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Shaquille
O'Neal: "When you are 60, hang out with 60-year-olds, not 20-year-olds.
That is all I got to say about Jerry Buss."
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HoopsHype.com Articles The
white shadow
Pauly was a little hip-hop white kid from Maine. Not the boondocks either as he told it. What city, I forget. But some big city from Maine. Not that I know of any big cities there. But anyway, that’s where Pauly was from. He was a young cat.
Grew up in the rap culture. Older white dudes on the pound – East
Coast guys from places like Boston, Philly, Jersey and New York, mostly
Irish and Italian – called young Paul a whigger. You know, like white
nigger. He would be all hanging out with the black dudes. The b-ballers
listening to the BET rap city and shit. He went Hip hop and basketball. Those were Pauly's things. But the kid could ball too. He had a nice game. A playground game will all the handle, feints, and finesse he needed to look good with the ball. He was kind of silky smooth. Like the white shadow. Not that anyone called him that, but his game was tight. He was a wizard with the ball and he could shoot also. Plus the kid was athletic. He could jump out the gym. But he was a little skinny dude. Like 5-foot-11 and maybe 175 lbs. He was working out
though. Everyday he hit the weights with his homeboy Jess, a thick
dreadlocked dude from his hometown. Pauly When I hit the pound, young Paul stepped right to me. I'd been in the system for a while and had a reputation for going hard on the court. All the brothers would be saying, "That white boy goes hard, don't get it fucked up." Because for real not a lot of white dudes play sports in prison. Most of them aren't athletic enough or they can't be bothered. "Don't wanna play with them niggers," they say. But let’s keep it real. I think they're just soft, scared or whatever. Intimidated by the black man. I don't know, but I do know that in the heat of battle shit happens. But just like in the streets, real recognizes real. It doesn't matter what color you are. If you balling and dudes respect your game, then it's all good. Men treat men like men. It’s about getting it on. Go hard or go home. Or in this case, go back to your cell. So Pauly stepped to me right away and when I started talking to him, I realized I had heard of the kid from some dudes in another joint. Young white kid from Maine, A-league game, tears it up. So this was the kid. I would see what he was about and if his game was really like that. I took him out and played him one-on-one. He had nice moves, A-league moves to go along with a nice fluid game. But he was timid. He didn't like the contact and I roughed him off. That was my rep. What I lacked in skills, I made up in heart. Young Paul’s game was flashy but he had no substance. But I liked the dude so we started kicking it and balling. He used to ball a lot with some of the Boston dudes. You know, the Irish cats from Charlestown. House of Pain gangsters and all that. It was just some free rec though and the dudes were some hack artists. I was more into full court. Running with the brothers. But I went out with Pauly a couple of times. He dominated these dudes. He was clearly the best player. They couldn't keep up with his game, so they just resorted to hacking him. So I asked him, "Is this all your doing? You got A-League game, kid," I told him. "Why aren't you playing in the intramural leagues?" He told me that he played a couple seasons in B-League but that he didn't get no run. He said he thought it was because he was white. I found that hard to believe because I was white and I had always found a spot and this kid was way better than me on a strictly skills level. He had real game. All I had was a rough-it-off mentality. So I talked to a couple of brothers I knew on the block who balled. I asked them why Young Paul wasn't playing for the unit. They told me the kid was soft. They said he was an A-league free rec'er but awful under the whistle playing organized ball. I was like "damn well, it ain't like shit in here is that organized." I had no problems getting on a team but I wasn't trying to play just yet. I liked to scope the situation out and then make my own team. Because I could free rec all day, but when I played in a league I was trying to win. It’s all about them chips, baby – even in the penitentiary. So I started schooling Young Paul. I told him I was gonna make a team and he would be my star player. Building up his confidence and the like, because his game was nice. He just needed some confidence and heart. Some dudes in here say you can't teach heart. Either you have it or you don't. But I believe that dudes can develop heart because it's all just about having confidence in your abilities. Pauly was young so I could understand. He was a white boy in a black man's world. He walked the walk and talked the talk. It's just that his skin was the wrong color. I knew what he was going through, but the pen isn't an understanding place so he had to grow up fast or he would never be a good ball player because dudes in here are vicious and will exploit a weakness brutally. And once you got labeled in prison, the jacket stuck. I would take Young Paul to free rec with me. Full court with all the brothers. And I would make sure he got the ball in his hands so that he could work his magic. In free rec he was a beast too. But under the whistle, all the dudes I knew and respected said he was some shit. They told me under the whistle I was a way better player than him. Was the kid nervous? A lot of dudes told me no. It was his heart, they said. Finally, the season was upon us. I filled my roster with dudes I'd known from other joints and a couple of new dudes who bought into the team concept I was selling. It was only B-League, but that was what I played. Like I said, my game wasn't like that. I was a B-League All-Star and an A-league bench warmer. And I was trying to play. I wasn't sitting on no bench. I hyped Young Paul up telling him it didn't matter if he fucked up. It was his rock, you know. I told him I needed him to step his game up. That he didn't have to worry about sitting on the bench. He would get his minutes. I handpicked the coach so he was in my pocket. It was finally our first game and I wanted Young Paul to shine. Represents for the woods, you know. I wanted him to shine so that an A-league team would pick him up. It was his showcase. He played alright. But I still noticed some timidness that wasn't there when we free rec'ed. What was the problem? He didn't know. I told him to get his shit together and go out and play. He promised me he would. I didn't understand how a kid with so much talent could play so soft under the whistle but play so aggressively in free rec. It must have been psychological, I thought. So I played the psychologist and set out to break Young Paul out of the rut he seemed stuck in. I wanted him to succeed. I needed him to break out so that my team would do well. He was supposed to be my go-to-guy, my best player and all that. But in the first game he just played OK. I continued to hype him up and tried to increase his confidence. In the second game, he finally started to come out of his shell. There was one point in crunch time were the kid just took over. He went to the rack five straight times and got fouled every time and made all the free throws. Game over. We won. Young Paul was happy afterward. All the dudes in the gym were congratulating him. Telling him "good game" and "about time, white boy." I could tell he enjoyed the accolades because for real the kid was killing them. Later that night back on the block, he told me that he finally got it. I told him "that feeling you had, when you were going to the rack, determined and confident, like no one could stop you – that’s the feeling you gotta remember. That’s the feeling you gotta call up game in and game out. Because in prison dudes will try you again and again and again. So you always gotta bring your A-game." He told me he knew what I meant now and thanked me for helping him find his game and maybe his heart too. But he didn't say that. That was only what I thought. I figured two or three more games like that and an A-league team would pick him up, because he was nice and now he had performed under the whistle to back up his nice game. Also I was anxious to see the kid succeed. But before our next game the kid was abruptly transferred up north to another joint. I heard he's packing on the muscle but I haven't heard anything about his game. Maybe he went back into his shell, I don't know. But I hope not. I hope he's up there balling and busting dude's asses. I hope he's representing for the peckerwoods. Because in prison white dudes balling are few and far between. You gotta hear all that "white men can't jump" shit and Larry Bird shit. You got to play twice as hard every time you hit the court to maintain the respect for your game. In the penitentiary that’s just how it goes. Seth M. Ferranti is the inmate number 18205-083 at FCI Gilmer in West Virginia and a regular contributor to HoopsHype.com. He was previously at the Fairton prison Tell us what you think about this article. E-mail us at HoopsHype@HoopsHype.com _____________________ |
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Has been incarcerated since October 1, 1993.