By request, I'm posting my tribute that I wrote for a surprise 30th birthday party thrown for a very good friend of mine, Roger Perry. Roger was convinced he knew what “memory” I had picked to write about, but he certainly didn't know how it would take shape:
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It started as a day like any other – I woke up, the sun greeted me, I prepared for the event before me, and I left to play another Saturday morning of basketball.
But this day was not like others, for the fabled Roger “Stilt” Perry was in attendance. It was a memorable day to be sure.
Roger swaggered into the gym as only he can. Certainly, his feet poking around the corner before the rest of him was ominous indeed. There was a lot of man about to break our plane of vision.
Roger proceeded his normal warm-up routine – half-court 3 pointers, reverse 360 windmill dunks, 100 one-handed and blindfolded free throws (from the OTHER free throw line), and the like. Yes, Roger was a sight to behold.
It was likely during one of Roger’s super-human, supernatural displays that it happened – Roger knew something was wrong, but he didn’t know what, yet. It wasn’t until after an ego-crushing blocked shot or rim-rattling dunk that on the way back down to the other end of the court Roger noticed an appendage pointing up at him. This was about to get ugly.
Roger stopped the action to review his situation. There was no hiding it. It was there for everyone to see – Roger had an ow-ie of mythic proportions. A regular man would have cradled his injury. A man of usual mettle would have winced. Roger stood there thinking of how he could “tie it off” or “just walk it off” and continue his display of basketball prowess. Me, I would have cried.
You may think “But it was only a finger injury”. Yes, but WHAT a finger injury. This rebellious finger pointed up at a nauseatingly sharp angle contrary to the rest of his hand. Fingers aren’t supposed to look like that, but certainly, men aren’t supposed to handle it like the stoic Roger did.
After much insistence, Roger agreed to have medical personnel inspect and repair his damaged flesh. They comforted him and his bride that no long-term damage was due and that in time, all would be right. But I know another side to this story.
Since that time, the Jordan-esque skill, the Shaq-like power Roger holds within his temple of a body has not returned to the court. He has not returned triumphant to the scene of the infraction. Instead, it is the lone black mark on his remarkable legacy.
So, Roger, at this most poignant time, consider others – the less skilled, the children, the awe-struck and get back on that horse. Allow your fans to cheer you and your competitors fear you again. Lance Armstrong’s cancer has nothing on your finger – so get back in there!
…besides, you’re getting old now!
And now, the Husker-friendly version:
One day, Roger was playing basketball. Then, Roger got a boo-boo on his finger. It was yucky. He’s OK now.
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Later.