It was the summer
of 1999, the year after
Jason Williams was
drafted as the 7th overall pick
by the Sacramento Kings,
and I would keep playing
the previous year's NBA
video game on my new
computer, picking
the take-and-shake
sensation of the year,
the Sacramento Kings,
for the sake of Jason Williams,
aka the White Chocolate,
unlike all my friends
who would go crazy for
C-Webb or Peja,
or Divac the old diva.
Every day, I would
turn on my Intel Pentium III
and launch NBA 98
as first thing,
and I would bring the ball
to Jason Williams
on each possession,
and try to do
everything with Jason William—
I would not only
dribble, pass, shoot,
spin, layup, or crossover
as might be expected
from a point guard of
Jason Williams' tenure,
but also try to rebound
with Jason Williams,
block with Jason Williams,
defend with Jason Williams,
box out with Jason Williams,
double-team with Jason Williams,
dunk with Jason Williams,
low-post with Jason Williams,
and call a time-out with Jason Williams.
In short,
I would Jason Williams
the shit out of Jason Williams,
until the health bar
under his cursor would
go all-red,
but even then
wouldn't stop
Jason-Williams-ing the Jason Williams,
not at any point of the whole four quarters
and forty-eight minutes
of the game,
not at any point of the whole eighty-two games
of the season,
the whole playoffs,
the whole year,
and the next year,
and the one after that,
all until the White Chocolate
was traded away to
then-Vancouver Grizzlies
for Mike Bibby and Brent Price,
the goddamned Bibby
and the goddamned Price,
the former of whom
would go on to replace
the White Chocolate
in the starting five.
That was the summer
my big brother would
start making fun of me,
calling me names
I couldn't spell,
names that weren't
as cool as
the White Chocolate,
names that sounded
more like C-Turd
or B-Block,
including the ones
I don't wish to
list here.
That was the sumer
I got the name
The 'Tism Team
and buried the CD
in our backyard.
###
I'm just stting
in my room
with my fingers
glued together,
thinking about
how to get them
unstuck
and coming up
with several ideas.
I go on 4chan to ask
how do you get
your fingers loose
when Krazy Glued
together, and
people advise that
I soak my hand
in warm soapy water
or use acetone,
or that I go kill
myself.
After two pages
and twelve comments,
@RecipeBusy89324
finally suggests that
I go visit the nearest
Wendy's and order
all the BBQ sauce
I could find there
so others
would think
I am crazy
instead of
stupid.
###
Sarp Sozdinler has been published in Electric Literature, Kenyon Review, Shenandoah, Wigleaf, HAD, Hobart, X-R-A-Y, Maudlin House, and Pithead Chapel, among other journals. He edits the literary journal The Bulb Region.