Picture me ballin’
I watched A Hard Day’s Night again the other evening. I do it every few years, as I do its dark soulmate, The Maltese Falcon. And as with The Maltese Falcon I always find something new in it. But there are also things that have been stuck in my memory from the first viewing, like Ringo’s shout of joy when they escape their commitments for a few minutes and run out to play like schoolboys to the strains of “Can’t Buy Me Love”.
The movie has a similar effect on the viewer. Roger Ebert said “untold thousands of young men walked into the theater with short haircuts, and their hair started growing during the movie and didn't get cut again until the 1970s.”
Man, this lockdown is messing with my head. Normally I like to sit in my house and read, and I imagined I’d be fine here, catching up on my computer games and blogging…but it’s just not enough. I’ve got to get outdoors. After a long day at my job, where I have to sit in meetings for hours paying attention to things I’d really prefer not to pay attention to, I head for the door. As I go through I can hear Ringo’s shout in my head.
Web critic Kate Everson finds the movie’s killer quote:
“We’ve broken out! Ah, the blessed freedom of it all! Have you got a nail file, these handcuffs are killin me! I was framed, I’m innocent, I don’t want to go!” – John Lennon
It’s freedom, baby, yeah! Everyone wants it, but it’s so hard to get. Papers to sign, taxes to pay, staff meeting, PTA. Getting loose from it all, however briefly, is bliss. Austin Powers said we could have freedom and responsibility, but I’m not really buying it. Freedom for me, is about punting on responsibility for an hour, forgetting what escrow is, and running around like an idiot.
In his masterful and often wrong Book of Basketball, Bill Simmons wrote a paean to the late 1970’s Portland Trailblazers, one of the whitest great teams ever:
Not totally white, but pretty white, right?
And to honor this pale and disciplined squad, Simmons invoked a child of a Black Panther, the man who had “Thug Life” tattooed on his chest, Tupac.
My favorite Tupac song is “Picture Me Rollin’,” an uplifting effort right after his release from prison, when he’s cruising around in his 500 Benz, relishing his freedom and telling everyone who kept him down over the years (I’m translating into honky-speak), “Now that I’m out on the streets and being me again, I sincerely hope you take a few moments to think about me happily driving around in my expensive car as a free man. By the way, go fuck yourself.” That’s really the whole point of the song. At one point he taunts, “Can you see me now? Heheheh. Move to the side a little bit so you can get a clear picture. Can you see it? Hahah. Picture me rollin’.” Fantastic. And it’s one of his catchier tunes, the kind of song that makes you want to ride around in a convertible and pretend you’re black. (Wait, you don’t do that? Um … me neither.) Anyway, the song ends with Tupac taunting everyone from Clinton Correctional Facility, his old stomping grounds:
Any time y’all wanna see me again
Rewind this track right here,
Close your eyes and picture me rollin’.
I feel that way about Walton and the Blazers. They didn’t roll for long, but they rolled. And I don’t even need to rewind the tapes to picture it.
After ESPN fired him for “repeated lack of respect” (and also for calling the NFL Commissioner a liar) Simmons made “Picture Me Rollin’” the opening theme for his podcast. Then he founded The Ringer, turned the podcast into a podcast network, then sold the network to Spotify for two hundred million dollars. So yes, you may picture Bill Simmons rollin’ as well, he would be delighted.
Some things were not meant to be pictured
I suspect we most appreciate freedom just as we’re getting out from under the oppressive thumb. Newly fresh air is the sweetest. It’s sure to end, of course: somewhere along the line we’ll lose the thread again, and we’ll be back in the soup, or in Tupac’s case, out of the game altogether.
But I gotta have it. I get loose for a while, and I’m a new man. Seneca knew it:
Our minds must have relaxation: rested, they will rise up better and keener. Just as we must not force fertile fields (for uninterrupted production will quickly exhaust them), so continual labor will break the power of our minds. They will recover their strength, however, after they have had a little freedom and relaxation.
Do you hear that people? Stoic philosopher says: go over the wall. And I do: early morning, or late evening - before that late summer sunset - I’ll drive to a quiet park I know and get some shots up. Imaginary teams, you pick first, I got all my guys, Toney and Walton, Reggie Lewis and Dr. J, they’re all impressed by my jump hook and turnaround jumper, the stutter-step and the quick little layup.
Sometimes I glimpse my shadow and see its strides are kind of short and choppy, it doesn’t move as quick as it used to. But I can still go to the hoop, and - maybe better than I used to - hear the cheers of phantoms.
Picture me ballin’.
