Physical Therapy

A week ago, a co-worker of mine and my former supervisor, Ray, collapsed at work. He's still in the hospital.

The moment it happened, I was in the back of the warehouse near the balor. As I walked back to the front, I heard some commotion on the radio that was out of the ordinary. Moving forward past hardlines main aisle, I saw people facing the high end registers, standing completely still and silent. The guys were expressionless. The girls were crying.

The paramedics surrounded someone on the floor and I got that sinking feeling as I realized that it was one of our own.

What made it even more tragic was the fact that Ray is the uncle of one of my closest friends—JC.

The scene was painful to see. Finally, after some time, they got a pulse and rushed him out to the hospital.

The 30 or so employees who were still on the Front End looked at each other, unsure of what to say or do. After a few moments we gathered round, held hands, and said a prayer.

We're here 5 days and 40 hours a week. We've been here for years. We know each other's business. We don't all always get along. But we're kind of like a family. I see my co-workers more than my actual family. So when something like this happens, it shakes us all.

_____

I was really worried about My Dude. He's one of my best friends, man, and his uncle had just collapsed. In the past two years he's endured enough tragedy, and I felt horrible for him.

I was texting with him the night it happened, but in the following days I didn't know whether to keep in touch or to give him space. He had been excused from work for the rest of the week, so I wasn't able to see him and get a sense of how he was holding up.

One of my co-workers had gone to hospital to see Ray on Tuesday night. On Wednesday I asked her how he was doing, but there wasn't much of an update quite yet. We were all still in the dark at that point.

"How's My Dude holding up?" I asked her [referring to JC].

"It's weighing on him," she said. "I've never seen him like that the entire time I've known him."

____

On Friday, I'd learned that Ray was undergoing treatment at Ronald Reagan UCLA Medical Center. I texted My Dude to make sure he was there and let him know I wanted to visit.

After class ended, I walked up the steps of Fowler Museum and made the trek through Bruin Walk and over to the hospital, which was bustling with doctors, patients, staff, and families wading through the marble floors, their footsteps echoing off the high ceiling of the main lobby. In the northwest corner sat a musician playing the harp, with sheet music in her lap. The music seemed neither happy or sad, but rather introspective and flowing. I couldn’t help but wonder of the social function of a secluded harpist playing music that wasn’t particularly positive or uplifting. I suppose the beauty of the harp superseded any need for an emotional response beyond that.

I made my way to the seventh floor, and started exploring the hallways to figure out where the waiting room might be. After a few minutes I turned a corner and heard a familiar voice behind me.

"What up My Dude?"

There he was, cracking a smile. I was relieved to see he wasn’t in total pieces.

Coming in behind My Dude was his cousin and brother, both of whom I knew as well. We'd played basketball together many many times this past summer, all over Los Angeles—from parks in Santa Monica, to Baldwin Hills, to Carson. But at that moment those days seemed so long ago.

My Dude seemed okay for the most part, but looked tired and stressed out, and understandably so.

We all sat and talked for a good minute. They told me some family stories about the shenanigans they'd get into back in the day. We talked about howInfinity Warwas trash (and I hadn't even seen it).

We eventually went inward through the double doors and down the hall to see Ray. As we approached his room, a few nurses closed the curtain around him and started working on him.

"Shit, have a good one... we'll come back later."

We turned around and went back to the waiting area, where we joined My Dude's mom, as well as My Dude's tia and nephew and rest of the family. We'd met numerous times at family parties and get-togethers he'd had over the years.

"You down to ball up, My Dude?" I asked him. "We could hit up Wooden Center, put up some jumpers, get your mind off of things."

He hesitated for a moment.

"Fuck it, I'm down, I've been here since 5 AM, I need to get out for a bit. I gotta be back by 3, though.”

"Hell yeah, let's get some buckets," I said.

We took the elevator to the basement level, and went to his car so he could grab his KD's, bag, and gym ball and we were on our way.

I'd been telling My Dude for the past two years,you gotta come ball up at Wooden Center one of these days, get some of those 'legendary battles' John Ireland always talks about, lmao. I wish it were under different circumstances, but that day was the first time he'd set foot on Collins Court.

When we arrived at JWC, there was a very cute girl working the desk. “Hellooo” I said in my trademark half-joking, sarcastic tone.

“Can I help you?” She asked with a smile.

“Yeah, I just want to check in a guest.”

“Oh,” she replied, her tone lowered. “He can help you.” She gestured to her co-worker, a tryhard guy wearing an Under Armour hat sideways.

I gave My Dude an incredulous look. “I can’t get no respect around here.” lmao 

Through the west entrance of Collins Court, we saw that Court 1 was running full steam with multiple tall ass fools on both sides, one of 'em just missing a dunk. Court 2 was just about to finish, with no one else waiting, so I inched toward the center. As I laced up my Harden LS's, a couple of dudes came up to us, whom I will henceforth refer to as the Ahmad Brothers. "You guys got five?" one of them asked me. "Nah," I replied. "Just me and my boy here." We linked up and found one more person to complete the squad. When it was our turn we stepped on and sized the other team up. They had two tall fools, with one of them wearing Kareem-style sports goggles. The other three were about average height, but were tryhards that played out of control with their elbows flying everywhere. As a defender it's like come on, man. Us, on the other hand, were running with four guards, which included myself and the Ahmad Brothers. My Dude defaulted to playing the five, which tends to happen pretty often. He's 5'11 but a very good rebounder and shooter, and you would never guess that just by looking at him. The other team was about to find that out the hard way. I started off terribly. 0 for 2, with a turnover to go along with it. 

Have a good one.

I had to find another way to impact the game, and the best course of action was to make sure My Dude got hot. Once he catches fire, there's no stopping him. With our team down 6-2, I walked it up past half court, took a high screen and drove near the left elbow. 3 dudes from the other team collapsed on me, ravenous for an easy steal. Without thinking I threw it back over my head to the left wing, where My Dude was left wide open beyond the arc. Splash.  "Good shit My Dude!" Back on defense, one of the Ahmad Brothers stole homie's cookies and got an easy layup on the other end. Momentum was back on our side. Suddenly though, a few possessions later, an Ahmad bro drove straight into traffic, threw up a brick, got his own rebound, then threw up another brick. I look at My Dude and we both shake our heads. My Dude cleans up the glass and starts getting triple-teamed under there. Through the mess he finds me in the corner with no one near me. "He can't shoot!" one of the guys on the other team yelled, clearly directed at me. I smiled and launched it like I was Klay Thompson. 

Wet. 

We were now in the lead. "Keep shooting that My Dude," My Dude called out. "If they're gonna disrespect you by leaving you wide open we're getting the easy dub." Hell yeah.  On the next possession I get the ball pushed up to me on a fast break. Two defenders were waiting for me in the paint. Instead I pull up from the top of the key and let it fly like I had no conscience. Money. "Alright, who the fuck is guarding him???" the same guy from earlier yelled. Hahaha.

I had meant to find My Dude more and get him going, but instead he was finding me and getting me going. Passes were straight to the chest so I could just catch and shoot. He knows very well where I like to setup beyond the arc. He knows how to make the right play, and that’s a quality most people just don’t have anymore.

Soon the defense buckled down on me and started playing like tryhards, minimizing my space to operate. On screens they started going over, to which I dumped off easy bounce passes to My Dude who was always cutting and got easy buckets. I love dropping dimes to my friends. Down the stretch we were down 12-10 in a game up to 13. The Ahmad brothers didn't want to pass and instead opted for hero ball, which eventually cost us the game. "These fools trying to do too much," My Dude said to me, gesturing with a nod over to the Ahmad Brothers. "I know. These dudes taking some silly ass shots bro." We had the other team on the ropes and instead these dudes were taking contested fadeaways and throwing up bricks through traffic instead of passing. Inexcusable. 

“You guys tryna run it back?” Some tryhard from the other team asked us. 

“Hell yeah.”

The only person I know who hates losing more than me is My Dude. Losing a winnable game to tryhard scrubs leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Of course we’re running it back. 

My Dude and I resolved to play a two man game, and carry the team ourselves should we fall behind by more than 3. We were both shooting well. 

Then, in game 2, a miracle happened. The Ahmad Brothers started passing! And making open shots! 

One of them would drive in, kick it out, and we’d swing it around to the weak side. I’d get the ball on the left wing, fake the 3, then make that final pass over into the corner where My Dude was wide the fuck open. 

Cash. 

“Isn’t this Mike D’Antoni’s offense???”

On another possession My Dude and I ran the pick and roll. Coming around the screen on my right I lobbed it up to him and he came down with it on the left block. 

First pump fake. Fool bit on it nasty. 

Second pump fake. A different fool bit on it even nastier and My Dude went up and under for the reverse layup, making it look easy. 

“Good shit My Dude!!!” 

As you can tell, I know exactly what’s gonna happen when he gets the ball on the block. And every time without fail these tryhards on the other team wanna jump out of the gym thinking they have an easy block but end up embarrassing themselves. 

We won the game easily, 13-8. 

“Run it back?” 

“Yup.” 

Now the other team was playing a bit dirtier. Anyone in the paint was getting hacked to death. My Dude is too prideful to call fouls on them, and the other team was taking advantage. Eventually I had to start calling them for him so we wouldn’t fall behind. These fools were still biting on the pump fakes and coming down on his back. 

“Come on man that’s a fuckin’ foul, bro,” I said to homeboy on the other team. “You can’t do that!” 

Eventually they laid off of us a little bit. My defender fell asleep for just a moment and My Dude found me in the corner for the quick catch and shoot. The defender made a hard closeout but I sank it anyway. I swear to god if you give me an inch of space I’m gonna fucking shoot! Hahaha. I love this game. 

It was a tight contest until then, but then My Dude caught fire and it was game over. The other team was guarding the paint and made the big mistake of giving him too much space to shoot. He made them pay every time, hitting 2, 3 in a row. We won handily. We ran it back. Then we won again. Then ran it back. Then won again. Before we knew it it was 3:45. The time had flown by like nothing. A Serge Ibaka lookin' ass fool came up to Court 2. It was definitely time to say have a good one. "4 and 1 on the day, pretty solid," My Dude said. "Shit, should've been 5 and 0 if it weren't for that first one we dropped." I replied. "I'm blaming the Ahmad Brothers." "Yeah, they're trash bro." __________ There's nothing quite like playing ball with your friends. We know each other and our games, and play to our strengths. My Dude and I are from different places, but we grew up the same way, and that's how we initially bonded years ago. The best parts of our childhood consisted of playing ball with our friends year-round, every sport we could. We're both laid-back people, but on the court we're intensely competitive. I knew My Dude was going through a hard time with his Uncle Ray in the hospital. But I was glad I could get his mind off of it for a while and bring him to the Wooden Center, where we were (almost) able to run the table. Getting good runs in a nice gym is one of life's greatest joys for me, and I know it is for him too. That's a part of the beauty of sports, for me. It can cheer you up no matter the circumstances, even if it's just temporarily. It forges and reinforces bonds. It's a cool, healthy lifestyle you keep for the rest of your life. Sometimes it helps you put things in perspective. And other times it's even a form of therapy.