Page 29 of Scoring the Player
Gasps ping-pong around the room as the walls hinge down.
“What is it?” Nick asks.
“A 3D model of a building,” Johan replies.
Sid cuts through the crowd. His eyes widen. “That’s stunning.”
“Yes, but what is it?” Nick asks.
“A cake,” Sid and I answer in unison.
“What?” Wes scoffs. “It’s too tall.”
“Bruh.” Jamie pats Sid’s arm. “Tell me it’s not like the fancy hotel you recommended in Miami near Ivy’s.”
“Yeah, the Art Deco one,” Ussef agrees, stroking his goatee.
Nick tilts to take in the angles. “Shit’s cold. This Salem?”
“What do you think the accordion folds represent?” asks Jerry, my favorite assistant coach, who I keep pleading with not to leave us in a few weeks for a head coach gig in Houston.
“‘Accordion folds.’” Wes smiles. “That’s good. I was thinking it’s like poured stone.” He points to the three middle layers. “But then check it, the bottom layer is the foundation, so like cooled stone, or maybe a light and dark marble ’cause it’s so smooth.”
“Nah.” Johan shakes his head. “I think the top three are like sandstorms.”
Nick snickers over his shoulder. “Yo, call MoMA, tell ’em to come get their critics.”
I pull the envelope from my waistband and clamp down on the inside of my lip to stop the pounding in my chest.
Blue,
Do you remember the last time you clocked me? I headbutted you, and then you choked me.
Do you remember the first time?
I don’t know how to explain what happened to me that day.
Or why a three-minute scuffle led to 1,895 days of unrelenting palm, neck, and chest sweats whenever I think of you.
You’re probably wondering what’s in the large box.
Well, it’s you, or rather what I think of when I think of you. Five tiers for all 1,895 days.
The mixed gray concrete-inspired base, while a nod to your East Coast roots, reminds me of your strength in being the first out player in the league. Standing alone couldn’t have been easy.
You inspired me to come out.
Thank you.
You ever met someone and sensed immediately that they have layers?
Layers that don’t unfurl for just anyone?
Everyone with their labels wants to reduce us to one thing, but I know underneath that gorgeous package andI’ll-feast-on-your-corpse swag lies someone very few of us will be lucky to know.
Back to the cake…
The dusty-peach textured tiers with alternating cream satin panels run counterpoint to each other. Shielded underneath is a Genoise sponge cake brushed with rose water.
