Page 170 of Scoring the Player
Locking eyes with me as he passes, he arches an eyebrow, then backsteps to sink into the seat next to me.
“Nice ink,” he says, pointing to my arm tat.
It sounds like an invitation to pound town, but I learned from our face-offs on the court that’s just his vibe. Dude has more swag than he knows what to do with. Or maybe he does. He’s like Sid before Ty, always seen with a high-profile woman.
“None for you?” I ask.
“No, that was always East’s—” His eyes, that look permanently outlined with kohl, glaze over. “N-no.” He crosses his arms. “No tats.”
“Cool.” I tune Ty back in.
“… encouraged to share, but you don’t have to. If you choose to speak, share only what feels safe and comfortable. If someone asks you a question that you don’t feel comfortable answering, just say ‘pass.’ This is supposed to feel chill.” He rubs his hands together. “Aight. I know that was a lot. Any questions?”
“Just a comment,” Tevin pipes up. “I’ve known my boy Ty for a minute, and he’s a hella private guy. It’s not a small thing for him to open up his home and life to us. How about we give a quick shoutout to him for setting this up?”
We all make noise for Ty, who waves it off as he takes a seat.
“I’ll go first,” Malik jumps in. “What’s up? My name is Malik, and the Knights are taking it all the way this season, suckas!”
I fire my middle finger at him, adding to the mix of laughter and boos as Sid balls up a napkin and wings it at him.
“For real, though. I’m curious.” Tevin raises his hand. “With a show of hands, how many of us struggle with depression?”
Everyone raises a hand except Malik and Sid.
Even Ray.
And then I see Aiden’s.
Hm.
“So, most of us. One more question.” Tevin lowers his hand. “How many of us are in therapy?”
Everyone raises their hands.
“Like you, Arnaz,” Tevin continues, “I’ve struggled with depression since way back. I’m talking as a teenager. I mean, everyone around me kinda seemed depressed in one way or another, but it took me leaving Chicago to realize it was me.”
“Do you know if something caused it?” Wes asks.
“For a long time, I thought it was just me,” Tevin answers, straightening the leg of his jeans. “My dad passed during surgery when I was seven.”
“Damn, man,” Wes cuts in.
“Remembering him in the casket still messes me up. Mom was depressed after.”
“That’s brutal. I’m sorry,” Sid says, and we all murmur in agreement.
“Growing up broke was definitely the villain in my life. It’s why I sometimes sit around my house, bugged out when I look around and realize I’ve made it. It’s still wild to me,” Jamie says.
“That kinda touches on what I struggled with for years,” Sid says. “Besides grief from losing my best friend and my dad splitting, for me, it was impostor syndrome. I experienced this sorta cognitive dissonance when I entered the league. On the one hand, I knew I worked my ass off to be here, and even when I started making strides, putting up points and breaking records, internally I still felt like I wasn’t good enough, and it made me anxious all the damn time.”
Ray, Wes, and Jamie nod their heads. I know this about him, and while I can’t pretend to know what it’s like to grow up poor, I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t belong in the room you’re in. And I think I’m the only one here who knows what it’s like to grow up in the shadow of a famous dad—one who hates you.
“It’s like the external success didn’t matter because internally I felt like a fraud,” Sid finishes.
“There’s impostor syndrome, and there’s the struggle of finding your worth when your dreams don’t come true,” Aiden jumps in. “A failed physical exam in college closed the door on my career in the league and sent me playing overseas. I was shattered. Some of my favorite players played overseas at least once in their careers. I knew that, but I hated it. After a fewseasons in Spain and then France, I decided to call it quits and came back home. I hit rock bottom.”
“That’s tough,” Idris cuts in. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t made it.”
