A love letter to the beautiful and talented Amy Adams, spiritual successor to Philip Seymour Hoffman’s legacy.
Here we go guys — the first entry in the Beijing basketball diaries! I will chronicle my current attempts to play the game of basketball as an underachieving, 6-foot-tall, flat-footed Asian man. No vertical ability, 31 years of age, rudimentary passing skills. Susceptible to turn the ball over with any type of dribble penetration. Very average basketball IQ. That’s me in a nutshell.
I thought long and hard about whether to start this, and I’m going to forge ahead for two reasons:
1) Catharsis through writing. Given that I’ve been playing non-optimally and accumulating a shitload of negative thoughts in my head, I figure that it might be good to release them somehow. The idea is that if I write it all out, it will relieve my internal struggles somehow.
2) Inspiration through writing. Hoping (praying?) that if I write about my own experience with the game, I’ll be “inspired” to write better basketball stories/articles. Getting me through a case of minor writer’s block. Either this works or it backfires miserably and I start hating basketball with all my guts — well, let’s see how it goes.
So without further ado…