For a man once proposed to kick that round ball
Hath found a new sport not played by all
To give use to his hands and give rest to his head
Where he'd toy with defenders then put them to bed
In high school right through the competition he'd rip
And lead the boys to a state championship
But not once would he win like a mortal per chance
He led them again, foreshadowing the dance
But now he moves on, on to bigger and better
His jersey got bluer, his hair would get redder
He moved up to college, but the buckets still poured in
As the legend continues of the Delaware Jordan
Selah
Flabbergasted. That was what summed up his parents reaction when they learned of the Division 1 offers Donte was receiving. The moment they had so desperately feared had come upon them, and now they must face it. While it was not the painstaking, methodical game his family had grown up with that almost always ended in ties and got everyone home in time for the news, they agreed to let their boy play basketball for Villanova. So off he went 90 miles away to learn from Jay Wright. And learn he did.
His first year he was eager. In practice, Donte kept his dribble audaciously far from his body in hopes of luring another unsuspecting defender into turning his tarsals and metatarsals into a fine powder with one foul swoop. To his shock, the ball was knocked loose by the defender. What? People could do this? Was Donte not the chosen one? Was he not gifted enough to fool the best of people? He brushed it off as being human, for to err is human and Donte was mostly human. In one on one drills he tried to post up into a turnaround jumper, the DiSpincenzo. To his surprise he was blocked on this shot. Humans capable of reaching altitude levels that he was? Did he even belong here? Donte felt lost and alone. That's when Coach Wright stepped in. "Donte my son", Wright would soothingly say as he looked ever so cool in his fashionable men's suit. "Patience my pupil. You are good, but so are the other players. If you want to be great, you will need to learn from me and head my every word." And so Donte would do what he had never done before: sit and wait.
And so Donte sat and waited. He learned every opportunity he could get. After practice he would stand sternly in the corner and keep shooting threes until he made 200. After class he would run to the gym, sit in a chair and watch game film while practicing dribbling between his legs. His absorbed every ounce of basketball knowledge he could, like a sponge, and then his time came. At the beginning of his sophomore year, Jay Wright came up to him before practice and told Donte his time had come. Donte would come off the bench and inject life into the lineup. At the start of every game, Donte would just yearningly stare at Wright until he found the time to put him in the game, and once he heard his name he would bolt to the scorers table, never not hustling to give his all to the team.
After a stellar sophomore year Donte's junior year went exquisitely. His team was dominant and well on a strong path towards a championship. He too had a great year. He would come off the bench and create havoc on the court. Tired defenders would flail as they tried to stop him from attacking the rim. Every pass he deflected would make coaches compulsively vomit as open passing lanes would vanish like a thief in the night. In the second half of games, Donte would go supersonic and put on performances on offense that made the Sistine Chapel look like refrigerator art. "Coach," opposing players would plead, "watch out for that man. Once he gets that look in his eye, we will be finished. There's not been a soul that has ever stopped the whirlwind of pain this man will inflict upon us!" The coach, surprised, would perplexedly turn to his players and inquire, "What phenomenon do you speak of?" His players could only gulp and mutter under their breathe for fear of speaking into existence the sole act they so desperately feared, "Donte's Inferno".
Villanova was among the elite this year and they made it to the final game when they dropped into an early lead. Coach Wright called a timeout and pleaded his team, "Guys, we need to step up, someone needs to start hitting shots." Donte then perked up. It all made sense. This was the moment he was born for. "Don't worry Coach, I'll take care of it". And then Donte went out and dominated every facet of the game. He was dropping jumpers with hands in his face. He would mystify defenders with the dribbling skills he had honed deep in the depths of the practice facility and no humans eyes had borne witness to. He fearlessly rotated towards unabated runs to the rim and then soared up and swatted with the force of a thousand moons. Virginia stood aghast. "What kind of a man is this, that so courageously drills daggers in my players' faces and takes every opportunity to turn my men into fools?" That's when the Big Ragu, strolling past the bench just moments before he had to defend the wing, said, "I am no man, for I am Donte".
Blessed Be the Big Ragu
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