Wake n’ Bake Session 1001. Remember The Box Tops?
Here are two subjects that are supposed to be mutually exclusive of each other.
But they aren’t.
The latest incident involves a young American sprinter Sha’Carri Richardson who was disqualified, suspended, and then, to add insult to injury, she was not selected to run with the women’s relay team for the upcoming Tokyo Olympics. One of the fastest women on the planet castigated and snubbed after dutifully serving her suspension for taking a few hits off a joint.
Come on now.
Marijuana is recognized as medically pertinent in 37 states. No matter how you dissect it, the wheels grind ever so slowly, and people are still getting arrested, fined, and jailed for use and possession.
And even more stupid than that, they are being suspended and prevented from achieving their goals.
Don’t even get me started on the financial benefits to states, politicians, and people alike.
I know firsthand that playing while under the influence can definitely be a most trippy experience.
My intra-dorm basketball team was renown as the perennial basement-dwelling last-place finishers.
It seems like all the other floors were populated with at least one athlete, sometime two or three, sometimes even starters on one of the real varsity teams.
We were short (our tallest player was 6’2”) and no one could be considered athletic. However, I will bet you dollars to doughnuts that our combined SAT scores were more impressive.
So what if nobody had more than a 10” vertical leap?
The first game of the season was against the next-to-worst team and we actually matched up pretty well size-wise and lack-of-talent-wise with them.
The night before the game, I had befriended some foreign students from Brazil. These students were wild.
No inhibitions whatsoever.
I ended up drinking and smoking with them until about 7am and the sun was coming up.
I could not believe it, but no one had gone to bed yet.
Rosario, a grad student jabbed me in the ribs.
“Hey, mano you need help to wake up a little bit?” he asked, filling yet another red plastic cup with what remained of the keg.
Oh shit, I thought. I had totally spaced out my 8am basketball game.
“Uh, what do you have?” I ventured.
Now up to that point in my life, it was pot and alcohol only. But something terrible about peer pressure. It will make you do (or not do) the craziest shit. So I ate the little purple tablet he offered, raced back to my room, got changed and headed to the gym. My teammates were already there warming up and shooting around.
Tim, our best player and captain, kind of gave me a strange look as we huddled. I have been honest as to my athletic ability and I can shoot OK, dribble like shit, my defense is OK, I can’t jump worth a damn, AND I just ate what I find out later to be was a hit of purple mescaline.
Hand of God, I was an unstoppable force that morning. Tripping my brains out, I had the biggest shit-eating grin you ever saw as I leapt, spun, and dominated every inch of the court.
We won the game in spite of our underdog status.
In our post-game huddle, Tim gave me that quizzical look again and said, “that was the greatest individual athletic display I have ever seen.”
I looked at him and winked one of my extremely dilated pupils.
What he said was most flattering, but I knew why.