You May Not Think I'm a Basketball Fan, but I am Sometimes

BOBBY KNIGHT WILL ADDRESS THE CROWD BEFORE THE GAME


Maybe someone will walk to center line and offer to be choked.
Maybe someone throws a chair.
Maybe someone says, Hey, where’s your twang? All I hear is mushmouth.
Maybe someone says red polo shirts are girly, they were girly in your other gig, too. Are you normal?
Maybe someone says Bobby Bobby Bobby and walks out.
Maybe the big fellow with piercings through ear and cheek, the guy with the sign he’s held backwards to his chest for every home game this year, the guy who’s traveled from long hair to Mohawk to flattop to skinhead, maybe he finally stands up.
Maybe he turns the sign around, holding it high so everyone can see: Marry me, Coach Knight.
Maybe someone says, Hey, with all this money we’re paying you, why don’t you give 10% for art?
Maybe someone says, Yeah.
Maybe someone else says, Yeah.
Maybe he throws the ball down.
Maybe Bobby Knight throws the ball down that has hung like a tree fungus at his hip.
Maybe the ball sails into the second deck and beyond even that to its vanishing point in another state.
Maybe he takes off his girly red polo shirt and shows everyone the haiku tattooed to his chest.
Take a piece of me, he says, tapping his thumb over and over again into his chest.
Maybe he stands there saying, Take 10% of this!