by Stop Mike Lupica on September 5 at 3:13PM
Quick Labor Day weekend update, pt. 2: Tennis, anyone? Yeah, I was excited to see the Williams sisters advance. Serena got knocked out last night by Justine Henin; Venus is up tonight at 7:00 against Jelena Jankovic.
Women's tennis might be one of the few sports where watching the women play is more fun than watching the guys play. I think Simmons wrote about this years ago, but when you watch the guys play, it's too powerful - the points are over too quickly. With the women there is a buildup - very rarely, even when one player overpowers the other, it's not a quick spanking... every game point takes effort to win. But it may not be that way for most. This great post from Sports Media Watch analyzes this topic in more depth (found via Signal 2 Noise).
Found that sign near the Water Taxi Beach here in LIC. Cracked me up.
This weekend was the annual West Indian Day Parade in Brooklyn (Eastern Parkway), the biggest parade in NYC. Over a million participants every year, topping the Irish and Puerto Rican parades. It even tops the Halloween parade, which also happens to be NYC's only night time parade.
I didn't make it out to the West Indian parade this year - I had a barbecue in Harlem to go to. But a friend did make it out. He told us that he took the dollar vans in Brooklyn.
"They still have them? Even in gentrified BK?"
"Well, they cost a $1.50 now", he told us. "And they have a ton of rules now - I read the sign in the van. The usual stuff like 'No Radio Playing', 'No Food', etc. But they had a couple of odd ones, too."
"Like what?"
"No Fish"
"Like no fish in a bag? I could see that... it's like fish is so stinky, even if you are transporting it, it still smells bad. Yeah, I can support that..."
"No Reading"
"What?!? What, like no reading magazines?"
"I don't know. I was like 'Yo, how am I suppose to read this sign if you don't allow reading? Didn't you read the sign? - No Reading allowed"
Interesting sh*t you learn on SML. I'll share with ya a story about one of my favorite West Indian Parade stories. The story involves Trini Ricky. Before I start, though, I should give you some background on Trini Ricky. I could share a lot of Trini Ricky stories with you - hell, I could write a book on The Legend. But in the interest of keeping your attention, let me just give you the necessary background info.
Trini Ricky was a high school classmate of mine. As you can probably guess, he was Trinidadian. I shared a locker with him senior year. This was due to an intense dislike of the classmates that I was originally assigned to share a locker with; I went without a locker for a bit until Ricky generously offered me a share of his. I asked him what happened to his assigned locker mate:
"He got scared off by my weapons".
Trini Rick kept all sorts of goodies in our locker - switchblades, butterfly knives (still my weapon of choice), brass knuckles, and, most impressively, a giant meat hook that he stole from his job at Key Food. More on that later.
Rick was quite generous with everyone, but particularly me. Not only did he share his locker, but he would let me use his extra pair of shorts for gym class when I needed them. Of course, his shorts were quite... West Indian. They were cream colored, hung down below my knee, about 3/4 of the way to the ankle (think male capri-length), with a mesh slot running along the side. They came with a matching top that made me look straight out of a Capleton video. Seriously, I looked like a West Indian postman when I would show up to gym class rocking this gear.
"Yo, you guard the rasta."
Even my own teammates would break on me:
"Yeah, bwoy. Shoot da tree, bwoy. Shoot it! You no con-test!"
Whatever, it was all in good fun. I spent 25 minutes on Google trying to find anything remotely similar, but you can't. There are only two places where you could find something like that: the West Indies, and Brooklyn circa 1994. That's it.
One of my favorite Rick stories involves the time he got robbed going home from work. He lived in Flatbush (a neighborhood that once existed in Brooklyn, but has since become part of the gentrified landscape - I don't even know what they call it nowadays - Prospect Heights, maybe?), and worked at the Key Food on Flatbush, maybe three to five blocks away.
At school one day I suggested we go out for some pizza. "Nah man," he said. "No loot."
Leave a comment
Women's tennis might be one of the few sports where watching the women play is more fun than watching the guys play. I think Simmons wrote about this years ago, but when you watch the guys play, it's too powerful - the points are over too quickly. With the women there is a buildup - very rarely, even when one player overpowers the other, it's not a quick spanking... every game point takes effort to win. But it may not be that way for most. This great post from Sports Media Watch analyzes this topic in more depth (found via Signal 2 Noise).
Found that sign near the Water Taxi Beach here in LIC. Cracked me up.This weekend was the annual West Indian Day Parade in Brooklyn (Eastern Parkway), the biggest parade in NYC. Over a million participants every year, topping the Irish and Puerto Rican parades. It even tops the Halloween parade, which also happens to be NYC's only night time parade.
I didn't make it out to the West Indian parade this year - I had a barbecue in Harlem to go to. But a friend did make it out. He told us that he took the dollar vans in Brooklyn.
"They still have them? Even in gentrified BK?"
"Well, they cost a $1.50 now", he told us. "And they have a ton of rules now - I read the sign in the van. The usual stuff like 'No Radio Playing', 'No Food', etc. But they had a couple of odd ones, too."
"Like what?"
"No Fish"
"Like no fish in a bag? I could see that... it's like fish is so stinky, even if you are transporting it, it still smells bad. Yeah, I can support that..."
"No Reading"
"What?!? What, like no reading magazines?"
"I don't know. I was like 'Yo, how am I suppose to read this sign if you don't allow reading? Didn't you read the sign? - No Reading allowed"
Interesting sh*t you learn on SML. I'll share with ya a story about one of my favorite West Indian Parade stories. The story involves Trini Ricky. Before I start, though, I should give you some background on Trini Ricky. I could share a lot of Trini Ricky stories with you - hell, I could write a book on The Legend. But in the interest of keeping your attention, let me just give you the necessary background info. Trini Ricky was a high school classmate of mine. As you can probably guess, he was Trinidadian. I shared a locker with him senior year. This was due to an intense dislike of the classmates that I was originally assigned to share a locker with; I went without a locker for a bit until Ricky generously offered me a share of his. I asked him what happened to his assigned locker mate:
"He got scared off by my weapons".
Trini Rick kept all sorts of goodies in our locker - switchblades, butterfly knives (still my weapon of choice), brass knuckles, and, most impressively, a giant meat hook that he stole from his job at Key Food. More on that later.
Rick was quite generous with everyone, but particularly me. Not only did he share his locker, but he would let me use his extra pair of shorts for gym class when I needed them. Of course, his shorts were quite... West Indian. They were cream colored, hung down below my knee, about 3/4 of the way to the ankle (think male capri-length), with a mesh slot running along the side. They came with a matching top that made me look straight out of a Capleton video. Seriously, I looked like a West Indian postman when I would show up to gym class rocking this gear. "Yo, you guard the rasta."
Even my own teammates would break on me:
"Yeah, bwoy. Shoot da tree, bwoy. Shoot it! You no con-test!"
Whatever, it was all in good fun. I spent 25 minutes on Google trying to find anything remotely similar, but you can't. There are only two places where you could find something like that: the West Indies, and Brooklyn circa 1994. That's it.
One of my favorite Rick stories involves the time he got robbed going home from work. He lived in Flatbush (a neighborhood that once existed in Brooklyn, but has since become part of the gentrified landscape - I don't even know what they call it nowadays - Prospect Heights, maybe?), and worked at the Key Food on Flatbush, maybe three to five blocks away.
At school one day I suggested we go out for some pizza. "Nah man," he said. "No loot."
What happened to your money? Don't you work?
"Yeah, yesterday was payday. I got my weekly cash (his job was off the books). As I was walking home, though, a guy in a ski mask came up behind me with a gun. He was like "run your shit", so I had to give him all my loot."
Damn, that sucks. I felt bad for my boy, so I lend him some money, and we got pizza. He promised to pay me back in a week, the next Wednesday (he got paid on Tuesdays).
Well, the following Wednesday rolled around:
Rick: "Yo (SML), can I have an extension on that money I owe you? I don't have any money today."
SML: "Why not? Didn't you get paid yesterday?"
Rick: "Yeah, I got paid. But then I was walking home when all of a sudden this guy comes up from behind me with a gun, wearing a ski mask. Same head from the week before. He's all "run your shit" on me again!"
After that, we spent the rest of the week breaking on poor R. Anytime he would walk outside, we would be make jokes about a mugger wearing a mask coming up from behind him... "Yo, watch out man!". "Run your shit," we would shout at him from a far. Even though we had all gotten robbed at one point or another - no one lived in old NYC without getting held up a least a few times, or worse - this was the first time I had ever heard of someone suffering from a personal valet mugger. Homeboy was seemingly cursed.
The next Wednesday he came in to school. I asked him if he got paid yesterday:
"Yeah, I got paid. Took a different route home this time, too."
Damn, that sucks. I felt bad for my boy, so I lend him some money, and we got pizza. He promised to pay me back in a week, the next Wednesday (he got paid on Tuesdays).
Well, the following Wednesday rolled around:Rick: "Yo (SML), can I have an extension on that money I owe you? I don't have any money today."
SML: "Why not? Didn't you get paid yesterday?"
Rick: "Yeah, I got paid. But then I was walking home when all of a sudden this guy comes up from behind me with a gun, wearing a ski mask. Same head from the week before. He's all "run your shit" on me again!"
After that, we spent the rest of the week breaking on poor R. Anytime he would walk outside, we would be make jokes about a mugger wearing a mask coming up from behind him... "Yo, watch out man!". "Run your shit," we would shout at him from a far. Even though we had all gotten robbed at one point or another - no one lived in old NYC without getting held up a least a few times, or worse - this was the first time I had ever heard of someone suffering from a personal valet mugger. Homeboy was seemingly cursed.
The next Wednesday he came in to school. I asked him if he got paid yesterday:
"Yeah, I got paid. Took a different route home this time, too."
Smart guy.
"I made it to my block. But that fool in the ski mask was waiting for me on my corner... he jacked me again!"
Within a week everyone at school had heard about this, and was breaking on the poor guy. Three weeks in a row of getting robbed by the same guy will have that effect on people. It was newsworthy.
Within a week everyone at school had heard about this, and was breaking on the poor guy. Three weeks in a row of getting robbed by the same guy will have that effect on people. It was newsworthy.
So the following Wednesday morning we wait for him to arrive at the breakfast table in the cafeteria. When I say "we", I mean about 4 dozen people. Hell, I even showed up to school early for the first time ever. The excitement mounted. Finally, Ricky arrived:
"So Ricky, how you doing, man?" someone inquired.
"Not so hot. Yesterday was payday."
We all knew that, of course. That's why everyone was gathered there.
"Yeah, so I was walking home from work yesterday. But this time I took a different route. I doubled back, crossed Flatbush, hopped on a subway, took a bus, jumped off a roof (SML note: I'm exaggerating his words, but you get the idea)... finally made it to my block. I was almost home when the guy in the ski mask comes running across the block full speed. He was huffing and puffing. He's like "(gasp) (cough) "Run your sh*t!"
"AHHHH HA HA HA". We all started to crack up. Homie just got robbed for the fourth week in a row... that had to be a record of some sort. After a lot of laughter, we finally quieted down. That's when Ricky continued:
"Yeah, he said "run your shit". That's when my dad jumped out of the bushes behind him with the shotty. He put it in the guy's back, and said "Uh-uh. Ain't nobody running shit here, bwoy!"
Wow. We were all floored by this development. It was great. Ricky finished off his story:
"Yeah, so then we took off the guy's ski mask. Turns out it was my manager from Key Food. He gave back all the money he stole from me."
Seriously, that's the greatest Scooby Doo ending of all time. I can't even go into any other Ricky stories today. We'll have to finish them some other day....
"So Ricky, how you doing, man?" someone inquired.
"Not so hot. Yesterday was payday."
We all knew that, of course. That's why everyone was gathered there.
"Yeah, so I was walking home from work yesterday. But this time I took a different route. I doubled back, crossed Flatbush, hopped on a subway, took a bus, jumped off a roof (SML note: I'm exaggerating his words, but you get the idea)... finally made it to my block. I was almost home when the guy in the ski mask comes running across the block full speed. He was huffing and puffing. He's like "(gasp) (cough) "Run your sh*t!"
"AHHHH HA HA HA". We all started to crack up. Homie just got robbed for the fourth week in a row... that had to be a record of some sort. After a lot of laughter, we finally quieted down. That's when Ricky continued:
"Yeah, he said "run your shit". That's when my dad jumped out of the bushes behind him with the shotty. He put it in the guy's back, and said "Uh-uh. Ain't nobody running shit here, bwoy!"
Wow. We were all floored by this development. It was great. Ricky finished off his story:
"Yeah, so then we took off the guy's ski mask. Turns out it was my manager from Key Food. He gave back all the money he stole from me."
Seriously, that's the greatest Scooby Doo ending of all time. I can't even go into any other Ricky stories today. We'll have to finish them some other day....
Leave a comment
|
4 Comments
Comments
That story was hilarious. I figured it had to be someone he knew, but the dad part was great.
stopmikelupica
said
Yeah, the best epilogue to the story is that the next week he told us he got paid. We were like "Wait, you still work at the Key Food?"
"Yeah, of course."
"But didn't your manager rob you four weeks in a row?!?"
"He ain't robbing me now."
"Wait... does he still work there, too?"
"Yep. We cool now."
100% true.
Best story I've heard in a minute!