Page 20 of Tyriq & Teaira
In pure anger, rage, and disappointment, I grab a ball from the rack by the door and throw it across the fucking locker room. “Fuck!” I yell.
Although the BU Falcons were awarded two free throws and got possession of the ball after I was ejected, we still won with a score of seventy-five to seventy-three. The CFU Lions are the NCAA Championships. I wasn’t part of the post-game celebration. I didn’t hear “One Shining Moment” played and I didn’t participate in the cutting down of the nets.
“But you’re going to that damn homecoming rally,” Mick grits.
Paxton and Mick are two very different agents. Both good at their jobs but very different in their demeanor and delivery. Paxton is a cool brother; laid back and never seems bothered or stressed. Mick, this nigga, on some complete opposite shit, is a beast.
Jase McCormick is a former All-American and NBA player. He retired twelve years ago and transitioned to a sports agent. He is the founder and CEO of Crescent Sports Affiliates, CSA. He’s a Shaq Diesel nigga, big and tall as fuck, almost seven feet, and he doesn’t go anywhere unless he’s in a fucking suit. Not only does he represent some of my favorite NBA players like Jabari Hicks, but Mick dominates across all sports. He isn’t quiet about leveraging his on-court experience, networks, and understanding of the game to negotiate some lucrative ass contracts.
We are in his corner office in the tall building downtown. Pinnacle PR is also in this building and Mick has them on my team as well. We just spent the last two hours on post-championship recon, his words not mine. He included Paxton in the first hour to make sure my sponsorships were cool; they are. But this last hour has been him on my ass; we’re cool too but I do need to keep my shit clean until the draft. According to Mick, that means attending all championship events and celebrations.
“I was kicked out of the game,” I rebut, regret filling my tone. I’ve had twelve hours to process last night and I can’t lie; I’m disappointed at how I acted. I let my anger and disappointment at my moms missing my game fuck with me too heavy.
“Yeah you fucked up but that was a small, albeit ugly ,stain on your college career. We are moving past that shit and focusing on the draft,” he says, then walks behind his massive desk. He picks up his iPad, swipes a few times and starts spitting off stats. “Fourteen points before you were ejected. 14.6 points per game, 5.6 rebounds per game, 1.9 assists per game, and 1.8 steals per game on 52.8 field goal shooting. That’s what took the Lions to the championship. Or do you need to hear your total five hundred forty-one points, or your eighty 3-point field goals, or eighty-two free throws? They got that damn title because of you and you are going to be celebrated. Redmond Park. Today. At three,” he says with finality. He glares at me for confirmation.
“Man, I’ll be there,” I agree.
“And deal with what fucked you up before you get there. Find your girl or a few girls? Talk some shit out? Fuck. I don’t care; just do what the fuck you need to do to make sure yo’ ass is there, front and center, and celebrating,” he stresses ashe extends his hand. He begins and ends all meetings with a handshake.
After standing and shaking his hand, I assure him, “I’ll be there.”
When I leave Mick’s office, I head down to my ride. It’s a little after one. For a moment, I contemplate hitting my moms and talking to her about missing my game. After some thought, I pause that. For one, we need to talk in person, and two, there’s no way I can make that ninety-minute ride to D-Ville and be back in time for the celebration at three. So I decide to hit up this soul food joint I like, Redmond’s. When I can’t have my mom’s home cooking, they come through in the clutch.
On the Munchies app, I place a pick-up order for spaghetti, two fried catfish fillets, cornbread, and two large lemonades. Them shits be bussing. I hit Tee next before driving to grab my order.
Me: What’s up, sexy lady?
When she doesn’t answer after a few minutes, I hit her line. There’s no answer, so I hit her again, but still no answer. That’s weird. If she isn’t at the hospital, she usually hits me back. Plus, when I dipped this morning, she said that she was going to spend the day sleeping in then cleaning up. She swore she wasn’t going anywhere. So I send another text.
Me: You good?
She doesn’t answer my second text either. So I send one more.
Me: Hit me when you’re free.
After placing my cell in the middle console, I start my ride and head to grab my food. I’m going to take it back to the crib and enjoy it in peace ’cause once I’m at the parade, I’ll besurrounded by people. A few moments to chill the fuck out is needed.
Back at my crib, I smash my food and kill both of my lemonades then just chill for a minute. Instead of watching TV and risk seeing myself being ejected from the game, I decide to play 2k until I leave for the celebration.
I arrive at the national championship celebration right before three. As I got closer to the park, traffic was a beast and took me a minute to get through. The line to get into the main parking outside of the park was worse than traffic, but thankfully, there’s designated parking for all team members.
All of my worry and apprehension about being here with my team after I crashed out and was ejected fades as soon as we link up. Mick was right. I was a big part in us making it to the finals and winning the championship and my team members all acknowledge it. When the band starts to play, we walk on that stage together, as national champions.
Between the speeches from coaches, former CFU players in the league, like Jabari Hicks, or playing overseas, like Braveon Jackson, and retired players, like the legendary Deondre Redmond, the celebration lasts for almost three hours. I had a blast too because I finally met Jabari and Deondre. I admire both of their hoop skills, especially Deondre. He took the Royals to three NBA Championships and still holds the record for the most three pointers in a championship game. His reputation and his family are huge in Crescent Falls. He no longer lives here—he moved to Crescent Keys—but he’s home a lot. His cousin owns the soul food spot I ordered from earlier.
While stuck in traffic outside of the park, I hit Teaira again because she still hasn’t called or texted me back. I’m lowkey feeling tight about that shit. I did some shit with her that I’ve never done with any other female. I talked about my parentsand the bullshit with my dad and she listened. There was no judgment and I real shit felt closer to her. I can’t have her trying to fall back.Not now. Not after that.
Motivated to get to her fine ass and see what’s up, instead of turning onto University Drive when I push through traffic, I hit the highway and head to Diamond Falls. Fifteen minutes to nine, I pull up to her townhouse but her damn Jeep ain’t parked out front. Keeping my engine running, I get out and knock anyway. She doesn’t answer, so when I get back in my ride, I hit her ass one mo’gain.
Me: At your spot. U good?
Finally, she responds a few minutes later.
Tee:At work. Got called in.
Me: What time u off? Since I’m here, I’ll stay this way.
Tee:Go home; it’ll be late.
