Rules for Becoming a Legend

by Timothy S. Lane

  There are coaches out there right now saying things like “Kid’s got a Larry Bird shot.” Or, “There’s a player on Central, with this incredible Olajuwon footwork.” Or, “A Dwayne Wade leap, a Chris Bosh upside, a Steve Nash floor vision,” and on and on . . .

  And then there are those young players who play with such guts and determination, such leave-it-on-the-hardwood drive, that coaches shake their heads, get that look in their eye and say, “Kid’s playing with that Kamikaze heart.”

  Ah, Kamikaze Kirkus. You ever hear the legend of Kamikaze Kirkus?

  Kid once beat fifty players in a row without giving up a point.

  One time he thought the game was too easy so he played barefoot and still ran circles around them fools.

  Caught a ball headed for the back of his head without even turning around.

  The very first time he ever picked up a basketball, he made seventy-two shots in a row, as a kindergartener, including the last one when four or five kids dog-piled him as he released. I’m telling you, it still went in.

  And most of all: You ever hear about the time Kamikaze Kirkus went head first into a brick wall over and over again? They say you can still see the stains on the bricks. I’m serious.

  The legend of Kamikaze Kirkus grows and spreads as all true legends do. Carried close to the heart, told in whispers over campfires, in the close atmosphere of darkened cars. First it was common lore only in Columbia City, but over the years it has seeped out and became adopted by other teams, other towns, and other states.

  It’s impossible that all the people who claimed to have been at his final game, or truly seen him in action, actually have. But does it matter? Don’t legends belong to anyone who needs them? The Flying Finn told Jimmy that to see a legend was to believe in magic, even if just a little. While that’s not quite it, it’s something close, and sometimes close, if the distance is small enough, is just as good. Search Kamikaze Kirkus online. See if the legend is gone. See if people no longer care.

  If you go to Columbia City now, and you attend a game at the Brick House, you’ll notice each player on either team takes a moment out of their warm-up to run over and touch those famous bricks. Close their eyes and feel the very texture of a boy becoming a man, a man becoming a legend. In the end we are never measured by the times we got knocked down, bowled over, smashed in. We are measured by the other times. The times when we got back up, gathered ourselves together, undid the dents, walked away. To love something without faults is an easy love. To love something just limped in, just dragged through, just got up again, that is a love to know about, to tell about. The blood-red bricks of Jimmy Kirkus.

  It’s raining now in Columbia City. Basketball will soon be here in full force again. The warm Brick House packed to the gills with the whole town rooting for the Fishermen. “We are the FISHERMEN, the mighty, mighty FISHERMEN.” What a thing! It’s coming. Pump up the ball, lace up the sneaks. Dribble, dribble, shoot.

  You ever hear of Kamikaze Kirkus? Basically wrote the rules for becoming a legend.

  Acknowledgments

  Here’s the thing about this book. It’s not the first one I wrote. It’s not even the third. I failed my way to this book. More times than I care to admit. And it’s a testament to the friends and family I’ve been blessed with that every time I failed—spectacularly in some cases—I never questioned if I would try again, only when.

  Thanks to:

  Rachael Dillon Fried. I know most authors say their agent is the best in the world. They all lied. You are.

  Maggie Riggs. You are an editor of the highest skill and you made this book so much stronger.

  Eva Bacon, for convincing me to send it to Rachael.

  Hal Fessenden, an early reader, and the best boss I’ve ever had. Sorry you’re fourth down. You can take it up with Maggie.

  the Penguin marketing and design team: Carla Bolte, Paul Buckley, John Thomas, Noirin Lucas, Carolyn Coleburn, and Nancy Sheppard. It’s an honor to work with you all.

  others at Penguin who helped make this book real (even if they didn’t know they were helping): Adina Gabai, Sharon Weiss, Draga Malesevic, Ritsuko Okumura, Lorna Henry, Leigh Butler, and Balie Keown.

  Alexander James Humphrey. You’re a dusty old rattlesnake but I tip my hat to you.

  Chris Lang for being my creative partner, early and frequent reader, and friend since third grade.

  Brian “Microwave” Alfonse for being an early reader and steadfast friend.

  Story Syndicate. Scott Gabriel, Eliyanna Kaiser, and Felice Kuan. You three have helped this book grow from a little short story. Your critiques and friendship were invaluable. Still waiting on our Skype session.

  Mrs. Patterson, my twelfth grade English teacher, who told me, “If this is what you want to do, I think you’re good enough to do it.”

  Mrs. Lilly, my fourth and fifth grade teacher, who let me put the stories I wrote in the school library.

  those along the way who never balked and gave only support when I told them I wanted to be a writer when I grew up: Gina O’Looney, Glenda Turnbull, Brian Torres, Michelle Berny Lang, Dan Caccavano (the original Shoeless), James Pozdena, Joe Mansfield, Kathryn O’Shea Evans, Robbye Good, Alison and Steve Courchesne, and the Koval Clan (Randy, Laurie, Zach, Isaac, Nathan).

  my brothers Ackley and Sydney for being my best friends and two of the most hilarious, loving people I know.

  Cousin Mim and my sister, Abi, for being my earliest of readers.

  my mother and father, Wendy Ackley and Scott Lane. With great love, you taught me the value and magic of story.

  that girl in my Spanish class. You always believed in me, even when I didn’t myself. Thanks for being my wife. I love you, Tiffany Leigh Lane.