A Fool’s Response

As the sound fades,
the scent of the flowers comes up—
the evening bell.

Matsuo Bashō

For months now, my daily routine has been similar to many others who occupy a space in the basketball community. I read the latest lockout reports. I read the latest columns. I read the numbers and what they mean and pretend I have a clue. I cling, along with all of my hope and optimism, to “progress” and “both sides remain close” and “both sides will reconvene tomorrow at noon.” I’ve hoped, and (foolishly) continue to hope, because it’s all that I have left. It’s the only thing in this twisted situation that I can control.

Then the union dissolves and files their disclaimer of interest. Then David Stern appears on SportsCenter full of snark and statements predicting the future, as though he had lied about not having a crystal ball. And the prognosis is not good.  There was nothing for my naivety to latch onto. There is no hope in “tragedy.” There is no hope in “self-destruction.” There is no hope in “nuclear winter.”

Rhetoric. Noise. There’s too much of it, and not enough of a season to make up for all of the talking. Digging up facts can debunk some of the jabs being thrown on both sides, but ultimately, it still leaves an unfinished puzzle with pieces hidden or missing.

I’ve started reading haiku again, hoping that it would help still the mind. It has. Haiku is an interesting art form. Traditionally, it makes no use of metaphor or symbolism, and should be read literally. Some convey sadness while others are playfully bizarre. With concision, haiku seeks to resurrect a specific moment as purely as possible. The words are not important, the image it invokes is. Japan’s most famous haiku is about the sound that emanates when a frog jumps into a pond. Clear and succinct – things noticeably absent from lockout proceedings.

As the NBA owners and players move toward the most inauspicious point of this debacle, the rhetoric on both sides has adopted war imagery. The sides have reduced the situation into a victim-perpetrator binary, as they’ve pleaded their case with loaded words like, “fairness” and “good faith.”  Negotiations have broken down into a moral struggle in which both sides cede their fate to legal forces beyond their control.

From Royce Young of CBSSports:

“I think getting what you deserve and fighting for something you believe is right is something all the players really care about,” [Kevin Durant] continued.  “Of course we enjoy the fans, we like the fans that come and support us.  They’re the reason why we’re playing this game, the reason why continue to play this game but at some point you have to fight for what’s right and we can’t get bullied.”

Billy Hunter said on a podcast that this has become a “moral” issue for the players. At the time, it just seemed like talk to try and scare the league. But clearly it’s not. This is an emotional thing. And players are extremely emotional. They live off it. It’s what drives them. They’re competitive, emotional and passionate. Prideful.

via For players, it’s become too emotional | CBSSports Eye On Basketball

Pissing in the snow
outside my door –
it makes a very straight hole.

Kobayashi Issa

So unless this is a last-ditch negotiation tactic as everyone assumes it is, the players and owners will lose control of the situation as the lawsuit will be sifted through the legal system. We – the fans, writers, bystanders; those with zero control over any of the events – will continue to wait. For months, years.

Zen Buddhism stresses the idea of quieting the mind of thought and desire, and haiku naturally became a tool for that kind of extraction. It is torture to obsess and fret over the details of something we can’t control. So I’ll try not to. But if my misguided sense of optimism has warped anything out of context in my reading of haiku, it’s that words can be sharpened and simplified; images can appear brighter. That in the next few weeks, basketball — the allure, the security, the escape from legal monotony – can win out over greed, pride, and whatever else pushes the 2011-12 season into the abyss. It’s a pipe dream at this point, but it’s the only thing I have left as a fan and observer. Whether hope fails is irrelevant. Much like a photograph, haikus commemorate the death of a moment by attempting to reincarnate it visually, textually.

Hope is something I choose to reincarnate amid its many deaths.

A caterpillar,
this deep in fall –
still not a butterfly.

Matsuo Bashō