I’ve got a basketball jones.
I always have — or, at any rate, for as long as I can remember.
What’s a basketball jones?
Ever since I was a little baby, I always be dribbling. In fact, I was the baddest dribbler in the whole neighborhood….
I used to practice hours every single day, for years. Those years of practice molded me in more ways than I could ever quantify: physically, psychologically, philosophically.
People who know me now find my basketball jones hard to believe or reconcile with the cocktologist in me, I am not sure why.
The following, then, is for all the disbelievers — and I say that because it comes up with a certain regularity:
One afternoon not too terribly long ago, I asked my videographer friend Johnny Morehouse (who thinks I’m deliberately doing an Elvis impersonation starting at the 1:10 second mark of Part 2 [I wish!]) if he wanted to make an extra fifty bucks. He said yes. The following is a fraction of what came out of that ninety-minute session. The video quality isn’t great, but it is totally real, totally unscripted, totally un-doctored.
I was trying for a full thirty-minute take without a single mistake, but it didn’t quite happen. It doesn’t matter what order you watch it in. They were both shot in the same session, leaving me panting like the dog that I am.