

The brazened Hispanic didn't expect a rebuttal, nor did I think anyone on our side possessed the balls to confront him; after all, he did have a gun – but then Ted spoke up.

"I'M TALKING SHIT!" Ted challenged, his dreadlocks now looking more like a lion's mane.

Ted took a few steps forward, tapping the baseball bat against his other hand.

No one in his or her right mind would say this to a person with a gun; I was shocked. His courage was impressive but a bat doesn't exactly match up too well; I just couldn't fathom his thought process.

Ted slowly lifted the bat to shoulder height and pointed it directly at the now bewildered Hispanic.

"Why do you have that gun baby?" Ted bellowed.

"Why do you have that bat?" replied the less-confident Hispanic.

Ted's eyes descended on his own remarkably ill-fitted baggy white t-shirt and continued a downward trajectory until he was staring at his own shoes pressed against the grassy null of Kyle's front yard.

Everyone was quiet, anticipating Ted's response, which would inevitably be forged into our memory for life. His eyes raised and his body flickered – then he snapped.

"MAN, FUCK THIS BAT!" as he slammed it against the lawn, leaving an imprint only surpassed by Thor's hammer.

"Oh, you want to go?" the Hispanic replied, while placing the gun in his waistband, acknowledging consent for hand-to-hand combat.

Just before the juggernauts clashed, JD squared up against Adrian, who was also Hispanic, but well built and nearly a foot taller.

"So you're Adrian?" JD calmly asked.

"That's right," Adrian casually confirmed.

JD rushed in for the tackle and they both wrestled around on the ground, neither of them noticeably gaining the upper hand. Their fight was supposed to be the main event, but no one cared; everyone had their eyes on Ted and the imminent heavyweight bout.

Like two wild grizzlies fighting over the right to mate, they converged. Ted swiftly grappled the Hispanic around the neck with both arms as they slammed into a parked car. His python grip left the Hispanic utterly defenseless as he pounded on the back of his head with a series of punishing blows.

Ted pushed him away, leaving the Hispanic in a noticeable daze.†His plan was to finish him – by landing a haymaker.

Like a predator stalking its prey, Ted walked up behind him, lifted the Hispanic into the air and slammed him on the driveway face down. While his adversary laid motionless with one cheek pressed against the pavement, Ted took two steps and walloped him in the side of his face.

A girl intervened, crying and begging Ted not to punch him anymore. Her interference unwittingly gave the Hispanic a chance to stand up.

This is when he reached for the gun constricted in his waistline and "
POW!
" ... one shot into the air.

I didn't hesitate for a second; I immediately turned around, sprinted and literally hurdled the fence to Kyle's back yard. This was fight or flight in its purest sense, an inherent trait, indigenous to us all.

Without breaking stride, I turned the corner and discovered Justin and Kyle were already wisely positioned on the back porch. None of us even said a word to each other; we simply sat there in disbelief.

Five minutes went by and no more gunshots were heard. I wanted to know what was going on so I ventured back towards the front of the house and quietly walked through the side gate, crouching down behind a car in the driveway.

When I peeked around the corner, I noticed JD and Adrian were still rumbling around on the ground.

Then I saw Ted, wearing his unmistakable white t-shirt drooping a few inches above the knees, running around the cul-de-sac waving his arms vehemently. He was flaunting his triumphant victory – the threat of bullets didn't seem to bother him.

I looked over to Adrian and JD as they both stood up and backed away from one another, acknowledging their fight was over.

At this point, the Hispanic and everyone with him were in mid-retreat to the fleet of vehicles at the end of the court – I will never forget what I saw next.

I made sure to keep my eye on the Hispanic during his entire departure and he remained my focal point as he wedged himself into the backseat of a four-door sedan. The door slammed shut, the window gradually slid lower and then his face pivoted towards us.

"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
" three shots were fired.

I remember it so vividly; each shot transmitted a luminous spark with six separate and distinct reddish-orange flashes encompassing the barrel. It was slow motion to me, but their cars vanished with–what seemed like–comparable speed to the bullets, which had unknowingly whizzed right by us.

For all I knew, the gun could have been fake ... it could have been a cap gun. I wanted to see if everyone was safe so I scurried through the garage and into the house.

As I opened the door, I saw Kyle's mom distraught in tears. This was the point when I realized we weren't dealing with a cap gun.

"What happened?" I calmly asked her.

"There are three bullet holes in my house!" she said, followed by a flood of tears.

I meandered across the tiled kitchen floor, where I noticed one bullet hole in a wooden cabinet; apparently the second mark in its path after penetrating the window next to the front door.

Then I darted through the dining room to inspect the window and discovered it was still intact, leaving just a slight crevice. I always assumed a gunshot caused glass to shatter, at least that's how it's been portrayed in movies.

Two more bullet holes came directly through the front door, which was disturbing because it was supposedly enforced by steel-plates. The reality of the situation was overwhelming so we all went upstairs to calm down and get a grip on what happened.

Most of us sat down, but not Justin; he was so shaken up he began dry heaving in the middle of the room. It may have been bad timing, but I couldn't stop myself from laughing at his expense. Some things are just funny, regardless of circumstance (Chapter 9 details another one of Justin's weird mannerisms, when he pissed on my sleeping teammate in Cape Cod).

The police eventually showed up and sealed off the entire block, effectively marking it off as a crime scene. They placed numbered tags on every shell case scattered in front of the house.

Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the last time Ted found himself in a similar scenario. He died two years later from a gunshot wound to the head and was left bleeding in the middle of the street. It was a sad ending for him but I will never forget the bravery he showed that night – he very likely saved our lives.