told that nigga to call his momma?
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Do What Thou Will - Episode 2
Keshawn knew the shot was short as soon as it left his hands, rushing into the paint in an attempt to grab his own rebound but Westchester’s big quickly brought the ball down, pushing it down the court before Tajh Ariza flushed it home, extending their lead.
“You’re good, Keshawn!” Elijah shouted from the stands, drown out by the raucous Comets’ fans.
Keshawn shook his head as the ball was inbounded, setting up office in the post as A.J. brought the ball up the court. Similar to the previous handful of possessions, the ball was fed into the post as Keshawn tried to go to work. He tried backing his defender into the post but with Westchester opting to play their strong and stout forward instead of Tajh or their lanky center, Keshawn wasn’t getting anywhere. He rose up instead, using his height advantage to get a clear look at the rim but the shot clanked out once more, leading to another easy bucket in transition for a Westchester squad that was way too athletic for Hampton, sans Keshawn, to be able to stop them on the fastbreak.
“Stick with it, big dog!” Elijah kept encouraging him to no avail.
Westchase’s lead kept growing and growing as Keshawn had no answers to the fresh, strong bodies that the Comets were deploying on him on defense. The offensive workload was starting to take a toll on him as he jogged back on defense, centering himself in the heart of their zone defense.
The ball rotated along the perimeter, reaching the weakside where Tajh made a quick move on his defender, blowing past him as he came barreling into the paint. Keshawn rotated over, frantically getting across the court to try to meet Tajh at the rim.
“Oh shit!”
The arena erupted as Keshawn fell on the ground to the sight of Tajh towering over him, flexing his muscles.
…
“I don’t want to hold you guys for too long,” Coach Stewie began, having already addressed the team on the court before they took the long bus ride back to campus, “We just got outplayed tonight, alright? Offensively, we looked a mess out there with no vision and no plan, alright? That’s on me, that’s on us as a coaching staff. Defensively, they just bested us. No way around that. They’ve got some high-major guys on their team but it can’t look like that, not if we want to make any sort of impact in the playoffs. Let’s regroup, heal up, focus up and lock in for these last few weeks because they’re the only ones we’re guaranteed.”
“Yes, coach,” the team said in unison as Keshawn hung around the back, holding a ice pack to his face, a lasting reminder of Tajh’s thundering dunk on him.
“Bring it in guys,” Coach Stewie held his hand up, only to be interrupted by Coach Bronstein.
“Boychick, you played like chicken shit, tonight,” his tone was low, almost conversational as his deep eyes pierced int Keshawn, “If I knew you were just some punk ass kid from the Hills, I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you. That was pathetic.”
Coach Bronstein walked out of the locker room, leaving the room in stunned silence as they awkwardly resumed the breakdown. Keshawn kept his eyes fixed on the floor, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Coach Bronstein was a tough coach and he had gotten used to it but he had never experienced anything like that before, publicly called out of his name in front of the entire team despite once again leading them in all categories, including minutes played, sitting out for only a minute per quarter.
Keshawn hurried his post-game routine, not bothering to shower as he threw on some sweats. Teammates would walk by and dap him up, telling him to keep his head up. He’d acknowledge them with a nod but keep it pushing, desperate to get out of the locker room. Part of him wished that Coach Bronstein would be waiting for him there, explaining to him that it was just a motivational tactic he used to fire the team up for the playoffs but no one was there as Keshawn began the long walk to the parking lot, just him and his thoughts.
He reached the parking lot where another larger-than-life personality was waiting for him.
“You want something to eat?” Elijah asked him as they entered the car, to which Keshawn shook his head, “Y’all didn’t look as bad as the score indicated, man, that’s a really good team from what I can tell.”
“Yeah,” Keshawn mumbled, wanting to be teleported into his bed. Truth be told, he’d prefer Gayle’s but between his father being in the house now when his mom worked the graveyard shift and Gayle seldomly answering his texts recently, he had taken enough losses for one night.
“In sports, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” Elijah continued, “It’s the nature of these things, only way it works. No one wins all the time. It’s why you have to set yourself up for life after basketball, Keshawn, this thing is so fickle, man.”
“I know, Dad,” Keshawn responded, not in the mood for a long lesson.
“I’m just saying,” Elijah thought better of it once he saw his son’s dejected face, “Anyways, you sure you don’t want nothing to eat? I ain’t exactly work on my culinary skills in the pen.”
Keshawn couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his dad cooking up a prison meal like the ones he’d seen on documentaries, “Just Ramen Noodles?”
“That’s gold in there,” Elijah smiled, “My cellmate would cook every now and then. I ate it a few times but it wasn’t exactly the most aesthetically pleasing spread in the world.”
…
It was much easier to find this time around, despite it being at night. Gayle opened the door to the building, texting that she had arrived as she began the short walk to the studio. The ‘recording’ sign above the door was no longer lit and the door was unlocked as Gayle knocked on the door before pushing it open.
The vibes were different this time, no girls adorned on the couch, no weed being passed around. The once club lounge like atmosphere was replaced by an almost office-like vibe, clearly illuminated with some takeout boxes on the tables and DJ Cosmo hovering over the console, looking into the empty studio as if he was waiting for it to come to live.
“Hey Cosmo,” Gayle said sheepishly, unsure if he had heard her knocking.
“Glad you could make it,” DJ Cosmo turned around, reaching out his hand for a handshake, “You can call me Lamont, though.”
“Okay, Lamont,” a small smile crept on her face.
“Appreciate you coming so late,” he typed away on his laptop, pulling up the files from their last recording session, “It’s the only time I can get away.”
He pulled out his phone, showing Gayle his wallpaper of him, a woman and a toddler, the ring on his finger now noticeable, “Terrible twos, man. By the time we put him away, it’s damn near midnight so…thanks for being understanding.”
“Oh, no, not a problem,” she felt herself beginning to relax, taking a seat next to him, “You said you wanted to re-record some of the vocals?”
“Yeah, just give us some options,” he explained, “Your voice…it sounds good on the track so I’d like for us to play around with it a bit, see if we can maybe find a bigger role for you here.”
“A bigger role? I’m not really a rapper or an artist,” she contested.
“I’d hard call Tavon an artist either,” Lamont chuckled, leaning back into the office chair, “Most of these people aren’t artists.”
“Tavon?”
“Tay Dizzle,” he corrected himself, “Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s got character, spunk, a certain energy that he brings to a track, to a room. It’s infectious in his music, no doubt about that. But artistry? Well, I don’t know if it means much these days.”
Gayle wasn’t sure how to respond, her most recent songs played likely further his point. She looked around the room, looking for anything to help break the prolonged silence, “You’ve been producing for a while?”
“About ten years,” he tapped his fingers against the console to the tune of a simple beat, “Tried rapping for a little bit, that didn’t really work. Did some ghost writing, some collaborating and then finally figured I might as well get credit for this shit and been producing ever since.”
“You like it better? Producing?”
“I don’t know about better,” he shrugged, “It’s certainly more…limitless. Like as a rapper, you have your flow, your rhyming pattern that no matter how versatile you are, there’s only so many things you can do with your given abilities. As a producer? I can make a rock song tonight, a rap diss track tomorrow morning and work with an R&B singer by Wednesday.”
“And record my ad-libs,” she joked, feeling out of place as she looked at the plaques that were hung up on the studio walls.
“You’re goddamn right,” he laughed, “You ready to go?”
Keshawn knew the shot was short as soon as it left his hands, rushing into the paint in an attempt to grab his own rebound but Westchester’s big quickly brought the ball down, pushing it down the court before Tajh Ariza flushed it home, extending their lead.
“You’re good, Keshawn!” Elijah shouted from the stands, drown out by the raucous Comets’ fans.
Keshawn shook his head as the ball was inbounded, setting up office in the post as A.J. brought the ball up the court. Similar to the previous handful of possessions, the ball was fed into the post as Keshawn tried to go to work. He tried backing his defender into the post but with Westchester opting to play their strong and stout forward instead of Tajh or their lanky center, Keshawn wasn’t getting anywhere. He rose up instead, using his height advantage to get a clear look at the rim but the shot clanked out once more, leading to another easy bucket in transition for a Westchester squad that was way too athletic for Hampton, sans Keshawn, to be able to stop them on the fastbreak.
“Stick with it, big dog!” Elijah kept encouraging him to no avail.
Westchase’s lead kept growing and growing as Keshawn had no answers to the fresh, strong bodies that the Comets were deploying on him on defense. The offensive workload was starting to take a toll on him as he jogged back on defense, centering himself in the heart of their zone defense.
The ball rotated along the perimeter, reaching the weakside where Tajh made a quick move on his defender, blowing past him as he came barreling into the paint. Keshawn rotated over, frantically getting across the court to try to meet Tajh at the rim.
“Oh shit!”
The arena erupted as Keshawn fell on the ground to the sight of Tajh towering over him, flexing his muscles.
…
“I don’t want to hold you guys for too long,” Coach Stewie began, having already addressed the team on the court before they took the long bus ride back to campus, “We just got outplayed tonight, alright? Offensively, we looked a mess out there with no vision and no plan, alright? That’s on me, that’s on us as a coaching staff. Defensively, they just bested us. No way around that. They’ve got some high-major guys on their team but it can’t look like that, not if we want to make any sort of impact in the playoffs. Let’s regroup, heal up, focus up and lock in for these last few weeks because they’re the only ones we’re guaranteed.”
“Yes, coach,” the team said in unison as Keshawn hung around the back, holding a ice pack to his face, a lasting reminder of Tajh’s thundering dunk on him.
“Bring it in guys,” Coach Stewie held his hand up, only to be interrupted by Coach Bronstein.
“Boychick, you played like chicken shit, tonight,” his tone was low, almost conversational as his deep eyes pierced int Keshawn, “If I knew you were just some punk ass kid from the Hills, I wouldn’t be wasting my time with you. That was pathetic.”
Coach Bronstein walked out of the locker room, leaving the room in stunned silence as they awkwardly resumed the breakdown. Keshawn kept his eyes fixed on the floor, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Coach Bronstein was a tough coach and he had gotten used to it but he had never experienced anything like that before, publicly called out of his name in front of the entire team despite once again leading them in all categories, including minutes played, sitting out for only a minute per quarter.
Keshawn hurried his post-game routine, not bothering to shower as he threw on some sweats. Teammates would walk by and dap him up, telling him to keep his head up. He’d acknowledge them with a nod but keep it pushing, desperate to get out of the locker room. Part of him wished that Coach Bronstein would be waiting for him there, explaining to him that it was just a motivational tactic he used to fire the team up for the playoffs but no one was there as Keshawn began the long walk to the parking lot, just him and his thoughts.
He reached the parking lot where another larger-than-life personality was waiting for him.
“You want something to eat?” Elijah asked him as they entered the car, to which Keshawn shook his head, “Y’all didn’t look as bad as the score indicated, man, that’s a really good team from what I can tell.”
“Yeah,” Keshawn mumbled, wanting to be teleported into his bed. Truth be told, he’d prefer Gayle’s but between his father being in the house now when his mom worked the graveyard shift and Gayle seldomly answering his texts recently, he had taken enough losses for one night.
“In sports, sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” Elijah continued, “It’s the nature of these things, only way it works. No one wins all the time. It’s why you have to set yourself up for life after basketball, Keshawn, this thing is so fickle, man.”
“I know, Dad,” Keshawn responded, not in the mood for a long lesson.
“I’m just saying,” Elijah thought better of it once he saw his son’s dejected face, “Anyways, you sure you don’t want nothing to eat? I ain’t exactly work on my culinary skills in the pen.”
Keshawn couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of his dad cooking up a prison meal like the ones he’d seen on documentaries, “Just Ramen Noodles?”
“That’s gold in there,” Elijah smiled, “My cellmate would cook every now and then. I ate it a few times but it wasn’t exactly the most aesthetically pleasing spread in the world.”
…
It was much easier to find this time around, despite it being at night. Gayle opened the door to the building, texting that she had arrived as she began the short walk to the studio. The ‘recording’ sign above the door was no longer lit and the door was unlocked as Gayle knocked on the door before pushing it open.
The vibes were different this time, no girls adorned on the couch, no weed being passed around. The once club lounge like atmosphere was replaced by an almost office-like vibe, clearly illuminated with some takeout boxes on the tables and DJ Cosmo hovering over the console, looking into the empty studio as if he was waiting for it to come to live.
“Hey Cosmo,” Gayle said sheepishly, unsure if he had heard her knocking.
“Glad you could make it,” DJ Cosmo turned around, reaching out his hand for a handshake, “You can call me Lamont, though.”
“Okay, Lamont,” a small smile crept on her face.
“Appreciate you coming so late,” he typed away on his laptop, pulling up the files from their last recording session, “It’s the only time I can get away.”
He pulled out his phone, showing Gayle his wallpaper of him, a woman and a toddler, the ring on his finger now noticeable, “Terrible twos, man. By the time we put him away, it’s damn near midnight so…thanks for being understanding.”
“Oh, no, not a problem,” she felt herself beginning to relax, taking a seat next to him, “You said you wanted to re-record some of the vocals?”
“Yeah, just give us some options,” he explained, “Your voice…it sounds good on the track so I’d like for us to play around with it a bit, see if we can maybe find a bigger role for you here.”
“A bigger role? I’m not really a rapper or an artist,” she contested.
“I’d hard call Tavon an artist either,” Lamont chuckled, leaning back into the office chair, “Most of these people aren’t artists.”
“Tavon?”
“Tay Dizzle,” he corrected himself, “Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s got character, spunk, a certain energy that he brings to a track, to a room. It’s infectious in his music, no doubt about that. But artistry? Well, I don’t know if it means much these days.”
Gayle wasn’t sure how to respond, her most recent songs played likely further his point. She looked around the room, looking for anything to help break the prolonged silence, “You’ve been producing for a while?”
“About ten years,” he tapped his fingers against the console to the tune of a simple beat, “Tried rapping for a little bit, that didn’t really work. Did some ghost writing, some collaborating and then finally figured I might as well get credit for this shit and been producing ever since.”
“You like it better? Producing?”
“I don’t know about better,” he shrugged, “It’s certainly more…limitless. Like as a rapper, you have your flow, your rhyming pattern that no matter how versatile you are, there’s only so many things you can do with your given abilities. As a producer? I can make a rock song tonight, a rap diss track tomorrow morning and work with an R&B singer by Wednesday.”
“And record my ad-libs,” she joked, feeling out of place as she looked at the plaques that were hung up on the studio walls.
“You’re goddamn right,” he laughed, “You ready to go?”
Neighborhood.
Getting dunked on in front ya daddy is crazy. 
-
chosenone58
- Posts: 4532
- Joined: 28 Nov 2018, 19:06
Neighborhood.
All caught up....
I don't like Pop's energy, man. He's fucking up everything....
damn it, man!
I don't like Pop's energy, man. He's fucking up everything....
Creator of Derek Baldwin da Gawd
Neighborhood.
can't be a rim protector if you ain't getting yammed on from time to time (ayo)
Definitely adds a new dynamicchosenone58 wrote: ↑29 Jan 2025, 06:59All caught up....
damn it, man!
I don't like Pop's energy, man. He's fucking up everything....
Neighborhood.
Vic put the finishing touches on his bag, adding an extra change of clothes as he threw it over his shoulder. He had another long day on the horizon: shootarounds in the morning, catching up on schoolwork at the library before his slate of classes and then study hall, practice, and the mandatory team dinner would all take place before he’d be back here to crash in his bed for starting it all over again.
He walked past Uncle Quincy, slumped on the couch, as he headed to the kitchen and opened the fridge. None of the leftovers were enticing enough as he closed it back shut, heading to the door. It was still dark outside, the streets eerily quiet as Vic locked the door. He always treasured the feeling out of setting out on his day before most people had even snoozed their first alarm, made him feel like he was getting ahead. Even if he wasn’t.
In the early morning darkness, he failed to spot the figure waiting for him by the car until he reached the car door, nearly having a heart attack.
“Fuck Ang,” Vic took a deep breath, “You almost got your head knocked off.”
“I’m sorry,” she leaned in for a kiss, “I wanted to surprise you.”
“You certainly did,” Vic looked around, making sure they were indeed alone, “Everything good?”
“Yeah, yeah,” she answered, “I wanted to take you out for breakfast, my treat.”
“Are you sure everything is good?” Vic asked with a worried look on his face, his escapades in Westwood still fresh in his mind.
Did she know? How could she have known? Jessica wasn’t even from Los Angeles. Was one of Ang’s friends at one of the bars they went to? Couldn’t be, Angela didn’t really have any friends.
“A girl can’t want to trick on her man?” she leaned into him, putting her arms around his waist, “We’ve both been super busy and the mornings are the only time we have to connect I realize so…Mexican or soul food?”
“Grits and shrimp me please,” Vic forced a smile.
…
“We only do online applications,” she repeated, frustration beginning to grow in her voice.
“I just need to speak to a manager,” Elijah pleaded, holding up his printed resume, “I can wait if they’re not in yet.”
“She’s just going to tell you the same thing,” she responded.
“For her,” he insisted, handing her the freshly printed copy of his resume, “Just in case something comes up.”
He walked out of the store, a few more copies still in hand as the California sun greeted his face. He had spent the previous week submitting a litany of online applications to no avail and opted to pound the pavement instead, going store to store in an effort to land an in-person interview. So far, the old school method was having even less success.
“Say it ain’t so,” a slurred voice met him as he turned the corner, their gaze meeting, “They let you out, motherfucker?”
“Watch yourself,” Elijah sucked his teeth as he brushed past Quincy, moonshine and gin reeking from his skin.
“What you got here?” Quincy grabbed at the pieces of paper in Elijah’s hand, causing them to fall on the ground. The wind quickly took some of them, sending Elijah scrambling,
This amused Quincy, who swayed from side to side to regain his balance amidst his laughing fit, “Man, look at you!”
“Nigga, look at you!” Elijah spat back, straightening his attire as he picked up the last remaining copies on the floor, “It ain’t even noon yet and you…fucking piece of shit.”
“Ain’t no need for all of that now,” Quincy held a finger to his face, his mood beginning to turn, “I’m just glad you home, homie. Jail ain’t a place for no man, trust me, I’ve been there.”
“I don’t need your fucking pity,” Elijah scoffed, “Weird ass nigga. When’s the last time you seen your fucking kid? Fucking waste. We ain’t nothing alike, homie.”
“And yet, here we are,” Quincy laughed, holding his hands out, “Looks like we ended up in the same place.”
“Fuck you, nigga,” Elijah pushed him away, dusting his hands as he walked down the street, looking for another store to ask for an interview.
…
“Keshawn Chase.”
Keshawn lifted up his head from the worksheet in front of him after hearing the sound of his name, looking up towards Mrs. Roundtree, his AP Calculus teacher.
“They’re requesting your presence at the athletic complex,” she wrote him a note as Keshawn gathered his things, “I still expect you to be ready for next class, understood? I’ll be posting the coursework for today on Canvas by tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he grabbed the note, throwing his bag over his shoulder as he began the trek.
He wasn’t aware of any planned in-school visits from coaches but with Pepperdine and Loyola being right around the corner, they’d occasionally pop in whenever they were in the area, one of the perks of recruiting a local kid. Even after announcing a top two of Howard and Texas Southern and then taking the highly publicized visit to UCLA, Pepperdine and Loyola had remained steadfast in their recruitment of him, unwilling to let go of the gem they had discovered earlier in the process.
Keshawn opened the double doors that led into the hallway of the locker rooms, bracing himself for a potential awkward conversation, formally letting some coach know that he was no longer considering their school.
“There’s the guy I just flew across the country for,” Coach Blackeney stood up from the chair he was sitting in, across from Coach Stewie in his office, “How you doing, my man?”
Keshawn’s shock was evident in his face as both coaches starting laughing. He managed to stammer out a string of words, “Hey…hey coach, I’m good, you?”
“I felt a lot better last week,” he smiled, motioning for Keshawn to sit next to him, “I can’t say I blame you, I’m sure it was a fun time out there.”
“Just considering my options, coach,” Keshawn heeded Vic’s advice on when speaking to coaches, being respectful but honest.
“I understand,” he held his hands up, “I played for Coach K at Duke, know what it’s like to want to play for a storied program. There’s things that they can offer you that we can’t right now, I’ll be honest. But there’s even more that we can offer you that they can’t. And the difference? They’ll never be able to, you do know that, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’re running through the MEAC right now and that’s without you, so you’re going to play in the tournament. You’re going to play on TV, you’re going to play against the top guys. The way society is right now, a kid like you, playing for a program like ours, it’s going to get attention so don’t worry about that. At UCLA? Quite frankly, you’re just another kid that they’re going to stash away, hope that you develop and there’s nothing wrong with that. Maybe I read you wrong, maybe it’s my fault. But I thought I saw a superstar, a motherfucker that makes the brand, not the other way around, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t ‘yes, sir’ just because now,” he laughed, “If you ain’t feeling what I’m saying, let me know. I just flew across the country because I believe in you, son. You were across the street for, what, two, three years hooping and they just now looking at you? If they were late on scouting you, what makes you think they aren’t going to be late on developing you, putting you in the right place? They can’t look you in the face and tell you that you are a priority when they’ve never made you one. I can because you are and you know it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You’re with me, then?” he raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t come her to blow smoke up your ass so don’t blow it up mine. Financially, we understand what needs to be done so if I’m going to head back to D.C. and start raising some hell and turning out some pockets, I need more than just a polite ‘yes, sir’ if I’m going to be doing that. I need to know you’re with me.”
Keshawn paused, the room closing in. He looked towards Coach Stewie, who had an approving smile on his face. He suddenly wished Coach Bronstein was in the room, his brooding face to serve as a guide.
“I’m locked in, coach.”
“Congratulations, son,” he shook his hand, “You just made the best decision of your life.”
Neighborhood.
Howard lands commitment from three-star forward Keshawn Chase
BY BAILEY STIDHAM ----- January 29, 2024
Howard just added what it hopes is a key piece to their future, landing their first commitment of the 2024 recruiting class.
On Monday, three-star forward Keshawn Chase announced his commitment to Howard University. The Los Angeles native held offers from UCLA, Cal, Loyola-Marymount, Pepperdine, Texas Southern and others before ultimately committing to play for head coach Kenny Blakeney.
A rising prospect who cracked 247Sports' and ESPN's top 150 ranking in both recruiting services' latest rankings update, Chase is currently on a trajectory to finish inside the top 100 by the end of his senior year. This would make him the highest ranked high school prospect to sign with Howard since Makur Maker in 2020.
The versatile forward has led Hamilton High School (Los Angeles, Ca.) to a 20-9 record this season, their best regular season record in school history and leads the team in all categories.
A highly capable and even more willing defender, Chase is most impactful on the defensive side with his ability to guard multiple positions and body types with his length and athleticism. He has the uncanny ability to be effective as an on-ball defender and also as a rim protector. Offensively, Chase has primarily operated out of the post this season but has previously shown the ability to play on the perimeter in a point forward role. He currently projects to be a power forward although with improved shooting, he could develop into a wing player which is where his highest ceiling resides position wise.
With six seniors on the current roster, Howard will likely be active participants in the transfer portal and with an exciting prospect such as Chase on board, they figure to be one of the more attractive landing spots in the MEAC for the defending champions.
Neighborhood.
Good choice to be an impact freshman.
Neighborhood.
You were on my ass dominating at Hawaii so what goes around comes around 