Tag Archives: history

The Dusty Jumper: A Memoir About Basketball, Adolescence, Anxiety, Identity and NBA Fandom

Hello Good People,

I finally finished editing. I have slowly destroyed my inner perfectionist. Or maybe I just got older. Or both. Words are never finished. Writing is never done. But this book is…at last.


The Dusty Jumper is a basketball memoir from a child of the 80s. A collection of tied-together moments from two decades of personal experiences and NBA-related writing. Pieces of a puzzle that concludes with the idea that we are all human. Writing that takes hoops as a centering theme but is really about people and our need to play, cheer, watch, read, and write, and generally connect to something bigger than ourselves.

Good for summer reading. Easy to carry around. Short passages. Basketball. Adolescence. Fandom. Anxiety. Hopefully, you’ll find it mildly humorous and somewhat poetic, though I’m not paid to be a comedian or a poet…(though, usually, comedians and poets are broke).

If you have promotion suggestions, feel free to send any thoughts my way. I’m not a marketing guru, if that wasn’t obvious.

I can tell you the book costs $10, which is less than two pints of gelato, unless they’re on sale.

Happy summer reading,

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A Sunday Poem: The Weeds

Press play and then read.

Artist: Andrew Bird

Album: Echolocations


The Weeds

Sundays will always tease

As long as Mondays mean work

Sundays will mean the end of time

Or the end of a kind of time

That feels personal and possible.

The rain came for weeks

And gave relief to the thirsty soil

And captured the dust

And brought rivers down suburban streets

Too much water at once will not bring recovery.

Water will simply flow downhill instead of down

Into the ground.

The weeds came in a rush.

Yellow flowers at their tops

Masking their unwanted nature

The weeds begged for attention

Golden growth in late January

Family and friends are frozen by winter

But we escaped from the chill wind

And now find ourselves with a parcel to tend.

The weeds are easy to gather and yank.

I squat and pile them into a mound.

I think of the way this backyard, filled with flowers and birds and sunshine,

I think of the way this yard was back in the ’30s,

When this house was new.

I think of the way back and of the ’60s,

When weed was flowering all over our culture.

I try to imagine the people tending the land of this Bay

Before it had a name on a map.

Of the Ohlone, who were first and now forgotten.

Of the rush for gold and the sprouting of towns and populations from the Midwest.

The children of the Dust Bowl children now entering Berkeley Bowl,

With its magnificent fruits.

The way we live now, not noticing each other’s eyes often enough.

The way most of us read now.

The way we refuse to allow ourselves to lose time, get lost in time.

Time. Weeds. Sundays.

Allow yourself to get lost in time today.

If only for a spell.


The power of instrumental music:





On Being:


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