A Post About Vince Carter

Vindicated – Dashboard Confessional

Sorry, I know sports posts are boring, but bear with me here.

Vince Carter came back to town on Friday and while I’d like to say I was at the game, I was instead stuck watching it at home with Max and Will. Whoopee! Here’s how I feel about the whole situation (and no “Defense is paper thin” jokes, please):

Vindicated
I am selfish.
I am wrong.
Ever since Vince entered the league, he’s been prime fodder for the media. At first, it was his eye-popping athleticism. Even people who have no interest in sports were wowed by the things that Vince could do with a basketball. Two-handed 360 windmill? Easy. Jumping so high that he has to duck his head so he doesn’t hit it on the backboard? Done. Jumping over a guy who is 7-foot plus? Yawn. Over the first few years he began to round out his game and became more than just a freak show, he became one of the league’s best players. However, a string of injuries hampered his career and each incident began to seem like a bad joke. It was unfair that someone who was so naturally gifted would also be so prone to malfunction. Once he was grounded on-court, it became easy to find the flaws in his life off-court as well. He was a momma’s boy. He manipulated the management. He didn’t take care of himself, which is what made him so fragile. All these things are true to some degree. The fans soured on him, and the relationship came to a tragic end after a trade to the New Jersey Nets amidst reports of his constantly complaining (read: whining) to be moved and that he was not giving the Raptors his full effort every night. Well, the first one everyone knew to be true and that hurt. The latter I tried not to believe, but even he admitted it later. Vince Carter. The only superstar that I have ever known. Asshole.

I am right.
I swear I’m right.
Swear I knew it all along.
Of course, I never completely turned on him. I am loyal to a fault. Basketball would be almost meaningless in Toronto, nay, in Canada, were it not for Vince. It was one thing to be a basketball fan, but to finally have a team and a player that was worth rooting for made it seem like I couldn’t live without it. Sure, it was a bad trade and he was at least partially to blame for it. But I was rooting for him in his new town. I knew that he had made mistakes and done the organization wrong, but they’d hurt him too with their incompetence. And regardless of the circumstances, the fans of Toronto have no right, NO RIGHT, to turn their backs on the man who made this franchise. Vince had no idea how to handle the media. He’d said so many stupid things. On the court however…well, any true basketball fan knows what the man could do on the court. He started off slow, but eventually…

33 points, 9 rebounds and 9 assists against Milwaukee. 30 and 9 against L.A. 30, 8 and 10 against Utah with 4 blocks. 31, 5 and 6 against Chicago. 41, 11 and 5, Detroit. 43, 14 and 5, Philly. 34 & 11, Cleveland. 33, Orlando. 39 and 33, Indiana, back to back nights. 39, Charlotte. 45, Boston. 39…39…39…

And I am flawed.
But I am cleaning up so well.
Vince Carter came back to town on Friday. I was rooting for him the whole time. The crowd was merciless. VC Sucks. Carter sucks. Constant booing. The first half was a mess, even though he still managed to score 15 points. His team was down double digits. The third quarter came along and the boos were as loud as ever. BOOOOOOOOOO! A three-point shot. Booooooo! A fade away jumper. Boo! A 20 footer with former teammate Morris Peterson literally in his shorts. Boo. A high arcing floater that looked like it was more likely to hit the rafters than the basket. By the end of the game, 39 points, one big victory and thousands of silenced Torontonians. It was beautiful.

I’m not saying Vince is perfect, never that. But I strapped myself to the bandwagon long ago and that means riding with the highs and the lows. No Vince Carter jersey with an “X” taped over the back. No stupid signs. And definitely no mocking his injuries. The “fans”, the haters, took their best shot and he felt it. But then he shot back. Again and again and again. 39 times.

When morning came, I woke up wishing that there was some way that I could cry out to all of Toronto, something like “See? I told you! I told you!” Then I realized that Vince doesn’t need someone like me speaking for him. He’d said it all on Friday night.

I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself.
Loyalty rewarded.

PQ:
I told yeh there was somethin’ special about you.