Foul Lines A Pro Basketball Novel

Chapter One December 2Los Angeles Lasers Record: 12-4 The first thing everybody told Kwaanzii Parker was not to blow a hundred grand of his signing money on a ride. Which is precisely what he did. "Gonna get me a phat crib, but the ride's gotta come first, yo," he said. Kwaanzii's selection was a Robitussin-purple Jaguar with plates that read KINGKWAAN ! Like most professional athletes, Kwaanzii tooled around in an automobile equipped with a jet engine, two elaborate hood ornaments, neon underbelly, and the vanity plates. But he just hated it when somebody recognized him. Kwaanzii, a tender eighteen, was eight months removed from his high-school prom -- which he attended with rap star Shabeera Slade, an event that rated five minutes on BET -- and seven months removed from his high school graduation, which he passed up in favor of Shaq's All-Star Super Jamaica Jam. From the time he was an AAU star in Las Vegas at the wizened age of thirteen, King Kwaan was in the E-ZPass lane to the National Basketball Federation, never a thought that he would spend so much as one night on a college campus, unless, as one recruiter put it, "He was making a weekend booty call." Kwaanzii had developed a close personal relationship with an older Los Angeles Laser teammate, point guard Litanium "Tribal Cat" Johnson, one based entirely on an overlapping pharmacological aesthetic and a willingness to reach excessive speeds on the highway. Litanium was currently hiding from the public in an orange Lamborghini Gallardo with plates that read YR O DA CAT . Tribal Cat called Kwaanzii a "Jag fag," though secretly he admired the teenager's ride and pondered picking up one himself, though at the moment he was, to paraphrase his accountant, "slightly cash deficient." The players bonded when, back in early October, they happened to pull out of media day together and begin a friendly race along Figueroa Street in downtown Los Angeles. Kwaanzii won that one, which didn't sit well with Litanium, who the next day kicked it up to 125 mph and nipped Kwaanzii. Litanium christened their competition Drag Club and felt much pride when it spread throughout the team. Litanium had always considered himself a leader. Quoting one of his favorite movies, Litanium often counseled his teammates, "First rule of Drag Club is you do not talk about Drag Club." Litanium and Kwaanzii were the most avid participants of Drag Club, though. They had raced a dozen times, and Litanium, nothing if not an inveterate competitor, secretly kept a log of the results. Much to his dismay, the rookie had won eight of their showdowns. Litanium considered their races a show of esprit de corps -- "closing the generational gap," as he put it -- while Lasers coach John Watson, who was almost sideswiped by Litanium as he pulled out of practice one day, called them "brain-dead assholes racing to the morgue." Having begun as a daylight activity, Drag Club had lately moved to the nocturnal hours. And tonight, as Litanium saw it, seemed ideal for a chapter meeting. Following a 101-83 victory over Seattle, most of the team was scattered about The Vines, a trendy nightclub near Malibu owned by a close friend of Lasers owner Owen Padgett. The occasion was a commemoration of Coach Watson's fiftieth, though the evening's business -- a desultory rendering of "Happy Birthday" and the presentation of a laptop to Watson, a confirmed Luddite -- was over quickly. Litanium had played well with eighteen points and eleven assists, and Kwaanzii hadn't played at all. (Watson didn't have much faith in rookies.) Litanium figured that Kwaanzii would be angry and distracted. Litanium wasn't eager to convene a meeting of Drag Club in frMcCallum, Jack is the author of 'Foul Lines A Pro Basketball Novel', published 2006 under ISBN 9780743286503 and ISBN 0743286502.