As a seven year old "baller in progress", I would routinely attack my 8-foot hoop as I pretended to be North Carolina superstar Vince Carter taking on the hated Duke Blue Devils. I'd throw in some sick between the legs action, maybe a little behind the back magic, all while my imaginary shot clock dwindled down to its precious last few seconds. When I felt the crowd was ready, I'd launch a desperation three pointer and yell, "For the WIIINNNNNNNNNNNN...." The result varied from shot to shot. Sometimes we won dramatically, sometimes I got hacked and headed to the line, and sometimes I picked up my miss, pissedly added a few seconds to the clock because the other team cheated and repeated until it went in. The only thing that stayed constant: I ALWAYS won and Duke ALWAYS lost.
As the years passed, my passion for UNC basketball waned (I blame Matt Doherty), but the Duke hatred remained in full force. I was a Duke H8r, through and through. But then in 2002, a young, cocky, sharp shooting freshman waltzed onto Duke's campus who would proceed to take the ACC, and my heart, by storm. By the time his four year college career was over he had set the NCAA record for career 3 pointers, the ACC record for career points scored, won the ACC Player of the Year award twice, and was named the best player in the country his senior year. Oh, and along the way he'd become the "most hated current athlete in America" according to CBS Sports.
His name was JJ Redick, and I wanted nothing more than to loathe him. That arrogant smile, the endless range, the way he thrived in Cameron Indoor Stadium, the excess of media coverage he received. I wanted to be driven to unspeakable rage... but I couldn't. In reality, I wished every three would go in. I wanted all of his teams to streak deep into the NCAA Tournament. And when rumors swirled that he was intimate with ESPN vixen Erin Andrews, who just so happened to be six years his senior, I desperately wanted it to be true (I haven't figured out where this blog fits in the PG - R scale, and when it becomes clear I will eliminate intimate from my vocabulary until I turn at least 50). But somewhere along the way it hit me... this dude is kind of a chill bro. He is what every undersized white boy heaving threes in his backyard, basement, or driveway dreams to be. That marked the moment I decided to vicariously live my life through JJ.
Honestly, embracing my inner Redick was one of the best things I've ever done. Through continued efforts to mold my life in his vein, I've seen dramatic improvements in my day to day confidence. First, by mimicking his unreal hairstyle I am marginally better looking. The man has an uncanny ability to always maintain perfect hair. Exhibit A: http://www.wralsportsfan.com/rs/image/2992215/. I can't tell you how many people have said to me "Your hair is slightly worse than JJ Redick's, but still really good." That always adds a hop to my step. Secondly, in an attempt to replicate his defensive intensity and dedication, my man-to-man FIFA '11 defense has gotten much, much better. That's not as important as the hair stuff, but relevant nonetheless. In the end though, it all pales in comparison to JJ's vile swag and the maturing I've done while attempting to copy said swag. I was at my best as that seven year old making it rain with the pressure on, but age diminished those illusions of greatness. JJ never let go of that childish confidence and parlayed his inflated sense of self into millions of dollars. To that I say, well played, JJ, well played. I can only hope to pick a professional field and become so mediocre.
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