There are many names given to the grand poobah of the universe and even more names used to describe what’s impossible to describe, attributes of mercy and what not.
Darryl Dawkins was not God, but he named his dunks.
The Chocolate-Thunder-Flying, Glass-Flying, Robinzine-Crying, Babies-Crying, Glass-Still-Flying, Cats-Crying, Rump-Roasting, Bun-Toasting, Thank You-Wham-Bam-I-Am-Jam”) In Your Face Disgrace, The Go-rilla, Earthquaker Shaker, Candyslam, Dunk You Very Much, Look Out Below, Yo Mama, Turbo Sexophonic Delight, Rim Wrecker, Greyhound Bus (went coast-to-coast), Cover Your Head, Spine Chiller Supreme, Slam Bam Thank You Maam and Walk Away From Love.
He had a heart attack yesterday and passed away. Bummer. He was 58-years old and squeezed a hell of a lot of excitement and blocked shots in a 25 year pro career – NBA, CBA, IBA, Europe.
His nickname was Chocolate Thunder and he was an alien from the planet Lovetron. I tried to reach the planet many times with the help of a ladder in our backyard. With ball in hand, I set sail from the third rung and attempted one of the Dawkin dunks, but more often than not, hung on the rim in the hopes of bringing down the iron. Dawkins shattered a few backboards in his time. Probably inspired the break away rim, yet another extra terrestrial invention.
I enjoyed watching highlights yesterday of Dawkins transferring the ball we always called a pill from right hand to left in mid-air and still executing a tomahawk windmill shlamoooooooooo. And when I slipped on the White Sox game, lo and behold, Chicago’s Pale Hos unveiled beautiful Bill Veeckian black and white retro Pajama uniforms. I had a new distraction.
I grew up a White Sox fan. They could have worn purple ponchos and I would have loved ’em, but seriously, I love those uniforms, so casual looking like Muslim priest gowns. Speaking of great uniforms, Mike Fiers and Carlos Gomez look stunning in Astros orange. Took me no time at all to adjust.
Maybe the orange shoes did it? Or maybe orange is just a great color. Pumpkins, orange juice, marmalade, sunsets, Popsicles, and the orange van in Bad News Bears Breaking Training.
Fiers has a bald head and beard to go along with his orange shoes. He stands tall, cups the ball in his hand, a curly cue leg kick, nothing near Marichal ballerina high, more Japanese stop and stutter. Fiers had never entered the ninth inning of a game, not until last week. Now he has a complete game no hitter under his belt. Nolan Ryan was watching the game. He didn’t look too happy. He never does. Every time I see him on TV he looks constipated and frustrated by the fact. I think it was the 11th all time no hitter for the Astros.
Ken Forsch and Bob Forsch. One of them pitched a no-hitter for the Astros. The other one maybe for the Cardinals? but together, I think they’re the only brothers to perform the feat.
One of the players the Brewers acquired for Fiers and Gomez was Domingo Santana. He made his Brewers debut on the Fiers no-hit night. In his third at bat, he whipped his waist around, and got the bat on the ball and holy crap, it was over the fence in two seconds.
The Fiers no-hitter and Santana home run happening on the same night reminded me of luggage carousels at the airport and the small cubbyholes with those car wash-like flaps where luggage enters and exits. I think it was when Brewers play by play guy Brian Anderson announced “No hitter watch,” and all I had to do was press a few buttons and Spine Chiller Supreme Slam Bam Thank You Maam, I was instantly in the eye of the Houston no hitter.
No more wondering what was going on behind the carousel car flaps other side.