Growing up Hood

When I used to play games at the Water Tower, perhaps the most significant off-court distraction was the inevitable decision between eating at the Italian Oven or The Depot post-game. And the concern over being molested by unnamed coaches,  but that's neither here nor there. Sometimes the Germantown Ave. Roy Rogers presented an interesting third alternative, but rarely did I need to take my focus off Matt Gordy, Matt Tuzman, or Matt Gillespie. 

Not so for Ron Artest. Whereas we played hoops within a stone's throw from Caffette, lil' Ron played hoops within a stone throw of a crazy table leg-yielding assassin who voiced his displeasure with any on-court antics by killing players via splinters and loose nails. Young black men in this country really do face insurmountable challenges. 

Ron, here's to you and your picture-perfect account of your youth. No one will ever doubt your credibility in a court of law, I assure you. Props to Big Ben out of Fairmount for bringing this gem to the DR's attention.