April 24, 2002
And now, I will attempt to prove that I am for real. Pegleg is still in the hospital and is a bit woozy, but he's recovered to the point where he can generate work for me to do. He got bored pretty quickly in the hospital. I like to imagine him watching "The Price Is Right" like everyone else does while they're in the hospital, but no, he's probably reading the Torah and yukking it up with other rabbis on the phone. So I have work to do.
WHAT IS THAT EPIC POEM YOU ARE WRITING?
It is called "Manute Bol Goes To Heaven". I do not think that anyone understands the vast amount of feeling there is for Manute. People are worried about him. They have heard reports that he is in trouble and he is sad now, and this distresses them. They remember how he was very tall, and how it was comical when the Washington Bullets had him stand alongside Muggsy Bogues, the shortest NBA player. They miss him. I am aware of this because I wrote an article about Manute (010725) a few months ago, and several people are referred to my webpage by search engines every week, trying to find out what the big guy is up to these days. I suspect that everyone thinks that they are the only one who remembers the powerful 7'7" shot-blocking machine known as Manute Bol, and perhaps they feel silly for caring about him as much as they do, because they don't realize that everyone else feels the same. Since I can't really do anything to help Manute out of his current predicament, which is really a bad one, I thought that the next best thing would be to write a story where he goes to heaven, which would make people feel better. Unfortunately, since I have to spend time in an office in order to earn money, I will probably never finish the poem. To all potential sugar mommies of the world, then, this is what I say to you:
MANUTE BOL GOES TO HEAVEN, PAGE 74
CHORUS
Manute Bol was then flown
To the sky, where angels dwell
And even a man such as Manute
Seven feet, seven inches
Able to dunk without much effort
Had never been so high
Above the clouds.
MANUTE BOL
Where am I?
CHORUS
But in the heaven,
As in the earth,
Idle minds form
Their devices.
ST. PETER
I am the best player
In this heaven'ly basketball league
My team defeats the others
By controlling the offensive glass.
I cannot permit this man entry
He will block all of my shots.
CHORUS
And so, mere seconds
Before Manute arrived
Treachery sprang
Fully-formed from
The head of a saint.
ST. PETER'S TREACHERY
I will lower these pearly gates
I will set their height so low
That Manute will bump his head
When he tries to enter.
Then, he will be stuck
Hanging around outside.
MANUTE BOL
Ouch.
CHORUS
And so his head
Did bump.
MANUTE BOL
This gate is too small.
ST. PETER
There is nothing I can do
Divine providence
Has set it such.
MANUTE BOL
Ah, nuts.
CHORUS
Manute did turn
Dejected, away
A man without a home.
He missed Sudan
He missed the NBA
He even missed the USBL.
And so he walked
Through hill and valley
And the surroundings
Became gray.
MANUTE BOL
Now, where am I?
CHORUS
There is a place
Between the extremes
Of punishment
And reward.
It is a place
Of no joy
Only ennui
For the lost souls
Which reside therein.
It is called purgatory.
BABIES, ELEVEN IN NUMBER
We who perished in life
Before becoming baptized
Live in this place
Neither here nor there
According to Catholic doctrine.
Our lot is a frustrating one
We are eleven in number
When we play basketball
We are all too short
To provide interior defense
We are much better suited to
Playing point guard.
We always lose
In the afterlife basketball league
Because none of us can rebound
Or block shots.
CHORUS, SINGING, WITH BURST OF LIGHT
But even in such a place
We are never abandoned
By the divine, which resides
In the best of all men
MANUTE BOL
Hi, guys. I'm lost.
BABIES, ELEVEN IN NUMBER
But thou art wearing
Basketball shoes
MANUTE BOL
Yes.
CHORUS
Nay, Manute
Thou art not lost
Thou art found!
Does Manute Bol lead the team of babies to victory over St. Peter's team in the afterlife basketball league, thus redeeming their souls? All I'm saying is, oops, I have to write some goddam memo about rabbis now.
WHAT IS THAT EPIC POEM YOU ARE WRITING?
It is called "Manute Bol Goes To Heaven". I do not think that anyone understands the vast amount of feeling there is for Manute. People are worried about him. They have heard reports that he is in trouble and he is sad now, and this distresses them. They remember how he was very tall, and how it was comical when the Washington Bullets had him stand alongside Muggsy Bogues, the shortest NBA player. They miss him. I am aware of this because I wrote an article about Manute (010725) a few months ago, and several people are referred to my webpage by search engines every week, trying to find out what the big guy is up to these days. I suspect that everyone thinks that they are the only one who remembers the powerful 7'7" shot-blocking machine known as Manute Bol, and perhaps they feel silly for caring about him as much as they do, because they don't realize that everyone else feels the same. Since I can't really do anything to help Manute out of his current predicament, which is really a bad one, I thought that the next best thing would be to write a story where he goes to heaven, which would make people feel better. Unfortunately, since I have to spend time in an office in order to earn money, I will probably never finish the poem. To all potential sugar mommies of the world, then, this is what I say to you:
MANUTE BOL GOES TO HEAVEN, PAGE 74
CHORUS
Manute Bol was then flown
To the sky, where angels dwell
And even a man such as Manute
Seven feet, seven inches
Able to dunk without much effort
Had never been so high
Above the clouds.
MANUTE BOL
Where am I?
CHORUS
But in the heaven,
As in the earth,
Idle minds form
Their devices.
ST. PETER
I am the best player
In this heaven'ly basketball league
My team defeats the others
By controlling the offensive glass.
I cannot permit this man entry
He will block all of my shots.
CHORUS
And so, mere seconds
Before Manute arrived
Treachery sprang
Fully-formed from
The head of a saint.
ST. PETER'S TREACHERY
I will lower these pearly gates
I will set their height so low
That Manute will bump his head
When he tries to enter.
Then, he will be stuck
Hanging around outside.
MANUTE BOL
Ouch.
CHORUS
And so his head
Did bump.
MANUTE BOL
This gate is too small.
ST. PETER
There is nothing I can do
Divine providence
Has set it such.
MANUTE BOL
Ah, nuts.
CHORUS
Manute did turn
Dejected, away
A man without a home.
He missed Sudan
He missed the NBA
He even missed the USBL.
And so he walked
Through hill and valley
And the surroundings
Became gray.
MANUTE BOL
Now, where am I?
CHORUS
There is a place
Between the extremes
Of punishment
And reward.
It is a place
Of no joy
Only ennui
For the lost souls
Which reside therein.
It is called purgatory.
BABIES, ELEVEN IN NUMBER
We who perished in life
Before becoming baptized
Live in this place
Neither here nor there
According to Catholic doctrine.
Our lot is a frustrating one
We are eleven in number
When we play basketball
We are all too short
To provide interior defense
We are much better suited to
Playing point guard.
We always lose
In the afterlife basketball league
Because none of us can rebound
Or block shots.
CHORUS, SINGING, WITH BURST OF LIGHT
But even in such a place
We are never abandoned
By the divine, which resides
In the best of all men
MANUTE BOL
Hi, guys. I'm lost.
BABIES, ELEVEN IN NUMBER
But thou art wearing
Basketball shoes
MANUTE BOL
Yes.
CHORUS
Nay, Manute
Thou art not lost
Thou art found!
Does Manute Bol lead the team of babies to victory over St. Peter's team in the afterlife basketball league, thus redeeming their souls? All I'm saying is, oops, I have to write some goddam memo about rabbis now.