Ballin'

Pacers, Pistons Brawl and Making Choices

By Randy Boyd
For Outsports.com

You either recycle. Or you don’t.

For the longest time, I wasn’t sure why this phrase came to my mind whenever I considering being lazy and doing something like not taking an extra step to toss away the newspaper in the right bin, or not bringing home the empty laundry detergent box from the Laundromat, which or may not sort out their trash and recycle all those empty laundry detergent boxes.

You either recycle. Or you don’t.

What did I mean? After all, I recycled somewhat passionately most of the time. Then I witnessed what was instantly tabbed by the Image Keepers as “the Pacers-Pistons Brawl,” the sports melee to end all sports melees, to date, in America perhaps. First I witnessed it live, then on (thank God for) Tivo countless times, then even more countless times on ESPN SportsCenter—during which I came to understand why my mind was reminding me all the time:

You either recycle. Or you don’t.

It’s a winding path, but ...

The Brawl is still a baby, only born into the world days ago. The baby will take a life of its own over the foreseeable future, influenced by the many points of views of its conception. Baby Brawl’s spirit will be around for a long time by our standards, buy just how baby Brawl evolves depends entirely on the Points of View of every other person in the world. We at Ballin’ would like to point out a few POVs we hope don’t go underrepresented in educating the world about the baby, and as a result, the baby about the world.

The point of view of the mother of the baby, and every mother of every baby that ever dreamed of playing sports, and followed that dream, only to hear people talk disparagingly about their baby along the way.

He’s no good. He’s a nutcase. He can’t shoot the ball. He plays like a faggot. Take his ass out of the game, Jesus, why did we get this guy?

A baby so bad, one feels the need to call upon Jesus for sympathy. That’s what a mother hears when her baby is on the field and she’s there to see him shine.

The point of view of the brother of the baby, and every brother of every baby that ever dreamed of playing sports, and followed that dream, only to hear people talk disparagingly about the baby along the way.

This team cannot win with him at quarterback. That guy sucks. He blew it. You fucked up the call, ref, how in the hell can you live with yourself?

A baby so worthless, it’s not even fit to live with itself, let alone anyone else.

Attach the word: cousin, uncle, son, daughter, lover, spouse, offspring—any relation possible to a human baby, then think of all the loved ones of athletes, in the stands, watching on television, listening on talk radio, in the subway, at the office.

Every time an athlete is attacked, at least one of the athlete’s loved ones feels the strike. Something perhaps to consider next time you attack someone for being less than a perfect person in your eyes.

Speaking of the Pacers-Pistons Brawl—how dare you be so fallible as to lose your cool with me!—imagine the Brawl unfolding in slow-motion, all that internal and external chaos erupting as if staged by the choreographer of Braveheart. See the anger and righteousness of cause on every face? Every single person on that tape did what they thought was justified in any given moment on that tape. And every single person on that tape had a choice.

To strike or not strike.

To strike back or not strike back.

To throw or not throw.

To walk away or not walk away.

To lie down in jest or not lie down in jest.

To call people names or not call people names.

To tell someone “don’t be sissies” or to not tell someone “don’t be sissies.”

John Saunders during his immediate comments right after the Brawl.

We make the above choices everyday, the same way we make other choices.

To get up or not get up.

To wash up or not wash up.

To work or not work.

To care or not care.

In fact, we make the above choices, and many more, every single moment of our lives.

To call or not call.

To reach out or not reach out.

To do laundry or not do laundry.

To see a movie or not see a movie.

And it is those single moments that provide the addition for the equation that is ourselves (the subtraction, division and multiplying are another story). And since we are creating ourselves in every single moment, perhaps the following bears consideration:

The most important question is not: do you recycle?

The more important question is: do you recycle this very moment?

Or in the case of those at a now infamous basketball game on a Friday night in Detroit, what do you choose to recycle—but back into the world—this very moment? Anger? Hate? Rage? An assault? A battery? A counterassault? A metal folding chair in a crowd? A drink in a souvenir cup? Intolerance for someone who’s obviously lost their cool? An illegal act that might land you in jail? Your love for the game of basketball? Your gratitude for being where you are, literally and figuratively? Your desire to fall asleep alive and safe in your bed tonight, your soul and the souls of your loved ones lighter and freer because you made choices that prevented a chaotic situation from getting much, much ... much worse?

Which of the above energies give you a better feeling? Recycling rage or a good night’s rest? After all, it’s all energy, and you either recycle, or you don’t.

For more prose like this, stay tuned for Walt Loves the Bearcat, a novel about love, football and some very potent daydreams. Click here for more on Randy’s writings.

Randy's Outsports archive