Indiana Pacers Diary Day 18: The Greatest Post Move of My Life
March/15/2011 06:59 AM Filed in: Hoops
This is an unedited diary written when I was in camp w the Indiana Pacers. Go back to start from the beginning.
Day 18
The day after my birthday started out early. My sleep pattern is still all screwed up, and it doesn’t help that I nap and fall asleep too early or too late everyday. It’s not all that fun. It didn’t really matter because we had a game at noon. The second day of my 26th year would begin at Wukesong Arena, in a preseason game against the Denver Nuggets.
As well rolled up to the arena for the second time, I couldn’t help but think that the name of this arena wound up being the difference between me going the right or wrong way on the subway 18 hours earlier. Now, unbeknownst to any of the fans in the arena, I would go from confused subway patron, to spotlight performer.
To be honest, I hadn’t played a minute in Taiwan and there was no indication that I would play any more here than I did there. This bit of insecurity didn’t curb my excitement in the least. I was excited to be part of the game, and also excited because we would be leaving the country right after the game. It was a win-win.
When warm ups began, I contemplated doing my usual array of simple, yet high flying dunks, but my legs hurt and James White was on the other end. I don’t even feel like I hopscotch over a quarter when I watch James dunk. Fly is a better word. The man seems to glide in the air in a way no even the highest of fliers do. The Beijing crowd was cheering, but it wasn’t for ‘Melo or Granger, McRoberts or Birdman, all the love was for Flight White.
I took my seat on the floor and began to watch the game as the opening tip took place. Lawrence was sitting next to me and he was coughing.
“You sick?” I asked him.
“I got something,” he said.
“Damn. I think Chris Anderson gave you the Bird Flu when he caught that alley-oop yesterday.”
No response. I turned my attention back to the game.
Roy Hibbert was going off again like last time. ‘Melo was KILLING it. The refs were killing Granger. The –
“Rodney! Rodney!”
Coach O’Brien’s voice interrupted my thought process.
When you hear your name from the head coach and you’re not expecting it, you always jump up so fast that it’s embarrassing when you realize he was calling someone else’s name instead of yours. With that as my feeling, I got up slowly. He was indeed calling my name.
I went in with a couple minutes to go in the second quarter, which basically entitled me to the best seat in the house as ‘Melo kept his hot streak going. I was able to grab a rebound away from Renaldo Balkman, asserting myself as the premiere ‘RB’ on the court (in my mind). And, as time expired in the first half, I caught an airball and threw the ball over my shoulder and through the rim, for two points that almost counted. The Chinese fans still got hyped at my efforts. I hoped that they at least reviewed the play so people in the U.S. could be like hyped too.
I assumed my place on the floor again as the second half started. ‘Melo was the only player bringing the heat in the 3rd quarter. When I say he brought the heat, I’m talking like he set his killer over to 475 at halftime so that he would be ready to cook anybody who got in his path when play resumed.
I bided my time, patiently waiting for my next opportunity, knowing that it may not come. I had made sure that I would be physically ready by applying a generous amount of “Flex-Power” on my legs at halftime. Now I had to stay mentally prepared. I didn’t want coaches words to catch me off guard again like in the first quarter. I figured that I would perform better if –
“Rodney!”
Damn. So much for that.
I hustled back into the game. There were only a few minutes left, which is normally a very tough spot to come in and play, but since I had played in the first half, it helped keep my legs a little more fresh and my mind as ready as possible. I felt good out there. I would need to if I want to avoid getting my own dose of ‘bird flu.’
Boom. Boom. Two rebounds on consecutive plays.
That’s how I roll.
Then I got a steal (they never counted it in the stats, damn) and a pass deflection. I always have a habit of looking at my coach for approval when I do something that he preaches in practice. He could go right on ahead and check of ‘deflections’ from his list.
He took me out for a minute, then threw me right back in. Good. I would get it to finish the game. For me, every minute counted so much.
Boom. A passing lane opened up and I found myself alone under the basket. If I could get the ball from A.J. Price quick enough, I would have a dunk. It took his a second to get past the ball pressure and deliver a slow, hanging pass. I caught it with Johan Petro recovering towards me with quickness. I went up, jumping into him to ensure a foul call, then found the backboard. And one. I was now on the scoreboard. Mad Boom Tho, indeed! The free throw sank. Three points the old fashioned way.
On the other end, I grabbed another board. I had four now.
That’s how I roll.
Back on the offensive side, I was fouled while attempting to grab an offensive board. I would rather have gotten the board, but the foul put me to the line. I should thank the guys who played the whole fourth quarter for allowing my foul to be worth two shots. I went 1-2 from the line. 4 points at that point was very solid in my mind. Time out.
I sat on the bench as Coach O’Brien drew up a play. As I watched it develop, I realized it was for me! He must have faith in my low post ability, because there were 4 other guys out here who can get buckets.
I walked back onto the court knowing that I had one chance to prove him right. This is what sucks about being in my position. I have one shot to prove myself and it’s an iso play at the end of the game in Beijing. Not only am I proving something to the organization, but to everyone watching around the world who thinks “oh snap they just ran a post up play for Benson and he – “ I had to take advantage.
The play developed perfectly. Way to go “C” teamers. I found myself holding the ball a foot off the post with a guard in the corner and big man at the top. I held it until they cut, then I faced him up. Could I hit my Duncan face-up bank? Ehh, not right now. Could I drive him? Maybe.
I took a dribble middle. Help came and cut me off. I took another dribble and I drop stepped towards the baseline. I saw the backboard wide open. That’s all I look for. I don’t even look at the hoop. If I can see glass, I can see two points.
I rose up off the spin, and saw Petro closing in on me faster than I anticipated. He’s way bigger than the D-Leaguers I’m used to exacting this move upon. He jumped to block my shot right after I jumped to shoot it. He missed the ball by a margin I fail to compute because it was so close. The ball sailed a little higher than I would have liked because it had to avoid his fingertips. It bounced off the backboard, right where I aimed, and splashed through the hoop.
As I jogged back on defense, my mind told me to celebrate in some way. To everyone else, this may have just been another basket, but to me it was my 6th point in 7 minutes, my first post up score as an NBA player, my ‘prove that we can call a play for you’ moment, and besides all that I’m a guy who gets hyped all the time anyway. Still, I didn’t celebrate at all. We were down, which played a factor. Most importantly, though, I realized that I play against NBA talent all year and summer and have hit that move on everyone. “Act like you’ve been there before,” were the words of my college coach that played themselves out in real-time before 20,000 fans in Beijing.
On the other end, Petro wanted payback. They posted him up and I made sure he caught the ball well off the post. He faced me up and exposed the ball. Without thinking, I swiped at it, knocking the ball to the ground. I had already picked it up before he realized that he even lost it and, because I didn’t see an outlet right away, I took two dribbles. I was then tripped from behind. Two more foul shots were coming up.
I stepped to the line thinking that I could have 8 points in 8 minutes if I knocked these down. That would be spectacular for me. I brought the ball up to shoot it, but it slipped. It never got higher than the net, then fell, quite embarrassingly, to the hardwood, with a thud amongst the silent gym. It was a clear air-ball. As silent as the gym was before, it was as loud with laughter after they realized what had transpired. Coddamnit. I didn’t erase what I had already done, but it still looked real bad. I had to make the second one just to save face, and I did.
The game lasted about another minute before it ended. Even though nobody cared but me, I felt like I won, like we had won. In truth, we had lost, Granger got ejected, ‘Melo killed us, and I played garbage time. Nobody mentioned my play in the locker room except Coach Conner. This was what I was paid to do, I guess. But screw all of that, this day I felt the inner baller in me clear his throat and yell like a Gorilla in the jungle, exclaiming and staking his place amongst his peers. Coddamn it felt good to lose that game.
It was time to leave Beijing now. Before I knew it, I was already back on the plane. Now I’m sitting here in the darkness, while everyone sleeps, quietly remembering one my best days as a pro, and nobody knows it. Heck, they probably don’t care. Thing is, they weren’t there with me when I was battling for playing time in Austin, when I won a championship in Dakota, when I came back after a terrible camp with Jersey, when I got 28 and 28, or when I got hurt right before my breakout summer league with the Raptors. They don’t know, and maybe they won’t ever know, the amount of struggle and time I’ve had to withstand to be able to say that I had 7 and 4 in a meaningless NBA preseason game.
So, forget what I should feel about today. I am flying from Beijing to Indiana, with the Pacers, in first class, with Larry Legend sitting 10 feet away from me, the baller in me feeling like I’m finally making it, and the fan in me overwhelmed with the positivity of my situation and craziness that has been my last couple of weeks. I’m glad I didn’t sign in Europe when I thought I would, because these are memories and feelings that can never be matched again. There can be different ones, but I always remember the feeling, the air, the time, the emotion behind different points in my life. The feeling now is one that reminds me of my favorite part of ‘Scarface’:
“The world is yours.”
Day 18
The day after my birthday started out early. My sleep pattern is still all screwed up, and it doesn’t help that I nap and fall asleep too early or too late everyday. It’s not all that fun. It didn’t really matter because we had a game at noon. The second day of my 26th year would begin at Wukesong Arena, in a preseason game against the Denver Nuggets.
As well rolled up to the arena for the second time, I couldn’t help but think that the name of this arena wound up being the difference between me going the right or wrong way on the subway 18 hours earlier. Now, unbeknownst to any of the fans in the arena, I would go from confused subway patron, to spotlight performer.
To be honest, I hadn’t played a minute in Taiwan and there was no indication that I would play any more here than I did there. This bit of insecurity didn’t curb my excitement in the least. I was excited to be part of the game, and also excited because we would be leaving the country right after the game. It was a win-win.
When warm ups began, I contemplated doing my usual array of simple, yet high flying dunks, but my legs hurt and James White was on the other end. I don’t even feel like I hopscotch over a quarter when I watch James dunk. Fly is a better word. The man seems to glide in the air in a way no even the highest of fliers do. The Beijing crowd was cheering, but it wasn’t for ‘Melo or Granger, McRoberts or Birdman, all the love was for Flight White.
I took my seat on the floor and began to watch the game as the opening tip took place. Lawrence was sitting next to me and he was coughing.
“You sick?” I asked him.
“I got something,” he said.
“Damn. I think Chris Anderson gave you the Bird Flu when he caught that alley-oop yesterday.”
No response. I turned my attention back to the game.
Roy Hibbert was going off again like last time. ‘Melo was KILLING it. The refs were killing Granger. The –
“Rodney! Rodney!”
Coach O’Brien’s voice interrupted my thought process.
When you hear your name from the head coach and you’re not expecting it, you always jump up so fast that it’s embarrassing when you realize he was calling someone else’s name instead of yours. With that as my feeling, I got up slowly. He was indeed calling my name.
I went in with a couple minutes to go in the second quarter, which basically entitled me to the best seat in the house as ‘Melo kept his hot streak going. I was able to grab a rebound away from Renaldo Balkman, asserting myself as the premiere ‘RB’ on the court (in my mind). And, as time expired in the first half, I caught an airball and threw the ball over my shoulder and through the rim, for two points that almost counted. The Chinese fans still got hyped at my efforts. I hoped that they at least reviewed the play so people in the U.S. could be like hyped too.
I assumed my place on the floor again as the second half started. ‘Melo was the only player bringing the heat in the 3rd quarter. When I say he brought the heat, I’m talking like he set his killer over to 475 at halftime so that he would be ready to cook anybody who got in his path when play resumed.
I bided my time, patiently waiting for my next opportunity, knowing that it may not come. I had made sure that I would be physically ready by applying a generous amount of “Flex-Power” on my legs at halftime. Now I had to stay mentally prepared. I didn’t want coaches words to catch me off guard again like in the first quarter. I figured that I would perform better if –
“Rodney!”
Damn. So much for that.
I hustled back into the game. There were only a few minutes left, which is normally a very tough spot to come in and play, but since I had played in the first half, it helped keep my legs a little more fresh and my mind as ready as possible. I felt good out there. I would need to if I want to avoid getting my own dose of ‘bird flu.’
Boom. Boom. Two rebounds on consecutive plays.
That’s how I roll.
Then I got a steal (they never counted it in the stats, damn) and a pass deflection. I always have a habit of looking at my coach for approval when I do something that he preaches in practice. He could go right on ahead and check of ‘deflections’ from his list.
He took me out for a minute, then threw me right back in. Good. I would get it to finish the game. For me, every minute counted so much.
Boom. A passing lane opened up and I found myself alone under the basket. If I could get the ball from A.J. Price quick enough, I would have a dunk. It took his a second to get past the ball pressure and deliver a slow, hanging pass. I caught it with Johan Petro recovering towards me with quickness. I went up, jumping into him to ensure a foul call, then found the backboard. And one. I was now on the scoreboard. Mad Boom Tho, indeed! The free throw sank. Three points the old fashioned way.
On the other end, I grabbed another board. I had four now.
That’s how I roll.
Back on the offensive side, I was fouled while attempting to grab an offensive board. I would rather have gotten the board, but the foul put me to the line. I should thank the guys who played the whole fourth quarter for allowing my foul to be worth two shots. I went 1-2 from the line. 4 points at that point was very solid in my mind. Time out.
I sat on the bench as Coach O’Brien drew up a play. As I watched it develop, I realized it was for me! He must have faith in my low post ability, because there were 4 other guys out here who can get buckets.
I walked back onto the court knowing that I had one chance to prove him right. This is what sucks about being in my position. I have one shot to prove myself and it’s an iso play at the end of the game in Beijing. Not only am I proving something to the organization, but to everyone watching around the world who thinks “oh snap they just ran a post up play for Benson and he – “ I had to take advantage.
The play developed perfectly. Way to go “C” teamers. I found myself holding the ball a foot off the post with a guard in the corner and big man at the top. I held it until they cut, then I faced him up. Could I hit my Duncan face-up bank? Ehh, not right now. Could I drive him? Maybe.
I took a dribble middle. Help came and cut me off. I took another dribble and I drop stepped towards the baseline. I saw the backboard wide open. That’s all I look for. I don’t even look at the hoop. If I can see glass, I can see two points.
I rose up off the spin, and saw Petro closing in on me faster than I anticipated. He’s way bigger than the D-Leaguers I’m used to exacting this move upon. He jumped to block my shot right after I jumped to shoot it. He missed the ball by a margin I fail to compute because it was so close. The ball sailed a little higher than I would have liked because it had to avoid his fingertips. It bounced off the backboard, right where I aimed, and splashed through the hoop.
As I jogged back on defense, my mind told me to celebrate in some way. To everyone else, this may have just been another basket, but to me it was my 6th point in 7 minutes, my first post up score as an NBA player, my ‘prove that we can call a play for you’ moment, and besides all that I’m a guy who gets hyped all the time anyway. Still, I didn’t celebrate at all. We were down, which played a factor. Most importantly, though, I realized that I play against NBA talent all year and summer and have hit that move on everyone. “Act like you’ve been there before,” were the words of my college coach that played themselves out in real-time before 20,000 fans in Beijing.
On the other end, Petro wanted payback. They posted him up and I made sure he caught the ball well off the post. He faced me up and exposed the ball. Without thinking, I swiped at it, knocking the ball to the ground. I had already picked it up before he realized that he even lost it and, because I didn’t see an outlet right away, I took two dribbles. I was then tripped from behind. Two more foul shots were coming up.
I stepped to the line thinking that I could have 8 points in 8 minutes if I knocked these down. That would be spectacular for me. I brought the ball up to shoot it, but it slipped. It never got higher than the net, then fell, quite embarrassingly, to the hardwood, with a thud amongst the silent gym. It was a clear air-ball. As silent as the gym was before, it was as loud with laughter after they realized what had transpired. Coddamnit. I didn’t erase what I had already done, but it still looked real bad. I had to make the second one just to save face, and I did.
The game lasted about another minute before it ended. Even though nobody cared but me, I felt like I won, like we had won. In truth, we had lost, Granger got ejected, ‘Melo killed us, and I played garbage time. Nobody mentioned my play in the locker room except Coach Conner. This was what I was paid to do, I guess. But screw all of that, this day I felt the inner baller in me clear his throat and yell like a Gorilla in the jungle, exclaiming and staking his place amongst his peers. Coddamn it felt good to lose that game.
It was time to leave Beijing now. Before I knew it, I was already back on the plane. Now I’m sitting here in the darkness, while everyone sleeps, quietly remembering one my best days as a pro, and nobody knows it. Heck, they probably don’t care. Thing is, they weren’t there with me when I was battling for playing time in Austin, when I won a championship in Dakota, when I came back after a terrible camp with Jersey, when I got 28 and 28, or when I got hurt right before my breakout summer league with the Raptors. They don’t know, and maybe they won’t ever know, the amount of struggle and time I’ve had to withstand to be able to say that I had 7 and 4 in a meaningless NBA preseason game.
So, forget what I should feel about today. I am flying from Beijing to Indiana, with the Pacers, in first class, with Larry Legend sitting 10 feet away from me, the baller in me feeling like I’m finally making it, and the fan in me overwhelmed with the positivity of my situation and craziness that has been my last couple of weeks. I’m glad I didn’t sign in Europe when I thought I would, because these are memories and feelings that can never be matched again. There can be different ones, but I always remember the feeling, the air, the time, the emotion behind different points in my life. The feeling now is one that reminds me of my favorite part of ‘Scarface’:
“The world is yours.”
|