King's Blog!

I couldn't be any busier right now. With the Orlando Flight, TCOB Players, Working Out, School, Work, Dr. Appointments, etc., I barely have time to eat. I can't say that I'm not enjoying life right now though.

Anyway, the reason I'm posting this blog is to make an announcement: I've decided to utilize my blog to share the book I'm writing, appropriately titled #14 (you'll eventually understand why the title is appropriate). I have had tons of people approach me about writing a book about all of the things I've endured to get to where I am today. From basketball, to college, to TCOB and the Orlando Flight, my life has been filled with peaks and valleys. I think (obviously) that my story is one that is inspirational...one that I believe will have a lasting impact on readers. Eventually, I hope to publish the book. Until then, I've decided to start posting the rough draft of the book in my blogs (TCOB, Myspace, etc.).

The submissions will be short. I don't want to write whole chapters in each blog. I'm going to try to write in it several times a week. I think it will be good reading...we'll see. I guess that's what the comments will be for. The book will be random thoughts...a really rough version of what I'd like to convey in the book. Nevertheless, it will be a great help to go back and grab all of the rough draft and polish it up for publication at a later date.

I'd love it if you all would tell others about it. Perhaps if there's enough of a buzz, I can have the polished version published sooner than I think. We'll see what happens. Thanks for being so supportive. You all have really given some of the toughest moments of my life more meaning. It's been comforting to know that people out there sincerely care about me...people that I rarely get to share a significant amount of time with! I appreciate the fact that you appreciate me!

Although I'll be writing my book here, I'll try and keep a general blog, too. I just need to do a better job juggling the time that I have!

I'll end with this brief update: the baby is developing well, growing healthy and strong. Please pray that my wife's blood pressure stays under control. School is going great...my professor pulled my 1-page essay anonymously and sharedd it with the class to exemplify the well-thought-out piece of writing I contributed (it was an essay titled "What is Truth?). My in-laws are now in town, and have been a great help around the house. I've partnered with a sports agency so I can send TCOB Players overseas and possibly to the NBA under their sports agent licence (until I get mine). And...I love my wife more and more each day.

Oh, and I almost forgot...how great has God been by keeping me out of playing for the East KY Miners this season???? Apparently, the CBA is ceasing operations early, so all of the players are going home almost 2 months early. God is so soverign and supreme. I don't know why I ever question Him. Well, that's it for now.

Until next time...

Posted by Mark King at 02:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

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My Grandmother Victoria Blackburn and me!

Life in Inkster, Michigan took some drastic changes in a minimal amount of time. My parents bought what was supposed to be a starter house - a three bedroom, one bath one story home on Central Ave. The neighborhood was mixed with different types of families, but tons of little kids.

Inkster is a suburb of Detroit. I remember a lower-middle class environment around age four, but things began to change. Every few months, another family was moving out and a new family was coming in. We went from being one of, maybe seven or eight white families with children on Central Ave. to the only one. Strangely enough, I never paid any mind to it initially. I never really saw color in anyone. People were people. Over time, I was forced to open my eyes to the reality of racial discrimination and conflict, but I'll deal with that issue later.

My mother was as good of a mother that I could ask for. Both of my parents grew up tough...poor and uneducated, with little optimism for themselves. Still yet, my mother always talked about us being anything we wanted to be, especially when I was a child.

The most important thing that I'm thankful for from my mom is her willingness to make me go to church as a child. I straight-up hated church. It was boring, I couldn't understand the King James Version of the Bible, and, of course, I would rather spend my Sunday mornings playing my Atari 2600 that my Uncle Tom gave me (took you back on that one, didn't I). I had no clue at the time, but God was instilling within me so many values and morals, even though I didn't want to be in church. We use to get picked up by the Faith Baptist Church bus every Sunday morning. I'd sleep sometimes on the way to church, and on the way home we'd sing kid songs. Sometimes we'd have contests, and you could win a snickers bar. As I said, we didn't have a lot of money, so winning a snickers bar was a huge bonus for me. It was more than a snickers bar to me...it was almost like a drug. It sounds crazy, but getting a piece of candy was so unlikely in those moments of my life. I would get so upset when I didn't win.

Malnutrition was the reality of my life. We had a steady diet of beef, chicken and turkey pot pies for dinner. Every once and a while, my mom would get creative and through some ketchup on some lumped together ground beef, cook it for an hour and call it meatloaf. That's not to say that my mother was a terrible cook. She was nothing special, but having little income definitely diminishes your options for meals. My favorite treat of all was when she baked peanut butter cookies, or, on rare occasion, she'd make a dessert called peanut butter candy. I like peanut butter...maybe by default, but I still love peanut butter cookies.

We received an occasional box of welfare food every month, usually from the church. On paper, we were too wealthy to receive welfare, because my father worked for General Motors. He was supposed to make $24/hour, but being in and out of hospitals all the time, and coming home early every other day because he didn't feel good kept our bank account on empty. Thank God for the church's willingness to understand our situation and help.

It was like Christmas when we received a new box of food. Anything to get away from pot pies and fake meatloaf. I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but it's hard to believe the quality of some of those items. We'd get a couple of long blocks of cheese and a gallon jug of peanut butter. The cheese was nearly impossible to cut, mostly because we couldn't afford a sharp knife. The peanut butter was even worse. Trying to spread that on a piece of bread was like trying to solve a rubiks cube. The bread was sure to rip every time. Being a peanut butter lover, I figured out a solution. If you heated the peanut butter, it would spread better. Or you could toast the bread, making it tougher and less likely to rip. Eventually, someone gave us an old microwave, so I didn't have to heat it in a pan any more.

Clothing was a whole other issue. My goodness, I suffered loads of emotional distress thanks to my wardrobe. Everything I wore was second and third hand. The alarm to get a new pair of shoes was when I had holes in the bottom, and I usually still wore those for another month or so. I never had any name brand shoes. I take that back, I had some traxx, and a couple pairs of athletics. They were plastic-bottomed, fake tennis shoes made by Kmart. For a brief moment, I wore a pair that my mother picked up from a garage sale 2 houses down. I'm still recovering from the scars of wearing those. They were called Jox! Sounds great...you think of athletes, and athletes are called Jocks. At least that was my initial thinking. My friends quickly gave my shoes a new meaning. I was out playing kickball with some kids in the neighborhood, and a group of kids started cracking on my shoes. I can still hear the words that destroyed any self-worth I had at that moment.

"Man, what kinda shoes are those, dog?" one of them said. "Hey, hey, hey, check it out! Hey Mark...get of my jox! Ha ha ha ha!"

You know that feeling when you wanna cry, but you know that you can't, because it will just make the whole situation worse? Times that by ten. It's a wonder I didn't commit suicide myself.

I'll give you an average vision of what a kid like Mark King looked like as a child. I was skin-and-skin (skin and bone just doesn't do the picture justice). Some of the kids got a kick out of being able to connect their thumb to their index finger and wrap them around my wrist. No muscle, no meat on my bones...just a malnutritioned soul that looks like he could evaporate if the sun got too hot.

I had the cheapest glasses money could buy. Thick, wooden-framed glasses with thicker lenses than most. The wood made them look even thicker. I also had a bit of a lazy eye, and an ugly looking mole on the side of my left eye. My teeth were crooked (still are today). Some kids said my teeth made me look like a little rat. My hair was another negative. We could rarely afford a haircut, so it was usually too long to maintain. My mother didn't even use the kitchen bowl to cut me up. I just wore it long. Coincidentally, later in my teenage years, my best friend appropriately titled me Shaggy. No hard feelings though. He was my best man at my wedding.

Clothing-wise, I wore whatever I had. I switched through 2-3 pairs of pants and a couple of shirts, all of which belonged to someone else at some point. I remember a very cool t-shirt I wore a lot in junior high. It was a fruit market shirt. It was baby blue, and had an apple with sunglasses on the front. It read "Johnny's Produce" above the apple, and below, it read "I'm Always Fresh!" It was funny...almost like I was talking up my own confidence by wearing the shirt. I was far from fresh, but my friends always got a kick out of it when I wore it.

As you can imagine, having confidence was next to impossible for me. I wasn't athletic, I had the worst wardrobe on the planet, I couldn't see, had a crooked mouth full of teeth, and trying to hide how poor were were became more and more difficult. The one thing I had in my favor, which wasn't even cool at that time, was I was smart. I was straight honor roll through the 6th Grade. I even received the Presidential Award for Academics, which was signed by President Ronald Reagan before graduating from elementary and moving to junior high (what most people call middle school now). Years before I watched groups of graduating 6th Graders receive the award. I thought that would be the coolest thing to win, so I pushed hard for it. As fate would have it, instead of accepting the award with a group of other students in my class, I found myself walking up the accept the award all by myself that year. No one else qualified. It was a significant moment in my life. It was the first instance where I realized the power of setting a goal and working hard to achieve it. Unfortunately, those A's and B's would become quite elusive through junior high and high school.

Posted by Mark King at 04:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

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My first contact with basketball happened across the street from my house. Two of my closest friends growing up were Matt and Daryl. They lived in the house (one of the bigger houses in the neighborhood) directly across from mine. Matt was my age. Daryl was his older brother.

They had a garage with a basketball goal, with plenty of room to play in the large driveway. A few years back, Matt ran across an old VHS of us shooting around. I couldn’t have been much older than 7. What I wouldn’t give to have a copy of that. It’s hard to believe I was able to get the ball high enough to hit the rim, let alone score a basket. Forget form…it took everything I had to get the ball out of my hands – my legs, feet, stomach, a little groaning. Nonetheless, it was a joy to watch.

Matt and Daryl had the bigger court, but the real games took place at Art and Eric’s house down the street. Art was the older (and better ball player) of the two brothers. One of my best memories I have of my father is the day he walked down to play basketball with us at their house. My dad was terrible, but he was a tad-bit bigger than the rest of us (only because we were still kids). We played on the same team and lost, but it was one of those father and son moments that you wish you had more of. At least I did.

I believe that was the first moment where my father realized the joy that basketball brought me. It was probably a combination of playing the game, and doing something recreational with my father, but the result was evident – I was a terrible, un-athletic basketball player, but I sure had a lot of fun playing. My father bought me one of those terrible, cheap rubber basketballs a short while later. We didn’t have a garage, let alone a place to put a basketball goal, but I dribbled that ball all over the place – in the front yard, up and down the streets, on my way to visit friends a block or so away, and in the basement. Sometimes, since we had wooden floors with no carpet, my parents would let me dribble the ball in the house in the living room. Only for a short period of time, though. I think it was there way of making me happy, since they couldn’t exactly provide me with much else because of the continual financial strains we faced.

One of the most impacting, life-changing moments of my life was the day my parents were able to negotiate a refinance for our house and purchase a garage. When I learned that we’d have a garage, the first thing I asked my father was if he would put a basketball rim up for me in the backyard. Knowing how much I enjoyed playing, he didn’t hesitate with an answer. “Of course we can put up a rim for you, son!” he replied.

We couldn’t afford a real backboard, so my father bought a large piece of wood and crafted me an un-scaled, odd looking backboard, attached a regulation rim, and bolted it to the front of our newly constructed wooden garage at about 7 feet high. From that moment on, all I wanted to do was play in the backyard.

The newly-paved driveway and short rim height attracted others in the neighborhood, too. Most people could dunk on my new rim. I couldn’t. In just a few weeks, my father realized that he was going to have to raise the rim height. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a grand priority for him, until it was too late. One day, while returning home from a family errand, we found a large group of kids playing basketball in our backyard. Startled by our return, the group scattered like roaches when the lights come on, hopping fences to avoid a confrontation with my father. As we pulled up the driveway, my heart sunk to the floor. My basketball rim was bent at an unmanageable angle, most likely from several intense dunks that had taken place while we were gone. Knowing our financial struggles, I knew it would be a long time before my father could purchase me a new one.

I tried everything to fix it. I got out a ladder and bent it upwards. It would stay for a couple of shots, but the weight of the ball brought the rim, and my expectations, right back to reality. I was, once again, going to have to resort to playing on other courts for a long time.

Posted by Mark King at 03:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

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It's been a while since I've blogged. I've been leaving the rough draft of my life story for all to read. I hope it's been enjoyable. I'm not being as detailed as I will when I write the book, but at least you can get an ideal of how the story went.

As for me, I've had my hands into all sorts of projects. My proudest accomplishment as of late comes from my TCOB Players Venture. I've gotten two key players spots on rosters this season in the PBL - Chuck Reed and Ernest Jones. Chuck was with the Mid-Michigan Destroyers, but seeing a lack of appreciation and opportunity, I worked a deal that sent him to the Buffalo Stampede. He's getting more opportunity there, and he's been able to take advantage of it. They needed a point guard, and so far, he's averaging 10 assists per game for the club - 7 in game 1, and 13 in game 2.

Noticing a need for more guard play, I was also able to work an opportunity for Ernest Jones in Buffalo, too. He hasn't played yet, but he's in Buffalo working out with the team. Hopefully he gets to play this coming weekend. It seems apparent that Buffalo needs more defense. That's EXACTLY what Ernest brings to the table. I have no doubt - if Ernest played against Augusta this past weekend, Biffalo wins! Unfortunately, they lost another game. I believe Chuck and Ernest can change the fortune of this team, and make a huge impact if they are brought back next season.

The one thing that's weighed heavily on my mind lately is my playing career. Sure, I could fade silently into the night, and I've had a pretty good run. Unfortunately, I've had that overwhelming itch to play. I'm seeing these opportunities I've gotten Ernest and Chuck, and I often wonder how I would do with the same opportunity. I'm not jealous at all...I want the best for those guys. I just wonder...am I done?

My wife said it best tonight while doing our nightly devotions. We were discussing my basketball accomplishments, and she said, "You've done great!" I said, Ehhh...I've done okay. Not great!" She of course begged to differ, and responded, "Look at what you're doing now. You're creating opportunities for guys with the same dream you have. That's so unselfish. That's a sign of true greatness!"

Maybe...maybe not. Well, yeah, that is pretty great I guess. It still doesn't change how I feel inside. It's like I have this burning desire inside. It's like I can feel so much that I want to accomplish, but I have yet to get the right opportunity. It's strange. I can't describe it.

I've had a good run. I have accomplished things I wasn't supposed to. Still yet, it feels, sometimes, like it was all charity. No matter how hard I worked. No matter what I accomplished. No matter how God orchestrated. The way some of it was handles, it does feel like it was charity sometimes. Sure, I feel like I can play, and that I was better than some of the people I was up against, in practice as well as on opposing teams. It doesn't change how it was handled, especially in Kentucky when I was with the East Kentucky Miners in the CBA. I got 4 scrap minutes in a game we were winning by, what was it, 50....60 points?

So I face that reality. There are critics who suggest I'm a bum...that I was lucky to be in the opportunity, but I'm not a professional. Now the question is...do I allow that to be the last go-around for me on the hardwood? I'll be honest. With the preparation of the new team the Florida Flight, TCOB Players, a new baby on the way, a wife with high blood pressure issues, and a new job I recently accepted, I haven't trained in weeks...actually months. I've played a little, but training has fallen by the wayside. There's just no time for it right now.

Still yet, there's this voice that calls me to the court to play. I can see this vision for my life still. Call me crazy...insane...wishful...an ignorant dreamer...whatever you want to title it...this is the reality I face. I need to deal with those feelings, and like most of my basketball career, it doesn't really matter what others think. It's what God has planned. That's the most important thing of all. I never want to be the guy who has extra left in the tank but pours it out as waste. I'm not that person. I think what I'm going to do is dabble a little bit in the gym this week. Shoot some shots, run a few miles, and see how it feels. Next season is a long way away. I have enough time to prepare if that's what God wants me to do. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Posted by Mark King at 01:12 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

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My transition from an honor roll student to an “enough to get by guy” was quite shadowy – so much that at the time, I never even realized what was happening. The causing factors were many, but reflecting with hindsight, my love and desire for basketball certainly played a major impact. My home life was undesirable, but escaping to the four lines of a basketball court took me to another planet. Isaiah Thomas said it best in a brief interview:

“When I walk between those four lines of a basketball court…nothing comes into my mind but basketball!”

I remember the moment I heard those words while watching one of my favorite NBA Highlight films – NBA Showmen: Spectacular Guards of the NBA. My immediate thought was, “YES! Someone who knows how I feel! It was like an epiphany for me. Isaiah Thomas had become my favorite player…my athletic hero. I, along with many others (especially after 1989 when the Pistons won their first NBA Championship) considered him a very special, unique, gifted basketball player.

The music during Isaiah's highlight reel has been permanently implanted into my brain. I can still hear the horns blaring like they did during a clip of Isaiah dunking with two hands, following with another horn burst after throwing a "Salley-Oop" pass to John Salley a second later. Mesmerized by the skill level and talent represented by guys like Isaiah, Pistol Pete Maravich, Magic Johnson, and, of course, Michael Jordan, I quickly became a student of the game.

Somehow, I drew the conclusion that since Isaiah was deemed such a special talent, and he and I shared the same sentiment about this game called basketball, I must be special. I kind of forgot one small detail…I wasn’t exactly athletic.

Isaiah, considered small in his own right by NBA standards, was still 6’0” with athletic prowess. The closest I came to athletic was spelling the word in a 5^th grade spelling bee (of which, I should note, I won). No matter how much I loved and appreciated the game of basketball, there were certain requirements to be met in order to play the game. Being athletic was one of them.

I’ll go to my grave searching for the explanation, but none of those requirements seemed to matter to me. I wasn't athletic, I wasn't quick, strong, or very tall. In fact, I was a living example of what it meant to be short. It didn't matter. Like a teenager blinded by a first love, my mind was set on choosing basketball as a career path.

I think I was 11 when I first started sharing my dream to become a professional basketball player. It was like I was imprisoned for the first 11 years of my life, but basketball came along, got me a retrial and set me free. The game became the single most important part of my life. I could be playing with others or shooting or dribbling around by myself. Nothing gave me more joy than having a basketball in my hands.

Posted by Mark King at 01:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

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