In the midst of the 2001-02 season, Bryant tried to explain that his life wasn't nearly as easy as fans might have imagined.

"If you were to walk in my shoes last season, and then go through the ups and downs, to play well, to be criticized, the stuff with Shaq, the playoffs, it's like an emotional roller coaster," he told The Times.

Amid all this came changes in Bryant's personal life. He had a falling out with his father. He was courting his soon-to-be wife, Vanessa.

Jackson, who arrived in 1999, understood his player's frustration.

"There are many events that go into a young person's life, especially when you're 22 and making big decisions, like getting married, when to get married, your basketball team and how you're going to play," Jackson said after the 2001 championship. "And, your coach is attacking you half the damned time when you're playing the way you want to play."

jacob from URL @ 7/19/2003 02:10:00 PM

twinturbosuperengineman

THIS ACCOUNT IS FICTIONAL. ANY RESEMBLANCE THE CHARACTERS OR EVENTS BEAR TO REAL PEOPLE OR EVENTS IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL.

"did you flush?" asked takeru (turkey in japanese) in a scathing tone.

jungala (native american for 'bad motherfucker') turned from the door he was about to exit through. he was flabbergasted, "what? did i flush? yeah i flushed."

jungala continued, "why'd you ask that? what's your problem? i don't smell anything. i lit a match......bitch."

takeru tried to remain deadpan, but he was a bad actor and a dumb ass too, he blubbered, "it smells, your shit smells. just leave."

jungala's voice slowly erupted, escalating like a stampede of broncos charging towards a mesa in tempe, arizona before they laid down roads and shit. back when cowboys and saloon shootouts were the norm. "i can't believe you just said that! what's your deal?" jungala must've asked 'what's your deal' at least 5 more times. in his drunken sobriety, he repeatedly uttered the question in disbelief. "WHAT'S YOUR DEAL?" a chaotic but muffled billow pounded in jungala's ear. it was furious, like a war drum. it was a drum. it was his heart pounding on his ear drum. blood surged through his body, swiping junk fuel off the top of his kidneys. his adrenal glands ran dry. he thought his oversize wool coat was about to tear off. the sweat, the swelling skin, the thought of marvel comics and x-men and bad guys. there was a bad guy in the midst.

in that moment jungala invoked the spirit of his ancestors. of the turtle boat heroes who victoriously fended off the evil conquistadors from the east islands. "great great great great great great great great grandpa, please temper me with the mettle to vanquish this asshole who just asked me rudely if i flushed." no one disrespects MY WHOLE CLAN like that. NO ONE.

takeru still didn't realize his mistake. his superiority complex blinded him. his foolishness triumphed over common sense. his instinctive reaction was completely contrary to any animal who'd ever been the subject of a Wild America or National Geographic episode. the switch in his head was broken. bigger animal? yes run. smaller animal, stay, fight.

his switch told him to stay, as takeru, this little rabbit of a boy stood in front of the mound known to some as jungala. others knew him as the bouncer at that place in the wrong part of town. what a fool. his anomolous intention righted itself. somehow the equilibrius of his well being whiffed death and righted itself too.

takeru wanted him out of the place. "just fucking leave. okay? i'm sorry."

jungala spewed a laugh, "oh now you're sorry? it's too late to be sorry. you don't even mean it."

with that last exchange, it was on. jungala was not about to turn around and leave. not just yet. but he couldn't hit takeru for some reason. you see, takeru, despite his smallness had a mind control technique reminiscent of the vulcan mind meld courtesy of spock, first science officer aboard the u.s.s enterprise. this allowed for him and only him to punch first. how else had he survived so long? jungala saw through this cowardly ability. he broke the meld with the simple decree, "PUNCH ME MOTHERFUCKER."

takeru was taken aback momentarily. an invitation he thought? surely takeru had to attack now. jungala had deciphered his ability. in order for others not to learn of it, he had to destroy jungala right there and then. he wound his body into a taut jack in the box. he unfurled an attack that would have made rocky proud. not the fearless champion boxer, bullwinkle's squirrel friend. the gnarled fist hit jungala's jaw with a meek snap. the sound was like a fly swatter hitting the side of the U.S.S INTREPID.

the sailors in jungala's head sounded the horn. ALL CLEAR! FULL FRONTAL ATTACK. ENGAGE THE ENEMY. TERMINATE WITH EXTREME PREJUDICE. jungala's weapons system launched its first attack and missed badly. the bathroom door paid dearly. jungala strategically jettisoned his initial plan to attack with torpedos. he adjusted his strategy and decided to use a grappling-shoving technique. he shoved takeru as his small fists flailed at jungala's head.

in the chaos of the moment, the flailing fists transported jungala back to a time from his childood. summer camp, 1987. weeds brushing his face as he ran through a patch of tall grass. any sense of hearing, lost. things became slow as if jungala had been engulfed by a vacuum, a serene fish bowl maybe. sharp details spilled into a haze of watercolors. it was surreal. the blur in front of him and the vivid but watery imagery in his mind melted into an indistinguishable blur.

a splash on his face. no, a punch. yes, bone on cheek. refreshing. ticklish. jungala came to, and the weeds turned back into fists. jungala was having trouble concentrating. this was not a challenge. he could be home sleeping, and that consideration alone prevented jungala from effectively engaging the enemy. one last try. jungala had to end it. he grabbed his antonizer's head and dribbled it against the wall with controlled fury. jungala sank back into a haze of summer camp memories. tether ball. ah, tether ball, so fun. no...no....NO! a human skull! the potential danger! he began to realize the skewed differential in size. jungala let his opponent go and watched him run and then huddle into the far corner of the room. jungala cocked his head back in an otherworldly gesture. it was unreal, only imaginable from the most horrid of screeching nightmares. a grotesque claymation monster. he howled as the moonlight glinted off of his beaded eyes, sweat dripped off his whiskers, hairs not unfamiliar with gore and blood on other nights. good and evil swirled in the air. on this night the monsters in his head clashed with his better half. they called a truce. jungala collected himself, rolled his neck, rubbed his face, and walked out the door.

the smell in the bathroom was long gone.

jacob from URL @ 7/19/2003 02:04:00 PM

yesterday (friday night, after STORM)

went to ron's place to play poker, texas hold em style, just like bunions (sp?). thank goodness for espn! i went in swinging, got off to an early lead, played very conservatively. pot went up to $100. most of the girls left. with only guys remaining, ante upped to .25 (ron, john ghee, phil, john ?, me)

kept playing concervatively unless i had cards, which i used to draw them in, or bully. my rep of playing conservatively was useful to intimidate. got up to $80+. at around 5am, started to play sloppy.

stayed in on stupid hands, and was the primary target of the rest. went down to $20. eliminated john ?. he came back later with another $5. started to play big and hard, and was on the losing end.

at the last hour (5-6am), bet heavy, bluffed several times which worked many times, actually, b/c i had established a rep as a conservative player when i bluffed, i hit heavy and hard, so that only a few could hang with me.

phil was knocked out. by one of them.

at the end, played too sloppily, bluffed too much, and my 40, which could just as easily have jjumped to 60, ended up as 26, which is what i ended up with

stonybrook john was the big winner. ended with $70+. he was knocked out several times, but at about 4:30, he was tired of watching, came back in, started getting really good hands, and then, HE muscled ppl.

ron, despite putting in so much of his own cash in, came out even.

good playing.

who knew that watching espn's texas hold em championships was going to be so helpful? my FIRST time playing, and i rocked. that was sweet.

jacob from URL @ 7/19/2003 01:15:00 PM

Itz ddoYce: u imed esther first didnt u
Itz ddoYce: u came online to talk to esther and u USED TO IM JOYCE WEN U DIDNT LIKE ESTHER BUT NOOOOOOOOOOI C HOW A FRIENDSHIP CANCHANGE ONCE U GET A GIRL
yakob78: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

jacob from URL @ 7/19/2003 12:50:00 PM

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