29 May NiteCap Journal: Why Do They Shoot?

I can still remember that punch.

Abasi hit me square in the stomach knocking the wind out of me. Grunting in pain, I crouched over and clutched my mid-section.

“De man wha you do da fah?! I protested, still crouched over, fists clinched. “It’s cause you playin like a lil b——-!”, the much shorter point guard yelled back.

Before I could think of retaliating Coach Joel Fleming turned to me, eyes wild in frustration.

“You deserve it! You been wanting to get in the game right?!” he fumed. “Stop playin the ass!”

I turned to assistant coach Pogo Thompson who usually played good cop vs bad cop in these scenarios.

“Dem gyuls ain gon help us win the game,” he told me, shaking his head, as I looked over at the Complex High cheerleaders.

He’s right, but damn dey fine as hell.

Our Eudora Kean High varsity basketball team always looked forward to coming over to St. Croix for the territory-wide holiday tournament.

Standing there, huddled together on the court inside the packed gym at Complex High I forgot what was at stake. Our team was legendary, so much so Governor Roy Schneider gifted us with sneakers before our trip to Alabama where we mopped the floor with a few McDonalds All-Americans.

Those folks sat in the bleachers wide-eyed, captivated at how a few scrawny Islanders – most dawning dreads and braids – void of any weight training could be so dominant.

It’s because our veteran stars Kareem “Fish” Fahie and Curtis Tonge reminded us that we had to represent for home. Coach Fleming was a living legend as the winningest USVI high school basketball coach during that era. Even the way he chose the roster was a thing of legend.

Kean’s students were primarily poor to working class, void of the elite pedigree and politically connected familial ties like some of our peers at rival Charlotte Amalie High and the pricey private high schools, but the basketball court was our Kingdom – where we got to be royalty.

The best players from each neighborhood in the East and Country in St. Thomas were invited to try out. Fleming knew you before he met you since every neighborhood wanted their best players to be a Devil Ray. During try out season the courts in Frydenhoj, Donoe, McBean, Nadir, Bovoni, Smith Bay, Ras Valley, Tunkey, Thomasville and Anna’s Retreat were packed with those dreaming of making the list which Fleming posted on the gym’s entrance.

I was the only one who made it from Frydenhoj, but was happy to see Vinny’s name. He was a few years older than me and from Nadir, the neighborhood that bordered Frydenhoj. Nadir’s court was the most popular in the Country and Vinny was not only the best player, but also the one who gave his approval for you to be welcomed in the neighborhood.

He embraced me in much the same way an older brother shows tough love and was close to the coaches, so I was happy to have an ally. Although we were one team, our neighborhoods were at war with each other. We weren’t just ballers, but ambassadors of our hoods and inherited beefs.

I made Vinny look bad that fateful day at Complex since he was the one who told Fleming to put me in the game. With us leading the Complex Barracudas we were sent in as the second unit to relieve the stars. I wasn’t in the game more than several seconds before Cuthbert Victor nearly posturized me with an otherworldly dunk. The ball rattled the rim before bouncing out.

Seriously, if that dunk went in my sense of self would’ve been destroyed. We were warned that Victor and the Crucians could jump out the gym, but in typical Tomian aloofness I shrugged it off; I was more focused on the cheerleaders I met before the game.

As the perennial champions we didn’t get dunked on. Our opponents were usually dealt such embarrassment at the hands of our St. Johnian phenom Josiah James.

You could hear a pin drop as I walked back to the bench.

Benedict Caesar, our rising star being groomed to lead us in light of our veterans leaving ran past me shaking his head. The fate of the game would be left in his hands and those of our other rising stars Akil Lewis and Imbert Prosper.

Judah Matthias made room for me back on the bench, but not before he even chimed in.

“Deh man wha you doin?!” he scoffed. “Geez Peta.”

Abasi came back to the bench and gave me daps. By now I had stopped being mad, because in that critical moment he respected me enough to give me the form of correction he knew would resonate, even if it meant hurting me momentarily.

More importantly, he and my entire team made me hold myself accountable and take responsibility for my failure.

These days, Abasi’s punch would’ve been canceled as abusive and an act of toxic masculinity and the other new age mumbo jumbo enabling this current generation’s fears as opposed to making them face them.

Instead of harnessing the fortitude to barrel through tough days they’re taught to take mental health days. They’re diagnosed with everything besides cowardice, so much so their weakness is being acted out in mass shootings.

Yes, I do know that mental health is a real issue, but so is the money made in the rise of life coaches, therapists, psychiatrists and the drugs they prescribe. Our kids are being told each and every day that something’s wrong with them so why are we surprised they’re losing their minds? I fear we’re beginning to normalize dysfunction and package it like a brand as we’ve managed to do most everything else. Even madness is given a social media status judging by the way the most recent shooters have gone viral after going live.

Is this why they shoot?

Saying I pray for those suffering in the wake of recent shootings may sound redundant, but it’s still necessary.

Now where do we go from here?

As someone who doesn’t believe in guns, I’m not sure if more gun control will stem the scourge of domestic terrorism given the way victimization permeates our youth who seem ready to cancel anything and anyone they perceive to be disagreeable – literally.

This generation has more mental health services at their disposal than ever before, but they’re venturing further off the deep end, because the therapy they may really need is a gut check like the one Abasi gave me.

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