There's Always This Year: On Basketball and Ascension

“So much of the machinery of race- and/or culture-driven fear relies on who is willing to be convinced of what. How easy it is to manufacture weaponry out of someone else’s living if the emphasis is placed on the wrong word, or if that word is repeated enough, perhaps in a hushed tone.”

This passage emphasizes how rhetoric—language utilized to persuade—influences culture. Abdurraqib states, however, that prejudice requires a willingness to be convinced of a particular idea. So much of prejudicial language also relies on the unspoken, the implication. By stating these things clearly and in precise language, Abdurraqib lays bare the violence that underpins much of the racist rhetoric that surrounds his community, even though the rhetoric is often couched in concern or faux empathy.

“If you are someone who is from a place not everyone made it out of, or if you have been to enough funerals where parents or grandparents weep over the caskets of their babies and grandbabies, if you know forever is a hand dealt by an uncertain dealer, you may wear the signs of your aging like thick, heavy gold, weighing the body down but still stunning—unavoidable in its shine.”

This passage emphasizes the danger inherent in Abdurraqib’s community and home, a danger that, when viewed through the lens of racialized bias, can be seen as self-inflicted. Abdurraqib emphasizes that the community understands the layers of institutionalized racism and prejudice visited upon them from the outside. In this context, living to an advanced age is a rare privilege, and so its signs should be borne proudly.

“And then there is the fantasy, not only the way America can sell war but also how eagerly it can sell the aesthetics of war back to people who have been convinced they live in so-called war zones. Believe they are in places not all that different from the places that America bombs, runs over with tanks.”

Here, Abdurraqib interrogates the fantasies of how America sees itself and how those fantasies create harm. He points out that the national media condemns many predominantly Black neighborhoods as ‘war zones,’ implying that comparatively mild violence in the streets is the main problem and not the police brutality or rampant poverty. In response, Black people adopt militaristic language and fashion to come to terms with the imagery that has defined them throughout their lives, leading the national media to reinforce the narrative, condemning that language and fashion.

“It is easier for some to give in and make gods out of men, some of whom might, at the very least, answer for their actions and inactions. To make gods out of the living, who walk among us, is to break the divine down into sectors: god of sports, god of finance, god of love, god of weaponry and war, god of hellish empire. But at least you know they exist.”

This passage showcases the mutable nature of divinity in the text. Abdurraqib argues that the nebulous, indefinable nature of gods leads some people to simply substitute humans into that role instead. “Making gods out of the living”  has the advantage of making them concrete and somewhat answerable to the public, but has the disadvantage of assigning godlike omniscience to a fallible human.

“I cursed my younger self for thinking I’d never need any god, and in the numbness of the moment when I watched all my belongings moved to the street, I thought it was most funny to imagine God this way. So many of us try to play our gods for fools. It’s incredible that we think they wouldn’t notice.”

Abdurraqib’s reflection on his father’s faith highlights The Role of Memory in Self-Understanding as well as the religious themes that wind through the narrative. Abdurraqib discusses his earlier indifference to religion and his father’s warning that he’s destroying a bridge he may need in the future—a warning that comes back to him when his poverty forces him to live on the streets. He connects the image of a god as a figure that demands respect, love, and attention in exchange for sporadic blessings to the image of the city, an organism that can be loved but might not truly be able to love in return.

“The greatest engine within the machinery of deception is mercy. The mercy visited upon you by those who know something is amiss but don’t say shit.”

This quote, discussing the author’s experience living unhoused, is a poignant reflection of the myriad types of empathy he experienced during this ordeal. He points out that people must have known he was in dire circumstances, since they silently allowed him space and time in places where they had every right to kick him out.

“[I]t only takes about two

times running from the cops till you figure

out you’re probably smarter than they’re

ever gonna be or at least you actually

know the streets you actually have an 

intimate relationship with its cracks and corners.”

This quote comes from a poetic section of Second Quarter, in which the narrative launches into a poetic form for about 7 pages. In a book that experiments quite a bit with form, these sections force the reader to enter a more fluid space of experiencing the writing instead of evaluating or absorbing it. It creates a world where the reader is asked to center the emotions of the speaker and feel his panic, hunger, cunning, and hope for themselves. This less-than-pleasant experience turns the reader from a tourist in a desperate world to a participant.

“You are born a king or you are named a king, and sometimes the best thing you can do is survive whatever enemies bloom from the decorations of a ruler.”

This passage highlights the mutable and ambiguous nature of kingship. Abdurraqib points out that kings of the past were, like LeBron, cast into the role due to circumstances mostly beyond their control. In that space, a king’s job, as a figurehead of their nation, is to survive the attacks of their enemies. Abdurraqib alludes to the grisly fate of King James IV, who ruled in the early 1500s. As a symbol of Scottish autonomy, his corpse was displayed to emphasize the might of England. Abdurraqib’s historical allusion emphasizes LeBron’s success as representative of something entirely separate from himself. People seek to tear him down to assert their own superiority and dominance.

“The point, I think, is that as one life begins to ascend, another begins its descent. It’s unremarkable. It happens to everyone, everywhere, even if you don’t know the person who is watching your rise from a distance and cursing their own shit luck.”

This quote creates a direct parallel between Abdurraqib and LeBron’s lives. The mystical idea of lives ascending and descending in counterbalance to each other shows the human capacity for mythmaking as a way of forging meaning out of a chaotic and dangerous world. Abdurraqib’s ability to recognize this and describe it allows the reader to recognize that same type of magical thinking in their own lives.

“I have never been innocent, but I have tried to be good. Even when I robbed, I was good. It is good to survive, after all, if one is to be sentenced to living.”

In this passage, Abdurraqib utilizes his signature narrative style, which is simultaneously reflective and declarative. He admits his fallibility, but also points out the parallel fallibility of the systems that accuse and incarcerate him. He points out that goodness is relative to the needs of the individual, and people who are all too eager to excuse the murderous actions of police officers are at the same time reluctant to excuse the actions of poor and desperate people trying to survive.

“There is a photo from this moment that I remember. LeBron James, with an almost sympathetic look, extending a hand toward the fan. Who, by that point, had a security guard’s arm firmly around him. LeBron’s face, in that moment, looks both sad and understanding. Like he’s also known the exact velocity of this kind of longing.”

This quote showcases the multimedia nature of Abdurraqib’s book. Often referring to photos and songs in his literary work, Abdurraqib describes these works in vivid and unexpected ways, transposing them into a context in which they can be studied as pieces of evidence toward a larger cultural movement.

“The song’s emotional engine relies on an expression of what could be offered, and—like in so many of these kinds of songs—what can be offered ain’t much.”

This quote describes what Abdurraqib calls “The Begging Song,” a subgenre of music in which a hapless, usually male singer begs their lover to return. He draws parallels between this type of song, prevalent in R&B, folk, and rock, and the type of pleading people engaged in when trying to keep LeBron in Cleveland. The Begging Song, crucially, often involves an acknowledgment that the lover could indeed do better, and Abdurraqib notices that many of the fans begging him to stay seemed to admit the same: LeBron could do better.

“I suppose fire is a type of song, too. Some might say fire is the song that arrives after all the begging has exhausted itself and after all those who reasonably asked and prayed and wept rise from their knees and make use of their idle hands.”

This quote discusses the protests that erupted after LeBron left the Cavaliers for the Miami Heat. While the grief from LeBron’s perceived betrayal results in some burning of jerseys, Abdurraqib also uses this imagery to draw parallels to the communal rage experienced when police officers murder members of their community. To destroy things is to force the larger structure of the city to witness the pain of this community.

“Boobie Gibson writes poems, sometimes. When the grief gets to be too much. Keeps the poems tucked in a shoebox under his bed.”

This quote, covering Abdurraqib’s favorite player on the Cavaliers after LeBron left, shows how thoroughly he identified with Boobie at this time. He lists out trivia about Boobie in a way that recalls fans memorizing information about their favorite players, but then he starts to give ‘facts’ that describe himself—linking himself with Boobie. This identification with Boobie and merging of identities shows how the author’s love for his team allows him to visualize it as part of himself, and vice versa.

“There is no language I have, even now, for what happens to the eyes of someone you love in a moment when they are both ashamed of you and afraid for you all at once. There is something lost there, an incalculable loss. Something beyond the myth of innocence.”

This quote emphasizes the ways in which Abdurraqib’s incarceration fundamentally changed his relationship with his older brother. His statement that he has no language for what he saw in his brother’s face showcases the limitations of language as a medium for expressing emotion. Abdurraqib points out his failure to shore up the readers’ trust in him as a narrator. Additionally, it gives the reader an opportunity to draw parallels to complex emotional moments in their own lives for which there are no words.

“It bears mentioning that I come from a place people leave. Yes, when LeBron left, the reactions made enough sense to me, I suppose. But there was a part of me that felt entirely unsurprised. People leave this place.”

This statement lays bare the fundamental tragedy of Abdurraqib’s love for his city—a space unconducive to his success. His love for his city and state, and his neighborhood, cannot be justified through its objective protection and nourishment of himself. However, the love continues to bind him to the city regardless.

“To make a myth of a country is a misguided extension of kindness, but it is also a hustle. People who believe so richly in the inherent goodness of whiteness that they believe empathy alone will grow the hearts of fascists are both hustlers and easily hustled.”

Abdurraqib argues that the American conception of race constitutes an existential threat to him and his community. He critiques the white American impulse to try to heal fascists and racists through empathy, a strategy he frames as a hustle that most benefits the fascists over anyone else.

“It is easy to feel like you own a city in this moment, but the city still owns you. And this is how the story ends. I believed a city invincible, and I believed myself invincible in it.”

This quote emphasizes the close, intimate relationship Abdurraqib constructs with his city, as well as his ability to understand the artificiality of that bond. However, the moments in which the author felt the most hope and power are inextricably linked with his city and community, meaning that the bond of love, at least from his end, is real.

“When a city is rattled by explosions, in an infinite cycle of retaliation so vicious it can hardly be remembered what its starting point or end goal is, even those who aren’t targets become targets.”

Abdurraqib includes a historical reference to the 1976 serial bombings that plagued Cleveland as a result of mob violence. He equates this terror with the kind of violence often visited upon cities by the national government, both abroad and within its borders. The horror of living in a space that someone else is using as a battlefield for abstract reasons has plagued Abdurraqib’s life since he was a child.

“It is romantic to be cursed, to feel like the world has it out for just you. That there is a deity bored enough to disrupt your ecstasy.”

This quote showcases the importance Abdurraqib places on emotional intelligence and self-knowledge. He dissects his own sometimes absurdist understanding of the world and of his community. Highlighting imperfect or self-centered ways of thinking invites the reader to trust him as a narrator, making it clear he has little interest in portraying himself as beyond reproach. Emphasizing his own flaws and challenges remains central to the juxtaposition of his own life with the rise of LeBron James, underscoring The Tension Between Black Excellence and Ordinariness.

“It was the first time I’d seen, up close, what happens when people peel back a portion of the city’s mask, and it was the first time I’d seen, up close, how a city fights back to continue to keep its façade poorly concealed.”

Abdurraqib’s discussion of his experiences at the Ferguson, Missouri, protests contributes to his thematic interest in The Impact of Place on Personal Development. Much of Abdurraqib’s writing in this book involves his understanding of a city, sometimes idealistically, and sometimes cynically. In this moment, he shows that he can see how hostile a city can be even to a city-dweller who loves it. The systems of power and enforcement within the city will protect its good name first.

“Yes, praise be to the underdogs and those who worship in the church of slim chances. I haven’t fully let go of the childlike simplicity that pulls me away from the odds and whispers to my most cynical corners that anyone, anywhere can win.”

Throughout the memoir, Abdurraqib infuses his language with religious rhetoric. The phrase ‘praise be’ invokes religious vernacular, emphasizing his experience immersed in the spiritual culture of his community as a child. He draws a parallel between this religious imagery and his self-invented faith, dictated by the emotions and language of sports.

“So many police officers with guns on their hips or in their hands insist that they are afraid, depending on who the perpetrator is. They insist that they, themselves, feel small in the face of danger.”

This passage highlights a key idea in the text: that some children are never allowed to be children at all due to their race or circumstances. Meanwhile, white men can often freely adopt a child’s identity even in adulthood to excuse their actions or generate sympathy for themselves. The injustice of this type of prejudice fundamentally shapes the lives of the people in Abdurraqib’s community, even the successful ones like LeBron.