There was a tall black man standing at the elevator doors waiting for them to open.
As I passed him my mind ran the card catolog, "Where have I seen this guy before, he looks very familiar?"
As I walked to the parking structure a match popped up in my awareness.
He was none other than the Black Mumba.
He internally knew that he was the best at what he does.
He instinctively knew that this 5'11'' white man can't jump, and he would be right.
It was the second time I had stood in the presence of this man.
I was painting a house up on Spyglass Hill (#57 doubt if he still lives there) in Newport Beach CA.
The building contractor told all of us working on the job that the new owner was coming and none of us were to look at him or his wife.
Now that was a very odd request that no one had ever made before or since, so of course we were going to look.
Turned out to be Kobi and wife.
One other time I was alone in the six basket gym practicing my keyhole shots.
It was one of those days where I had picked just the right ball from the rack.
It was worn and had the perfect weight for my taste.
As I stood in the keyhole I lobbed the circular object to the target zone and it swished with that all to magnificent sound we men all love to hear in a baskeball game.
I did it again.
And again.
I was in the zone that day.
I couldn't miss.
I acquiesced in each and every shot as the music to my ears resonated in the empty gym.
It was an epic moment of my life, I couldn't miss a shot.
Everyone was swishing gloriously to my elation.
Then it happened!
Someone had come into the gym and was taking shots at my basket!
They were not missing a shot.
No matter where the 7 foot tall man was lobbing his shots from, each and everyone of them was swishing through MY basket.
It was interfering with my God sent moment of victory at the gym.
Who was this guy?
The nerve of him messing up my moment.
I lost my zone and became a mere mortal once again as my shots started to bounce off the rim.
I became irritated with the man.
He kept swishing from every location that he stood.
I thought to myself, "There are 5 other baskets in here why can't he use them instead of MINE!"
I got frustrated and left.
My trainer was waiting for me outside the doors.
"Do you know who you were just shooting with" he said.
"No," I replied.
"That is A.C. Green."...
I left the gym that day humbled and ashamed of my attitude.
I had just been given an opportunity many an inner city kid would have given anything to have.
And I threw it all away.
Sometimes we can't see the trees for the forest.
This was one of those days.
David Sloane
http://shekinahfellowship.blogspot.com/
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