I’m Starting to Think I’ll Never Play in the NBA
For most of us, there comes a time when we are forced to confront the unfriendly reality that our dreams may not play out as we hoped. Like my buddy Ryan who wanted to be an astronaut more than anything. Got to high school, decided to get into teaching instead. Dream, dead. Or my sister, who swore she’d be a writer at Vogue, and then ended up a nurse. Like we need another one of those. Me, I’ve never been a quitter. But at 36 years old and with no history of playing competitive basketball, it’s dawning on me that there’s a real chance that I’ll never play in the NBA.
I know what you’re thinking: “Don’t give up!” But this wasn’t something I woke up today and realized. It’s been a slow surrender. The night I turned 30, unbeknownst to the family and friends celebrating with me at Dave and Buster’s, I quietly looked at the chessboard of life before me, and gently let go of my vision of being an All-Star. Not a one-time it-was-kind-of-a-weak-year type like Andrei Kirilenko or Brook Lopez, but a fixture at All-Star Weekend for at least 5 or 6 years. I could do the math, though, and it was clear time just wasn’t on my side. So I recalibrated.
Since that fateful night at D&B’s, I instead set my sights on being a starter for a good team. One of those players who hangs around for 10-12 years, makes $100 million or so, calls it quits, gets a cushy media job. I would’ve been fine with that. Proud, even. But over the past few months, it’s starting to feel like even this would be a reach.
There’s no easy way to lower myself before you, so I’ll just say it: I’m desperate. I’d sign a vet minimum deal right now. I’m hoping putting it out in the universe will help. Hell, I would take a 10-day contract, if I’m being honest. It would have to be the right situation, and there would need to be a clear path to playing time. But even if it weren’t for a playoff team, I would give it a shot. Any way to get to the League.
But here’s the thing — I don’t want my dream to just keep shrinking. I’ll continue taking concrete steps to make it happen. Like writing this confessional, this took a lot. Or buying a basketball last summer. I haven’t dribbled it since September because my shoulder feels kind of weird, and I’ve been busy with other things, but my email is working fine. So consider this my public notice that I’m ready for a pitch from an agent or team so we can get the proverbial ball rolling. It’s time.
I will mention though — just because I’m recalibrating my goals doesn’t mean I’ll embarrass myself indiscriminately. For example, I’m not signing overseas. I’m not there yet. If a pro team in Greece calls, they can save their breath. You won’t catch me in Turkey or Spain either. In fact, if it doesn’t work for me in the NBA, I’ll probably just focus on my other dream of being an NFL quarterback.
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Adam O’Kane is an entrepreneur (Swipewipe and other mobile apps) and occasional writer (McSweeney’s, SlackJaw, a satirical newspaper about his family that he published when he was 12) and lives on the seacoast of New Hampshire with his wife and two girls.
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