LaVar Ball as My Sub Dad Growing Up

I’d have more brothers to play with over my GI-Joe Figures way past puberty. It was a road block to my emotional development.
He’d hold spin the bottle house parties in my honor.
But only invite stuck up Jenny down the block.
2 minutes in, he barks. The Yahoo bottle doesn’t spin itself bitch.
I’d be more inclined to my buy my dad a Bentley with unbridled enthusiasm. Instead, of the gift giving possessing a cold, transactionary, I owe you for college and for paying Pre-K way.
I’d prank call Cuba Gooding. And challenge Cuba and Laurence Fishburne to games of 2 on 2 for 64’s of Old E. Just to watch my Dad LaVar Ball pour the 64’s on Fishburne and call him a low IQ baller.
He’d make sure I lost my virginity before my younger brother did. So I wouldn’t feel like a big brother bust like Eddie Curry or Greg Oden. With an even shittier, less reliable hook shot.
My highlight varsity year would be more than scoring a whopping 12 points against an all Japanese team in suburban NY. The players ran away from me like movie extras in a Godzilla film.
My dad still wouldn’t be sporting the same pair of ashy sweats from 88.
Totally ruining his 1st type Skype call with his grandchildren in retirement splendor from Scottsdale, Arizona.
My father’s favorite nickname for me wouldn’t be a Waste of Height but instead be Manifest Baller Destiny.
We mirror our dad’s behavior. So I wouldn’t have taken up smoking cigarettes at the time or only get off the couch to tear down my John Stark’ poster after he failed to elevate the Knick’s past Houston.
He’d send me to Big Man Camp to build up my toughness. Instead of to a Jewish sleep away camp where I was the 2nd worst athlete after the Shiek’s son from Great Neck, Long Island.
My 1st concert would be Public Enemy with Anthrax, for the Bring the Noise, bring the funk tour. And I wouldn’t have to feel so self-conscious Jewish in the presence of skinheads and one percenters in attendance.
He’d offer Rihanna future sneaker profit participation points for popping my cherry. So I’d pick and pop from way downtown with bigger baller authority.
I’d still get busted for stealing Hockey Cards at Child World in attempt to snag an Eric Lindros rookie card.
By,

Michael Kornbluth

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