The New Frau Stern-Approved NBA Ball…

Yeah we even get new-fangled NBA ball here in the sticks of Vermont, though I had to special order one. Every pale-skinned Vermont, I wish I could’a been a DII point guard (or DIII small forward forward) white dude bought those suckers up. But oddly, none of my fairer-skinned homeboys had one. So I said, “Damn, I know the League’s mostly Black and because of all those Jay-Z and KG commercials y’all think we’re all rich, so I guess I’ll spend the dollas on the rock.”

After waiting three days, I rushed to my local Dick’s – wait, that didn’t come out quite right. I rushed down to my local Dick’s —– Sporting Goods store (whew!) and claimed my awaited with breath baited, prize.

Then I: called my boy Adam (A-Million) at work and told him to take off the rest of the afternoon ’cause it’s time for some one-on-one – and some playground physicist tests on the new ball – and remember to grab your NBA leather off your bookshelf at work.

What I didn’t let A-Million know is that I’d already dribbled the “new thang” at home on my carpet. Adam arrived only to see me picking the last piece of stuffed animal fuzz from my daughter’s toy bin (I went between my legs and a pink skateboard anticipated my move and poked the ball away and out of bounds – into the toy bin; glad I avoided the turnover).

First thing A-Million noticed, with his 5’-6” self, is that he could actually palm the ball! There’s no way, I repeat no way, Adam could palm Ol’ Leather. He looked at me like a little kid who just learned that, well, learned that he could finally palm a basketball. We shot around with the Frau Stern-approved ball. All the while we noticed the mutual frowns on each other’s faces.

A-Million: “Shit is like a playground ball, huh?”

Me: “Yup.”

“It is really tacky.”

“Too tacky.”

Bank shot – squeak, miss. Bank shot –squeak miss. Then, in, in, in. Reverse layup off the backboard with a lot of spin – off the far part of the rim – miss.

Me: WHAT! Wait, wait. I don’t miss a reverse – EVER!

A-Million: Damn!

Adam retrieved my miss and noticed that the ball looked a little discolored – already. “This shit is picking up dust!” Adam held out the ball. Hands on hips, more frowns.

We shot free throws. Held up Ol’ Leather and the Frau Stern a few ros up in the stands and dropped the balls; Frau Stern’s didn’t bounce as high and to top it all off, bounced a little away from the “Spalding” imprint. We tried it again – same thing. And again – same thing.

We parked the Frau Stern on the bleachers, picked up Ol’ Leather and played one-on-one.

On the way out to our cars I said to A-Million, “You’re payin’ half for this dusty, crooked-bouncin’ piece of shit.”

Adam laughed and did me one better: “I’ll pay half – and then we’ll take it to the Salvation Army and donate it.”

The Frau Stern NBA ball now sits in my office closet, waiting for my money and a trip to a donating center.