Turkish for Tiger

Monday, November 28, 2022

Pastrami

Pastrami sandwich at 2nd Avenue Deli: There's nothing wrong, so to say, with this sandwich, but it's no competition for Pastrami King. Ben's comes close sometimes.

Here's your boy at Victor's Cafe drinking the wonderfully balanced "La Jefe": Grey Goose vodka, St Germain elderflower liqueur, Boiro blackberry puree. Not everyone is meant for corduroy.

When I was in seventh and eight grade, I played basketball all the time with my friends. Sometimes we went to Grant Park or to our middle school, but usually we were at someone's house. And we went hard. None of us were terribly athletic and the highest level of coaching we ever received was from our middle school coach/phys. ed. teacher, Mr. Silvia, but in our minds, we were really good. We weren't. We were essentially non-players. Only one guy in our group, Ross, ever played any meaningful varsity minutes in high school, but basketball sneakers, jerseys, hats, and movies like White Men Can't Jump were everything.

That was a long time ago, though. Today, I have an eighth grader who plays varsity basketball. As happy as I am for him, I can't help but feel some relief that he and I were not in the same friend circle because he might have spoiled basketball for me. I was 5'4", 134 lbs, and in our games, I was usually selected first or second. For my middle school team, I was captain. Luca is 6'1", 160 lbs, and he can grab the rim easily. He shoots better than I ever did, he blocks shots, he can defend the perimeter, and he knows how to play off the ball. None of us could have matched up with him, so I wonder if my inflated sense of basketball prowess would have been deflated had Luca and I been peers.