Beats' Beats: YG feat. Kendrick Lamar - Really Be (Smokin' N Drinkin')
It’s easy for anyone to do anything in victory…
It’s only in defeat that you can find out what you’re really worth.
His father had told him that when he had lost his first game at eight years old. He hadn’t fully understood it then but life wasn’t so kind to keep him ignorant for long.
Ace hadn’t been that good that day, they had been dominated and crushed by a team with much bigger and much more talented kids. Monsters in light up sneakers. When you’re eight years old you only tangentially understand wins and losses and what they mean. Ace didn’t throw a tantrum, he just cried...he couldn’t remember how he felt about his first win but the pain of the first loss still resonated with him today.
His father though had encouraged him to handle defeat with grace and dignity. Beats didn’t always prescribe to that methodology but it tended to win out when he tried to rationalize his feelings later. Of course, there was no real rationalization that dealt with those nagging feelings...that loud voice in the corner of his heart…
“You ain’t good enough!”
This game (the one he just played and not the one he lost when he was 8) had been a crazy one. Maybe the craziest he had ever played in or would play again. It was hard to say that second in the moment. The opposing team had a coach that used to play at the Naval Academy in college and he had brought that same triple option attack to his current school paired with an aggressive 4-3 defense with big D-Linemen. The offensive line had started poorly getting penalties and creating long drives. The defense got burned on two big runs in the first quarter and before Ace and the offense could blink they were in a 14 point hole.
Things snowballed in the first half after that.
Ace shook his head and slammed the back of his skull against his father’s car seat, his dad looked at him anxiously behind the wheel.
“You okay…?”
“Fine.”
He pulled the headphones out of his ear and turned his attention to the window looking at the trees pass by as his dad drove him to his mother’s house in his big blue truck. So much had changed and yet so much had remained the same since he was eight years old. It made him feel guilty and inadequate at the same time. What kind of person was he if he was just a boy parading in the body of a man? What was he really worth if he hadn’t progressed at all beyond what he had begun as?
“Hell of a game though,” his Dad began uneasily, “You really put it all out there.”
“We lost.”
“It aint all ‘bout winning and losing Aceito,” his father said sternly, “It’s just high school ball--you’re playin’ so you can get a shot at playing at the next level. A scholarship. Keep focused.”
“Well, I fumbled two friggin’ times while playin’ against a D-Line who’s gonna be loadin’ boxes next year, not playin’ D1 ball...”
“What are you trying to say…?”
“That a scholarship may not be in the cards for me Pops.”
His dad practically balked and looked at his son with an incredulous expression on his face. Michael Ortega was shorter than his son but wider and stronger. His taut arms gripped the steering wheel with a certain seriousness as Ace took in the full vision of his father for the first time since he had entered his Dad’s car. He had come straight from work to the game, it was obvious, his thick brown arms still covered in muck and shiny from sweat. His face filled with stubble aside from a thick brown mustache, his light blue eyes stared daggers into his son.
“Papo, are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Michael exclaimed, “You and that Lorenzen kid lit it up in the second half, I ain’t ever seen anything like it.”
And that much was true, wasn’t it? It had been the best game of Ace’s life...until it wasn’t.
They had entered into halftime down 28-0 and with no answers on offense or defense. Coach had ripped into the team fairly harshly and in the second half Ace had come out with a renewed focus. The Horned Owls got the ball to start and Ace sparked it off by returning the kick off a full 80 yards for a touchdown, hyping up the once disinterested crowd. It was the longest scoring play of his football career.
That may have set the tone but it was the Carter twins that had solidified it on defense.
Wyatt had gotten beat on the read-pass-option twice during the first half: he wouldn’t make the mistake again. He started the first play on defense by absolutely rocking the QB with a sack who’s impact could be heard halfway to Memphis. The QB actually had to take a seat for a series and his back up came in extra timid and shook--some Sophomore who was two years from being able to run the offense effectively.
Bret made him pay with an interception he returned to the five yard line.
The crowd went crazy and the next thing play had them going crazier as Connor totally fooled them on a screen pass to Ace. The score was now 28-14 and the Owls were completely in it. The same doubts that were in Ace’s head now had been put onto the opposing team. Were they good enough? Had that first half been just a fluke? Ace and Connor along with the Owls defense became determined to prove that point.
“I fumbled...twice pops,” he said, his voice cracking, “You ain’t ever seen me do anything like that either.”
It was one of those things Ace prided himself on, being able to hold onto the ball no matter what impact came his way. His whole high school career up to this point he had only fumbled 5 times...to fumble twice in a game? At that pivotal moment…?
“You scored three touchdowns, three separate ways kid--one receiving, one rushing and one special teams Ace,” his father seemed to plead, “Who the fuck does that? That’s NFL Papo--you’re special. You’re going to do special things, I knew the moment I looked at you...you took to football like a fish to water. You were born to do this.”
“...”
“You’re my boy. I made you. I know what you can do.”
“...”
“Talk to me Aceito.”
But Ace didn’t know what to say…
His father was supposed to say stuff like that. He was supposed to believe in him and lift him up when he was down. His parents had always done that and Ace felt guilty in the moment for holding resentment towards his Dad for not being with his mother. He had done his best. He had always been there, he was trying to be now…
Ace felt the tears well up in his eyes, his face tighten and his cheeks burn. He blinked hard and choked out his next words.
“We friggin’ had ‘em man,” he said bitterly, “I screwed it up Pops, I let ‘em off the hook…”
“I know Papo, I know…”
“On the goddamn goal line,” he choked, “What kinda shit is that…?”
He didn’t usually curse in front of his Dad, though his father cursed like a sailor he had made it clear that was a privilege of those who paid rent. Mike Ortega didn’t tolerate disrespect from his son and he didn’t tolerate his son being disrespectful either. Ace’s skin seemed to flush with embarrassment and frustration.
His father didn’t call him out on it…
“It happens Ace, it never comes down to one play or one player…”
“We lost 24-28...if I hadn’t fumbled that last play, if I had just ran outta bounds as opposed to leapin’ like I was friggin’ Simone Biles or somethin’,” he couldn’t fight the tears, “We coulda won. I coulda won it. I coulda been the hero...it was my moment...and I came up short…”
His father pulled over at this point and slapped Ace hard in the chest, Ace gasped for air before he felt his father’s hand on his chin pulling it upward. He slapped him again in the chest and gripped his shoulder with a strength that almost hurt…
“Sit the fuck up, good, now look in the mirror,” he reached across and pulled down the flap with a mirror in front of Ace’s seat, “You don’t look small or short to me--you look like a tall, strong, smart, funny, creative kid who put it all out there. You lost the game, you didn’t come up short. That’s what the fuck happens in a game kid, there’s winners and losers and you can only be one or the other. You did your thing, you put your heart into this shit--you didn’t come up short. You stood tall.”
“I don’t feel tall pops…”
“Then you’re wrong.”
“But what if you’re wrong…?”
“I’m your Dad kid, I thought we’ve been over this--I’m never fuckin’ wrong,” he said with a grin, “You’re gonna go home, you’re gonna listen to music, maybe write a song--you’re gonna shower again and you’re gonna wake up and your Ma is gonna have made french toast and bacon and life will go the fuck on. You’re strong Ace and if you feel you ain’t, just pretend you are.”
Ace shook his head…
“You tellin’ me to just fake it till I make it?”
“I’m tellin’ you that you’d be surprised how easy it works--you think I ain’t fake being a Dad right now? I have no idea how to help you kid, but I’m tryin’ my best--life don’t come with no instruction manual.”
They were platitudes that Ace’s father said so often they might as well have been tattooed on his forehead...but Ace was able to compose himself better than before. He still felt that heaviness in his chest and the fatigue of the game compounded by the emotional toll of it. Michael continued gushing, mostly about Ace and Connor but also about the game itself how it had been exciting and filled with big plays and dramatic shifts.
Ace didn’t feel good but he felt his father’s love and the old man even had given him AUX capabilities and considering how much his father hated Hip-Hop that was considered a blessing.
Beats' Beats (Papa's Car Edition): Wale - Varsity Blues
When they finally pulled up to his mother’s small, two storied, two bedroom house there was a car parked in the front with a Memphis Tigers license plate. A Graduate Assistant from the school had been at the game and had been talking to his mother…
“Hell of a game, hell of a game--I mean, I came here for Lorenzen or Carter but I gotta say, I think I came away most impressed by you. Amazing versatility! Lorenzen may be the glue for that offense but you might be the glitter, it’s a different beast when you’re rolling.”
The coach gushed like a salesman at Ace’s dinner table and it had been a direct contrast to how he had felt after the game. It was too much all at once, an emotional rollercoaster, he felt both desperate for praise but skeptical of that desperation and thusly the praise that coincidentally followed. This college assistant gushed and his father had pleaded and all Ace felt was more doubt.
“Th-thu-thank you.”
He sputtered and nodded, the man kept talking to his mom and father before leaving with an official scholarship offer. Ace’s parents freaked out, his father hugged his mother and then hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. His mother who hadn’t seen the game (she had taken to driving for Uber to make extra cash along with her job at the post office) apologized for not having been there. Ace said good night to both, showered and went to bed. He didn’t even play music…
It was sensory overload.
The next morning he woke up and his mother had made him french toast and bacon.
And his father was there, having spent the night for the first time in sixteen years. His mother and father lied to him at first but Ace could tell by his father’s dirty clothes that he hadn’t been home from the night before.
They both seemed so happy…
About the scholarship...about their parenting...about their child...about themselves.
It was too much.
Ace swallowed his doubts with a mouthful of powdered sugar and orange juice.
He put on a smile and tried to play it cool when he felt anything but.
Then he signed the letter of intent the GA had left at his house the night before, put it in the mail and went to his room. He spent the rest of the day listening to albums released before he was born--starting with Enter the Wu-Tang Clan, moving to Aquemini, dancing around a bit on Confessions, going back to UGK and then settling on the Hustle & Flow soundtrack.
He tried to mash out a beat on his keys…
But in the end he just went back to sleep.
When he woke up it was his mother telling him that his Dad was taking them to Red Lobster to celebrate.
Ace had shrimp pasta.
And life went on.
The Gift My Father Gave Me
One Shot;Fall 2017; After the Friday Night Lights have gone out
Here is where all threads set in the past belong. This is the place to post your characters' memories, good or bad, major or insignificant. Handlers may have one active memory thread at the same time as their normal active present-day thread. Memory one-shots are always acceptable.
The Gift My Father Gave Me
"My man got too familiar and I’d ended up having to whoop his ass, man, you know. Because he would step across the line. Habitually. He’s a habitual line stepper.” -Charlie Murphy
V8 Relationship Thread
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
Slidin'
Lookin' for the opps, they been hidin'
I grew up 'round drugs, sex, and violence
We turnt off they street, we heard sirens
Since a juvenile, I been wylin'
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