On Wednesday of last week, I went to the IM building with my buddy Matt in search of something. Was it fame? Glory? Was it a chance to get out of this godforsaken town and walk with the stars? For anyone who is completely in the dark here, just read this post. Or scroll down. It's up to you.)
Yes. It was all three. And my ticket to all of it was an appearance on the Big Ten Network's "Hoops on Campus" program. The Network was hosting tryouts at the IM building for its 3-point shooting contest and its dunk contest, both of which would take place the next day on Thursday. These were just the preliminary rounds meant to weed out the idiots who thought they actually had a shot at competing.
I arrived at the IM building with Matt feeling pretty darn good. I was disappointed I wouldn't have as much warm-up time as I would have liked, but I pushed it out of my head. I was going to be on national television! I just had to make a few 3's. I had done it a million times before, how hard could it be?
Yeah...it was pretty hard. I stunk up the 3-point contest. Like, I think I made four of them. Total. It was horrible. I was disappointed -- inconsolable, even -- until I had an idea. It was a crazy, ridiculous idea, but it was my only shot at getting the one thing in the world I love: attention.
Lindsey, one of the producers at the show, noticed there weren't a whole lot of dunkers signed up to try out for the dunk contest. And then she said those words I'll never forget:
"All we need to see is that you can dunk. It doesn't have to be crazy or anything."
Wait, I thought. I can dunk, if that's all they need...
Now, if you read last week's post, you know I'm no dunker. Can I dunk? Yes. Can I DUNK? No. Not even a little bit. But I was so caught up in the prospect of being the center of attention during an actual TV show that I said "why not?" and went for it. I told her to put my name down on the list.
When my turn came, I did reasonably well. I did a one-handed dunk, then a dunk where I came from the baseline and crammed at the front of the rim. To top it off, I slammed home a two-hander, slapping the backboard for effect as I came down.
Of course, I had seen the other dunkers, including James and Seth. I figured I had absolutely no shot. So, I went and played a couple pick-up games, resigned to the fact that I had blown my shot at the big time.
I was about to leave, when I noticed the whole crew was still in the gym, packing up for the night. I figured it couldn't hurt to talk to them, to see if I had gotten in. I talked to Lindsey, who said they had not yet made the decision. Figuring I had no shot at making it on dunking merit alone, I decided to turn on the charm.
I told her I could be camera-ready in like, two minutes. I told her I would shave and get a haircut -- just for her. I told her I would blow her a kiss during one of my dunks. I basically groveled. And after about 10 minutes of this, as I was spelling my name for her for the 17th time, she finally said,
"You know what? You're in."
And that was that. A good lesson for the kids out there: if you can't get what you want based on merit, try sweet-talking (some would call it pathetic begging, but it's sweet-talking, ok? Can we just call it sweet-talking?).
The events that followed have already been well-documented. On Thursday, this happened:
And on Friday this ran in the Michigan Daily.
So what's the lesson from all this? Is it really "stay grounded?" I don't know. I found out that my dunks don't look half as cool as they feel; I found out that even when you have already publicly skewered yourself both online and in print, bitter people still make sure you know you failed on national television; I got a cool basketball for second prize, does that count as a lesson?
I guess the most important thing I learned was that I should stick to writing. While I may not be better at it, at least the ligaments my left leg don't feel tighter than the skin on Heidi Montag's face after I write a long article.
Inn Crowd Forever
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