#Yes I’m still on the second event rotation….. I got into the game in July dont bully meeeee

[coral-canary]

Everyone…. Look at her…...

creatur…..

[junker-town]

Anfernee Simons is Portland’s golden ticket into NBA title contention

Elevating a nice team into title contention despite barely playing as a rookie? That’s just another way for this gifted 20-year-old to push his own limits.

Anfernee Simons isn’t allowed to try his most impressive shot in an NBA game. It’s a form of basketball sorcery few can process, let alone immediately master, that first emerged when he was a senior at Edgewater High School playing H-O-R-S-E against his head coach Jason Atherton.

The two challenged each other after practice and during gym class. H-O-R-S-E provided an opportunity for Simons to test himself by showing off a bold menu of trick shots, while placating a competitive spirit that turned every contest into a life-or-death event.

Dunks weren’t allowed, so Simons dealt letters with his limitless range, firing from the overlapping volleyball court that approximated an NBA three, or behind an arbitrary black line drawn nearly 40 feet from the rim. (Simons later asked Atherton, if he could shoot it during a game. “I told him if I call out ‘Black’, go ahead and fire it,” Atherton says. The coach finally granted permission on senior night.)

Simons enjoyed exploring his own limitations, which remain untapped. This is how The Shot was born. Imagine the deepest corner three possible, tucked a couple feet behind the NBA’s line. Now step over the baseline, out of bounds and behind the backboard. Impossible, right? Simons calls it his “safe shot.” Basic geometry politely disagrees.

The first time Atherton saw it, he wondered if Simons had secretly spent hours practicing on his own time. Nope. It was improvised.

Simons made the shot on his first try, then again when Atherton dared him to repeat it. According to his coach, in all the games they played together Simons drilled this exact shot at an 80 percent clip. “The first couple times I shot it, I’m like ‘I don’t know how the hell you’re doing this!” Atherton laughs. “He’s comfortable no matter where he is.”

Back then, Simons was a prodigious teenage question mark who barely weighed 160 pounds. Today, he’s a 20-year-old wildfire of natural talent entering his second season with the Portland Trail Blazers. It’s a season prefaced by towering expectations. As a rookie, Simons gave the team several reasons to be excited. But it’s his innate ability to make a complicated game look like a cakewalk that separates him from so many other young guards.

“The thing I’m most excited about is how easily the game comes to him,” Blazers general manager Neil Olshey says. “It’s very hard to put guys on the court that can’t score, and it’s something that comes very natural for him. It’s easy for him.”

Everything about him is casual, but Simons meets challenges imposed by coaches, opposing players, parents, and especially himself, with the restlessness of a master chef restricted to boiling hot dogs. “Some of the shots that are tough shots, he doesn’t make them look tough,” Trail Blazers head coach Terry Stotts says. “When he drives in the lane, there’s just an easiness to it.”

Simons can score at the rim, from mid-range, and behind the three-point line, but his outside shot is his calling card. It starts with wrists that make opponents feel like reality is in fast forward. One second, the defenders are crouched in a sound stance, arms out, feet staggered, and jumpy. The next, they’re yolk in a skillet.

“When I was young I’d just push the ball up. It was one motion,” Simons says, describing his unique jumper. “Usually when guys get older they make it two motions, so I kind of kept it as one motion and it’s still working out.”

Simons’ skillset is lined with cashmere. He says he models his game after Jamal Crawford, with a hint of teammate Damian Lillard’s aggressive mindset. Justin Zormelo, a private skills trainer who works with Simons, says Lillard is a fair comparison, but also recognizes Klay Thompson’s sense of calm. “I think if you combined [Dame and Klay] that’s who he is,” Zormelo says. “A rough draft copy of those two guys.”

The Blazers knew it’d be hard for any rookie to crack their rotation in 2019. They finished the previous season with 49 wins and one of the league’s deepest, most expensive rosters. “Risk tolerant” was how they viewed their draft strategy. Selected with the No. 24 pick in the 2018 NBA Draft, Simons only played 141 minutes during his entire rookie season, patiently waiting for garbage time to show what he could do while Lillard, CJ McCollum, and Jusuf Nurkic lifted the Blazers to another No. 3 seed.

“I think when his career is over, they’re all gonna say, ‘Where was he picked?!’” -Rick Pitino

Riding the bench wasn’t easy, but Olshey constantly reminded Simons he was a lottery talent who didn’t play for a lottery team. The opportunity to learn from one of the league’s best backcourts would pay dividends in the future.

“One of the things Dame and I talk to him about is his pace. I always tell him ‘You don’t have to go 100. Find your 80, find your 75 at first, and then progressively speed it up’,” McCollum says. “He’s got the total package, man. He’s 20 years old, not even old enough to drink.”

Olshey recently called Simons the most gifted player he’s ever drafted, a list that includes Lillard, McCollum, Blake Griffin, and several more notable names.

“He is not currently the best basketball player I drafted. He’s not the most functional player that I drafted at the time of the draft,” Olshey says. “But just in terms of his natural gifts at his age, and his God-given talent, it rivals anybody else that I’ve drafted in my career. Now, I don’t know if he’ll reach that ceiling as a player and put it all together, but the things that you basically can’t teach, in terms of just intrinsic talent, he has.”

With one of the highest payrolls in the league, the Blazers need low-cost production to elevate their established starpower. That not only makes Simons one of the most important people in the organization, but, given how open the league’s title race appears to be, he’s also one of the most essential young players in the entire NBA.

How soon can Simons bloom into the necessary source of internal growth the Blazers need to achieve their ultimate goal? Is he their golden ticket, or a tantalizing project that can’t live up to expectations? That development is caked into their short-term future as much as the long haul.

Photo by Chris Elise/NBAE via Getty Images

Anfernee Simons during his 35-point breakout performance at the NBA Summer League. “He’s as talented as anyone we’ve ever drafted,” Blazers GM Neil Olshey said.

It’s an early July morning in Las Vegas as Simons sits on a beige couch in the Four Seasons lobby. A matted flat-top adds five or six inches to his willowy 6’3 frame. He leans forward and folds his arms.

Those who know Simons sum up his personality with words like “shy” or “extremely quiet,” followed by “humble” and “polite.” They’re not wrong. Minus the retro concords and baby face, he could pass for a member of the Queen’s Guard. Limp eyelids rest above lips that don’t budge unless they must, and when they do, his voice carries only a brief hush. No handlers, coaches, trainers, brothers, sisters, cousins, teammates, childhood friends, or agents stand to the side. Instead, Simons is escorted into the lobby by his parents.

“If you didn’t know who Anfernee was, you’d have no idea that he’s one of the best basketball players in the world,” Atherton says. “That’s just kind of how he carries himself.”

Early last season, McCollum was tired of seeing Simons and fellow Blazers rookie Gary Trent Jr. wear cut-up jeans to games. He arranged for Antar Levar, McCollum’s clothier, to measure them for custom suits. Simons eventually settled on blue, gray, and glen plaid super 130’s from Cacciopoli, but the process wasn’t easy. Levar, who works with nearly 150 professional athletes and celebrities, was caught off guard by Simons’ extreme reticence.

“It was like pulling teeth out of a baby trying to get him to speak!” Levar laughs. “When I would show him stuff, he would barely be like yes or no. He’d be real subtle, real quiet, like ‘Nah, nah, nah,’ and then he’d say ‘Yeah, I like that. Nah, nah, nah.’’ It was real quick, and I was like, man, this guy, he’s not gonna say nothing!”

McCollum chuckles telling his version of the story: “Like they say, you’ve got two eyes, two ears, and one mouth for a reason.”

The Player Empowerment Era is wrapped inside a generation defined by self-promotion, but Simons is unassuming in a way that’s far from performative. He seems uncomfortable answering questions about himself, unsure how much to reveal or whether any of it is actually interesting. He doesn’t watch League Pass “unless there’s a good game on.” He’s content with a monotonous life pervaded by Marvel movies (Captain America: Civil War is his favorite), and video games.

Simons understands the importance of making new connections, but opening up takes time. Before his professional career began, Simons’ father Charles couldn’t remember seeing him chat and laugh with teammates on the bench. “He’s not a talker by nature,” Charles Simons says.

Perennial silence is not a deal breaker for NBA stars (see Leonard, Kawhi), but coaches throughout Simons’ life have tried to draw him out of his shell with unique leadership opportunities. At IMG Academy, where Simons spent a post-graduate year after high school, he handled the ball in critical situations and also collected his teammate’s uniforms after games. Even after he broke his hand in early October, Simons still participated in every conditioning exercise instructed by the coaching staff. Whether it was a grueling suicide drill or a simple down-and-back, he obsessed over finishing first and setting an example.

“We put him in positions where he has to deal with people, step up, and hold himself accountable,” IMG Academy’s post-grad head coach John Rhodes says. “You have to start with yourself before you can get others to follow, right?”

Portland’s staff grabbed the baton. The Blazers made Simons their starting Summer League point guard for several developmental reasons, one being it forced him to deal with teammates in ways he hasn’t before. “I still want him to be more assertive and more vocal,” Blazers assistant coach Jim Moran told reporters in Las Vegas. “Running the team, he needs to be more communicative.”

Simons agrees. “I’m used to not saying anything on the court,” he says. “Now it’s more, you’re running the team. You need to make sure everybody is in the same boat.”

Born in a suburb just north of Orlando and named after Magic icon Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway — as a fellow Tennessean, Charles was a fan — Simons could breeze through traffic cones with a live dribble by the time he was five. A family friend who coached one of Florida’s most prominent AAU teams worked him through basic drills. Simons shot on 10-foot rims and always used a regulation-sized NBA ball.

When organized games began two years later, referees allowed the kids to commit violations without penalty. Dribbling was optional for everyone … except Simons. “I was the dad that never let him play like a little kid,” Charles laughs.

Entering his freshman season at Edgewater High School, Simons was a 5’8, 130-pound, 13-year-old paper clip. Continuing a habit that began in the park eight years earlier, he spent two hours after the varsity team’s practice working on his game, and would constantly pester Atherton about the gym’s availability.

As a way to let his frail body catch up to a budding skillset, Simons reclassified down to the 2018 class after his sophomore year. He had spent most of his minutes playing off the ball, and opponents took advantage of his size on defense. Heading into his junior year, Montverde Academy, the same program D’Angelo Russell and Ben Simmons attended in prior years, had an open spot on their team. Simons was at first hesitant to transfer, but his parents encouraged him to step outside his comfort zone.

Montverde wasn’t a perfect fit. His playing time fluctuated, and the 40-minute commute from his parent’s home to campus was inconvenient when practices required a 3 a.m. wakeup call. But the experience had immense value. Simons himself detected immediate growth, and others now say Montverde was a pivot point in his trajectory.

“I just think it helped him understand that he played on a team with a lot of really good players,” Montverde associate head coach Rae Miller says. “Practices at our place are usually much harder than games because it’s so competitive.”

Simons re-enrolled at Edgewater the following season, three inches taller and the owner of previously unthinkable athleticism. By then, he was heavily recruited by several programs, including Louisville. Rick Pitino, the school’s former head coach, personally attended every one of Simons’ AAU games, scouting him with the same attention he gave Donovan Mitchell and Terry Rozier.

“I told the assistant coaches, ‘I’m recruiting Anfernee. He’s my guy,’” Pitino says. “I said ‘I’ll take care of him, you take care of the other guys.’ He’s done some things dunking the basketball, my mouth was open when I saw him do it.”

Simons committed to Louisville in the fall of 2016, but plans fell through when an NCAA corruption scandal led to Pitino’s termination soon after. In an effort to bulk up before his freshman season at another school, he pivoted to a post-grad year at IMG Academy, where first-class strength training facilities and a helpful nutrition program allowed Simons to get stronger. (Also, it’s where Penny Hardaway’s son Jayden became Simons’ teammate.)

At IMG, Simons put mesmerizing performances on film. A sky-high ceiling helped him become the first American-born player since 2005 to enter the NBA without first competing overseas or in the NCAA. During a lengthy phone conversation with Olshey before the draft, Pitino repeatedly referred to Simons as a steal who’d eventually make whoever selects him look like a genius. “I think when his career is over, they’re all gonna say, ‘Where was he picked?’,” Pitino says.

Photo by Joe Murphy/NBAE via Getty Images

Anfernee Simons during a pre-draft photoshoot in 2018. He was expected to attend Louisville, but chose to spend a year at IMG Academy due to Louisville’s involvement in the NCAA corruption scandal.

The first time Zormelo worked with Simons, he told him things few 18 year olds ever hear: You can make all-star teams. You should score 40 in an NBA game. When a team gives you the green light, 50 points will be an expectation.

At the time, Simons had knee tendinitis and couldn’t work out any longer than 30 minutes without limping. In addition to bringing in a specialist who helped build up his quad and alleviate the pain, Zormelo had Simons train against G League players. At first, their physicality and strength was too much. One week later he made the rim look wider than a manhole cover. “Those guys couldn’t guard him,” Zormelo says. “Nobody could guard him.”

A few months after, Simons held private pre-draft workouts in front of about 20 NBA teams. Wanting to silence any doubt about Simons’ body and game, Zormelo made a risky and unusual decision to put live defenders on him before every drill. “He was unconscious for three days,” says Zormelo, who’s trained Kevin Durant, Paul George, and myriad other NBA stars. “He had some of the best workouts I’d ever done, or ever seen.”

A few teams thought about taking Simons in the lottery. Even though his potential was Eddie Murphy circa 1979 — at one point he was a top-five pick in ESPN’s 2019 mock draft, right behind Zion Williamson, and R.J. Barrett — none would commit to a prospect who required such a long runway. Portland embraced the uncertainty and was confident he’d make headway on a timeline that didn’t force any immediate pressure on his narrow shoulders.

An early step toward vindication came in the first start of his career, which was also the last game of the 2018-19 regular season. With Portland’s key rotation players sitting out to prepare for the postseason, Simons scored 37 points to lead the Blazers back from a 25-point halftime deficit against the Sacramento Kings. It was a feat of technical excellence that was almost immediately overshadowed by an underlying message: This dude belongs.

In the process, Simons became the third teenager in NBA history to tally at least 37 points and nine assists in a game, the first two being LeBron James and Kevin Durant. Filter out assists, and Carmelo Anthony is the only addition to that list.

After the final buzzer, Olshey grabbed Simons in the locker room. Do you understand what you just did? The rhetorical question had an answer. Without a second of rest for 48 minutes, Simons locked Portland into the No. 3 seed.

That eventually bestowed an appreciative public with Lillard’s epic step-back over Paul George in Round 1 and McCollum’s status-elevating Game 7 against the Denver Nuggets in Round 2. All of that was lost on Simons, who only remembers how it felt to flow without worry, knowing the Blazers made only seven healthy players available.

“The innocence with which he looked at me,” Olshey says. “He was just excited to finally get an opportunity and play unfettered and not look over his shoulder.”

Simons continued to back up the hype at his second Las Vegas Summer League. He put the entire offensive package on display: cotton-ball floaters, step-back 25-footers, and coast-to-coast urgency with a lit-fuse live dribble. In his third game, as dozens of general managers, coaches, scouts, and executives across the NBA looked on, Simons carved up the Jazz for a Summer League-high 35 points. He left Las Vegas with an absurd 71.6 True Shooting percentage, 30.5 usage rate, and a spot on the Summer League’s All-Second team.

The Blazers view this tangible growth as a key to their future. By letting backup guard Seth Curry sign with Dallas and trading Evan Turner (who held the ball for more minutes than McCollum last season) to Atlanta for wing Kent Bazemore, Olshey purposefully cleared a path for Simons to contribute this season.

Zoom out and Portland’s rotation is volatile. For the first time since 2016, the Blazers will not start the year retaining more than 82 percent of the previous season’s minutes on their roster. No team in the league had more continuity over that stretch. “I think if we didn’t believe Anfernee was ready to step into that role then I would’ve played it safe and brought in a veteran,” Olshey says.

It’s easy to imagine scenarios where Simons breaks through to deliver moments that will foreshadow his staying power. The Blazers have successfully deployed three-guard units in the past and will use Simons, Lillard, and McCollum at the same time.

“I think with Anfernee’s size and athleticism and Dame’s ability to guard bigger players, that’s going to be a unique lineup for us,” Olshey says. Stotts also likes to platoon his starting backcourt, which will allow Simons to function as a more prominent weapon while one of Portland’s star guards gets some rest.

Photo by Sam Forencich/NBAE via Getty Images

The Blazers are hoping Anfernee Simons follows the same development path as C.J. McCollum (right). “I would’ve been a lot more immature than he was at that age,” McCollum says.

The Blazers are optimistic Simons will follow the blueprint laid out by McCollum, another combo guard whose shot options are “all of the above” at any given time. Like Simons, McCollum barely contributed as a rookie. By his third year, McCollum’s scoring average eclipsed 20 points per game. One difference: McCollum was 22 years old when he debuted, while Simons doesn’t turn 21 until next June.

“I would’ve been a lot more immature than he was at that age. He listens well, he works extremely hard and I think he got more comfortable as the year went on,” McCollum says. “I’m sure he feels like this is a chance for him to get some minutes and I’m sure the organization is looking at his performance, his development, and trying to figure out when that time is. It may very well be this season.”

Simons doesn’t know what his exact role will be this year, but he expects more responsibility. Scoring is obvious, but his ability to defend opposing backcourts while running the team’s offense is a mystery. “He’ll have opportunities,” Stotts says. “And he’ll grow with those opportunities.”

Of course, expectations don’t always align with progress, so the Blazers will adjust if Simons fails to take a meaningful step forward. “We have other alternatives on nights where he’s gonna struggle,” Olshey says. “Or he’s up against matchups that he’s just not ready to handle yet.

But Simons is also the most exciting archetype in sports: an ascending phenom who is now positioned to make the most of his natural ability. He can be the explosive supplement Portland didn’t have in the past.

The best-case, short-term scenario is that Simons alleviates the scoring burden Lillard and McCollum have carried by themselves. Whether he lets those two stars operate more off the ball — Portland is high on Simons’ “game sense,” aka the ability to initiate their offense — weaves around screens himself, or isolates on the wing, defenders can’t ignore him. On paper, that could make the team’s offense unguardable.

The Blazers are experienced enough not to crumble if Simons can’t handle his new duties, but it’s hard to see them winning it all during this era unless he soars. Based on a lifetime’s worth of evidence, that shouldn’t be a problem. Becoming a meaningful contributor is a challenge Simons knows he’ll conquer sooner rather than later. Just like a game of H-O-R-S-E.

[castawxayaway]

flickering of possibilities

Few points before you read this piece!

1, so a while ago I wrote a piece about Dan and someone at a concert, this is kind of a follow up from that but in her perspective. kind of inspired by Lorde’s Supercut

2. it is july 1st, and past me is writing this well in advance as I will be incredibly hungover from my leavers ball (not getting home til like 5am and all that) so I, past me hope you like this. I guess the previous piece is not necessary to read but it might add a little something to the events. 

3. oh and I put together a collection of my writing- this will be added too! and you can now request again at long last, so do send in any requests you have :)

4. (this is mainly based on my bastille concert experience, as it was an eventful evening and before you read, yes, it is all 100% true- the concert part that is par the ending)

5. italics are from Dan’s perspective in part one, this part is in her perspective.

​Shivering from the cold I wrapped my arms tightly around the thin fabric that covered my skin. 'You should've picked your jacket up' I can hear my mum’s patronising tone already. The two of us face the unknown streets as we stand in line, darkness settling around us on this hallow eve.

As the silent judgement creeps around my attire I tug on my dress, wondering if my makeup still looks as flawless as it did when I applied it several hours ago. Others around us chattered away whilst I remained quiet, the nerves settling into my system as the thumping of a bass could be heard inside.

"Maybe they're doing soundcheck." My friend beamed as we moved slower than a snail, each of us wanting nothing more than to be indoors, in the space where they'd be.

Where he'd be.

I focused in on the conversations of the large group of girls nudging us as they laugh, commenting on how they’d do anything to get to the front. That they would punch someone if they got in their way from seeing their idol. Idol. What an odd concept to pedestal someone you don’t truly know and think of them as nothing but purity and wholesomeness. Part of me laughs disguised in a light shiver as the car lights become brighter, more pass by in obscure ‘costumes’ drinking cheap cider asking the occasional person who they were going to see. 

The differing accents caught my attention, so light, so thick and raw. How they pronounced the name, the band or an individual member compared to how I spoke. Was I being more forceful or gentle with their names? I thought I spoke of them with grace, with ease as I told my parents the arrangement as I walked out of a lesson to talk to my friend about the tickets. That after years of waiting for another show we had our opportunity to finally see a band we had discovered together, hopefully it would be worth the wait. 

Suddenly the line picked up, I rummaged through my bag hoping nothing would be taken, dismissed or thrown out. My cheap spray I got incase he drifted by, how stupid I am to think he’d tell me I smelt nice. The ticket I gripped onto with my phone, my old phone in my bag as a back up as I was paranoid about my parents wondering how long we’d be. 

Chatter and excitement mixed like a cocktail, with ease and sharpness as the nudging on my spine increased yet I took it, I accepted it knowing we’d soon be out of the bitter ice that hung in our words as they passed our lips and hung in the air. We walked with ease whilst the nerves hid in my held breath whilst security checked my bag, it felt like utter madness as we walked through the doors. 

Around us was a corridor filled with their name plastered across all sorts of merchandise, but ahead was it. The large open space with screens rotating the triangle, the now infamous triangle. Immediately I bought water, my throat suffering before it had even begun. Due to our speedy entry the space was barely full, my eyes darted for a spot then to the right of the stage, right on the barrier it was free. Without any hesitation I grabbed onto my friend and ran, thankful for opting for comfortable boots.

My knuckles began to whiten as I held onto the barrier, glancing up to realise how close we were, how close he would be. It was mere meters, if that on the ledge directly in front of us. More people began to build up behind us as we spoke about all sorts, none of it relevant to where we were due to the ever growing pit in my stomach. 

The two of us bickered out of sheer anxiousness over our water bottle, the fact that we had lost the lid and neither wanting to hold it during the concert and risk soaking someone. Unaware my eyes wandered to the right, away from directly in front of us as we were stood by the backstage area, the set up and sidelines. 

Everything remained in black boxes, most beaten and covered in gray duct tape slowly being opened to reveal all sorts of objects. Crew members wore bits of costumes, one wore a tiara whilst the other wore fairy wings making me smile to myself as they began to arrange things for the opening acts. Microphones were passed up, and enough cables to stretch across the packed room. 

As the minutes crept on by the more my hands began to shake, I stared at them with wide confused eyes to attempt to calm them down but I could barely think over the beating of my own heart. A squeal caused me to snap out of my thoughts as someone yelled his name, followed by an increase in excitement. Lifting my head to my right the black out doors had swung open, behind the boxes and crew members I began to repeatedly hit my friends arm in utter disbelief. 

It was him.

He emerged shly just a few metres away. My friend looked at me in complete shock, mouth hanging ajar as she then kept her eyes locked to her feet whilst I admired him in the relaxed state. All I could think about was how casual he seemed, how normal he looks. Wearing loose fit joggers and trainers, a black tee but the jacket I had seen in countless photos. Denim and a sheepskin collar along with the infamous turtle shell glasses.  

“We are nothing really,” Snapping me out of my daze I looked to my friend, “I mean just another crowd of fans aren’t we? If I could meet him now I wouldn’t want to as I would be remembered as just another fan at another show.” She spoke with little emotion yet I knew what she meant. 

Just another fan at another show. I thought as he turned around with these giddy fans, walking back through the double doors shutting him in and me, just another fan out of the light. 

After a while of joking with my friend quietly about the couple next to me consisting of one girlfriend whom was explaining to the boyfriend who the band were, showing him pictures from magazine shoots pointing to each member we laughed wholeheartedly. The lights went down and my laugh stopped as the first act came out, it was different from what I expected but I danced, I listened and learnt the words. 

Between the opening acts our mixed emotions rose, “Do you think, do you think he’d see us here?” Apprehension laced my tone as I fiddled with the half empty bottle of water, which we would secretly put on the ledge of the barrier when security turned their heads. 

She remained quiet as she focused on the constant unboxing, deep in thought. “I don’t know what to say really. I’d like to think so but I’m not getting my hopes up.” I nodded in response, knowing she was being honest about it all. “But we’ve made it, three hours of traffic and one stop at a furniture shop to redo your makeup we are here.” She nudged me and I couldn’t disguise my smile, knowing it was actually happening despite the irritable tapping of my right foot. 

As the next act performed I couldn’t help but let my eyes stray from the upbeat bass and impressive vocal range to the double doors, curious to know if they were behind them, waiting to come on or in a dressing room rehearsing. I zoned out entirely as the crowd around me cheered, only then focusing as the band were leaving the stage and we returned to waiting, playing the game of sheer patience and drowning in my own tsunami of conflicting feelings as the time passed by. 

The large screens in front of us began to light up, illuminating the first few rows of faces as my vision was enticed into the sequence that played and the music that filled my eardrums with the sheer intensity. Around us I could feel the floor vibrate due to the bass, I shared a look with my friend and we both knew as the smile began to rise on my face no longer disguising my previous doubts. 

A bright light shone through the black out doors, a series of them in tyvek suits with their logo plastered across the back. I couldn’t help but laugh to myself as he walked by, briefly glancing to the crowds I smiled, unable to wipe it off of my face.

I focused on the crowd that were visible, my eyes locked with one in particular but with barely a second to pause she went back out of sight.

They all got into their positions, some slightly out of sight but the bassist in full view on our side. All of the crowd was in unison with the cheering, the yells of excitement and screams as they took their positions in these uncomfortable looking outfits. He stood in front of his microphone, fiddling with his ear piece before taking off the suit revealing a typical all black attire.

Walking away from the microphone with the suit in hand he neared our side of the stage, as he did my friend muttered in my ear. “I’d do anything to have that outfit right now.” I laughed loudly which was drowned amongst the cheers but his eyes glanced as he threw it lightly to the crew on the few steps separating the stage.

As they play I find myself lost in the words, an array of emotions swamp my mind, clouding all thoughts that are locked outside of this venue. He moves with ease, his voice laced with a bitter tendency and rawness as the notes rise against the heavy instruments. The bassist moves over to us and we all smile, some hands move past my head to wave whilst I sway my head, accidently brushing my hand across the girl’s boyfriend next to me as I grab my phone. 

More songs are performed and he begins to move more, going from side to side. As the song that started it all for me plays he begins to pace towards us, stride up the step and up the ledge until he is in front of our eyes. He sings and my eyes catch his for a mere second, but I feel caught in it, captured in a photo. 

I knew it was almost over and I hadn’t had the chance to smile directly at her. The fear is her not noticing, that someone else thinks it is for them. All I wanted as selfish as it sounds is for her smile, those eyes to solely focus on mine wholeheartedly and not a mere glance. She catches it, just. How could I miss that glint in her eyes, the pure vibrancy of life dancing on the surface and that smile too. So full of joy, the sort I’ve craved.

As his eyes glance away along with the song he walks away and I turn to my friend in a state of pure shock. I was noticed, acknowledged with a smile. My heart began to speed up again as it replayed in my mind like this one song did when I was introduced to the band, that I played it until I knew every word. 

He stood in front of his piano, back turned to us as he smiled to himself as did I. After what felt like a lifetime of dancing, of an almost rave experience we were coming to an end after the many laughs. I lowered my head realising soon I’d return to reality, that I would have just been a fan lost in the sea of the unknown. 

Standing centre stage by my piano I can’t resist to turn my head and see if she’s still there. Her head down and facing away from me, why would she care? For all I know she could’ve been dragged here by the person next to her unable to stop jumping up and down even to the silence.

The notes play with grace, like silk as his voice rises and falls. We all know the words to the soft melody to which ends, the real enthusiasm growing in the crowd as the adrenaline buzzes, feeding them on stage as they all smile, share the look of achievement. Lost in the moment I zone in on him, the smile he wears of something pure and utterly wholesome. The blue in his eyes affected and distorted by the various lighting around us, the drumsticks in his hand as the chorus comes up and he faces us again. 

All of the passion that radiates from them all, the thrill of it and the life of it. I’m dancing like I’ve never danced before, the part of me that cared, that felt guilty to touch or collide with others has been abandoned and replaced by someone who knows the end is nigh and wants to remember every second of it. 

I pour every emotion into the words thinking of her smile. The one I cannot see. Then as it gets more upbeat I move more, I wander from side to side trying to not be bias. Now, standing centre stage I hold the last note, not wanting it to be over. Just another show, they’ll think, I should think.

We chant the ending, the most known stupid lyrics. They stand there all together as they pant before speaking one final time into the microphone. “You have all been amazing, thank you for tonight. Happy halloween!” Placing the microphone back the rest descend from the stage and my heart remains lodged in my throat.

As we all thank the crowd the other’s head down first, me being the last to leave the stage as I want to see her, one last time. Standing at the bottom of the stairs I zone out from the cheers, the sad screams to have finished and try to control my hitched breath as I prepare to turn and take one last longing look.

He began to walk down the stairs but I focused on him, ignoring the hands that reached out from either side of me. I felt greedy, it felt wrong wanting a last look, something to preserve like developed photos. “I swear this girl is going to make me face plant the railing in a minute.” My friend joked and I could barely move but my laugh remained loud and his head turned. 

One last time I caught a second of a glance as his eyes scanned the crowd though the fliers plastered across the stairs. I smiled to myself as he neared the blackout doors, the lights began to turn on at the back yet I stayed still until my friend muttered for us to go. 

Just as I walked through the black out doors she turned her head, it felt as if she could read into my very soul with that loving glance. If only it had happened a second sooner as the doors close firmly, refusing to try again.

Turning my back I glanced to the doors just before they closed, getting one last snippet at him, at Dan Smith before he was gone. Before we both returned to our version of a mundane life. 

We waded through the mess of empty bottles and cheap cans scattered as their logo still played on the screens. It hadn’t sunk in, it felt as if the entire experience was simply resting on me as the adrenaline remained despite it nearing 11pm. As we stood in the corridor fans reached for the merchandise, colourful notes waved in the air as the triumph they wore was clear as they held the beloved merchandise as we walked out, trying to find my parents. 

As we walked we joked about the little things, about the girl who threw boxers at Kyle, about the girl who told Dan she loved him and he said it back, the people who dressed up as Eleven. My parents in sight my adrenaline began to wear, the cold creeping back into my system as the air around us was coated in breaths about the concert we all experienced together. 

Once we got into the car I caught my reflection in the window, my tired but happy state. The longer I looked the more it sunk in, what could never be. He would have met some fans as they left for the bus, got on it and gone to London for their next show, always touring whilst I would go home and look at the videos then have no choice but to get on. “Hey,” My friend reaches over and notices the look on my face, she wears an understanding smile. “he is not the it and end all, just you wait.” I smile and reach over to hug her, thanking her for all of it that we experienced together tonight.

Closing my eyes I can picture her now, home. She’ll probably look at the videos and photos she took, smile at them now and then but not think too much of it.We’ll continue touring, I’ll forget her face in the sea of thousands that blur together like shades of blue paint.

As I lie back against my chair the moon peers from the thick clouds, stars delicately sprinkled amongst it. I wonder what he is thinking, if he is fast asleep on a journey to yet another city with another crowd, just as my friend said. 

The bus comes to a halt and tearing back the fabric from the condensated window I focus on the stars, the few constellations visible. She is a star, she is unique compared to others and isn’t joining to any there. The further I travel the harder it’ll be to pin point her in amongst them all. 

The car slows, steadies as the traffic continues. I allow my mind to think of what could have been, what if he walked our way during Flaws and I caught his eye more. What if I slipped him my number as he passed. I’ll never know.

Utterly unaware of what could’ve been if I had the confidence to what? Wink at her, brush past her and give her my number in front of all of the beady eyes? Who knows. 

I’ll never know what it could be like to have coffee with him, or have a lazy day watching films or know that he is singing to me, not a crowd, just me. Shaking the thoughts I sit up right, it’s not healthy. I have to live in the unfortunate reality where I am a star to him concealed in the morning sky. 

That’s the reality of it all, isn’t it? You don’t get it. You get something else, you get the unknown. She gets to continue and see pictures of us anywhere and everywhere. I get nothing, I’ll just picture her in a cafe with her partner, she’ll drink her coffee and laugh at his jokes. 

Nearing home I watched my friend retire to her home, silently his voice replayed in my mind, the voice that I can never forget. I knew deep down regardless of how many years pass if I hear their music the memories would always flood back, the nostalgia of tonight will remain. 

Picking up my phone I scroll through the photos and videos, smiling to myself as I send them to my friend. 

She’ll probably look at the videos and photos she took, smile at them now and then but not think too much of it.

Already we reminisce on tonight with less than a few minutes remaining of it. In bed I listen to the songs I dreamt about hearing live, thinking about the alternative lives we could have led. Glancing out of my curtains the stars shine intensely through my blinds, with each slit I see a different opportunity or a possibility play. 

She is a star, she is unique compared to others and isn’t joining to any there. The further I travel the harder it’ll be to pin point her in amongst them all. No matter where I go, no matter how many thousands I’ll see I will never forget her.

Closing my blinds I lie down, headphones in and shutting reality out for another night. All I want is to simply let tonight remain, to never forget the escape I achieved from reality. I drift off wondering what it’d be like to have a song dedicated to you as Oblivion plays, no one knows what it is about, but does the person know? Shutting my eyes I slowly fall asleep, my dimples decreasing and smile fading as the events of tonight become a memory. 

Even her eyes are ingrained into my memory, it feels like an anchor has been wedged into me- refusing to let go. 

He may be a balloon now, floating into all of the other possibilities that could have been. Just another one I was unable to tie down.

Releasing the fabric from my grip I hide the stars away, out of sight. Yet some manage to shine through, still wanting to be seen. She is the light that is blinding me. Sitting up right as best as I could I began to hum a tune, something along with a few words.

Smiling to myself I grabbed my phone and wrote down what I could, ‘the anchor.’

Maybe some day she’ll watch us in an interview, maybe we’ll get asked about that song if it makes it anywhere. The song about the girl who is unknown, even to herself. Lying back down I place my phone down, unable to suppress the small smile on my face. I’ll see her again, someday. My anchor. The anchor I never knew I needed.

[junker-town]

Semi-educated picks and baseless predictions for the 2019 British Open

Photo by Kevin C. Cox/Getty Images

Tiger Woods probably won’t win. Phil Mickelson definitely won’t! Rory coming home is nice, but seems like a pain. These predictions and other topics to revel in this week at the game’s best major.

The final major championship of the men’s golf season is now the best. The Open is now hitting clean-up but despite the change in order, very few things will change about the game’s oldest and instantly recognizable major championship. It’s still played in mid-July. The course will be a seaside links venue. It will probably be grey and windy and occasionally rainy. The look will always be the same.

One deviation this year, however, is the course. It’s still a seaside links indisputably worthy of hosting a major championship. It’s just that Royal Portrush has not been on the Open rota since 1951. The sectarian violence of Northern Ireland removed Portrush, one of the world’s very best courses, from the rotation for almost 70 years but now it is back, thanks in part to three Northern Irish golfers winning three majors at the start of this decade. Rory McIlroy, Darren Clarke, and Graeme McDowell will have a keen familiarity with the venue, but few others in the field have ever played it and no one has played it in The Open.

With that lack of course history, this Open could be especially hard to forecast but we march on here, throwing out wild and baseless predictions as best we can. Here are a few larger topics and what you could, maybe, possibly see and expect this week.

Who’s your dark-horse pick to win or contend down the stretch on Sunday? (ideally odds 60/1 or higher)

Brendan: I’ll take a flier on Eddie Pepperell. This is not exactly an under-the-radar name at this point, for various reasons, mostly off the course with his Twitter account and nonchalant comments last year about playing The Open hungover. He’s a known name and been in the top 50 in the world for much of this year. But he’s 100/1 and has made relatively few starts since the beginning of May thanks to a back injury. So I’ll use the word flier, even though it would be completely unsurprising to see him somewhere in the top 10 come Sunday. Webb Simpson is also an extremely good value at 100/1.

Kyle: If you follow my very bad twitter account, you know exactly who I’m picking here. 300-to-1 is insane value! Jorge Campillo Hive get in, we’re riding out.

Okay, seriously. He’s had a bit of a dip in form the last couple starts, but he’s near the top of the Order of Merit on the European Tour. As the self-proclaimed leader of the Euro Tour hive, I tend to like one or two guys that are #trending overseas. We both like Spaniards, sure, that works.

Campillo probably won’t win, but I’d not be shocked at all by a top-10 finish.

Now give me the Trophee Hassan II picture.

soon pic.twitter.com/FfkcZx90sx

— kyle robbins (@kylerrobbins) July 17, 2019

Thank you.

We’re on a sustained run of players from the top 25 in the world winning majors. Is there a first-time major winner out there this week? How about a super random long shot (like Todd Hamilton)?

Brendan: Xander Schauffele is the pick for first-time major winner. He’s been too consistent at each and every major to not be the first choice at this point. But he’s far from a random long shot. For that, I’ll go with Adri Arnaus, the Spaniard who has shown some form of late on the Euro Tour. He’s 500/1 and would definitely break the streak of big-name players winning The Open.

Kyle: How about Matt Wallace? He got a reputation last year on the Euro Tour as a big time boom or bust guy with a couple of wins and a bunch of flameouts, but he’s really steadied the ship this year with some nice finishes at quality events. He’s at 50-1, so this is actually less of a long shot than Campillo — but I do think Wallace has a couple major championship high finishes within him coming up. Might as well start this week.

Who is one big name, or maybe a few if you’re feeling mean, you expect to bomb out early and never contend at Portrush?

Brendan: I mean, the obvious choice here is Phil Mickelson, the 2013 winner. He’s adapted to this major in the late stage of his career, going from completely incompatible to smitten with links golf. But, uh, he just went on a six-day fast “to heal” and lost 15 pounds. Then he told Golf Channel on Tuesday, “I am so not into results or trying to win right now.” That sounds like someone who is going to miss his fifth cut in his last seven starts. Can we also throw Jordan Spieth back into the MC bundle, as well? Yes, ok, him too.

Kyle: Brooks! I’ve never loved Brooks on links, and I think we’re going to hit an expiration point on his ability to turn it on in majors. It’s just basically never happened, save maybe Hogan post-accident — which you could liken more to Tiger’s return than a guy who basically ONLY wins majors like Brooks.

The luck has to run out at some point. I think he’ll eject this week.

Rory is the headliner and host this week given his history with Portrush and the fact that it’s the first time we’ve played an Open here in almost 70 years. What are your expectations for McIlroy?

Brendan: Rory is the betting favorite given that history and what has been a very strong year, aside from those underwhelming major weeks. But my expectations are tempered for Rory this week. I think he’s relishing playing at home and the fact that the possibility of an Open in Northern Ireland has been realized. But I don’t think he’s all that thrilled being in the center of the circus and would rather just be off prepping for a major at some other rota venue in Scotland or England. He’s never enjoyed the circus all that much and this is the pinnacle of it in his career. So, yes, I think he’s grateful for hosting in a sense but I don’t think he’s happy about what it means for his golf. This will be a fourth 2019 major for Rory off the radar come Sunday.

Photo By Ramsey Cardy/Sportsfile via Getty Images

Kyle: I’ll expound on this later down the page, but this all just makes too much sense. I’m not going to dive into the cultural milieu of Northern Ireland and what this championship means to a nation that’s undoubtedly been through a lot — Eamon Lynch knows it first hand and has already done that. We don’t need more golf writers riffing on The Troubles.

But despite all that, we love ourselves a good homecoming in sport. Rory winning at Portrush would instantly go down in the annals of history — and that’s the exact reason we watch majors. I’m going to save my prediction from going any further until the end of this piece.

Does it matter that Tiger has not played competitive golf since the U.S. Open? We’ve seen a flurry of opinions on this in the last couple weeks.

Brendan: Absolutely not! This does not matter. He traditionally has played just one event between the U.S. Open and British Open. This year, he played none. Tiger may not be ready or at his peak for this Open, but that has little to do with any amount of reps between majors. He’s just old, still putting his feet up from that all-time achievement at Augusta, and trying to take it as slow as possible. He’s probably not going to win but this micro-analysis of his schedule choices at this point and the charges that he’s not “serious” about winning because he didn’t play some Mickey Mouse tournament the past month are ridiculous. He’s earned the benefit of making that schedule that best suits his old, decrepit body.

Kyle: Honestly, yes — it matters. But that doesn’t mean Tiger’s making the wrong decision. It’s exceptionally hard to be as sharp as you need to be mentally to win majors without starts. I think the lack of starts heading into the US Open affected him, and this one will as well.

Tiger’s life has changed. His injuries don’t allow the prep they once might have. There’s nothing wrong with a little LOAD MANAGEMENT to stay fresh for majors. But I am curious if playing as little as Tiger does prevents that next-level scramble or laced 2-iron stinger under pressure. I don’t expect him to really be in the conversation on Sunday.

Who are you rooting for most this week? What would be your dream scenario on Sunday?

Brendan: How about Hideki Matsuyama winning Japan’s first major? The cliche dream scenario is probably Rory winning at home. It would be a great scene on Sunday. I hope he plays well.

But the ideal winner is Brooks Koepka. He’d complete a 2-1-2-1 year of finishes at the four majors, which would have an argument as the best single majors year in the modern era. Brooks has looked terrible in a couple starts since his runner-up at the U.S. Open, so a win here would only hammer home the narrative that everything else is just meaningless and really have the suits at the PGA Tour skittish. It’s a bizarre, glorious trend for the No. 1 player in the world to be this great at the majors and a total non-factor on Tour. A win at The Open would only solidify this trend and also free him up to call out even more names next year and speak even more on how little the other events mean to him.

Kyle: I’ve already left Brooks for dead, and the obvious story is Rory. Taking Northern Ireland’s first major in sixty-some years is the ideal outcome — no question. We root for history, and this event keeps delivering year after year right now. Let’s get a Tiger-Rory-Spieth duel down the stretch. That’s about the only thing that could live up to our run of the past five Opens.

Who’s your winner of the 148th Open?

Brendan: The winner will be our big, husky, club-slamming, curse-muttering Basque boy Jon Rahm. He won the Irish Open two weeks ago for a second time and now he’ll win again on another links course on the island. He’s been on this path from the day he turned pro, rocketing to the top five of the world rankings in record speed. The form is there, the game is there, and the comfort with this style of golf is there. His future is major championships and that future starts this week with another win in Ireland.

Kyle: I’m taking Rory. It makes too much sense, it’s a course he knows too well, and the story’s too good. I like to make cracks about how we all get snookered in by Rory on every major Friday afternoon — all before eventual ejection. But this is a home game in a major for him, a true first. I think this is the time.