Ah, what a joy to play ball back in New York! And believe–I was enjoying Brazil last week to the fullest–but there is nothing like home, even when it’s 20 below outside, brrr! I hit the 14th ST. Y for the afternoon run. Same crew as always, the familiar faces and friendly, “Where you been?” cantor. I was fiendin’ to play, only had gotten one real run during my week in Salvador de Bahia, so i laced’em up even though my body felt worn from jetlag (the flight back was 10 hours overnight and had arrived at 6am, and that was after a three hour connection, 18 hours door to door basically). I don’t know if it was the special powers I received from the Acai smoothie, or that fresh mango off the tree I ate, but for whatever reason after the first game (in which Arnel, per usual, lambasted me on D hitting four consecutive 3s in my grillpiece), I warmed up crazy and was giving out Mango Tango left and right! I hit Maui with the Mango Tango in and out to a crossover, and he told me after the game he almost fell down. Next game I caught a new kid that showed up bad . . . real bad, like Arnel on the side screamed out, “Don’t do it to him, Bob!” but he literally went two feet in the wrong direction after I Mangoed him with the Ta-ta-tango, too! Mr. Odwalla, please give a brother a call! Let’s do an ad together! To be fair, I wasn’t picked up by the best defenders in the world, and both gave up inches to me in height, so don’t take this as I’m saying I’m the next Shammgod. This is low level comp, and fits me perfect! It’s fun, no argueing, and I dominate! Yes! Hahahahaha.

More tales from DJ Mango Tango soon . . .