by Lance Allred
It meant a lot to me to hold up my first-ever trophy, winning the first-ever D-League H-O-R-S-E competition and the first in the NBA enterprise in over thirty years. I finally had a trophy to put on my shelf when I retire, and it was from playing the game that my father played with me on Uncle Saul’s outside basketball court on summer evenings as a boy.
The next day was the all-star game, and though we lost, I was happy with the way I played. What was more important, I had a great time. I wasn’t letting myself believe I’d receive a contract based on how I played at the all-star, because…well, because it was an all-star game. Though the trip would end on a sour note—I’d spend the entire next day, sixteen hours, in my beloved Chicago O’Hare Airport, that lovely loose organization of an airport, due to weather—I loved the trip.
I was proud to be in New Orleans. I was proud of that city for what it has overcome. I was proud that I could call these people my fellow Americans. New Orleans to me is what America is all about, or should be: various and strong cultures and history melting into one, with so much diversity and so many options for everyone to pursue. From now on, whenever someone tells me they want to go to Vegas, I tell them to go to New Orleans instead. I was so grateful that the NBA allowed me the opportunity to be there, to eradicate the impressions of chaos that I allowed, through the news and the words of others, to filter into my mind. And I’m grateful that I was there with Randy, my brother from another world, who was proudly able to show it to me.
31
March 12, 2008
I’m driving in Orem, Utah, away from the practice facility of the Utah Flash, with Cory Violette in my passenger seat and Roberto Bergerson scrunched up in the back, on our way back to the hotel in Provo, when Coach Gates calls me.
“Where you at?”
“I’m just bringing Cory and Berto back from the gym. They wanted to stay after and play some Ping-Pong.”
“Well, get your things packed up. You’re flying out tonight.”
“Huh?”
“You’re going to Cleveland, baby!”
“Really?”
“Yeah!”
I nearly wreck my car as Cory and Berto, who are never silent when they’re in the same room together, sit there in dead silence, both staring at me.
“I’m going to play for the Cleveland Cavaliers?”
“Yep,” Coach Gates confirms one more time.
I begin to cry. “OK, I will be at the hotel in two minutes.”
“K, see ya.”
Cory pats my back: “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“’Bout time!” Berto hollers in the back seat.
John Greig calls me right after I hang up with Coach Gates: “Congratulations, man. Call your family, and call me when you’re at the airport tonight after you have settled down.”
I call Dad and tell him, but my phone is about to die, so we make it short.
I arrive at the hotel in Provo, an hour south of Salt Lake, and charge up my phone as I wait for my teammates to gather in the lobby so I can say good-bye to them and the coaches. I cry as I hug Randy good-bye.
I drive up to Mom and Dad’s, where my family and friends are waiting for me, but not before I quickly buy a new suit at Dahle’s. I want to make a good first impression. Dad and Mom are at the door waiting for me. Dad cannot speak as he hugs me. Mom strains in outright joy to say, “You did it, boy-o.”
After Mom and I split from our long embrace, I lean down to pick up Mac, my friend and companion, who has been with me through thick and thin. He looks me in the eyes, and he can see tears. He thinks something is wrong until I smile at him. “We did it, buddy,” I say softly.
I hug my dear friends Max, Josh, Jared, Jacob. Court, Tara, and John are there to hug and congratulate me. They have never doubted me. Not even John Greene in his infinite skepticism, which he inherited from an accountant father, ever doubted me.
I call Raphael, who tries to cheer me up over the phone but cannot as her tears get in the way. I am only able to leave a message for Nathan and Vanessa. I call Coach Rupp and Coach Cravens and thank them for everything. I call Pax and Sam to let them know I couldn’t have done it without them and their unconditional love for me. I ask them to tell Yaya that I love her. So many more people that I wish to call, but I don’t have the time.
As Mom, Dad, Court, and Mac ride with me to the airport, we sit for a moment, the four of us talking, reflecting on things that were and things that are and things yet to come. Dad will be beginning his doctoral studies in education in the summer.
I say good-bye to them and Mac as I walk into the airport.
I’m going to join the Cavs in Washington, D.C., where they have a game against the Wizards. I can’t sleep a wink on the plane. I’m in first class, and it feels awkward. Big seats or not, I never sleep well on planes. But I’m able to sneak back into coach, lie across a row of seats, and sleep for a bit. I guess I feel more comfortable there.
A town car picks me up at the airport, where I’m taken to the Four Seasons in Georgetown. I walk down to the team breakfast and meet Amanda, who has my contract ready for me. Ben Wallace walks in. I introduce myself. I then introduce myself to Mr. James. I’m too tired to say anything stupid.
I grab a small bite and walk up to my room, where I sleep until Max, the team trainer, takes me to get my physical. I pass with flying colors, return to the hotel, and sleep some more. I wake at four and prepare to leave early with Chris, the player-development coach, who is taking me over to the arena early to put me through a workout.
I lace up my shoes, which I brought with me, and walk out to the court. I stare at the floor, almost scared to step onto it—but I do. I feel the lights of the big stage warming my skin. I throw up during my workout, but swallow it back down so no one can see me and think I’m out of shape. I’m not out of shape. I’m just tired and nervous.
When I’m done, I walk back into the locker room and put on my very first NBA jersey, which is waiting for me. Allred 41, it says on the back. My very own NBA jersey. I stare at it and want to cry, but there are photographers from NBA.com taking shots of their “D-League poster-boy.”
I sit in silence as my new teammates exceed my expectations by walking over to individually introduce themselves if they haven’t already. Coach Brown comes in. I like his demeanor: calm and confident.
We say the Lord’s Prayer out in the tunnel and then run out to the floor, where the boos from the Washington fans cascade over us. The adrenaline, which I felt was depleted, kicks into reserve. The rush is surreal as I run up and down shooting hoops on an NBA stage—where the lights are brightest, where the lights shine on a court that so many said I’d never see.
“Ivan Drago!” a heckling fan calls at me, indirectly letting me feel right at home. It’s just another gym.
The buzzer sounds. The players are asked to assume their places for the national anthem. It begins. I look down to my feet:
I, Lance Allred, am a child of God, and I know that He loves me.
I will be an example of Him at all times.
I, Lance Allred, will live life to the fullest and never settle for less
than my best.
I will be the best basketball player that I can be.
I, Lance Allred, will play in the NBA—
I stop. I look up to the flag, lit in the dark. And it all finally truly sets in.
I, Lance Allred, am in the NBA….
I begin to weep.
In a quick flash of frozen yet endless time, I see the faces of my loved ones before me. I see my parents. I see my sisters. I see my brother. I see Yaya, Pax, and Sam. I see them all. I hear the voices of my childhood, floating along the Bitterroot River, laughing happily back to me, as innocence is reclaimed, if for but a fleeting moment.
I see Szen sitting on the side of the court watching me, having walked with me every step of the way, whether I could see him or not.
I see the pain. I see the hurt. I see the anger. I see the love. And I see th
e joy. I see it all in this moment that’s now immortal.
This moment is mine. No one can take it from me. No matter what comes after or what came before, this moment is mine. It will forever be mine.
Epilogue
To my reader:
As a child with my hearing impairment and my inability to speak properly, my parents encouraged me to read and write to communicate. Thank you for listening.
Having battled my own mind, and done so through many cultures across the globe, I wish to tell you all that life is good. Self-doubt is my greatest flaw and will always be, but I choose to fight it and will not let it rule me. If you find yourself at a bottom, know that in the blink of an eye it can all change, first and foremost in your own mind. By accepting disappointment and furthermore accountability for your actions and responses to life’s heartaches, you’ll take control of your life and find the happiness that we all look for.
We only have one life, so we may as well live it. You should never be afraid to try, to dream. Whether you fail or succeed isn’t nearly as important as whether you try.
Friends and loved ones have come and gone, traitors and tyrants passing as quickly as they came, and through it all, I’m grateful. My memories are what make me. They’re what defines me. They’re all I can take with me.
The prophet Nephi, the lead-off man in the Book of Mormon, said it best, in his final address: “I glory in plainness; I glory in truth; I glory in my Jesus.”
I look forward to the day when I will meet my Jesus, and He will give me my hearing, and I will finally, truly hear my mother’s beautiful voice when she wakes me in the morning. It will be a wonderful day. And I will see you all there.
May you all find peace on your path and journey through this world.
Lance Allred
Acknowledgments
When I sent my draft to publication, I had more than eight hundred pages. Due to publishing and marketing, the book is obviously no longer that length. If you feel that your name should have been mentioned in the book and was not, I can say with honesty that it most likely was in the original draft, and your helping hand along my way through life will never be forgotten. Thank you all, named or otherwise, for helping me to create my memories.
A few names that had significant impact come to mind that I am indebted to: the Swinton family, namely Jon-Jon; Tim Colman, my first basketball coach; Brian Maxwell, my arch-rival turned dear friend; Katie Tate, my first girlfriend and true friend, whom I met at the University of Utah (there is only one Katie Tate); and finally, my saint, Ted Adams.
About the Author
LANCE ALLRED won Utah’s high school player-of-the-year award. After playing for the University of Utah for two years, a dispute with his coach led Allred to transfer to Weber State, where he graduated with a double-major in English and history. Lance is a 6' 11" center who played professionally in Europe and then in the NBA Development League. In April 2008, Lance signed on as a rookie with the Cleveland Cavaliers.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
Copyright
LONGSHOT: The Adventures of a Deaf Fundamentalist Mormon Kid and His Journey to the NBA. Copyright © 2009 by Lance Allred. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition April 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-187999-9
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
About the Publisher
Australia
HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.
25 Ryde Road (PO Box 321)
Pymble, NSW 2073, Australia
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com.au
Canada
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
55 Avenue Road, Suite 2900
Toronto, ON, M5R, 3L2, Canada
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.ca
New Zealand
HarperCollinsPublishers (New Zealand) Limited
P.O. Box 1
Auckland, New Zealand
http://www.harpercollins.co.nz
United Kingdom
HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.
77-85 Fulham Palace Road
London, W6 8JB, UK
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.co.uk
United States
HarperCollins Publishers Inc.
10 East 53rd Street
New York, NY 10022
http://www.harpercollinsebooks.com
*I do not believe that Rulon saw God, nor do I know that he believed that he saw God, but I know that many of his followers, members of the Allred Group, believed he did, and I know that he allowed them to believe that. I remember, as a little child in Sunday school, being taught that Owen, Rulon’s brother and successor, spoke with God, and that Rulon did as well.
I do, however, have to give my grandfather credit for being a very charismatic man who had a dream, a vision of a perfect society, and gave his all in an effort to achieve that—all in the name of the Lord. It’s amazing what the human mind can do when there’s hope, when there’s a dream—especially a dream greater than oneself.
*“Yes” or “OK” is my default answer upon failing to understand for a third time the statement or question placed before me, as I’m too self-conscious after that to once again ask someone to repeat themselves. Valeen, however, is an exception. She gets the VIP treatment and is immediately rewarded with a yes or an OK.
But, as I’m sure many of you are wondering, what happens if neither a yes nor an OK is the correct answer, and you find yourself blindly committing to something that you would in good conscience not want to be a part of. Well, I will usually find out what it is that’s being asked or said to me after I give the default answer, because people will be so surprised that they will raise their voice and repeat it loudly with a “Yes, you’ll…?” preceding said question. And if in that moment I can recant my answer, if it’s indeed a wrong one, by saying “Oh, I thought you said you didn’t…,” no harm, no foul.
Whereas if it was just a statement and I say yes when there’s no answer warranted, the recipient will usually give me a dumb “Huh?” and a moment of awkward silence will ensue.
†I have been quoted and scribed to have said, albeit affectionately, “Why do Ripplinger women insist on yakking my ear off, when I have only half an ear to begin with?” This statement entails not only the true Ripplinger daughters of John Henry, but their ensuing lineage as well. Yaya herself has a lineage of children and grandchildren, with a ratio of four to one in favor of women. I’m of the school of thought that believes that the male infants are buried upon birth to keep the female harpingly dominant in the Ripplinger clan.
*I won’t bore you with any more details of the LDS hierarchy.
*I’m not offended by the “F” word; I simply find it mundane and boring. I have heard it used in every grammatical way possible—as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun, preposition, and much, much more. It’s too easy, too convenient a word. If “Fuck” is the most clever thing you can say, you really should pick up a dictionary.
*You know the kind, the ones that wear Oakland Raiders jackets and spit every third step.
*But, Lance, you’re a Mormon, you should want to attend BYU. Well, I’m a big fan of the concept of free agency, a concept publicly embraced in the LDS church. Free agency states that we all have the right to choose between right and wrong and that’s how we learn from our mistakes and develop character and accountability. It’s strange how free agency and accountability are a big part of the Mormon doctrine, but at BYU they ste
p in and manage every aspect of your daily life—your dietary habits (no caffeine or any other addictive chemicals), your clothing (no shorts above the kneecap), your freedom of speech (no swearing), and your personal grooming (no facial hair). I found it too ironic as a teen, having escaped a polygamist cult, to jump back into another environment where religion was around you 24/7. I don’t drink and party, but I like having the option of doing so.
*In the basketball world, a big is a center or possibly a power forward.
*I mean, come on, people: who really wants to know about all these theories explaining and even justifying ludicrous behavior by obviously weak and inferior specimens? You know what I say: instead of society spending millions of dollars wasting time coming up with cock-and-bull ideas of the mind and bailing out all the self-pitying fools, I’d have them all come to the realization of my obvious genius. The genius is: tell the sulking bastards to get over it. (Funny, I said this then….)
*That’s part of basketball, but try to imagine going to work every day and having your boss analyze your every move, always letting you know you can be replaced for even the slightest slipup. And you can visibly see your replacements waiting in line, peering over your boss’s shoulder.
