“I’m back.”
These words changed my childhood and my life. If you notice the punctuation, there is no exclamation point, no all caps like someone is yelling at you. It is a simple statement, but when this simple statement is preceded by Scottie Pippen sitting on the bench at the United Center in Chicago and pointing at the Michael Jordan Jumpman on his shoe, while motioning MJ to come back, then you get magic. Michael Jordan had prematurely retired after 3 NBA championships to try his hands at baseball. He was a barely average right-fielder who batted in the low to mid 200’s.
My brother-n-law, named Law Dawg, and I went to watch him play as a Birmingham Baron. I so badly wanted an autograph; we got there early. I yelled and yelled at my hero. He just looked at me as he walked by. Thats was ok; when I was a little boy, there was nothing MJ could do to make me love him any less. A lot of people wondered why would Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player in history, quit in his prime to go travel in a bus with 20 year olds playing minor-league baseball. I know why.
See the thing that sets the greatest (Michael, Larry, Magic, Kobe) apart from just the talented (Lebron James) is their competitive streak. No one was as competitive as Mike. He felt he had conquered basketball. He was the greatest in the world. He wanted to know if he could be the the best in baseball too. This streak is something he can’t shut-off. When he was not playing, Jordan was a notorious gambler. There are stories of him gambling hundreds of thousands of dollars while drinking beer and playing 18 holes of golf; only to show up at his basketball game to drop 50. Some people are just different. I couldn’t play basketball like Mike, because I hurt my ankle in 9th grade (there’s another joke, haha). But, I am every bit as competitive. Sure, I’m not winning championships and adored by millions of fans, but I got some stuff going on. What? Don’t believe me? Fine, I’ll explain
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1. When I was a kid, watching MJ and getting a brand new pair of Air Jordans really made me believe I could fly. I loved playing basketball. In 2nd grade, our teacher told us to imagine the best thing in the world and multiply it by 10. She said this was what heaven was like, and she asked us to draw it. At that age, I played on an 8.5 ft goal. The best thing to me was to be able to play on a 10 ft goal. So when she asked me to draw heaven, I drew a 100 ft tall basketball goal. My love ran deep. I was going to be in the NBA.
Like most young ballers, that house of cards dream came tumbling down when I realized even most white dudes can run faster than I can. This made me sad; I’m a champion just like MJ is a champion. I didn’t want to have to wait until getting to heaven to be recognized as great at something. I knew there had to be something that I am better at than most people. I just had to figure out what it was. Once I figured out what it was, I had to figure out how to incorporate it in daily life. Whats the point in being good at something if you can’t show it off? Am I right?
I looked far and wide. I am good at so many things, but I wanted to be great. I wanted to find something I was better at than other people; I just had to look harder. I tried juggling. I can juggle pretty well; that wasn’t enough, though. I decided to spice it up and juggle some knives one day. Remember, greatness compels greatness. After slicing my hand open a few times, I decided juggling wasn’t going to be my route in being like Mike.
Then one day in chapel at Mississippi College, we had a chapel-wide Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament. The rules were simple you paired off and went best 2 out of 3. Whoever won would then find someone else to face off against. It was weird, but I love competing and getting into my opponents head.
I know you are thinking, there is no skill in this, Bardin is crazy. You would be right about one thing; I am crazy, crazy incredible at Rock, Paper, Scissors. Sure, the first throw out of the three is kind of luck. Some people may have habits and throw rock first every time, but upper level “R,P,S” players mix it up; the psychological warfare really begins on throws two and three. As a player, I have so many thoughts in my brain between throw 1 and 2. What did my opponent throw last time; what did I throw last time? What did my opponent throw against his previous opponent. What does my opponent think I am about to throw? All of these things add up to let me know what to counter with each time we pass from Rock to Paper to Scissors to Shoot! That day in chapel, my eyes were opened. I didn’t win the tournament, but out of around 400 people, I made it to the semi-finals. The dude who beat me just got lucky…
I know I wasn’t going against Charles Barkley or Shawn Kemp in the MC RPS Classic, but when I lost, for a split second I though my world was ending. I hate losing, but I love winning more. The problem is, in everyday life, people are just not hanging out playing a lot of Rock, Paper, Scissors. How am I gonna beat them if they do not play?
It was quite a conundrum, but I realized I had a simple fix. If I wanted people to swim, all I had to do was ask people to swim. I didn’t have to tell them there were sharks (me) in the water that would make them drown. This is what I do now. If you know me and we are friends with much 1 on 1 time, then Ive probably lulled you into a friendly game of RPS. If this happened, I had great fun. Im sorry, if you didn’t. Unless you are my 19 year-old niece Alice, I think the sweetness God blessed her with came with a hearty dose of luck. She may have beat me a few times, but we shouldn’t get into that right now.
2. I mentioned Alice being my nemesis in RPS. Once thing is for sure, Mike may have competed against the greats, but if you want competition look no further than the members of your own family. They are the ones that are really out to beat you.
Queen Bob’s real name is Mallory Farrell Dowdy McCoy Bob. I was 3 years old when she was born, and competition began immediately. People would be crowded around this little weirdo baby and wouldn’t pay any attention to me. Uh, no thanks. My vocabulary wasn’t quite as advanced as it is now, but I found out, if I ran in a circle until I couldn’t stand up, then people would quit paying attention to her and look at me, that star of the show. This little kid couldn’t even walk, while I could run. She was boring. As a 3 and a 1/2 year old, I still lived life out on the fringes. I decided to spice life up for her a bit too. We share the same middle name, Farrell. This is my dad’s name; we are both very proud of it. So proud in fact, that Queen B and her husband named their first daughter Princess Sofia Farrell McCoy. I’m proud we all share this name, but I thought Queen B needed another name when she was a little baby, so I added Bob to the end. As you can tell, the name has really stuck. She took a liking to it immediately.
Several years later, Queen B and I both went to the same small private elementary school. We were very close. Some days Queen B would ride home with my mom and I, we would stop at Dairy Queen for a Dip Cone. We went on vacation together and have been best friends our whole life (even though, she tattles on me daily, still). We were always together. To me, this meant when she got to skip school, then I should be allowed to skip, as well. One day this was not the case, and it completely threw my world into the wrong orbit.
My sister, MomDeuce, is 20 years older than I am; when she got married, I was 1 year old. She loves telling people that I called her Mama at her and Law Dawg’s wedding. The truth is, she was like a 2nd mom to me. Now she’s just one of my other best friends. As MomDeuce, when her best friend was having a baby and she allowed Queen B to skip school to go to the hospital, then I too should have gotten to go to the hospital. I hate hospitals, but I have always loved school. This doesn’t mean things didn’t take a dramatic turn that day at school. A turn that resulted in the teacher calling my mom concerned for our whole family.
I was an emotional wreck all morning. I knew I had never had fun in a hospital before, but I would have sworn Queen B, MamaDeuce, and all her friends were getting down in Woman’s Hospital Waiting Room. I was missing it. She was there, I needed to be there. I struggled to contain my tears for several hours. A little before lunch, after PE, my teacher noticed me by the wall away from everyone crying. I was so upset. This sweet little lady approached me thinking something was dreadfully wrong; I wasn’t a cryer at school. She had no idea that I was more dramatic than Tyler Perry (I may have dropped a few hints during the school year to her). Concerned, she asked, “Bardin, what’s wrong?”
Through my tears, I could barely form thoughts. There was no way I could find the proper verbiage to tell her what was going on in my tiny-brained head. In between sobs, I cried, “Family problems.” Thats all I said. I couldn’t give her a verb to go along with my noun. Family problems…Think if you were a teacher; this could be really bad. I had never given the signs of an abused or mistreated child, but on this day, I was an isolated sobbing little boy with “family problems”.
She was concerned to say the least. No matter what she asked me, I never would tell her exactly what was going on. I was too damaged; there was too much trauma to talk about it right then. I needed some space. I was a little pouty when my mom picked me up. I was ready to get my dip cone, I wished to summon Queen B to the car, just so she could watch as I ate my ice cream. As a little boy, my competitiveness was already driving me to serve some Karma to my precious baby niece.
When I got in the car, my teacher came and met my mom at her door. She said, “I am very concerned, Bardin was sobbing today. Is everything ok at home? Bardin said y’all were having family problems.”
My mom was shocked and confused. Then it dawned on her. Her sweet, fun Bardin was being himself again. I had begged and begged not to go to school that morning. I almost did a full on “plank protest” by acting like a plank and not moving. I eventually walked in by my on free-will, but she knew I wasn’t happy about it. Smiling through clinched teeth, she said, “No we aren’t having family problems, he just a little jealous of his little niece.” All at once a huge light turned on for my teacher.
As I’ve gotten older, not much has changed between Queen B and I. We still play with and love each other. She is the woman behind many of my stories. Some of the premises of these stories are a little ridiculous. On quite a few, I need a little encouragement, confidence, and story-editing. Queen B is there for me.
I do think we are getting ready to turn my princess into a queen. It is quite possible I already missed Queen B’s progeny, Princess Sofia’s coronation into Queen Anne. I told you all that I have tricked her into calling me King Bardin. This sounds great, but Queen Anne has flipped the script on me.
Just the other day she was begging me to come out to watch her have a concert and dance with her. I told her no; I was hungry. I didn’t realized what had happened, until I was on the dance floor breaking it down as she stood on a chair using the speaker as her microphone. As I tried to figure out how I got there. I remembered Queen Anne spurring me to her concert by looking so sweetly at me. She then said, unsolicited, “Pleassssssseeee King Bardin.” I may love to win more than anyone I know, but that sassy little queen will make me lose every time.
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