NarrativeTimBiagi

Tim Biagi 5/21/12 Dabrush Section 1

Beep! Beep! Beep! That's the sound of my irritating alarm clock, every morning, usually around 9:30. Waking up with bed head, that's the worst. My mother always calling me down, screaming, “Honey, breakfast is ready!” As I dash down the fourteen stairs, I can smell bacon and eggs. The scent is so good, I can nearly taste it on my tongue. My name is Roberto. People call me Rob, but truthfully, I prefer Roberto. If you don't know James Naismith, then you don't know me. James and I are really close. We have a lot in common, too. Every single day, I would always wake up next to Mr. Teddy, at 9:30. Mr. Teddy, if you don't know, is my teddy bear, who I've had since I was just a little boy. My Daddy gave me it before he went to war. That was an upsetting day. That was the last time I saw my Daddy. Over the summer of 1967, my mother, my sister and I moved to Alabama. We finally saved enough money to travel to the U.S.A. We liked it here, and so we stayed. Alabama has a lot of African-Americans, including my family.

There's a place called the YMCA, right down the street from my house. James and I would go there a lot, almost everyday in fact. James and I were neighbors. He had a brick house, while I had a wooden one. There were lots of houses on my street that were made out of fancy bricks, but we couldn't afford one. Being black around here isn't much fun. During the school year, I would get bullied, over and over again, for 6 hours a day, for 180 days. Well, 167 days for me. The only reason I made 167 days of school is because the days I missed, I skipped, because I had enough of getting hurt. I would come home from school with fat lips, black eyes, and the worst part, broken bones. There was one individual who always hurt me. His name was Billy. Billy Naismith. He was James's older brother. When we were in 8th grade, he was a sophomore. When I ate lunch, he would steal it. When I walked in the halls, he would shove me around, until I told him to stop.

The best part about me is that I'm really athletic. People know me as the weird kid who follows James around, but they clearly don't know the other side to me. James's father, James (senior), invented a sport called basketball. At first, the sport wasn't very popular, but eventually it was. James's father was in desperate need to find a new game that would be more popular than soccer. He wanted to invent a sport that was thrilling, yet wouldn't injure players. He wanted something else besides a group of kids kicking around a soccer ball. So, he put thought and care into it, and created the game of basketball! When I was about 7 or 8, James and I were bored out of our minds during the summer. The same old thing happened everyday. We would wake up, eat Eggo waffles, watch some TV, then sit there, doing absolutely nothing. BORING! One day, James's father noticed us, staring into space, as usual. He said, “Why don't you two find something new to do today? It seems like all you do is the same thing every single day.” James and I thought about what he said, and we both thought the same thing. “Why don't you make up a game, Father, that Roberto and I can play?” asked James. “Well son, that might have been the brightest thing I've ever heard from you!” “Thanks Daddy!” said James in a very polite way. “But, what are you gonna call it?” I asked. “I'll have to think about that one, Roberto,” replied James's father. “Okay, well while you try to invent a brand new and exciting game, James and I will do the thing we always do...sit here.” I said.

That summer wasn't the best. James's father didn't invent the game until the winter after that summer. But I'll have to say, James and I became a lot closer that summer. We told each other everything! Who we liked, who we hated, who was a dork, etc. We were so close, it felt like he was my brother. We told each other our deep, dark secrets. I'll never forget James's secret. I remember it like it was just yesterday...... “You know who I really hate? Amy Heffley. She's such a snitch. Any time I forget to do my homework, and I try to get it from someone else, she always tells the teacher on me. It's so annoying!” yelled James, as we were in our cool treehouse. “Really? I've never really talked to her, but I didn't know she was like that,” I said. “Yeah! And whenever I pass her in the halls, she stares me down, like I have three heads or something.” “Well, next time I see her I'll say, 'Hey Amy! You have no friends! Stop eyeing my friend James down in the halls, and quit snitching on him when he doesn't have his homework!' That will teach her a lesson,” I said. “Ha ha, hopefully it'll work!” screamed James. “Hopefully,” I said back to James.

“Boys! Dinner!” My mom made James and I a great meal that night. In fact, it's both of our favorite meals- another thing we have in common. She cooked spaghetti with meat balls. Her sauce is so good, but the bad part about it is that she won't tell us why it tastes so good. It makes me mad. After James and I inhaled our food, we went back up to the treehouse, and spent the night there. That was when I saw something. Something that knocked me off my seat. Something that punched me in the gut. Something that I will never forget. I noticed that James had scratch marks on his wrists. I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't know if he would go bazooka on me. Then, I thought to myself, “Why would James have these marks, and did he do this to himself?” When we finally climbed to the top of the treehouse, I noticed something even more strange. There was a book that said, 'Diary' in James's backpack. I quickly thought of something to distract James from looking at me, so I could grab the book without him knowing, but he probably would have noticed sooner or later. So, I grabbed a rock from the deck of the treehouse, and threw it across the yard. It soared through the air, then hit the side of my shed, making a huge crack. James jumped up and said, “What was that?!” I replied, “I don't know, but you better go look!” “Okay!” said James. “I'll be right back.” This was the only time that I could sneak a peek at the diary. I quickly got up and snatched the diary. I opened it and the first two words were, “James's Diary.” I flipped through the pages, reading each and every word. There was nothing that said anything about why there were scratch marks on James's wrists. But then I saw it. There was a page that said, “I hate my life” written all over it. I was actually pretty scared. I didn't know how to react to the situation. “I don't think there's anything down here Roberto!” yelled James. I quickly put the book back in his backpack, and went over to the door. “That's weird! Keep looking!” I quickly opened the book back up. There were just blank pages after the “I hate my life” page. Then I thought to myself, “Why James, why?” Right as I was about to put down the book, James screamed, “Roberto! Come quick! I think I found something!” As frightened as I was, I jumped down from the treehouse, and dashed over to the shed. The flashlight was shined on something, but I couldn't get a good glance at it. My eyes widened when I got closer. There was a squirrel on the ground, just lying there, breathing heavily. “What did you do?!” I yelled at James. “Nothing!” he replied. “Well, was this here when you came over here?” “No! I just found it, just right now!” he said back to me. All that crossed my mind was, 'Did I kill this poor little animal? I couldn't of, could I?' I was astonished. “Let's just go back up, and forget anything just happened.” I said to James. “Are you going to let this poor little guy die?” James said. “Well, what //can// we do?” I said. “You're right, I guess we can't do anything.” James said. We then climbed back up into the treehouse. Then I had realized something; I forgot to put James's diary back into his backpack! When James finally reached the top, I tried to distract him from seeing the book lying right in front of him. He heard me, but it didn't work. He saw the book on the floor. “Why the hell is my book on the floor!?” he screamed at me. “James, I can explain! I..I....Why do you have scratch marks on your wrists?!” There was a long pause. James and I both had a worried look on our faces. “Huh? Can you tell me that? Is there anything else you're hiding? Tell me James!” I screamed. He wouldn't answer me. After a while he finally said something back to me, but it wasn't very helpful. “I'm going home! Never talk to me again! God dammit Roberto, I thought I could trust you! You're turning into Amy Heffley, such a snitch!” I didn't know how to reply. I said, “You can trust me!” but he didn't answer. He politely knocked on my back door and said thanks to my parents. Then he took off.

The summer after that was a good summer. James's father finally invented something for us to play, but James didn't talk to me at all. The game was called basketball. It involved a leather ball, 10 players, and a good shooting hand. The object of the game was to get the basketball into a peach basket. There were two peach baskets. One on one side of the court, and one on the other. Playing and loving this game was the highlight of my summer, and the rest of my life. James's dad made a court of his own in his driveway, but James demanded to his father that I couldn't come over to play. James's father didn't even bother asking why I couldn't come over, because he was too focused on the game of basketball. I see why though. Basketball involved a lot of skill, knowledge, and muscle. Skill was important because knowing how to juke out people, get around them, and of course, shoot the ball was all part of the game. Knowledge was also important because without it, you wouldn't know who to pass to, what you're doing, and how you're going to do it. Finally, muscle was important because you probably wouldn't want to find yourself against a huge 220 pound man who could squish you like a bug. As I said earlier, I was a really athletic kid, so I was good at this sport.

James and I finally made up after the huge fight, but not until two years later. He still hasn't told me, not to this very day, why there were scratch marks on his wrists, but I'm guessing it was family issues. His father actually seemed really nice, but sadly, his mother passed away when he was born. His grandmother also died the day after his mother died. It must be tough for him. On the bright side, we made up!

Every year there's a basketball tournament right on the common. It's a two on two game, so it gets really intense! Thankfully, James and I are always together. These kids a year above us, Tim and Tom, always beat us. But not this year, no way! We are going to kick their butts! My father said to me before he went to the war, “Always have confidence within you.” I'll never forget those words. At the tournament, the teams of two must have matching uniforms, or else we can't play. So James and I called each other up and decided on what we were going to wear. We decided to have a theme of professional basketball players. I wore Air Jordan sneakers, long white socks, short shorts, a red t-shirt, and a sweat-band for my afro. I was looking pretty styling. James wore almost the same things as me, but instead of Air Jordan sneakers, he wore Nikes. Our team name was called “The Ballers.”

Our first game was against this team called “Nike vs. Skills.” We beat them 21-16. It was an easy win. The rules were a lot different than what we thought they were going to be. We thought that we were going to play to 11, but the game ended up being played to 21. We also thought that the dribble rule was 3 dribbles - no more. But it ended up being unlimited amount of dribbles. James and I didn't show up to the court expecting to win with only shots. We planned ahead and made a couple of decent plays that could give us an easy point. One of our plays that we planned involved a pick and roll. The pick and roll involved a player setting a screen on the ball, then the player with the ball would dribble away from the defender, and pass the ball to the player that set a screen. Then an easy lay-up would be scored. It was as simple as that. We called it 'rip.' That play helped us out a lot.

“That's game!” yelled the ref, as James and I made it to the finals. We won the semi-finals game against the Bulls. We were going to the finals. We were so happy, but when we realized who we were playing in the finals, we thought we were toast. “Okay! Okay! Listen up everybody! The two teams that are in the finals are the 'The Ballers' and 'Team Tim Tom.” We knew right away that we couldn't take on Tim's team. They were a lot better than us. They were taller, more muscular, and faster! We were doomed. “The finals are about to start in 5 minutes people!” said the ref. “What are we going to do?” said James. “I have an idea,” I snapped back at him. “Yeah, what's that?” he asked. “All we need is confidence, and we can win!” I said. “Confidence? You really think that'll work? How the hell is confidence going to work when we have nothing else beside that?” James responded. “We already have plays!” I said. “Plays?! We have one play! And I'm pretty sure Tim and Tom know it too! They've seen almost every single one of our games, plus it only works like 3 or 4 times! You're crazy!” screamed James. “Dude, just trust me.” I replied. “Whatever man, it's not like we are going to win or anything.” “ See, that's the thing! You don't have confidence within you. You show up to not lose. You have to show up to games to win!” I said. James replied, “You know what? You're right! Lets go do this thing!”

It was 18-18, and Tim and Tom had the ball. This was the most intense moment of my life! Anything I did wrong could cost us the game. It was our ball, and I had the urge to drive, but with Tom standing right next to me, and Tim standing right under the hoop, I didn't think it was going to happen. My mind went completely blank for a second. My thoughts were bouncing off the sides of my head. All I was thinking of were my father's words. “Always have confidence within you.” I said it out loud in a low whisper to myself. “Are you gonna hurry up and pass the ball loser?” screamed Tom. I didn't let his words get to my head. Always have confidence within you! Always have confidence within you! Always have confidence within you! “Come on Roberto, make your move!” said Tom again. I made my move. A double dribble fakie to juke out Tom, and there was James. He was standing there, right next to Tim. I didn't know if I should pass it or if I should shoot the ball. I made my choice. I faked a pass to James, and Tim got fooled. But I hesitated too long. Tim recovered from the fake-out, and he dove right into me. As I fell down, I shot the ball. It seemed like the ball was sitting there for a minute, but it wasn't. I couldn't see if the ball went in, because Tim was on me. But when I heard the roar of the crowd, I knew the ball went into the peach basket. The ref called it a foul too, so I was on the line. The score was 20-18, and we were winning. Pressure was on, and my head was throbbing. I could feel my head beating back and forth. My forehead was covered in sweat, and my eyes were drenched in tears. I did the routine I always do when I'm at the free throw line. Three dribbles with the ball and one deep breath. I released the ball from my hands, in perfect motion. The ball soared through the air. It hit the front of the rim, hit the backboard, then went in. I did it! I had won the game! We finally beat Tim and Tom! I couldn't believe what I did. “Roberto! You did it! You won the game!” cried James. I did. I had finally won the game, against the best kids in town. I really did it. Tim and Tom were pissed. They didn't even shake hands at the end, what sore losers. But I did it! “Roberto! I'm so proud of you sweetie!” my mom said to me. “Thanks mom. I love you!” I replied. “I love you too!” my mom said as she gave me a big hug. “What do you have to say, Roberto?” asked the ref, as he held up the broadcasting TV video camera. “Well, I couldn't have done it without the words of my father.” I said. “What words are those?” asked the ref. “Always have confidence within you.”


 * Obstacles don't have to stop you. If you run into a wall, don't turn around and give up. Figure out how to climb it, go through it, or work around it. - Michael Jordan**