Derek Fisher sinks it to win the game.
My morning breakfast consisted of his game winning shot with a splash of milk and Ovaltine. A laptop and an iPad watched me finish my breakfast, LinkedIn on both screens, more light coming from the two of them than from my living room window, the blades of which are shut for the moment, my sleepiness unready for the day.
Much better to open the blinds and write following a Laker win. Like Kobe’s standard post-game victory comments gave my pen that needed story even though he says the same things week in week out with the dull enthusiasm superstar athletes wear so well.
Thoughts of Fisher and nets coupled with morning tiredness made me think of fishing in some backwoods river. The stream is small and curvy and a broken tree provides the bridge needed to cross without getting wet. The stream becomes a creek emptying into a pond where fish lie in wait under rocks and leaf pads and places where the shadows go.
The opportunity is there. The luck of finding that pond is there. The preparation of hook line and sinker all there, tools of life and fishing in the mountains.
One fish and two avoid the bait but plenty more fall in line, awaiting the offering strung on the hook. The line bobs and weaves like a Barry Sanders touchdown run, deliberate and smooth and free of arrogance. The line moves with the wind and not a motor.
And the fish come at it hard.
My thought ends with that and LinkedIn stares at me on two screens, the modern day job interview done in solitude, at home. And I want so bad for my resume to attract attention. It has dangled in the online stream of job websites and the immense, backed up ponds of hiring agency inboxes long enough to induce a nibble or two or fifty. I’m flashing it now, Barry Sanders suave replaced by the hastiness of rookie Darius Morris in the Lakers backcourt who handles the ball like a court juggler sweating under the gaze of men better than him.
And nothing but net becomes a half court prayer lobbed in desperation.
And the line is reeled in to reveal no fish and missing bait. And the stumpness comes, the time to make up new words for the anger spent waiting for the cell phone to ring. Because it feels good.
Then the silliness of it all hits, splashes like Fisher’s shot in the eyes of the Mavericks. Talk of despair seems laughable and that brief moment like all is lost is conquered. It needs to be there though. The fear and uncertainty and stillness. The bottom of the barrel must be felt for success to find the moment when it all comes together in some crazy glue, of life and experiences and opportunities lost, dreams and broken hearts, complacency and desire all there in the washing machine tumble, stitched together as sure as silk and made into something wearable.
And waking eyes are ready for the day. And the blinds open to more than a Laker win.